by Jill Braden
“You are going to die here,” he whispered to her.
She continued her inspection of the fortress. “Then you will never go home.”
“Why are you doing this? Why?” But he knew it was futile to demand answers from her.
“This cell is charming, but I fancy a bit of privacy. Do you have something in a dungeon, perhaps?” QuiTai asked the soldier. A fake smile appeared on her face a few seconds late.
What was she up to?
He smiled weakly at the soldier as he pulled her across the grass. The soldiers were going to wonder why they kept doing this.
As soon as they were far enough away, he scowled down at her. “It’s going to be harder for you to escape if you’re in a dungeon.”
“I have no intention of escaping, in the conventional sense. You will return an hour before sunset and take me out of here. It’s not dramatic, but it’ll get the job done.” She had the nerve to wink at him.
“Do you want her in the dungeon or here in the cell, Governor?” the soldier asked.
Against his better judgment, Kyam said, “The dungeon.” He gave her a hard look, which she ignored.
“This way, then.” The soldier led them to a thick wooden door under the south rampart stairs.
Right inside the door, a roughly hewn table and a few chairs sat tucked into a small alcove. A guard seated at the table turned a bone tile end to end.
Kyam put his hand over his nose as the stink of the marsh at low tide choked him.
The soldier threw a salute and thrust out his chest. “I have a prisoner for you.”
The guard at the table smacked his lips and turned the tile a few more times before slowly coming to his feet. “Sure. Follow me.”
He grabbed a white light jellylantern from the wall and a large iron key ring before leading them down narrow, twisting stairs. The smell of damp stone and stagnant mud grew worse as they descended into the dungeon.
The green light jellylanterns in the wall sconces needed replacing. Kyam could barely see beyond the first cell. They were a bit smaller than the outside cells. The walls looked solid enough, even though they were damp in a few spots. Iron bars separated the cells. At the far end of the space there was a door, but he didn’t think it was a cell. Unless she knew of a hidden passage, there was no way QuiTai could manage a disappearing trick from this place.
QuiTai jutted her chin at the dim row of cells. “No other prisoners? Good.”
Kyam looked in that direction, as did the soldier. Keys jangled, but underneath the noise, he thought something skidded across the stone floor and came to rest in a shadow.
“Don’t touch my keys!” The sleepy guard slapped QuiTai’s hand.
“Sorry. I’d hoped that the Governor himself would hold onto the cell’s key.” She stepped into the cell, gripped the bars, and pulled the door shut. The clanging echoed through the dungeon.
“Wait. We have to search her,” the guard said. The man sounded so sleepy he could doze off any second now.
QuiTai had thought this through. She had some kind of plan. At least, he hoped she did. He had to help her. He shot a glance to the gods above. Only QuiTai could get someone to talk himself into helping her and betraying his own.
“Ah, she’s already in the cell. Why bother dragging her out? She might not go in so easily next time,” he said. “Besides, she isn’t charged with anything. I’m just holding her here for questioning later today. I’ll come back later today and question her.” He stopped talking, but it was too late to stop looking stupid.
The soldier and the guard seemed uneasy with that, but they didn’t want to go to any more trouble than they had to. “Okay, but if anyone asks, you told us not to.”
“Give me the key to her cell.” Kyam put his hand out. He had no idea what this was about, but he took his cues from her, and if she thought he should hold the key, then he would.
“We can’t give you the key.”
He grinned at the guard. “Yes, you can.”
“No, Governor. Afraid I can’t.”
“I command you.”
The guard shook his head slowly. “No.”
Kyam stuck his hand into his pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. The soldier’s fingernails rasped against his palm as he scooped the coins. The key dropped into his hand.
QuiTai patted her hip. He dropped the key into his hip pocket as instructed. Her lips pulled into a tight smile. The guards rattled the door to her cell to make sure it locked.
Whatever she had up her sleeve, it was up to her from now on.
“Give me half of that,” said the other guard, trying to take some of the bribe from his friend.
He wouldn’t be frightened for her. He wouldn’t think about torture. She was brilliant, and cunning, and ruthless. Gah! But none of that mattered much if a few soldiers decided to go into that cell and hold her down. A wave of nausea hit his stomach.
As if she read his mind, she whispered,” I will see to it that you’re stuck in Levapur until your dying day if you dare interfere with my plans. Go away. Go now.”
~ ~ ~
Chief Justice Cuulon darted panicked glances over his shoulder as he rushed into the government building. The Ponongese wouldn’t be able to break down the massive brass doors and drag him into the town square if they decided to riot over QuiTai’s arrest. He’d seen what those snakes had done to the werewolves several years ago. Savages, all of them.
He forced himself to slow down as he stepped into the center atrium. His heart pounded as he paused to admire a purple lily in the ornamental pond. Seven, eight, nine, he counted the seconds. When he reached thirteen, he headed for the staircase.
Cuulon didn’t acknowledge the deep bows of junior clerks on the first landing of the staircase, or those of senior staff as they pressed against the railing to clear his path. He held his head high through the long climb to his office on the third floor. No one must guess how the snakes made him tremble.
Somehow, QuiTai always managed to make things difficult. How did she happen to have one of Thampur’s finest legal minds in her employ now? She had supernatural powers. That was the only explanation.
He took a calming breath and opened the door of the justice department.
Legal clerks sat at small desks arranged in neat rows in the front chamber. Dressed in nearly identical sherwani jackets, they reminded him of schoolboys. None of them lifted their eyes from their work as he strode past the desks. The only sound in the room was the soft lop-lop-lop of the ceiling fans and the banging of message cylinders in the pneumatic tubes along the wall.
His secretary tried to hand him a stack of papers, but he waved them away.
He shut his office door a bit too forcefully and sank onto a settee. His hand rested at his temple to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight streaming through the glass typhoon shutters.
If only Petrof had killed QuiTai before the rice riot, or even back during the Full Moon Massacre, he lamented. It was just his luck that QuiTai had been the one to escape the assassination of her family. The dangerous ones always found a way to survive.
His hand slipped down to support his chin.
That old bastard Theram Zul might have made it clear QuiTai was under his clan’s protection, but the Ravidians had found a way around that. They’d tortured Petrof until he’d agreed to kill her. But after a few senselessly theatrical attempts on her life, Petrof had suddenly stopped trying. What was he waiting for?
Maybe Petrof was being cautious. He was the only werewolf known to have escaped the mass hanging at the fortress. Petrof didn’t need to come out of hiding to kill QuiTai, though. He could still attack from the shadows – if he were still alive. Was he? He had good reason to stay in hiding if he was. Theram Zul and the Ravidians probably both wanted his hide nailed to their walls. QuiTai too. She was a vicious little thing, and she wouldn’t be content to kill a man quickly. Oh no. She’d do it slowly and enjoy every second of it.
That woman!
He l
eaned back and crossed his legs. His arms spread across the back of the settee as he surveyed his grand office. With a sniff, he tried to convince himself that he’d never been infatuated with her. His fingers drummed against the dark wood frame of the furniture. Never, he thought.
Maybe he should hire someone to kill her; but now that the werewolves were dead, he wasn’t sure who handled contract killings in Levapur. Every discreet message left at the usual places had gone unanswered.
Maybe the Devil had killed Petrof.
No. It couldn’t be. The Devil was smart and ruthless, not a fool for love. The Devil wouldn’t kill Petrof to protect QuiTai. Petrof was too important to the Devil’s business. But where had Petrof disappeared to? He’d never been easy to find, especially after the militia went a bit too far with that ant torture. But he’d still slipped into town occasionally after that. Now he was as elusive as a maishun spirit.
Who knew where to find Petrof? Probably only the Devil.
And who knew how to get an audience with the Devil? Probably only QuiTai.
Frustrated with his circular thoughts, he slapped his hand against the upholstery. There were too many unknowns. It used to be that he knew every major criminal in Levapur and what they might do, but that had changed as soon as the Devil muscled in and took over. Now everything was a secret, and the Devil was the biggest secret of them all.
It was too late anyway. Too late to kill her.
At least she had been taken to the fortress. He was surprised that Kyam Zul had acted so quickly. She was defenseless now; even the Devil couldn’t save her there. He looked forward to hearing her beg. That would be the sweetest thing. As she had once humiliated him and made him plead, he would now make her grovel. The natural order would be restored.
But none of that would bring back Turyat.
That bitch! Why would she kill a man who was already a ghoul?
He bowed his head. Tears fell.
Chapter 6: Motives
Kyam returned to his office in a restless state. There was no taking back the morning, was there? QuiTai had him in a strange bind. He couldn’t save her too soon, but if he were too late, he was screwed that way too. Every deal with her was a trap. He knew that. He should have asked her why she wanted things done this way. It made no sense.
A deep sigh lifted his shoulders. He poured a drink but left the glass untouched as he tried to remember his exact conversation with her. The Ponongese could listen to a saga once then repeat it flawlessly. He wished he could do that, because he knew she’d told him things she thought he needed to know. But being typical QuiTai, she’d refused to say ‘remember this,’ or ‘this part is the most important.’ She trusted him to be smart. Sometimes he wished she would treat him like an idiot instead.
Kyam’s office door rattled. Voices rose outside as something slammed against it. No one had talked to him in months, and now twice in one day he had urgent visitors. He had no idea what would happen next.
The door flung open and Voorus stumbled in, followed by Kyam’s outraged secretary – a young man with far too much nose and not enough chin. While his secretary alternately apologized to him and scolded Voorus, an elderly Thampurian gentleman shuffled through the doorway and into the room.
The man carefully made the transition from the wood floor to the thick carpet. He grasped his cane with cruelly contorted hands. While every step seemed difficult, the man never faltered. Kyam thought he recognized him, but no name came to mind.
Kyam raised a placating hand to his secretary, “It’s all right.”
Offended, his secretary sniffed deeply though his prominent nose and turned on his heel. The office doors banged shut behind him.
Voorus seemed extremely nervous. The captain wouldn’t look him directly in the eye. Instead of sitting, he rushed to the old man’s side, but couldn’t seem to decide if he should help the fellow or simply hover. What he should have done was make introductions, but after a long, painfully awkward moment, Kyam decided he’d have to take care of it.
“Sir, you look familiar, but forgive me, I cannot recall your name,” Kyam said.
The man made a small bow. “Mityam Muul. You need not introduce yourself. I recognize a Zul when I see one.”
Kyam wasn’t sure if that was meant as an insult.
It took a moment, but it dawned on him where he’d met Mityam before. Mityam Muul might have been a scion of the least powerful among Thampur’s thirteen families, but a man of his reputation barely needed of a family name. Mityam had never served on the nation’s high court, but he was a mentor to every man who did. Diplomats and government officials turned to him for advice, and he was often referred to as the nation’s ‘sage uncle.’ Kyam thought he’d retired a few years ago. What was Captain Voorus doing in the company of such a man? The best way to find out was to ask, but he’d have to ease into it.
“Gentlemen, please have a seat,” he said.
Kyam remained standing until Mityam painfully lowered himself into a chair. After Kyam took his seat behind his desk, Voorus also sat, but almost immediately jumped to his feet again and paced.
“Is something troubling you, Captain?” Kyam asked.
“Well, yes. Former Governor Turyat’s murder.”
He didn’t like this. “I hadn’t heard.”
Clearly confused, Voorus looked to Mityam for help. “But then why did you arrest Lady QuiTai?”
“She asked me to.” He was never going to be able to explain it to them. QuiTai always made things sound so logical, until you tried to explain them to someone else. Only then did you realize you were spouting gibberish.
Voorus looked at him as if he’d done something unspeakable. “You know they mean to hang her for it.”
That sinking feeling only worsened. “For what?”
Voorus had been sitting on the edge of his chair for a moment but sprang to his feet again. “For murdering Turyat!” He jabbed Kyam’s desk with his finger. “Right in this room, after the rice riot, she swore she would not kill Turyat or Cuulon. She swore she wouldn’t have them killed. You heard her. But that won’t stop the militia from hanging her for it.”
Astounded, Kyam leaned back in his chair. Voorus acted like a passionate lover. Had QuiTai lied to him about her relationship with Voorus? Had she ever made it clear what was between them? He couldn’t remember now. How very like her to avoid a lie by changing the subject.
Voorus still glared at him.
“Okay. I’m lost. I’ll admit it. Why would anyone think QuiTai murdered Turyat? We all know she hates him, but as you said, she gave her word she wouldn’t kill him,” Kyam said.
“Because Turyat’s body was found in the Red Happiness. On the floor. In a pool of blood.”
“Oh, hell!” Kyam clutched his head. “I should have known.”
He had to rescue her. He had to get her out of the fortress right now. She couldn’t know how much danger she was in.
“And now Cuulon is calling for her neck, and you delivered her to the fortress.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
They glared at each other until Voorus blushed and glanced away.
What was he going to do?
Not panic. That was the first thing. The next thing he would do was think. They generally didn’t execute prisoners until sundown, so he had a few hours to come up with a plan.
He would hear what Voorus and Mityam had to say, show them out, and then come up with a brilliant plan to rescue QuiTai. He took a deep breath. That sounded about right.
Kyam pointed to Mityam then Voorus. “What’s the story here?”
Voorus waved a dismissive hand at Mityam. “It’s a long one, and we don’t have time to waste.”
“The finest legal mind in Thampur magically appears the same day Lady QuiTai is arrested. I want to know why.” How long had she been planning this?
Voorus sighed dramatically. “I told you I wanted to study the law. She hired him to tutor me.”
“She hired him?”
What had been going on in the past nine months?
“You know they’ll torture her down there. The Colonel in charge, Hurust, is one of these moral absolutists. He won’t even set foot in Levapur because it’s polluted with Ponongese. And don’t even get him started on the degradations of the Quarter of Delights. How could you deliver her into the hands of a man like that?” Voorus asked.
“I warned the militia not to touch her.”
Voorus scoffed. “She did everything she could for you before the rice riots! Everything. And you’re going to let her die because poor Kyam got a cushy political post with a huge salary and he didn’t want it? Be a man, Zul.”
Only a man in love would come to her defense like that. He could see why Voorus worshipped her, and if she’d hired Mityam Muul to tutor him, the feelings must have been mutual. But didn’t the Devil mind that his concubine had another lover? Maybe not. After all, she’d been married to Jezereet while she’d served the Devil.
He rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. “May I remind you that she caused the rice riots?”
Mityam seemed puzzled, but rather than interrupt, he rested his forehead on the silver knob of his cane. His intense focus was frighteningly similar to QuiTai’s manner when she caught the faint scent of the truth hiding behind other words.
Incensed, Voorus gestured emphatically down to the marketplace. “Greedy Thampurians caused that riot. There was plenty of rice. There was always plenty of rice. All people had to do was pay the full price with the taxes, only buy what they needed instead of trying to hoard it, and none of that would have happened.”
“Spoken like a man smoking her vapor.”
“I–” Voorus stood straight and yanked on the hem of his jacket. His forehead wrinkled then smoothed as a wry smile spread across his face. “You think we’re lovers. You actually think Lady QuiTai and I are…” He cast a glance at Mityam. “Together. Is that why you’re letting Cuulon murder her?”
“Execute,” Kyam quietly corrected.
