by Dora Machado
She kept inhaling, thirsty for the scents, famished for the airs, devoted to her formidable lungs and the flavors they so keenly filtered. Only after the fire’s breath had infiltrated every corner of her body did she relent on the hose. Even then, she drew in more of the airs she craved, before she leaned over to Bren and, cradling his head, covered his mouth with her lips and blew into him the poison she had brewed in her body.
Hato watched as a river of her exhalations poured into Bren. His lord’s body instinctively rejected the treacherous gift, contorting even as Khalia persisted. Bren’s hands fisted at his sides. Hato remembered. His lord’s lungs would be burning by now, smoldering like a stove’s glowing coals. His lord’s mind would be hazy, his recollections detached, his vision blurry. Already his pupils had contracted into mere slits.
Poor Bren had no chance against Khalia.
Wisps of colored smoke escaped from Khalia’s nostrils when she spoke. “Did you plant the wine that killed the lord of Konia?”
“No,” Bren mumbled.
“Did you or any of your men have anything to do with the deceit that killed Lord Arnulf and many of his people?”
“No,” he said again, louder, with more assurance.
“Have you, by direct order, innuendo or any other means commanded ill against Konia’s back borders, its seed house or its rightful rulers?”
“I’d never betray my friends—”
Grabbing a fistful of Bren’s short hair, Khalia pulled hard. “Yes or no only. Did you or your men conspire against Konia?”
Bren hissed between clenched teeth. “No.”
Hato’s jaw locked in a clench as Khalia kissed Bren again, filling him with more of her dangerous breath.
“Did you breach the seal of Konia’s testament box?” she asked.
“No,” Bren said, repressing a coughing fit.
Hato knew that a man could only stand a few truth-inducing breaths from an expert inhaler before his own breath was tainted with death and his burning lungs began to sizzle.
“My lady,” Hato said, “he’s not looking well—”
“Shut up, Hato,” Khalia said. “Peace will not be thwarted today.” She returned her attention to Bren. “My lord Brennus, did you murder a woman at, near or around the Thirteenth Temple of the Lesser Gods?”
Puffs of pink smoke dribbled from Bren’s ashen lips. “I did not.”
“Do you know who committed such murder?”
“I suspect—”
“Did you see who committed the murder?”
“No.” The pink breath seeping from Bren’s nostrils glowed with truth’s healthy tones.
“Have you knowingly committed a crime against Teos or your fellow highborn?”
“No.”
Hato exhaled in quiet relief. So far, his lord was doing well.
But then Khalia asked. “Have you violated the code?”
“No … “ A sudden flare of gray smoke. “Maybe … I—I don’t know.”
Hato’s belly plummeted to his feet. He wanted to wipe off Orell’s knowing smile with his fist. Ernilda seemed to be fascinated by the darker bubbles trickling from Bren’s mouth and nose. Lusielle’s frank face betrayed open alarm. Khalia contemplated the wisps of gray smoke quickly dissolving in the air.
“Interesting,” she said. “You seem to be confused, my lord. Allow us to help you. Have you violated the code’s first provision?”
“No.”
“The second or the third provision?”
“No.”
“The fourth provision?”
A gray puff came again, together with a hoarse, reflexive croak. “No.”
“This merits some further inquiry.”
Hato could do nothing but stand by helplessly as Khalia’s blew more breath into Bren’s mouth, pushing the airs beyond his throat with pervasive huffs, until Bren’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.
“Stop!” Lusielle said. “You’re going to kill him!”
“Is that so?” A cruel smile warped Khalia’s lips. “Has he told you what the code’s fourth provision is all about?”
Lusielle wrung her hands and shook her head.
“You could find it interesting.” Khalia puffed out a sequence of colored rings, flaunting her lungs’ massive power as well as her breath’s incomparable endurance. When the last of her rings uncurled into fleeting strings, she bent over a nearly senseless Bren again, forcing her reserves into his lungs.
“Do you want her?” she whispered in his ear. “Do you care for her?”
“No—”A storm of black clouds seethed from his mouth.
“You cannot lie to us,” Khalia said without pity or compassion. “We’ll ask again, Lord of Laonia, and this time, you better tell the truth or die by your lies. Do you have feelings for her?”
“Aye,” he rasped, convulsing in her arms.
With a shrug, Khalia shoved the senseless man off her lap. Lusielle rushed to care for Bren. Khalia took in a deep cleansing breath. Hato spotted the weariness settling over her. She always looked a few years older after a session, exhausted and vulnerable as she prepared to issue her verdict.
Hato remembered the times, long ago, when he had nourished his then wife after a practice session or two. He had been a supportive fellow back then, ignorant of her true promise and unsuspecting of the rift her craft would cause between them. In honor of the naive young man he had once been, he poured a cool drink and handed it to Khalia.
She nodded in gratitude.
“Affection,” Hato said. “Even when it happens across ranks, it’s not a crime, you know.”
“But it should be.” Khalia gulped down the drink. “The Lord of Laonia is innocent of the claims against him,” she said wearily. “He didn’t plot against Konia and he didn’t kill that woman at the temple. There’s no crime here to be punished. Suriek knew better than to regulate affairs of the heart. A highborn would have to enter into a marriage contract with a baseborn to break the code, and yet they always feel guilty anyway.”
“Why do you think that is?” Hato asked.
“Have you forgotten?” Khalia’s red-rimmed eyes fixed on Hato’s. “A deep affection is as destructive and compromising as the most terrible of crimes.”
Chapter Fifty-four
THE WORLD WHIRLED AROUND BREN. LUSIELLE’S concerned face hovered above him. He couldn’t quite remember what had just happened. He recalled the moments before the inquiry, but nothing more after the intense burning of the inhaler’s breath had penetrated his lungs. His heart sank. By the deeply carved lines on Lusielle’s usually smooth forehead, he gathered that the Chosen must have found him guilty of many, many crimes.
The inhaler’s spicy breath wafted from his pores. His mouth was dry as ashes, but he managed to ask, “What happened?”
“She’s found you innocent of all claims.” Lusielle’s face showed none of the relief he felt.
She was right to be worried. Orell was on the brink of challenging the Chosen’s finding. Khalia looked like a sickly drunk. The Konian testament box still had to be opened. To top it all, the ague was screeching in his ears, growing into a full-on episode, right in front of all of these witnesses.
“You need your strength.” Lusielle held the flask against his lips. “Drink.”
The tonic moistened his parched mouth, refreshed his throat and warmed his belly, sending a surge of vitality to counter his weariness. It couldn’t overcome the ague’s debilitating symptoms—nothing could—but with his strength renewed, he could at least function through the pain and focus beyond the shrieking noise piercing his brain.
“Are you all right?” Lusielle whispered.
He winced. “I’m going to have to be.”
Khalia appropriated Konia’s box from Hato. “And now, to the next order of business.” Using her most condescending tone yet, she snapped her fingers to get Lusielle’s attention and gestured towards a corner in the chamber. “Fix us a soothing potion for the headache.”
Bren real
ized that Lusielle had been right all along. Highborn were arrogant and conceited, egotistical, self-important and downright stupid. Until this moment, Bren had believed that the ruling responsibilities of his class required absolute authority. But witnessing the Chosen’s behavior confirmed Lusielle’s view. There were no advantages to the ill-treatment of others, only empty posturing.
With a slight widening of her eyes, Lusielle dissuaded him from taking action. She looked to the box instead, encouraging him without words to finish this, before she turned to the task of selecting her ingredients from her remedy case and from Khalia’s well-stocked shelves. It was wise counsel and he knew it.
Khalia called on her attendant and picked out another packet from the tray. The servant poured the contents into the fire, which flared with blue sparks. Khalia drew on the hose then blew out a mouthful of blue smoke over the box. The smoke turned to ashes as it landed on and around the wax seal, highlighting every detail of it, settling into every nook and crevice. A light blue ring defined the seal’s unbroken edges, sticking stubbornly to the box.
“The seal hasn’t been disturbed.” Khalia held up the box so that everyone would see. “What say you, my lords and lady?”
Ernilda nodded, but Orell squinted, no doubt trying to find some evidence that might shed doubt on the Chosen’s conclusion. However, not even Orell could find fault with the precision of the inhaler’s ashes.
“Let’s proceed.” With a stern tug, Khalia broke the seal and opened the box.
Bren had to remind himself to take a breath. It was just as Irina had said. Two envelopes rested against the blue velvet, along with a large roll of parchment, Konia’s lordship ring, the keys to Arnulf’s vault and … there it was, a small leather pouch marked with Bren’s name in bold black letters.
“Let’s see what harvest the old fox reaped for us.” Khalia picked up the first letter and read it aloud. “I, Arnulf, ruler of Konia, hereby decree my grandson Marcus to be my lawful heir before the Chosen of Teos and the Triad. I grant him to the Lord of Laonia’s guardianship and I beg of Teos the preservation of Konia’s rightful rule in trust until such time as the child becomes of ruling age.”
“A guardianship and a rule in trust.” Khalia smiled as she folded the letter. “The old fox knew how to please. The gods don’t make men that shrewd anymore.”
“Not a word about the girls,” Ernilda said.
“He knew we’d take good care of them,” Hato said.
“I wasn’t talking about them needing care,” Ernilda said. “I was talking about them needing rule.”
Khalia unfolded Arnulf’s second letter. It contained only a crookedly written sentence. “The foe hides in friendship’s shadows, where we come to escape the sun’s angry glare.”
“That’s surely an accusation against Laonia’s lord,” Orell said. “A deceitful ally hides in the shadows.”
“Then why didn’t Arnulf just accuse Laonia’s lord of deceit outright?” Khalia said.
“Because he knew that the Lord of Laonia would be the one to find the box,” Orell said.
“And how did Arnulf know that?”
“Because of the poisoned wine barrel which killed him and his people,” Orell said as if it should be obvious to everyone. “The barrel bore Brennus’s personal seal!”
“The inquiry clearly established that Lord Brennus had nothing to do with Arnulf’s death, but for your lord’s sake, beware, Orell. Your lord detests fools as much as we do.”
Bren was outraged at the inequity of it all. Khalia had never mentioned the details pertaining to the wine, the barrel and the seal during her inquiry. Orell had slipped. He could only know those details if he had planned the murders on behalf of his lord. Khalia wasn’t daft. Based on what Orell had said, she could have submitted Orell to the airs. But no, she was obviously protecting Riva’s dog. Peace was more important to Teos than justice and blindness was required to keep the peace.
Bren knew better than to challenge the Chosen openly when so much was at stake, but he swore, if the gods granted him the chance, he would avenge Arnulf’s death. Orell and Riva would pay for their crimes and the Chosen would have to atone for her injustices.
Khalia squeezed the bridge of her nose, wincing. “Where’s that soothing potion?”
“Coming.” Lusielle poured and stirred at the same time she delivered the drink to Khalia, who didn’t even bother to thank her.
Bren watched as Khalia took a few sips and set the cup aside. She lifted the massive key of Konia’s vault in the air, then unrolled and displayed Konia’s ornate charter for all to see. A witnessing was a formal affair. Bren knew Khalia would be thorough, but his heart skipped a beat when her fingers toyed with the pouch bearing his name.
“And what might this be?” Khalia shook the little roll out of the pouch. “Don’t look so cross, my lord, it’s just an old verse. See? We’ve never seen such fine parchment before.”
Bren glimpsed the same kind of luminous vellum that was used in Lambage’s strip, the same gilded edges decorated with the miniature gold and silver blooms, the same angular calligraphy and sparkling black ink that had dazzled his eyes before.
He put out his hand. “You promised, my lady.”
“We agreed to give into your possession anything in this box marked with your name.” Khalia fitted the little roll back into the pouch and dropped it in the box. “We didn’t say when we’d give it to you.”
Bren clenched so hard his teeth ached. Only Hato’s clutch on his arm prevented him from wringing the woman’s neck on the spot. He didn’t have time for games. He found his outrage echoed in Hato’s eyes. Orell, on the other hand, looked quite smug at the moment.
“You’ll get your fine parchment when we’re ready to part with it,” Khalia said. “Now leave, all of you, before we call the guards.” She lifted a single finger in the air when Bren tried to speak again. “We tire of so much unhappiness. You might yet end up with the yearlings.”
Ernilda walked out of the chamber obediently. Orell strutted out the door like a peacock in courtship. Hato’s stern hand pushed Bren towards the door. Bren balked then reached out to take Lusielle’s hand and lead her out of the snake pit.
“Lusielle can stay if she wants,” Khalia said.
“She doesn’t want to,” Bren said.
The look on Lusielle’s face told him that she wasn’t looking forward to Khalia’s company, but she was staying behind all the same.
“No!” Bren struggled to keep his temper in check. “You can’t stay here. You can’t trust her either.”
“Lusielle may be baseborn,” Khalia said, “but she’s free to choose. Who are we to stand in the way of her choices?”
“You don’t care about anyone,” Bren said, “least of all, Lusielle or her choices—”
Lusielle turned to Hato. “Take your lord to the barge, now, before it’s too late,” she said.
“And you, my lord Brennus?” Khalia said. “What other endeavor inspires you other than saving your pathetic, worthless little life?”
Bren opened his mouth. He started to tell Khalia that Teos had rotted her soul and obliterated her heart; that she was nothing but a splintered cog on a broken wheel; that the day she deserted Hato to climb Teos’s steep ladder she had joined the ranks of the lowliest, flesh-eating maggots devouring the land.
He didn’t get to it.
Only a croak made it out of his throat before Hato’s fist struck. Then there was darkness, overtaking even the realization that he might never see Lusielle again.
Chapter Fifty-five
LUSIELLE WATCHED IN SILENCE AS HATO dragged Bren out of the chamber. Better senseless than dead. A Chosen of Teos had little use for tolerance and Bren had been about to cross a tenuous boundary. Turning her back to the lady Khalia, Lusielle held up a single finger. One hour. That’s all she needed. As the door closed, she couldn’t tell if Hato saw or understood her discreet gesture. Either way, her life was at stake.
With a wave of the Ch
osen’s hand, the attendant left the room and the door clicked shut. Lusielle was alone with the Chosen. The lady Khalia massaged her temples. The headache was still tormenting her. Lusielle went back to the well-stocked shelves and, after carefully selecting a few additional ingredients from her case, added them to her boiling brew, before refilling the Chosen’s cup and blowing on it to cool the mixture.
The lady savored the warm drink, downing it in little gulps. “How do you manage to offer relief so quickly?”
“Fast is to slow what the measure is to the whole,” Lusielle said, cleaning the counter and sorting out her ingredients. “It’s all a matter of timing and proportions.”
“We really could use your skills. You’d enjoy the learning Teos offers.”
Lusielle snapped her case shut and turned to face the lady. “I stayed behind for a very specific purpose.”
If the Chosen had appeared weary just moments before, she now looked eager. She gestured towards the tray. “Bring it to me.”
Lusielle picked up the copper tray and carried it over to the lady, who selected the single, largest packet, tore the elaborate stitches at the top and gave it to Lusielle. “Pour it in.”
The strong scents emanating from the packet tested Lusielle’s nose. She must have detected the presence of at least some twenty different ingredients in the mix, some more familiar than others. She hesitated before pouring the coarse powder into the hose.
“Is this a trial?”
“Aye.”
“Is it the trial that the verse I spotted on Hato’s journal spoke of?”
“It’s similar in purpose but not the same.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Three times I’ve run the airs for this purpose.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
