Sellemar slightly arched his brows. ‘Probably not the ideal place for such an untidy affair,’ he considered briefly. He scanned the room thoughtfully, hoping that inspiration would strike him for a creative next blow. “This is true,” he ceded after a moment. “I have always traveled with someone who is far better than I at such barbaric methods of retrieving information…” He paused as he strode to the fireplace behind the Helven, raising the poker from beside the fire. ‘Messy…’ He pivoted, returning to the councilmember’s side. “But you provide me with few options. I cannot ‘make a deal’ with you. The formation of such arrangements is what has allowed you to conceal your crimes for so long.”
Cahsari’s eyes fell on the poker and for a moment, they held a flicker of genuine fear. His confidence was waning and Sellemar’s lack of experience in such an art was only instilling further anxiety within the councilmember.
‘Perhaps,’ he imagined Cahsari thought, ‘the otherwise-talented male will deal a mistakenly fatal blow in his attempt to cause sufficient pain.’
Sellemar sighed, flipping the poker casually. “I am endeavoring to determine how I might make best use of this… instrument. I suppose, if you are rather inclined, we could experiment and discover what loosens your tongue.”
Cahsari swallowed audibly. “What do I care? You will kill me when we’re through, whether or not I tell you the entirety of the council’s business.”
Sellemar brandished the device once more, elevating the ash-coated end to the Helven’s nose. “No. Worse. I will inject you with a dose of Noctemrian and you shall wake up drooling in the city square with a list of your crimes hanging about your neck. And not a fragment of memory of how you arrived there.” Sellemar pressed a little further until the dusty end rested against the male’s beak. “But do not suggest that I am not generous—I shall hang the evidence against your fellow council members as well. That way the lot of you dishonored cowards can have company for the next thousand years while you shit in buckets and eat the waste from the palace dining halls.”
The imagery was elegance itself, but the vulture merely shuddered. His eyes crossed briefly as he regarded the instrument, which now likely seemed an emblem of good fortune. His voice emerged with a crack. “If I tell you, you will keep my son from this fate.”
“Why? Because he is innocent?”
“He is—”
“NOT innocent,” Sellemar interjected sharply. “I told you I do not offer concessions to men like you. If your son has committed crimes—and he has—then he too shall be held responsible. Worse than his sexual exploitation of the human women is his dealings in Ulasum’s Tooth. Elvorium is plagued by a generation of vagrants who while away their time drinking poison; they dream of the glorious days that once were beneath the True Bloods instead of seeking splendor for their own generation.” His voice dropped into a growl that would have stilled even a lycanthrope. “Certainly this complacency enables you to easily maintain your power.” He lowered the poker, careful not to drip ash on the thakish fur.
“Of course the people cling to the True Bloods,” Cahsari spat. “Before them, they clung to the image of Eraydon. Every several thousand years or so they hoist a new symbol up on a pedestal, perceiving it to represent something greater than their current fortune. No one wants to acknowledge that this shithole we call life is all there ever has been… and all there ever will be. If elves like myself have come to terms with that truth and are ready to grasp what we can in this life, we are being rewarded for our understanding of reality. We are not dreaming of a past that never was or a future that never will be.”
Sellemar stiffened. “Sevrigel was once a noble nation. Males like you and your son have torn her down.” ‘My people were once greater than this pacified herd!’ He jabbed at Cahsari’s chest, restraining the blow just enough to bruise the flesh. “What did you tell the country when you sentenced the centaurs at the Sevilan Marshes to die? ‘We’re protecting the emblem of the goddess.’ And to the traditionalists: ‘the True Bloods counseled us to save the phoenix.’ Lies. You fabricated that ‘reality’ in the minds of the people and in Taemrin’s army. You create the lie of a perfect world and then fill your coffers with the rewards that the complacency of your subjects bestows. How many elves did Taemrin lose in those marshes?” He jabbed at Cahsari again, striking him beside the first blow. “How many? Do you even comprehend the weight of souls your greed has cost?!”
Cahsari grimaced in silence.
“No wonder Taemrin chose to fight to every male’s last breath instead of surrendering. He was likely relieved to die after having lost so many of the country’s sons festering on a hill in the raging heat—all while you procured even greater wealth. Defeat. Depression. Trauma. Do you not see that because of you Saebellus sits on this throne?! That he now marches across the country and slaughters your brethren?!”
Sellemar gave a final, solid blow beside the second, watching as the Helven clenched his teeth. “I know Ilrae owned The Black Queen. He could not have destroyed all of the evidence—not a business male like Ilrae. Papers must exist somewhere. Something he wrote, signed… I know you are disgustingly close to that bastard Fildor, and Fildor allowed The Black Queen passage through the Windari Channel. And he informed me that Ilrae asked you to conceal the papers and money until the uproar over the demon incident subsides.”
Cahsari grunted as Sellemar dropped the poker to his side, observing his smudged shirt with dismay. Apparently, he was fully intending to ignore Sellemar’s accusations. “Not all of us are so eager to look like paupers,” he growled spitefully, eyeing the hem of Sellemar’s shirt.
Sellemar did not have to look down to know that another hole undoubtedly graced his clothing. ‘I must get myself a damn cat,’ he groaned. But that was a matter for another day. “Ignore what I said, but you shall know when you stand before the gods what evil and destruction your vices have wrought upon our land. But I am wasting my breath discussing politics and reality with you, Cahsari. My point remains: no mercy shall be given to those who tear my country down. Not for you. Not for your son. Not for Ilsevel. The next time I brandish this—”
“Poker.”
Sellemar’s eyes narrowed. “—will be the last time we speak pleasantly to one another.”
The Helven wiggled, struggling for a climactic display of defiance. But while Sellemar could not boast of his skills in the art of torture, he was damn fine at tying knots.
Finding no leniency in his bonds, Cahsari redoubled his efforts in rambling to delay the next blow. “You are the El’adorium. We have all seen the way that Ilsevel looks at you. And we know what you are paid. You live in a shithole, but it could be great. You could have the queen as your mistress. You could have power second only to hers and yet… You throw it all away. You are an ideological fool.”
Sellemar raised the poker sharply. “I warned you.”
A loud knock rang out from the great hall below, echoing throughout the empty rooms.
Sellemar slapped a hand over the male’s mouth. “Whoever that is just saved you,” he growled. With a swift flick from his pocket and jab of a needle, the Noctemrian flooded the Helven’s veins. He drooped like a wilted plant.
Sellemar withdrew his palm, wiping the drool on the male’s hair, and hastened to his balcony. ‘Who could it be…? Not Ilsevel again.’ But his gut told him otherwise.
“Damn,” he muttered, promptly absorbing the scene below. He held the edge of the white glass door as the wind fought to slam it closed behind him.
Four gold-plated soldiers stood ankle-deep in the snow before his entrance, two behind and two in front of the driftwalking queen. Ilsevel was glancing about the exterior of the estate, a look of mild disgust distorting her features. Her gaze began to turn upward and Sellemar stepped swiftly back into his room.
“Damn it,” he swore again. He sliced Cahsari free from the ropes and crammed him unceremoniously beneath the bed. ‘Why has she come?’ He tossed the broken ropes into the drawer of h
is desk and shoved the chair into its place beside the fire.
Downstairs, he heard the soft creak of the front door swing open.
She certainly wasted no time in intruding.
“Lord Sellemar?” drifted the queen’s melodic voice. Her tone was sweet and welcoming—we have all seen the way Ilsevel looks at you—but Sellemar knew a more sinister game was afoot.
He slicked back his unruly hair as he strode quickly from the room. Still, he could not fathom what she sought. He swung around the narrow hallway to emerge on the landing above the entryway. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, leaning over the railing. “I was not expecting you. What a pleasant surprise.” He felt his tone lacked emphasis and so he amended his greeting with a dashing smile. Unfortunately, he suspected this gesture was as weak as his words; he had never possessed a talent for acting. Charisma and discretion: those were Itirel’s duty—even Sairel had been more adept at them in his youth.
And that was remarkable.
Ilsevel looked up from where she ran her hand along the banister of the staircase, her eyes darting briskly across the dark marble hall as though making certain that he was alone. Then she turned her face upward until the torchlight fell across her features in a particular way. The angle was slightly unnatural, but Sellemar could only assume she was trying to achieve a certain appearance in the lantern light.
He smoothed his shirt, finger catching in the atrocious hole Cahsari had so generously identified. Damn, he had not changed. Still, he began to descend the stairs. “Your Majesty—”
“Oh no, remain there,” Ilsevel replied, holding up her hand. “I see your home is still as empty as when I visited you last.” She drew her snow-dappled shawl about her shoulders and feigned a shiver. “It’s terribly drafty in this old place, isn’t it? How appalling of my late husband to reward you with such a hovel. But… you must have a warmer room. Somewhere where you… spend your time?”
“Only my office. My bedroom, as it were. Sadly the room serves two purposes and—” Sellemar began, but saw the smile grow. “I can light the fires in the sitting room downstairs. The place should warm quickly enough,” he began hurriedly, taking another step down.
He could see a dangerous flame light behind her eyes, but it was quenched the moment he perceived it. She flashed a broader smile. “No need. I would love to see your office. It must be quite hospitable if you have not bothered to maintain the rest of your estate. What is it, I wonder, that you do with all the wealth you have earned?”
Sellemar’s body stilled. The queen had reached the stairs and was ascending gracefully to his level.
His lips twitched uncontrollably between a smile and a grimace, and his mind tried frantically to recall if any appendage of Cahsari’s body was still protruding from beneath his bed. ‘His foot. I believe his foot!’
“Is it this way?” Ilsevel inquired as she reached the hallway. “I see a light…”
Sellemar hurried to lead the way. “Yes. It is. But I am afraid that work has kept me so busy and I am certain that it is terribly messy—a mess. Just everywhere. Things strewn. The floor. I think the walls. Probably the ceiling. I would be mortified if your majesty saw—”
But Ilsevel progressed onward even while he stammered his protestations. He gave a sharp intake of breath as her hand rested on the handle.
‘If she finds him I will be forced to abscond with her and lock her away.’
Ilsevel threw open the door and stepped inside. “Ah!”
Sellemar hurried past her, nearly knocking her over in his haste. Cahsari’s foot was nowhere to be seen.
“The place is spotl—”
Sellemar swiftly snatched the poker from where it still lay on the marble floor. “A mess. Like I said,” he explained weakly, leaning it against the fireplace. The rest of the room glistened with dustless perfection.
Ilsevel closed the door softly behind her. She gave a slow wink. “Why, if I did not know better, I would say you didn’t want me in your room.”
Sellemar’s hand slipped off the poker and it clattered to the ground. “Wha—I… Celi—It… You should… I meant…”
Ilsevel giggled, putting her fingers to her lips as she turned to properly investigate his private quarters. “Ah, it is so much warmer up here. I see that this is where you spend all of your time. But not your wealth.” She raised her fingers to the clasp at her neck and flung the cloak away, revealing a dress Sellemar was quite certain violated a prostitute’s understanding of modesty. A high slit in the thigh… a deep V that descended halfway down her torso… ‘Good gods, Cahsari was right… That dress could not have been fashioned on Sevrigel.’
He drew his eyes sharply from the thin folds that fell over the curves of her buttocks. “Your Majesty,” he stated quickly. “I had no warning you were coming and I am afraid that I have made plans to meet with several delegates. I would not wish for them to arrive and find you here.”
Ilsevel feigned deafness to his words. She had glided over to his wardrobe and swung open the polished doors, surveying the clothes inside with a slight cock of her head. “So regal. A true male of nobility,” she whispered. She glanced once over her shoulder. “I like that.” She left it open as she perused the shelves beside it, fingering the old books and parchments absentmindedly. “From the True Bloods, I assume.” She stopped, her finger running down the spine of one of the novels. “The Legend of Eraydon. Far more worn than the rest of this collection. Interesting. Is it yours, my lord?”
Sellemar reached his wardrobe in three brisk strides and closed it with a snap.
Where had he spent his wealth, she had asked. And now apparently she was set on a course to discover the answer for herself.
“No. I know the story quite well. I believe Lord Rilden was fond of history. That era in particular.”
She smiled, drifting away from the shelves and to his desk. “I am a scholar of history, myself…” He saw her cheeks flush, as though embarrassed by the revelation. “Eraydon and his companions awed me as a child. Prince Mesheck, Princess Aura, Prince Ephraim… They lived in a time when the old kings were not afraid to do the work themselves. Tiras was always my favorite, though, willing to do whatever the end required, regardless of the cost…” She opened a drawer of his papers and shook her head slightly. Sellemar was not certain if she was disparaging the mess inside or lamenting her own words. “Ephraim, on the other hand, was a strict follower of the rules. My least preferred. His actions… I think he was always trying to prove himself as good as his father, Ralaris. Always trying to live up to his name…” She opened another drawer. As she withdrew a handful of sliced rope, her smirk grew with a wild flash of her eyes. “But I don’t think you are a male who follows the rules,” she whispered.
Sellemar swallowed. “That is… I… …have no idea.”
She winked. “I can only imagine what you could do with this rope and this room…” She let the rope fall from her fingers and a soft exhale escaped her parted lips.
A soft moan emerged from Cahsari, breaking that moment of silence.
Sellemar started. “That was not me! …I mean, it was me but I… see I have this terrible ache that—”
Ilsevel smiled understandingly, advancing until her body was inches from his own. She blinked slowly, and when her eyes met his again, they were filled with words he could not interpret and certainly did not wish to hear. “Before you revealed your presence to the council, you went by the name of Ralaris, didn’t you?” she whispered, her fingers running down the length of his chest.
“Yes. A savant of history.” Sellemar choked on his own response and hastily stepped away. “It is rather hot in here, is it not? I should open the balcony.” He hurried past her to the doors, throwing them open to feel the relief of being enveloped in the frosty winter air. ‘Good gods, Sellemar, what have you done? You should have gone with Itirel! Already she envisions your neck in a noose—and she will not stop until she sees you fall.’
When he turned around, Ilsevel was seate
d at the edge of his bed. The old mattress sagged slightly, even beneath her light weight, and he imagined Cahsari was finding himself rather cramped beneath it.
And what did she hope to gain from him with her body? “I assure you, the chairs by the fire are far more comfortable.”
Ilsevel laughed once, running her tongue over her upper lip. “Maybe I shall find myself in one of those as well.”
There was another soft moan. This time, Sellemar could not be certain if it was Ilsevel or Cahsari, but the distinction hardly mattered. He had to extricate the queen. Now. “Your Majesty, I am flattered that you should be so concerned about my state of affairs in this manor. I hope that, upon seeing this room for yourself, you can be quite certain that I am well and comfortable.” His eyes flicked out the window to ostentatiously gauge the time of day. “Ah, the delegates shall be arriving shortly. What a tragic interruption to our time… Certainly you will permit me to take you to dinner in exchange?” Sellemar gathered the cloak from the thakish rug, noting that Cahsari’s foot had found its way outside the darkness of the bed. ‘Loedrin’s breath upon you! Even unconscious you are a pain in my ass!’
Ilsevel smiled and blinked, but gave no indication of departing.
Sellemar stepped rapidly to her side, giving Cahsari’s foot a sharp kick.
There was a low moan.
“Sellemar,” Ilsevel breathed, and reached swiftly for his shirt.
Sellemar shoved the cloak into her hand, nearly crumpling her arm against her heavily exposed breasts. “There you are, Your Majesty. To keep you warm on the road. If the delegates should arrive to find you here with me, one could only imagine the scandal.”
Ilsevel could ill afford to harm her fragile reputation. She stood, albeit with regret etched into her features, and clasped the cloak across her slender throat. “Do not worry about finding a time to dine with me, Lord Sellemar. I assure you, I shall be back. I have learned so much about you… too much, our enemies might say.” She brushed his arm as she turned. “I am certain the delegates shall be as entranced by your charm as I am.” Then she stepped from the room, the train of her silk gliding across the floor behind her.
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 33
