Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  ‘Why would you expect Ilsevel to do any good?’ Alvena thought with a huff. ‘Anyone who serves her must be just as wicked.’

  So of course the mess fell on Saebellus’ soldiers to rectify. Adonis expeditiously volunteered. “I will attend to the situation after dinner,” he announced. “Let me be responsible for the matter.”

  Saebellus marched across the mural on the first floor, running his hand briefly across a dusty column as he passed. “No, the relocation and scouting is enough responsibility for you. We will leave this work to those currently in charge… and they shall be held accountable.”

  There was no further sound until they emerged free of the dungeons and Alvena’s unruly stomach began a conversation of its own. She attempted to quietly sidestep along the hallway’s shadows, but the rumbling in her gut was not equally concealed by the darkness. The smell of food was particularly overwhelming, and as they passed the dining hall Alvena spotted why. The room was laden with towering, succulent dishes and goblets filled with wine so cherry red that they seemed a dessert all on their own. The room bore all the necessities to feed high Sel’varian nobility, Saebellus’ most prestigious soldiers, and…

  Alvena let out a squeak and darted past the archway, finding her movement too fast to gather more than the smug expression, sickeningly sweet smile, and voluptuous figure of Ilsevel .

  Saebellus glanced at Alvena’s scampering figure; he arched one blackened brow. “Keep the girl free of Ilsevel’s path. For now, she must remain a prisoner; I did persuade Ilsevel to that concession.”

  ‘So he has not let her have her way!’ Alvena thought at the same moment that Vale muttered a disgruntled curse. Inside, she could glimpse a private dining chamber.

  But just as Alvena’s fears subsided, the warlord added, “Be aware that Ilsevel is not likely to let this matter pass. Making an exhibition of the servant’s death solidifies Ilsevel’s story of Hairem’s suicide. And whether or not that story is relevant any longer—”

  Vale interjected with a snort. “The bitch just has to be right.”

  Saebellus’ head jerked back and Alvena once more fused with the blameless lieutenant. “In here,” he continued as he swung the door to a small room wide.

  ‘The king… holding the door?’ Alvena realized for the first time that Saebellus was not escorted by guards as she would have expected. Hairem had always been accompanied by at least Erallus, and quite frequently by two soldiers of his personal guard. His lack of defense could only attest to arrogance or great personal strength… and Alvena held the impression that it was the latter.

  She swallowed her fearful awe.

  “Sit,” he commanded, and drew out her high-backed chair.

  As Alvena obediently thumped into her seat, her unabashed stomach rumbled once more to life. She pitched her book carelessly under her seat. The small, round table was lavished with heavily spiced meats, colorful fruit, and an assortment of raw, mixed vegetables. At the center was a simple, round, flaky bun that was bursting with white frothy cream.

  Saebellus was the first to reach for the food, and he was terribly slow at filling his plate. Alvena wiggled restlessly, tapping her little silver charm against her breast. Did she have to wait until he was done grappling with those berries? Vale and Adonis were dolloping their plates already… but should she wait? She was just a servant girl. Rather, used to be a servant girl. Whatever she was now was certainly lower than even that.

  “Eat,” Saebellus instructed.

  Alvena started, quickly dropping her charm and snagging the closest vegetable onto her plate.

  Saebellus seemed satisfied with the act and his attention returned to his subordinates. “You two were up late. Again.”

  Alvena stared down at her randomly snatched atrocity. Damn it! Did she have to eat this now? Gods, she hated mourifel! It tasted like grass.

  Vale, contrarily, had a steaming, golden leg. He waved it about as he replied snappishly, “You had Adonis on Sellemar’s ass again, so what do you expect? I can’t sleep when he’s not around!”

  Alvena froze. ‘Sellemar!’ Somehow, she had forgotten Adonis’ orders to follow the lord the moment she had severed her connection with his generosity: while her watchers had been sleeping, she had hurled Sellemar’s invaluable letter into the safety of the fire. The incriminating mandate inscribed therein—instructing any True Blood follower to assist her—was now no more than a pile of ash.

  Saebellus dropped the last bit of his food rather forcefully. “That is no excuse, Captain,” he barked. “You were late again. The new recruits will not respect me if they do not respect you.”

  Alvena glanced at Vale, who scoffed so brazenly that she sank a little deeper in her chair. “There are twenty men,” the captain stated. “One of them is so god-damn old my father wasn’t even yet a seed when this man dropped from his old lady’s legs.”

  Saebellus’ napkin cracked in the air as he shook it loose. “His name is Kevus and he has experience. He was among Geldin Laeris’ most elite mercenaries before he retired.”

  “He retired,” Vale muttered, “because he’s so god-damn old.”

  “Vale,” Saebellus reproached through a bite small enough that his words went unhindered. “He is an extremely reputable mage and you will find him useful. You will utilize his skills or I will station you as target practice.”

  Vale shot Alvena a scathing glare as though she was responsible for his rebuke.

  ‘You’re the one provoking him,’ she thought sourly, and jutted out her bottom lip in disdain.

  Vale grunted. “He doesn’t say a word.”

  “And I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that.”

  Vale slouched dramatically to emphasize his impatience. “No. He just stares at me intensely, all day long… as though he wants to snap my neck.”

  Saebellus cocked his head and needlessly brushed the napkin on his lap. “And this is an uncommon reaction?”

  Alvena snickered to herself while Adonis chuckled.

  “Oh, hah. You are hilarious. Have your laugh at my misfortune.”

  Alvena did, but Adonis coughed into his hand and carefully positioned his fingers over his pale lips. The creases about his eyes, however, remained deep. “Perhaps we can put the new recruits to work on locating Cahsari…?—I am assuming the male has not yet been found.”

  Saebellus’ amusement died instantly. “No.”

  The grim decline in tone sobered Adonis as well, and Alvena felt her delight snuffed out. By Sel’ari this dinner was a bore! “Well, if none of the Watch saw him leave the city, he must still be within.”

  “That is what we thought about Alvena,” Saebellus replied, and six eyes shifted to inspect her briefly.

  She feigned obsession with the evil green lump on her plate.

  Vale waved the gravity from the air with a casual flick of his turkey leg. Then he took an inappropriately large mouthful and uttered something Alvena could only assume was to be translated as, “It’s been four days.”

  Saebellus was not quite as capable. “What?” he demanded.

  Vale’s jaws rapidly flexed as he attempted to chew his grotesque mouthful.

  “I think what he is saying,” Adonis offered gravely, “is that Cahsari is dead.”

  Vale inclined the turkey leg in Adonis’ favor and nodded once. “The Refifthance thrikes agaim,” he gurgled triumphantly.

  Alvena watched a little dribble of brown juice journey down his chin. ‘Barbaric. You could have been trying to eat a little this whole time instead of attempting to shove it all down your throat,’ she sniffed. Why, he didn’t even have the proper table manners of a palace servant!

  “If the rebel faction has ‘struck again,’ it is only because you have failed to find them,” Saebellus growled with equal disgust.

  “ME?” Vale gave a garish gulp followed by a mildly delayed gasp. “You have suggested that Sellemar is in some way involved—so wouldn’t that make this Adonis’ fault?” He wiped the back of his h
and across his chin and thrust the dangling leg at his lover. A little spray of turkey juice flew from the brandished meat and landed next to Adonis’ plate.

  The lieutenant’s pale eyes creased with irritation.

  Saebellus ignored the indignation, tapping his wine glass on the gilded tablecloth. “Frankly, I do not care about Cahsari. If the rebels have disposed of him, they will have done me a favor.” His eyes met Vale’s then, and the captain shrank.

  ‘Oh, what has he done now?’ Alvena wondered smugly. Clearly Vale had a whole slew of transgressions against Saebellus!

  The king’s next words capitalized on the prickling atmosphere. “What,” he began in a tone so delicate that Alvena held her breath, “has happened to our other missing friend?”

  Vale’s mouth opened and hung as heavy as a wet bedsheet.

  “Vale has it handled,” Adonis quickly intervened. He tapped his lover’s jaw shut. “Do not worry, Saebel.”

  The warlord’s head tilted ever so slightly and Adonis quickly busied himself with his food. ‘You are on your own,’ his actions read.

  How Alvena loved to see the captain squirm!

  “Adonis is right. I have the situation managed,” Vale mumbled, flailing his wine glass about before downing it in full.

  There was a clink as Saebellus’ knife ruptured through the meat on his plate, but his overall countenance remained unsettlingly still.

  “Oh come, Saebel.” Vale attempted a weak laugh.

  “I have been informed—and not by you—that Jerah is now on Ryekarayn. Where the True Bloods are.”

  “They would never consider allying themselves with the likes of him.”

  Alvena’s nose scrunched. Who was an enemy so great to Saebellus and yet so repulsive to the True Bloods?

  Saebellus feigned consideration, an expression altogether more terrifying than if he had just let out a roar. “I suppose, now that I have acquired the throne, I ought to take chances with such matters.”

  Vale could stand the pressure no longer and tossed his turkey leg forcefully onto his plate. “Alright, the fucking beast is on Ryekarayn!”

  The Beast?!

  “What of it?” Vale continued. “The mercenaries are there as well. If Jerah isn’t already dead, he will be. If he falls into the hands of the True Bloods, you can string me up by my genitals—that’s how god-damn certain I am that this will be dealt with!”

  That type of response certainly offered Vale some weight, yet Saebellus was unimpressed. Of course he wanted the Beast disposed of! The creature had crippled General Taemrin’s defenses on more than one occasion and the new king could certainly not afford such retaliation. “While I would enjoy holding you to that absurd promise, I cannot afford even the most mundane pleasures. As Jerah is now on Ryekarayn, the only reasonable course is to assign the matter to another.”

  Sense had now abandoned Vale entirely and he slammed a fist in outrage. “You contacted Relstavum?! That god-damn human was the one who told me to hire Hazamareth and Tsuki to begin with! If this is anyone’s fault, it is his!”

  “Then you should be happy to transfer responsibility of the matter onto him,” Saebellus replied coolly.

  “Let this go,” Adonis murmured.

  Vale sat back stiffly with an acknowledging grunt.

  “And even dead,” Saebellus added softly, as though trying to smooth his captain’s disheveled scales, “Relstavum might utilize him.”

  ‘No one should have use of the Beast,’ Alvena thought, but they certainly cared nothing for her qualms. She loured at her plate and reached for a chunk of bread and meat. She would, at least, eat the good things first. Then maybe she could cut up the mourifel and slide it around her plate a bit. Lardol had always yelled at her for that, but he was no longer here to shake admonishment. Her face fell.

  “In addition, I have a more pressing matter for you and Adonis to address.” Saebellus reclined in his chair, setting his utensils down and lifting the napkin to wipe his lips.

  Vale’s crossed arms demonstrated that he was still mildly disgruntled, but he nevertheless elevated his gaze. Adonis too had paused from his meal to engage. Now that the room was silent, Alvena was wholly aware of how terribly loud her chewing must sound and reduced herself to merely prodding at her cooling food in contempt.

  “In a month,” Saebellus began, “you are to travel to the Ruljarian city, Raestra, along the Velhar River. These are the councilmember Ilrae’s people.”

  She heard Adonis’ breath catch.

  “You are to capture them, kill the resisters, and bring the compliers to Elvorium for relocation. I want the Noc’olari fully transferred before the battle.”

  Alvena fought down the images of the dead that had haunted her for weeks. ‘It was because of the humans that the elves suffered,’ she had told herself. But now that excuse held little weight. What had the Ruljenari done to deserve the same violent fate?

  She watched Adonis push his vegetables across his plate, equally as unsettled. “…Saebellus, the humans and the Noc’olari were a verdict I can accept… but what are Ilsevel’s reasons for the Ruljenari?”

  Saebellus’ broad chest expanded. “Our reasons, Adonis. Ilsevel is my wife. These decisions are made mutually.”

  Vale scoffed. “Dragon shit. You’ve made one god-damn call since Ilsevel straddled you and it was about the fucking mute.”

  The shadows in the room elongated, enveloping the light from the chandelier. Alvena now was sitting straighter, lifting her little shoes free of the floor lest they get her as well. “The reasons given to war the previous races apply as well to the Ruljenari. The elves of this country have become accustomed to moral folly. Relocating the elven races is the most efficient method of disrupting both the rebellious factions and their own self-interests. As they have refused to submit willingly to this act, you shall bring them here by force. Although this method might be harsh, we have risen past the tolerance for inaction.”

  Alvena looked to Adonis for direction, but the male’s lips were drawn and his hands interlocked tightly together.

  The mantle for confrontation thus fell to Vale. “…Keep this course and the world will start calling you the Mad King,” he muttered in a barely audible tone, suggesting that he half-hoped the warlord would not hear him. “A terrible, terrible, terrible lie, as the mad king lives, his people die.”

  “Get out.”

  Alvena saw the shadows engulf those of the chandelier and she recoiled for fear that the great, golden adornment would come crashing down upon them.

  Beside the glowering captain, Adonis extended a supplicating hand. “Vale is just expressing his belief that these wars do not adhere to our vision.” Alvena doubted this was entirely true—after all, the captain was clearly evil. Still, Adonis continued, “Slaughtering mass numbers of Sevrigel’s inhabitants is what turned us away from the council. We are now treading down the very road we once despised.”

  Alvena could see Saebellus’ eyes flicker incomprehensibly and she wondered what emotions Adonis had stirred. “This is what I want, Adonis,” he finally whispered. “Visions evolve.”

  “I think,” Adonis dared to continue, “that this is what Ilsevel wants.”

  The muscles along the pallid jaw popped and Saebellus’ lips curled to reveal gritted teeth. “This is my decision, Adonis. Ilsevel has helped me to see that my vision was not enough. More than the old government must fall.”

  “Loneliness is more dangerous than the most potent of poisons.”

  Saebellus set his glass down with such force that Alvena feared it would shatter. “Do not question me again, Adonis.”

  Yet, to Alvena’s horror, Adonis continued. “The ends justify the means?—If they do, why did we not complete our orders to massacre the sirens?”

  Saebellus stood, sliding his chair back with a grating scrape. His expression was still indecipherable. “Adonis. Vale. You will address Elvorium’s prisoners and those that Turlondiel brings from Tadorwen. Then you will go to Raestra
and you will escort the survivors here. That is an order, Adonis. If you do not like my methods, you may leave.”

  With a flutter of hope, Alvena’s head swiveled. This was his chance to walk away!

  But Adonis’ face had grown instantly apologetic. His head bowed sharply. “I’m sorry, Saebel. Sit down. Eat with us.”

  Saebellus flung his napkin across the table. “And keep a close eye on that child. I am clearly too weak to restrain Ilsevel for long.” And then he staunchly left the room.

  Alvena tensed, recalling the smug, fat lips of the queen just a hall’s width away. Would Saebellus truly relinquish her to that witch?

  No… he was just furious with his subordinate’s attacks… Her gaze drifted back to the two males, but they had leaned in close to grimly whisper without her.

  Her eyes slid to her plate, the mourifel chunks swimming about her meal. Even without their presence, her appetite had vanished. She lifted the knife and slid it slowly across her plate. What if Adonis and Vale were right… what if Saebellus was weak to the queen’s whims…?

  Her fingers tightened and she slipped her hand into her lap. How long did she truly have before Ilsevel came for her?

  She crossed her legs, letting the folds of her skirt envelop the blade.

  *

  When the three had finished their meals and returned to the bedroom, Alvena retreated to her divan. A blanket of plush, white fur awaited her there and she reclined herself comfortably within. Adonis had recently purchased the gift for her to nestle beneath when the night’s fire would die. She stuffed the knife securely between the cushions, the blade wrapped snuggly in the folds of her cloth napkin, and opened her book upon her lap.

  ‘Aha! I recognize you!’ she accused the round, green flowers that blossomed in the picture. ‘I picked you for Ilsevel.’ She scanned the accompanying text, noting the galientris’ high level of toxicity. ‘If only I had stuffed you down her throat instead of into her hand.’