Their alert heightened as four guards led Nimae into the room and pushed him into the seat at the furthest end of the tables, his hands and feet chained. The door swung closed, the latches and heavy bolts thrown. Ralaern and Surie stood with their backs to the door, hands clasped behind them, poised and observant.
From the end of the table closest to the door, Aeley and Lira greeted each guest. Pellon stood behind them, watching each hand and expression, his own features unreadable. Tash and Gorgan remained next to Mayr, both rigid and quiet. Everyone's guard was up. The nature of the people gathered was reason enough to question how long their tempers would cooperate.
"Please, sit, Councilmen," Lira said, motioning to the seats across from her and Aeley, her smile weary. She rested her hands on the two books before her. Both volumes were thick with worn pages and strips of ribbon sticking out. "We will keep this meeting as efficient as possible."
Severn, Cota, and Lower dipped their heads and sank into their seats.
"You neglected to mention brevity, Steward's Hand. I suppose we should settle in for the long haul?" Severn smirked at Mayr, her intent difficult to decipher. Amusement danced in her eyes, their usual cold, judgmental gaze tucked behind something that resembled civility. In a rare image of celebration, Severn had traded her usual dark attire for tight white pants laced down the sides, a simple white shirt with cowl, an elegant belt of white chain links, and white leather boots with silver buckles up to the knee. Instead of her customary dark red long coat, she wore a white leather long coat bearing the High Council emblem on the back and spirals of vines around the arms, all sewn with silver thread. Her braided black hair was coiled at her neck and decorated with a spray of white flowers, silver leaves, and strands of tiny pearls.
Had Mayr not known better, he would have accused her of trying to look kind. As Councilman of Public Protection, Severn oversaw all matters of law enforcement, including Mayr's position. Along with Aeley and select members of the High Council, Severn had the power to force Mayr to resign. Thankfully, she had yet to do so, despite their disagreements. They served the same side of the law, but their attitudes tended to grate and clash until their anger was raw. By High Council standards, Severn was young but intensely committed to her duty, rumoured to be the product of too much family tragedy. Like Mayr, she came from humble origins and had nailed her obligation to the stake of responsibility. Perhaps their similarities were what made them chafe each other's nerves.
Though if the rumours were true, he figured Severn had the right to be bitter. Mayr still had both of his parents and siblings, all of them protected by Aeley. Severn was said to have no one, not one relative left to care. Crime had pillaged her family and left her to right the wrongs.
When Severn turned back to Aeley, Mayr sighed with relief. He got along better with Cota Dalenvrae, the Councilman of Law and Justice and a senior member of High Council. Born to one of the oldest Grand Families in Kattal, Cota was tall and lean, but his stern, proud personality and carriage made him seem even larger. His pale green eyes contrasted his umber skin and short, dark brown hair, but the scar that marked the left side of his face hinted at a sinister past. The scar began at his temple, puckered down his cheek, and ended in a gentle curve around his jaw.
According to Aeley, Cota had been injured in a fight no one spoke about, a secret the Grand Families would take to Cota's deathbed. From what Aeley knew, Cota had been forced to duel a despicable foe in his youth—an enemy no one spoke of. Whether it had been a matter of family honour, personal vendetta, or something else altogether, Aeley did not know. Korre had refused to share details, insisting the past was dead. The only reminder was Cota's scar, a reward of success and a carving of loss.
Usually serious during High Council meetings, Cota was refreshingly jovial at social functions. He smiled often and joked with ease, his deep voice disappearing behind throaty laughter. Like Severn, Cota wore a white long coat with High Council emblems rather than his charcoal grey coat. Everything about him was immaculate and polished: well-fitted pants beneath an elaborately embroidered, floor-length skirt without a front panel, short boots with fur trim, and a long-sleeved shirt with a high collar. Had Mayr not known Cota's position, he would have taken Cota for an oddly friendly aristocrat.
That would be Lower's place. Mayr glanced at the back of Lower's head. Shoulder-length red hair curled around the upturned collar of Lower's white long coat, its rich hue sharp against his bright white shirt, thigh-length vest, loose pants, and casually draped iridescent scarf. As Councilman of Tract Stewards and Republic Leadership, Lower was easy to tolerate. With playful blue eyes, youthful complexion, and a natural way with people, he was the Councilman most likely to be bedded in an attempt to gain influence and the least likely to care people tried to buy him that way. Aeley and Lower often conversed over casual meals, sharing jokes few would dare repeat around any Councilman. In official meetings, he was appropriate and pleasant with all the irritation of his scholarly upbringing.
Outside of High Council, Lower was a complete rascal, determined to chase down the prettiest, foul-mouthed sailors he could find and scratch their nightly escapades into his bedposts.
Mayr's stare carried onto Kirra and Rathen, two of Severn's bounty hunters. They stood together between Ress and Nimae. Although Kirra was the shortest there, she was difficult to miss. Her honey-coloured hair hung in tight curls with a faint glimmer of gold dust. Bright blue and pale purple powder coloured her eyelids, drawing attention to her golden eyes and glossy pink lips. Her bodice was little more than a shred of fabric held down by thick white straps and buckles, revealing glimpses of light tan skin. Her puffy white skirts and their gauzy top layer were a complete contradiction to the belt of knives around her waist, the silver chain wrapped around her punching arm from wrist to shoulder, and the glint of a weapon nestled between her breasts.
Rathen was no less prepared to take someone on. His white pants, shirts, and long coat did nothing to soften his appearance, especially given the knives strapped to both his thighs. With his short blond hair slicked back and dark gaze tamed of its sarcasm, Rathen almost blended into the group.
"Brief or not, we're all up and cozy in here," a husky feminine voice said near Mayr. "We'll be trading scandals and slurs before you know it. Nothing says 'welcome to the world' like getting sloshed and hanging ourselves out to dry come morning."
All attention turned towards Rosayra Oaren. Standing next to her husband, Rosayra was a short bundle of fire and red dawn, with skin the colour of fresh cream and eyes that were an alluring pale blue-grey with thick amber rings. Vivid red hair with black and white tips tumbled down her back in airy curls and tight, twisted locks adorned with gold beads and crystalline charms. Instead of the customary blue leather of the Oaren guards, she wore a short white coat, vest, pants, and low-necked tunic. Even more notable were her multitude of weapons and the aroma of spice and salt that lingered around her, fragrant with a bite of the rocky seaside.
If Rosayra was fire and sky, Tract Steward Kayte Oaren was stone and flood, formidable and strong, never to be pushed or controlled. Taller than Rosayra by more than a foot and nearly twice her size, Kayte was never lost among a crowd. His dark brown skin was almost black, glistening with the hint of gold powder on his eyelids and a dozen thick gold hoops in each of his ears, curved around the shells from lobe to tip. He had bound his shoulder-length black-blond hair back with a gold clip encrusted with emeralds, vibrant like his green eyes. Dressed identically to his wife and considered as dangerous as a walking armoury, Kayte was the last person anyone in the room would fight.
"Sorry, too early?" Rosayra grinned. "Guess it's good I left out the other parts."
"Ros," Kayte muttered, leaning down to kiss her cheek. In subtle movements, he withdrew the jeweled knife from the sheath at her waist and held it behind his back. "Perhaps we should remove a weapon or two before you get really happy? You'll be the death of me, sea star."
Rosayra snatched his chin.
"I'll be the death of something if you don't give that back, blade witch. Seed giver, sight, or sound? You choose."
To the sound of muffled laughter and snickers that flitted about the room, Kayte rolled his eyes and yielded. "You're lucky I love you. Throw you back to the fishes, barbed tongue and all."
"Yeah, well, me and my seaweed keep your refined ass alive when you're too busy looking ahead." Rosayra shoved her knife back into place. "'Member your vows and I'll make sure you stay in one piece, you raggedy sea hag."
Lira snorted a laugh then clapped her hand over her mouth. "I apologize. I'll sit now," she mumbled. A blush coloured her cheeks. "Aeley… Please?"
Mayr chuckled despite feeling sorry for her. The longer Lira spent with him, Aeley, and their lot, the more she became like them, fitting in as though she had always been there.
"Yes, I agree." Aeley's dark eyes brightened with her grin. "As my wife meant to say: thanks for humouring us and showing up. This discussion couldn't be disclosed in a missive. Thanks to Councilmen Cota and Severn, we've been granted permission to proceed."
"Not permission. Strongly approved," Severn corrected. "Get this done and I'll grant you hero parades and bestow medals of honour on you myself."
"Isn't that an interesting image," Kayte breathed, crossing his arms. "Dahe, why is Councilman Severn suddenly talking parades?"
"Because we have work to do, assuming you're willing." Aeley gazed over the room. "If you received an invitation to this, it's because I trust you. Kattal can't continue the way it has. Things have to change, and Council has expressed… concerns."
"Concerns," Rathen echoed, one blond brow arched. "How impossibly vague of you." Kirra swatted his ribs, and he scowled at her. "What?"
Cota smiled weakly. "We have finally accepted we cannot handle the Shar-denn matter alone." When sharp replies sounded, Cota raised his hand. "To date, Council has preferred tracts to operate on their own in a flexible partnership with us. You handle most criminals and we assist. Meanwhile, we've pursued our own agenda to round up major players and charge them with crimes against Kattal. This allows us to remove petty offenders and faction bosses simultaneously."
"But it's not going fast enough and they're breeding like pests," Severn said, her fingers interlaced on the table. "They're slipping through the cracks and getting comfortable. The attack on the temple proves that." Turning slightly, she glared at Tash. "They're changing the rules, upping the ante, and shoving it down our throats. We either play to them, run like fools, or hit them back twice as hard."
"Which leads to the problem this meeting aims to solve," Cota said. "Our resources have limits. We are also bound by rules we cannot violate."
"Rules that don't necessarily apply to Stewards or their comrades," Severn added, "especially when Council can pardon those who save the republic from a disease that's rotting through Kattal. We tend to be… favourable with national heroes."
Kayte let out a slow breath. "So Council wants a puppet show with us up front?"
"No, better," Aeley replied with a smile. "We get to break things."
"Delightful," Rosayra purred. "Perhaps a little redecorating too? Red is always in fashion."
"At this point, whatever it takes." Severn pressed her lips into a grim line. "Bust them till they bleed dry for all I care."
"Severn," Cota reprimanded harshly.
"Sorry," Severn sneered. "Bust them, cuff them, and drag them back to us for justice."
Cota scowled at Severn, followed by a stern look to Kayte. "You and Steward Dahe have plenty of connections that could be employed. You're also the best trained Stewards in terms of enforcement strategy, among other talents. We need your brightest, most creative means on how to end the Shar-denn, with both of you taking point."
"How about a task force, Oaren? They're only your favourite thing," Aeley said, tilting her head. "Maybe a brute squad with short tempers and long reach?"
Kayte lowered his chin, lips pursed. "Not saying yes, not saying no, but it'll take more than a diplomatic request. Give me a reason."
"We've got a realm's worth of new information you'll want." Aeley nodded towards the end of the table. "Nimae, repeat what you told us. Start with the temple."
"Please," Nimae muttered. He lifted his hands to the table, chains rattling as his metal cuffs scraped the wood. "I'm aware you expected an attack after the antics in Araveena. There was also a lull in criminal activity. The simple fact is this: there was no attack because the Shar figured pursuing new information was better than ripping Araveena apart for answers they might never get. They hunted for the priest seen with Ress and Adren, knowing he'd be their key." Nimae motioned to Tash. "Once they discovered this one, they devised a new plan. Since attacking Araveena never got his attention before, they figured they'd blow the temple."
Nimae leaned back and stretched his legs. "They wanted to make all of you complacent—your guard was up after Araveena, but you'd relax over time. You played right into it." He shrugged, focused on the wall opposite him. "Spies visited the temple, planning where to put the explosives. They hauled me in partway through, saying I needed to prove my loyalty. I told them not to blow it up, but they wouldn't listen. So I went in, set a couple things, and left everyone else to do what they wanted. Didn't have much of an agenda, except to die," he murmured, almost too soft to hear.
"And yet the estate's still standing." Rathen glared at Nimae. "Try pri-or-i-ties."
Nimae snorted. "Try not my problem." He cast Aeley an annoyed glance. "As I've already told you, the Shar won't take this place out. I don't know why. All I know is the bosses want the Dahe estate left alone—for now. You've got bigger problems, though." His attention swerved towards Kayte. "Gailarin's problems won't be contained for long. Changes here are spilling into the other tracts. The Shar can't afford any more snitches."
"Meaning what, exactly?" Rosayra asked.
"Shift in leadership." Nimae's expression darkened. "The Shar's doing more than hunting defectors: they're changing ranks, locations, strategies, and nearly everything they can change, save the bosses who won't give up their seats. There's a new mindset too, a vicious change in generations. The young ones will do whatever to whomever. Lines the old bastards didn't cross are being crossed now—and that's just to start."
"Forcing us into twice the work," Kirra said.
"Essentially, yes." Nimae's cuffs strained as he pointed to Tash and Ress. "Anyone who's lost contact with the Shar is being taken out, and anyone they've associated with is next. They'll come down hard, dirty. They've got new toys, new plans, and new morals—or a complete lack of them, anyway. However painful it's been, it'll get worse."
Nimae lowered his hands. A flicker of regret flashed across his face. "To be honest, the explosion wasn't solely to kill Taldris," he said quietly. "Killing him would've made their year, but punishing him—punishing the priests—is ten times better. They wanted to make sure everyone knows the score and who's in charge. This whole thing is a warning to everyone who thinks they can leave or gut them and take back control. They're sharpening their teeth on your humanity."
"Thus the Task Force," Severn interjected, "sanctioned by Cota and myself but not run by us. We've played on the nicer side of nasty for too long. There needs to be a concerted effort to do damage." She swept her gaze around the room. "Stewards, hunters, mercenaries, informants, families—we need to pull out everything."
Lower cleared his throat and raised his hand. "All well and good, but why are Gailarin and Alosaa the only tracts here? Lasael, Eruelme, and Riaes should be present—unless I'm missing something."
Mayr exchanged glances with Aeley. That was a delightful discussion for another day. The list of reasons was longer than they had time for.
"I would've invited them if I knew they'd join and keep their mouths shut," Aeley replied, lips twisted with displeasure.
"A temporary measure," Lira added. "Steward Oaren was our first choice, given his family's experience in combat. Oaren ideals align w
ith Dahe." Hands clasped on the books, she straightened, her chin raised. "Stewards Forey, Mahne, and Hewyth, respectively, are not as perfectly suited. Forey is a pacifist and would reject measures favoured by the Task Force. However well-meaning he is, Kattal has attempted peaceful resolution with the Shar-denn and failed." She lifted one leather-bound volume. "History supports this. Forey's preference for compassionate resolve is not viable."
Lira laid the book down. "Mahne and Hewyth are potential allies, except their interests are aligned more with commerce and economical ventures than anti-violence efforts. We anticipate their involvement will hinge on cost-benefit ratios than means alone." Lips pursed, she leaned back, fingers laced in her lap. "There's also the fact that Shar-denn activities generate funds from a hidden market—funds that end up in the most interesting of coffers. At this time, we'll err on the side of caution. Ideally, Stewards Mahne and Hewyth would be helpful should the Shar-denn enterprises be seized."
Kayte snorted. "Forget all that. There's one way to do this: hard, fast, painful. Though I'm curious how you expect to make it harder, Dahe. I've been trying to run out the Shar vermin since before I was elected, carrying on my mother's work. I still haven't found all the tricks."
"I've got tricks of my own," Aeley said with a sly grin, "and people who'll bring all the hurt." She prompted Adren to stand. "You've all met Adren, but there are things many of you don't know. First, ce is the only child of Boss Rivane that isn't in prison. Second, ce can do things we can't. Adren?"
Half the room looked confused as Adren shifted cir feet. "Magic," Adren said, clearing cir throat. "The priests can tell you more, but I've got it. It's what I did for the Shar, making things disappear, changing them, getting in and out of situations no one else could. I can do it for you too. Make raids tougher. Give you an edge, better weapons, sniff out leads."
Soulbound Page 40
