The Devil Incarnate (The Devil of Ponong series #2)

by Braden, Jill

  “What coin did you earn freeing me? That old cat-man gave the other Rhi money and told them it was from you. That wolf-man Petrof tried to kill you. You can’t even rest in your own bed because the sea dragons hunt you. So don’t try to sell your story to me. I know better.”

  Nothing she gave was ever enough. This crazy woman actually thought she’d try to take over a remote compound controlled by the colonial militia to free a bunch of people she didn’t even know. Wasn’t it enough that she’d freed the ones she had? And, as RhiHanya pointed out, given them enough money to start life over somewhere else? At what point did she end up owing her life to the people of Cay Rhi?

  It was time to put a stop to this path of thoughts.

  “Even I have moments of weakness.”

  QuiTai could see that RhiHanya wasn’t going to stop defending her. There had to be another way to convince the woman.

  “I have done as much as I can do for the people of Cay Rhi. They aren’t my problem anymore. I have other commitments. Other responsibilities. Pressing personal matters.” Such as finding out who paid Petrof to kill me and making sure they never send another assassin after me again. “Don’t look to me for a happy ending. This is real life, and in real life, some stories end badly for innocent people.”

  She could read the impact of her words in RhiHanya’s face. Disbelief, caution, a flash of anger, then desolate sadness.

  RhiHanya said nothing for a while. When she finally spoke, she pleaded with QuiTai in hushed tones. “My pillow sister was left behind on Cay Rhi.” Her gaze locked on QuiTai’s eyes. “Tell me you’ve never loved someone. Tell me you’d let them live in captivity, and I’ll call you a liar, Wolf Slayer. I know what you do to people who hurt your blood kin.”

  She couldn’t let this woman push her into a stupid, futile, suicidal attempt to free the slaves. So what if RhiHanya was right? Once she’d killed the men who paid Petrof to slaughter her family, she was done with retribution. It paid so poorly.

  RhiHanya’s fingers hurt QuiTai’s arms. “Tell me you don’t love someone.”

  “I don’t.” She could look right into RhiHanya’s eyes and say that.

  “Never?”

  QuiTai almost lied, but RhiHanya tilted her chin as her eyes narrowed. She knew she was going to regret this, but she spoke anyway. “I also had a pillow sister. Jezereet. She was an Ingosolian. An actress. The star of all the stages of the continent.” A bittersweet smile spread over her mouth as her lips trembled. Jezereet had been so beautiful – not only her body, but like RhiHanya, she’d sparked with life that drew people to her. How could they resist? “But she’s dead now. Everyone is dead.”

  “Some stories end that way, little sister. It’s real life.” From the smile on RhiHanya’s lips, she’d thrown QuiTai’s words back at her deliberately. “But you didn’t abandon her while she lived.”

  “Actually, I did.”

  “No.”

  As much as it hurt to admit it, QuiTai said, “Yes.”

  “Prove it. Tell me this story.”

  Why did she let RhiHanya maneuver her into a corner like that? She could refuse, but that would be unforgivable rudeness to a woman who risked so much to heal her.

  “Our daughter was killed during the Full Moon Massacre.” Sadness enveloped her like a cloud on a mountaintop. Could she ever talk about the past without it overwhelming her? “People warned me that few relationships can survive the death of a child. But we weren’t ordinary people. Not us. Of course we’d stay together.” There was no way to explain how hard they’d tried. For years, they’d been so in love, so committed to each other. She’d tried to help Jezereet through the pain. Jezereet tried to absolve her of guilt. But in the end, it only took a few months to destroy what had once been perfect. “We were more ordinary than I thought.”

  “That doesn’t sound as if you abandoned her.”

  “But I did. I felt my hurt was greater than hers and wondered why she expected me to act as if she alone knew true grief.” A tear staggered down her cheek. “We still loved each other, but we couldn’t be together. I moved out. Eventually, she took other lovers. You know it’s not the Ponongese way to be possessive, and we both had other lovers when we were actresses. We had to. The troupe paid us next to nothing, but rich fans threw gifts at our feet. So I wasn’t hurt when she found new admirers. But it was different when Petrof also flirted with her, and... I don’t know.” She sighed. How many nights had she tortured herself over what happened? And still, she didn’t know what she could have done to change it.

  “Petrof was the werewolf we met in the jungle,” RhiHanya said.

  QuiTai nodded. “Maybe she wanted to hurt me. Or maybe she was so distraught about our daughter’s death that the black lotus Petrof offered her was her way of escaping the pain.” The last thing she wanted was pity, and that’s all she saw on RhiHanya’s face. “So I let her succumb to her addiction, and she died because of it.” She wiped away her tears. “You understand? I’m no hero. Things got difficult, and I walked away.”

  “She let you walk away, little sister. I won’t. That’s a promise.”

  QuiTai knew a threat when she heard one, but she was too tired to argue about it anymore.

  ~ ~ ~

  School mistress Ma’am Thun released her students for lunch, picked up her umbrella, and headed for the marketplace. Her heart clenched when she saw the soldiers at the edge of the town square. She hadn’t done anything wrong in her entire life, but that didn’t stop her from averting her eyes as she went past them. Not a word was spoken to her. Still, she exhaled relief. Then she gasped.

  The marketplace was usually full of people this time of day. Stalls were normally jammed together in a haphazard maze of riotous colors, and oh! the noise and odors. But she preferred shopping there since the same goods were often less expensive than in the stores.

  Today, the expanse of packed dirt was mostly bare. She saw three rice merchants, several jellylantern sellers, and a few butchers. There was only a handful of customers. It took a moment for it to sink in. There wasn’t a single Ponongese. No fruit, no spices, no women with their baskets balanced on their heads singing out their wares as they walked through the crowds.

  Contemplating what this might mean, she cautiously moved toward the stalls. Had the parents of her students seemed worried or upset this morning? No. There had been no difference in their shy smiles and respectful bows. What had changed since then? It had to be something dreadful if the soldiers were involved. They mostly sat down in the fortress and let Levapur be. Governor Turyat, that unctuous idler, must have ordered them to shut out the Ponongese.

  She hoped he’d make an announcement explaining his reason, because her imagination already searched for explanations, and each of them made her more uneasy than the one before. The last thing a Thampurian should do was panic. It would set such a poor example for the Ponongese.

  “Ma’am! Pork?” a butcher called out to Ma’am Thun.

  She drew closer to his stall, which sat alone in what had been a bustling corner of the marketplace just yesterday. Beside his stall, on the bare ground of what had been her favorite place to buy tamtuks, she could see the splatter ring of oil left behind. “I don’t eat pork. It causes indigestion and worms,” she told the butcher. “Where are the fishmongers? I must have fish for my dinner.”

  He sighed. “The soldiers escorted the fishermen down to the harbor in groups, and when they came in with their catch, they wouldn’t let them sell. I have no idea where they went. Maybe if you go into the Ponongese neighborhoods...”

  Ma’am Thun frowned. “I’m not accustomed to climbing upslope.” The thought of ascending that steep, winding road made her ribs press painfully against her corset.

  The butcher placed a pale slab of meat on his forearm and offered it to her for inspection. He swatted away a fly that landed on it. “If you cook it well, you won’t get worms.”

  She turned her head. “So, I have a choice of rice or rice for dinner.”<
br />
  “There’s also jellylanterns.”

  Ma’am Thun squared a withering glare on the butcher. He shrank back. The power of a teacher’s disapproval didn’t diminish over the years, she noted with a bit of satisfaction. “I can’t eat a jellylantern.”

  “The snakes do. Not the lanterns. They dry the jellies and eat them somehow.”

  The butcher seemed to enjoy her shudder, like a schoolboy who had placed a loathsome creature on his teacher’s desk. She was far too experienced to let him see how angry she was at the idea that she’d stoop to eating something so un-Thampurian. She’d go hungry first.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kyam’s knuckles bumped against his glass when he reached for his drink. That should have been a sign that he’d had enough, but Hadre wasn’t around to scold him, and he couldn’t think of a single reason to stay sober. He caught hold of his glass on his second try and drained it. When he turned to signal the Red Happiness’ bar keep to refill it, though, the Ingosolian suddenly seemed obsessed with a spot on the bar.

  Damn that QuiTai. Had she told them to act as his caretaker? He snorted and leaned back so far in his chair that it almost tipped over. People looked away as he noisily righted himself.

  If she walked in right now, Lady QuiTai would pause at the typhoon shutters that way she always did when she made one of her grand entrances, as if she were taking the stage. She’d be dressed impeccably, either in the latest Thampurian fashion or in the bright green sarong she favored. Once she was sure she had the attention of everyone in the Red Happiness, the corners of her mouth would curve up in that secretive, mischievous, satisfied smile of hers. Then she’d glide through the bar as if she owned the damned place.

  She probably did.

  She’d stop inches from his table and make one of those withering remarks about how drunk he was. He’d laugh, because her choice of words was always clever, but he’d also wince, because they hit their mark with unerring accuracy. And then he’d say something equally vicious, or as close as he could ever come to matching her wit.

  Those conversations had been the only stone against which to hone his mind since he’d set foot on this damned island. Now she might be dead, and he’d have to figure out a way to hang onto his sanity until grandfather let him go home.

  He scratched his nose. Who would know if QuiTai were alive? The Devil would. Kyam chuckled to himself and shook his head. Sure, the Devil would know, but how did one go about asking the Devil a question? The man was maishun spirit, as insubstantial as a ghost.

  Someone gripped his shoulder and jostled him.

  “Zul!”

  Kyam lifted his gaze. Governor Turyat and his sinister shadow, Chief Justice Cuulon, loomed over him. He knew he should invite them to join him, but he wanted to be alone. Besides, he’d never liked them, and now that he had his articles of transport, there was no reason to pretend to be civil anymore.

  Part of his distrust was from the tales Grandfather had hissed into his ears about how, years ago, these two men betrayed him. Grandfather had been the first colonial governor, the one who’d claimed Ponong for the king. From his stories, he’d hated every moment on the island as much as Kyam did. When he’d gone back to Thampur, he’d schemed and connived until the Zul clan had risen to the enviable position as the most profitable and powerful among the thirteen families. He’d become the king’s right hand. But Grandfather was never one to let anything go.

  The rest of Kyam’s dislike of the men was purely their fault. They’d eagerly signed his articles of transport, but they’d also approved of keeping the islanders on Cay Rhi as slaves. If QuiTai was to be believed, they were corrupt to the core. He felt that they took every coin they could but never really governed the island. It was perhaps beyond their abilities. Or maybe, like as was the case with most Thampurians exiled to Ponong, their ambitions had long since wilted under the relentless tropical sun.

  “Zul, why are you still here? Don’t you want to go home?” Governor Turyat asked as he sat without an invitation. While tall with a thin build, sagging flesh at his throat showed how much weight he’d lost recently. His thin lips were too red to be natural.

  Chief Justice Cuulon remained standing. Like the governor, he was tall, but his rangy build had never filled out. His temples were as bare as his prominent forehead, which glistened under the lights. Something about his strong nose made it seem as if he was always smelling something he didn’t like.

  Kyam didn’t want to talk to anyone now, especially these two. “Governor –”

  “Turyat, please.” The governor chuckled in an avuncular way that grated on Kyam’s nerves.

  If he’d had any manners, Kyam would have insisted the governor call him Kyam instead of Zul, but he didn’t.

  “We need to talk in private,” the Chief Justice Cuulon said. “Please come with us.”

  Kyam lifted his empty glass as if it needed closer inspection. “I would, gentlemen, but as you can see, my schedule today is already full of rum. Tomorrow, I will be busy nursing a smashing hangover. Perhaps sometimes next week?”

  The chief justice’s mouth twisted. “Typical Zul.”

  “Now, now, Cuulon. Don’t take offense where none is meant,” Governor Turyat said.

  “Who said none was meant?” Kyam muttered.

  Chief Justice Cuulon’s cavernous nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. “All right. We’ll talk here. You tell your grandfather that we won’t stand for his interference.”

  Kyam expected more to the message, but they strode away. He still couldn’t get the barkeep to look at him. He felt as if people were staring at him, and it felt like pity.

  Kyam got to his feet. Not bad, he thought. Not slobbering drunk. Maybe the Red Happiness had done him a favor by cutting him off. Come to think of it, he’d never seen anyone dead drunk in their bar. QuiTai demanded a certain amount of decorum in her place, he decided.

  He knew he held his shoulders a little too rigidly as he walked past the white wicker chairs on the veranda. Who would care if he were a little drunk? As far as anyone knew, he was still in disgrace, still living off remittance money his family sent to keep him far from home and out of sight. They didn’t give a damn what he did because he was beneath their notice.

  The afternoon sun stabbed the inside of his skull when he stepped out of the shade onto the street. Wasn’t it monsoon? Where were the clouds? And why did the sun always shine brightest when he was drunk? The street was still muddy, though. He stepped around puddles that reflected the sky.

  Four soldiers leaned against the back wall of the bank. When they saw Kyam, they stood straight and saluted. At least someone knew what he’d done for his country. He managed a wilted salute in return and continued on.

  Two steps into the town square, he stopped. Confused, he looked back over his shoulder. The bank was still there. A flock of green and blue birds pecked at the dirt by its steps. He turned back. Gray monkeys played around the banyan tree’s massive trunk, but there were no children. He scratched his head. The colonial government’s building, with its red columns and Thampurian-style roof sat on the south end of the square, but there wasn’t a single Ponongese boy on the steps calling out offers to carry packages for Ma’am or Mister Thampurian. In the center of the square, a merchant was striking his stall. Kyam didn’t blame him. There were more stalls than customers, and there were no more than a dozen of those.

  “What the hell?” Kyam asked, but there was no one around to answer him.

  Where were the Ponongese ladies who balanced huge baskets on their heads as they strode through the market in their bright sarongs? Where was the clash of merchant’s voices hawking their wares? The smells of tamtuk stands and fish and spices? It looked as if a typhoon had blown through and swept them off the cliff into the Sea of Erykoli.

  Kyam walked quickly home now, his head down as he tried to make sense of it. He knew his landlady said something to him as he dumped his boots on the rack in the foyer of the apartment building, so he m
umbled something back and started up the stairs.

  At the top landing, he glanced at his neighbor’s door. He’d been avoiding them since he’d returned from Cay Rhi. How could he take the hospitality of people when he’d let his government hold their relatives in slavery? But if they couldn’t get to the marketplace, they might need his help finding rice.

  Too ashamed of his state to let the children next door see him, he stumbled into his apartment, removed his jacket, and fell face-first onto his mattress.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter 7: The Rhi Apartment

  When a door slammed, QuiTai jumped to her feet, suddenly fully awake and ready to fight. Pain shot up her leg. She dropped onto the divan when she saw RhiLan scowling furiously at the door. The black lotus had almost worn off, but she struggled for a moment to clear the haze that hung over her thoughts. She wasn’t in danger, and this was something she needed to focus on.

  “Those damn Thampurians!” RhiLan banged her market basket down on her chopping block and pulled fish cakes out of it as she muttered.

  “What’s happening?” QuiTai asked. Her voice sounded as tired and weak as she felt.

  “We can talk about this out on the veranda,” RhiHanya told her cousin. “The Wolf Slayer needs to rest.”

  QuiTai pushed RhiHanya’s hands away when she tried to make her lie down. “What’s happening?”

  “The soldiers wouldn’t allow any Ponongese into the marketplace today,” RhiLan replied. “I wonder if my man was able to get to his boat.”

  RhiHanya’s fist rested on her hip. She couldn’t seem to decide if she should scowl about the soldiers or at QuiTai.

  QuiTai leaned on her side to see around RhiHanya. “Did the soldiers say why they wouldn’t let you sell?”

  RhiLan shook her head. “I tried to show them my permit. It has the chop of the colonial government on it. If they had only looked, they would have seen it was official. They let the Thampurian merchants set up their stalls, but they wouldn’t even let me shop.”