by Hannah West
As the thought of escape crossed my mind, I wondered about my elicrin stone. Would it be turned over to my new “buyer” or brought to King Agmur?
“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked the maid in Nisseran. As the daughter of a foreign diplomat, I’d been proficient in Perispi since early childhood, but perhaps it would be wise not to reveal this; the people of the household might be less careful with their words if they believed I couldn’t understand.
My guess about her nationality was correct; the maid replied in Nisseran, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I’m not supposed to fraternize with you.”
“Hurry,” Lucrez said, returning to steer me to a vanity. “I still have to get ready.”
Unlike the maid, Lucrez was almost violently hasty in beautifying me. She dusted my cheeks with a rouge of ground flowers and painted my eyes so carelessly that I feared for my sight. The thick fragrance of jasmine and nerumia flowers clung to her silken hair, which tickled my shoulders as she worked. “There are clothes for you in the wardrobe,” she said when she’d finished, and left again.
My bruises protested as I hauled myself to the wardrobe and opened it to find bright colors, decorative borders, accents threaded in silver and gold. I chose the most subdued bodice and skirt set I could find in case I decided to attempt escape: maroon with a lavender shoulder sash and silver beading.
After I had dressed, the maid beckoned me to follow her.
As we descended to the first floor, I memorized what I could of the estate’s layout, grateful for the sunlight pouring over pale stones, giving me a clear idea of my surroundings. Tucking away the thought of escape for now, I entered the boisterous dining room.
Chandeliers illuminated paintings of an ancient war Perispos had waged against Erdem to try to convert our people to Agrimas. The Perispi army attempted to conquer the city of Doghan to establish an edifice at its heart, but Erdem crushed the Perispi invaders and executed their commander. These paintings depicted the commander as a martyr, his death as a tragedy, and the Erdemese soldiers as an angry mob. The Holy of Loyalty opened her arms to welcome him to the afterlife.
What did it matter that historical records showed the “martyr” was no hero, but a monster who committed vile acts against vulnerable women while destroying a city not his own? What did it matter that the war was more about controlling the trade of precious spices than religious conversion? It was a legend now, and legends lived on regardless of inconvenient truths.
Tearing my eyes away, I searched the faces in the room and found no sign of Lucrez, or Falima, for that matter.
Lord Orturio sat at the far end of a long dining table, Captain Nasso opposite him. The other mercenaries gathered along the flanks, mingling with five Perispi men I did not recognize. One of them resembled Lord Orturio, but older, heavier, and gray-headed.
Wine had thawed the mercenaries’ formidable demeanor, and none of them seemed to care that the same person they treated like dirt had managed to recover her dignity. I was only a job to them, a task to be completed with minimal inconvenience.
“Please, sit over there,” Lord Orturio said, gesturing to a seat near the windows. The shutters were propped open to permit a warm midday breeze. “Help yourself.”
As I obeyed, I realized how much self-restraint it would take not to wolf down the spread of cheeses, galantine, olives, jellies. I consumed a desperate bite of cheese with a soft yellow rind, sighing as the tangy taste coated my tongue. By the time I had piled enough food on my plate to quell the storm of hunger, tantalizing flute notes pierced through the conversation.
Captain Nasso rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Is this the entertainment you promised?”
Orturio nodded once, a twinkle in his eye.
In the corner, musicians had taken up instruments: a goatskin tambourine with brass cymbals, a goblet-shaped drum, and an eastern lute. After a few bars, the music changed, its dynamic turning dark and persuasive. A sensual shadow appeared in the doorway, softly gyrating her hipbones. It was Lucrez, wearing a traditional Erdemese folk dance costume of black and flame-red fabric. The cropped vest chimed with disc ornaments, and chains of silver fangs encircled her bare belly—a tribute to Orturio’s honored guests.
The provocative drumbeat guided her articulations of chest and hips. A few of the men whistled as she entered and whirled around the table, pausing to strike poses and shimmy her ornaments in their faces. Normally, I would be too fascinated to tear my eyes away. One of my most vivid memories from Erdem was watching folk dancers perform in King Agmur’s court, and afterward, telling my father I wanted to be a dancer someday. He chuckled and said I was meant for greater things, and I never spoke of it again. Of course, I eventually realized I didn’t want to be one of them so much as wanted to kiss one of them. I also enjoyed the spectacle of Erdemese folk dance for its own sake, but not right now; I took the opportunity to continue appeasing my appetite.
When Lucrez reached the man sitting next to me, I dropped the handful of olives I held. The fragrance of jasmine and nerumia flowers washed over me again, and suddenly I wanted to weep. I missed home—all of my homes. Nissera, Erdem, Wenryn. But here I was, under a stranger’s roof, unsure of my status, splitting the difference between captive and guest, elicromancer and mortal, queen and inconsequential victim.
Lucrez stroked the face of the man beside me before moving on, sliding her hand along the back of my chair on her way to the next mercenary.
“Don’t pass her up,” Orturio called over the music, and Lucrez looked at him, her come-hither mask carefully held in place. I clenched the arms of the chair in fear. Did he know something I would rather have kept secret from him, something he might use against me?
“She’s a guest,” he added to justify the request. Or was it an order?
Lucrez smiled obligingly and slid next to me, continuing her skilled dance of alternating percussive and fluid movements. A piercing whistle of appreciation hurt my ears, and the others erupted into cheers. Lucrez responded to their encouragement by posting one hand on the back of my chair and pressing closer to me, closer than she had with any of the men, but not close enough to touch. She slid her free hand through her hair, opening up so the audience could see her movements. My breath hitched—she was the best dancer I’d ever seen, and also terribly beautiful. But sudden, hot tears stung the bridge of my nose.
No, you can’t, I scolded myself.
But I felt so lost, so far from everything familiar and yet, in the presence of this Erdemese beauty who smelled of memory and simpler days, somehow closer than ever.
I tried to swallow the tears. Lucrez met my eyes, her expression the same as it had been with the others—an emotional performance I found unconvincing while the men ate it up and yearned for more. A realization registered in her painted brown eyes, and with an assertive punch of her hip, she glided away from me as gracefully as she had come. She moved on to the next guest and drew his sword, dancing skillfully with the weapon.
I breathed deeply until the tears subsided.
By the end of the meal, I wished only to climb into a soft bed and sleep so that I could approach my captivity with a clear head tomorrow. It dragged until exhaustion weighed down my eyelids, but no one dismissed me.
“Kadri Lillis,” Orturio said as I began to nod off. I remembered where I was with a clench of panic.
“Come with me to the wine cellar,” he said, beckoning me. “Where only my guests of honor go.”
FIFTEEN
KADRI
A PRICKLE crawled down my nape as I reluctantly followed my host and captor.
The music dimmed. I was alone with the master of the house, and I did not like it. And yet I had been no safer in the dining room with the mercenaries. Lord Orturio could have violated or murdered me, and Captain Nasso would have simply watched.
We approached another studded pine door. Orturio withdrew a ring of iron keys from an interior pocket of his vest and selected one with a swirling filigree head.
“Why do you outbid the king of Erdem?” I asked.
“My other guest of honor will explain,” he said in Perispi. I realized too late that I had let surprise show on my face—now he would know for certain that I spoke the language of this country.
When he turned the knob, a draft licked over my skin, tracing my wounds with cool fingers. Closed stone stairs led to a dim underground space. I feared whatever awaited me down there, but I also feared the drunken men in the dining room, aroused by Lucrez’s performance and craving fare beyond food and wine.
“Come, a sip of renowned Casiani Trescara will help you recover from your harrowing journey,” Orturio said, gesturing for me to descend first. “Captain Nasso has heard I’m generous with my best wines, but that’s a myth I perpetuate. I save the best for conducting serious business.”
“If outbidding the ruler of one nation to kidnap the queen of another isn’t serious business, I don’t know what is,” I replied without moving.
Orturio laughed. “I have heard you were clever. I anticipate a productive partnership. But I don’t do business without a goblet in hand. Come.”
Business. Perhaps there was a chance to secure my freedom without the risk of Lord Orturio sending the Jav Darhu to drag me back or kill me. But what did he want? Who awaited me on the other side of this door? What was so valuable that he would pay a fortune to undercut King Agmur?
It’s too high a price for simply bedding me. Isn’t it?
The thought of him pinning me down with those brawny, hairy forearms and trapping me under his body made a cold stake of fear pierce my ribs. What if he considered my disinterest in men an entertaining challenge, or an aberration to be suppressed or eradicated?
Regardless, overpowering him—and whoever else awaited me—could be no more difficult than taking on the rowdy lot of inebriated murderers upstairs. So I descended. The powerful smell of fermenting grapes pervaded the air.
I heard Orturio follow me and lock the door behind him.
At the bottom, I found a dirt cellar containing oak barrels and large wooden vats. Their enormity made the arched ceiling feel low and confining, but the cool air kept me from spiraling into a panic—until I noticed a figure sitting at a table.
Sconces splashed light on a male face I recognized. With shoulder-length pale hair, exquisite cheekbones, a thin nose, and flawless cream skin, the man looked like an even less approachable facsimile of Devorian.
Mathis Lorenthi.
I shut my gaping mouth to prevent every curse I knew from spilling out. “You? You’re behind this?” I stalked down the dirt aisle and showed him the bloody lacerations encircling my wrists. “You fled the Realm Alliance’s punishment so you could hurt more innocent people?”
Mathis’s shapely lips melted into a diabolical smirk as my breathless interrogation hung in the air. “We did not arrange your kidnapping; we intercepted it. And it’s not my fault you saddled me with a punishment I could escape. You should have confiscated my elicrin stone and thrown me in prison. The probation was bewilderingly naïve.”
He swirled and sipped from a glass of ruby wine, groaning with relish. Mathis was an Amplisensor, an elicromancer with the gift of enhanced senses. Any touch, taste, scent, sight, or sound he chose to perceive with his gift became exponentially more potent. He used it to amplify music, art, sex, and cuisine…and to manipulate others so he could enjoy his lavish lifestyle without interruption.
“There’s no need to convince you of the naïveté,” Mathis continued, tracing a graceful finger around the rim of his glass. “You wanted a more severe sentence, but you were the token mortal in the council chamber…or so most of your friends believed.”
I glared at him, my tongue on fire with a thousand scathing rebukes. “You think you’re clever for noting my displeasure? You didn’t intend to starve and kill your own people, so my friends balked. But I believe negligence and greed are no better than cruelty and malice, and your heart is home to all. They should have carved out your power and ripped the privilege of immortal life from you.”
My tone was biting and indignant. I had forgotten for a moment that compliance might be my sole means of escape.
The elicromancer shifted to cross his legs. The movement made the specks of gold within his clear elicrin stone twinkle, but not as brightly as the cunning in his oceanic eyes. “So, we can agree that the Realm Alliance made a poor decision?”
I did not like the idea of agreeing with Mathis Lorenthi. For as long as he had been a prominent political player in Nissera—since the death of Glisette’s parents—Mathis had been manipulative. While defending himself at trial, he had somehow succeeded in making us all feel like clueless children who had bested the Moth King through sheer luck and reckless bravery.
I smoothed the ragged edge from my voice. “I’m not going to agree with every decision the group makes. That’s how it works when you value differing opinions instead of hibernating in comfort and gorging yourself on riches you didn’t earn.”
There my composure went again. Thankfully, neither man seemed to care.
“But you did not voice your differing opinion,” Mathis said. “Isn’t that the purpose of the Realm Alliance?”
I shut my mouth. I would say nothing of the reason I’d kept quiet: the Realm Alliance had pardoned Rayed for the betrayal he was forced to commit.
Forced to commit? Inwardly, I recoiled from my own hypocrisy. I had just called Falima a coward for claiming she had no choice.
I glanced back at Lord Orturio. Arms crossed over his tree trunk of a chest, almond-shaped brown eyes calm, he watched me. “Come, sit. This doesn’t have to be so unfriendly,” he said in Perispi. He stepped around me to approach a shelf holding an oak cask with a spigot. I hadn’t noticed until now that the wall behind Mathis had a marble shrine depicting the Holies.
Orturio opened the cask spout and filled a goblet with wine. “Casiani was my mother’s family name. Trescara is the grape. Casiani Trescara is”—he held the jeweled red wine to the light—“liquid riches.”
As though offering a vessel containing a piece of his soul, Orturio placed the goblet at the empty place across from Mathis. When I didn’t accept it, Orturio threw his head back and released a booming laugh. “Oh, for Holies’ sakes!” He took a swig and replaced it. “I would never poison wine. Making it requires too much sweat and fervent prayer.”
I pulled out the chair opposite Mathis and perched on its edge. Orturio filled another goblet for himself and settled down to the tune of creaking wood.
“Why am I here?” I asked again. I looked at Mathis. “Why are you here?”
“Let’s start with me. I traveled abroad to find allies who would help me undermine the Realm Alliance.” He finished his wine and stood to help himself to more. No doubt, he was an expensive houseguest. “Orturio and I found each other. Together, we campaigned to convince the king of Erdem that your group’s authority is null. It was not a difficult task, considering your husband is the only ruler in Nissera with a legitimate claim to his throne. As a woman, Glisette’s claim is no more legitimate than mine was as regent. And Valory Braiosa is the ‘queen of widows,’ who seized leadership of Calgoran by murdering half the men in her family.”
“You snake.” His words echoed Rayed’s letter almost exactly. King Agmur wouldn’t have cared about obsolete Volarian laws until Mathis pointed them out and told him he should care. And yes, Valory had not tried the traitors in her family before executing them, but trials would inevitably have led to the same result.
“That statute is antiquated nonsense,” I said. “It’s a thin excuse for a foreign ally to withdraw support for Glisette. As for Valory, her claim is legitimate. King Tiernan made her his heir apparent while those traitors were torturing and killing him.”
“That is what she and her odd little cousin Melkior claim,” Mathis sneered. “They were the only witnesses to such a historic transfer of power.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Undermining our i
nfluence will help you claim the throne of Volarre. I understand that part. But why does this involve me?”
“King Agmur instructed Falima to seek damaging information about the Realm Alliance, which could further cast its competency into doubt,” Mathis explained. “But when he learned that you, a mortal, possessed an elicrin stone, he went rogue. His fear of Valory Braiosa turned to ambition. He hoped you would be able to persuade her to give elicrin stones to him and a few select nobles. He was ready to lure you to his side with promises of peace, prosperity, and equality for everyone in Erdem. He would also promise to recognize the Realm Alliance again if you could help him obtain elicrin power. When you rejected his invitation, he sent the Jav Darhu, the only people he trusted to kidnap an elicromancer.”
“Are you saying he had me kidnapped, wounding one of my friends, in order to win me over?” I didn’t want to specify the nature of Rynna’s importance to me, but all the same, my voice cracked in aguish and anger. A sob built in my throat. The horrible irony of it all made me want to knock down every barrel in this cellar, storm upstairs, and strike the cruel Captain Nasso with my bare fists until his self-assured face looked like an overripe fruit.
“King Agmur thought he had paid the Jav Darhu enough to secure royal treatment on your behalf,” Orturio said in Perispi with a shrug. He swirled his wine and inserted his nose in the glass before taking a drink. “But they don’t take any special orders that could slow down the mission or cut into their profits.”
“So you intercepted my kidnapping because you did not want King Agmur to become an elicromancer?” I asked in Perispi.
“That’s one reason,” Mathis replied in the language of his host, his Perispi accent positively atrocious. Apparently, even the best language tutors that a royal purse could buy could not guarantee competence. “But I also could not allow the Realm Alliance to negotiate back into his good graces.”
