by A. M. Deese
Amira stopped hopping. “What are you saying?”
Jura chose her words carefully. “It’s not that I’m opposed to an alliance, the thought had crossed my mind…but Antar still acts like a boy. He’s too young. I’m too young. Besides, you have to know that I see him as more brother than husband. Surely you can see why I wouldn’t want to marry him.” And Markhim. I want to marry Markhim. Jura knew she didn’t have much of a chance of convincing her father to allow her to marry outside of the Thirteen, but she at least wanted the chance to convince him to consider it.
Amira stiffened. “No, actually I don’t. He’s the son of the Third house. He’s from a good family. He’s a strong and capable young man.”
Father would agree. Jura stiffened. But father isn’t here. She tried to smile reassuringly, “I’m sure he’ll make someone an excellent husband someday. There’s someone--”
Amira forced out a laugh. “Right. Someone. Just not you.” She shook her head. “I thought you thought of us as sisters. I thought this would make you happy. Do you think you’re too good for him? Too good for my family?”
“What? No! Amira, where is this coming from?” She placed a gentle hand on her friend’s arm. “I’m sure if you stopped and thought about it you would realize how absurd a marriage between your brother and me is.”
Amira jerked her arm away. “Right, because marrying into my family is so crazy. I was wrong about you, Jura.” She spun on her heel and hurried out of the room, her Arbe close behind.
Jura watched her friend go, unsure if she should run after her. She took a step toward her friend’s departing figure and was stopped short by Beshar’s large frame. The councilman belonged to the house of the Tenth and was the lowest of the members allowed to vote for Rank among the Thirteen. She suppressed a sigh and nodded in greeting.
“Beshar,” she mumbled. Born into the house of the First, Jura was allowed to call any council member by their first name. The honorific Councilman was only used when Jura was trying to be polite.
He squinted at her. “Daughter of the First. Well, you look simply ravishing.” He bowed low and wriggled his thumbs. Jura was impressed he was able to move his large frame about so gracefully.
“Thank you, Councilman.”
“It’s excellent for you to join us today. Trying your hand at politics, are you?” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Your father would be proud.”
“The First is proud,” Jura answered carefully, forming the words. “He is pleased he has an heir that will see to his Rank while he is indisposed.”
“Ah, yes, his illness is improving I pray?”
“Better every day.” Jura turned up the corners of her mouth.
“Thank the Everflame.” Beshar nodded, leaning against an ornamental cane and wiping his brow with his customary perfumed handkerchief. Jura held her breath until he put it away.
He released a heavy breath. “I notice I never see your family at the arena.”
Jura resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. She hated the bloodshed of the arena and what it represented and made a point to stay far away from there. She had made up her mind after her first and only visit to the arena when she was a child. Her father had attended a few shows but only for political reasons, and he’d never forced her to attend.
“Nothing better than the rush of excitement, the roar from the crowd, the heat of the dragon, and the feeling of exhilaration as you brush against death.”
“I wasn’t aware you were a gladiator,” Jura said smartly. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Rudeness would get her nowhere.
Beshar laughed it off. “I’m not a gladiator by any means, but I have men from my house who fight and I breed a line of dragons for the games. There’s a thrill that comes from involvement, gladiator or not. I’d like to invite you to watch tomorrow’s games with me in the spectator box.”
Jura thought carefully. Beshar was making a risk by inviting her. She was unmarried and acting council member of the First house. Though her position was weak, she was the interim head of council. Beshar was making a play at gaining Rank. She couldn’t blame him. It was a low risk involvement. As Tenth in the Thirteen he could gain high reward if her house remained strong in the upcoming weeks.
What would father do? Jura bit her bottom lip. Her father would never be in this situation. Her father was dominant and all powerful. If he was here now, the Rank of the First wouldn’t be in question. Even if she did accept an alliance with the Third, and she certainly wouldn’t agree to one through terms of marriage to a fifteen-year-old boy, this outing with Beshar could prove beneficial.
“I’d love to attend,” she answered with a gracious smile. She really hoped she didn’t have greens in her teeth.
Beshar’s round face lit up. “That’s excellent. I’ll send for you tomorrow afternoon.” He bowed low and hurried away as though to run off before she changed her mind.
Jura let loose a pent-up sigh. She felt that she’d made the right decision. Next, she had to talk to the Third and cement arrangements with him while politely declining any offers of a betrothal. Then she needed to find Amira. She walked back toward where she’d left the Third but instead found him off in the corner in deep conversation with the Second. Ahmar’s back was to her, but she could see the intensity in Velder’s eyes. She slowed her approach.
Ahmar noticed her before she could make out what they were saying and waved her over. Both of them gestured their fingers politely, and Velder excused himself, hurrying from the room. Jura frowned after him.
“He seemed upset,” Jura noted. Velder couldn’t be trusted, and she didn’t care for the scheming look in his eyes.
Ahmar lifted one shoulder. “He’s received distressing news. I’ve told him I’m proposing an alliance with your house.”
Jura relaxed. “Of course. He wouldn’t like that.”
Ahmar nodded. “I’ve already gained some ground within the council. Such an alliance would guarantee at least three votes in my favor when it’s time for the vote.”
Jura hid her surprise. “You wish to move up in Rank.” It wasn’t a question. She should have known Ahmar’s end game was to move into the Second position.
Ahmar smiled. “Naturally. I trust Amira has let slip my intentions, and that’s why you have sought me out?” He looked around. “Where is my daughter?”
Jura frowned. “That’s why I had to seek you out.” She swallowed. “I think an alliance would benefit both our families, but I cannot accept your terms. I can’t agree to a betrothal with your son.”
Ahmar nodded, considering. “You love another?”
“No.” Yes. Jura turned the corners of lips upward in a forced smile.
“No,” she repeated. “Nothing like that. I just, well, I would like to think that a marriage for love is still possible. Father has not expressed any desire that I commit to a spouse and especially not one so youthful and, um…inexperienced.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You see Antar as a child.”
Jura blushed. “I’m sure that he would make an excellent husband, but I—”
“You need explain no further.” Ahmar smiled down at her gently. “Might I propose an alliance without the strings of a betrothal?”
Jura sighed in relief. “I would like nothing better.”
Things were looking better for her family already.
Chapter Fourteen
JURA
“There are a few ways to get rid of a member of the Thirteen. Their family name can be disgraced, causing them to be voted out, or they can be injured to the point they can no longer serve,” she stared at Jura pointedly. “Or death.”
Jura couldn’t help but shiver at Amira’s cold smile. “We’re not hurting anyone.”
Amira’s brown eyes widened. “Of course not.” She shook her head. “But accidents happen, and a person’s Arbe can’t always be accounted for.” She winked. For once her eyes were unlined with khol. In fact, Amira wore no makeup at all. It was strange and the f
irst thing Jura had noticed upon her arrival. When she’d asked Amira about it, she’d seemed confused and embarrassed, so Jura let the matter drop, eager for their friendship to regain a sense of normalcy.
The girls had made up earlier that morning when Amira had invited Jura for breakfast. She’d accepted the invitation eagerly, ready to put the fight behind them. She hated when she and Amira were on the outs, which seemed to be more and more often. She had finalized an alliance with the Third during their meal, and the two girls were sitting on Amira’s bed discussing strategy.
Ahmar insisted that he had the situation in control and had urged the girls to go off and do whatever it was that girls like to do. Ahmar had trouble grasping a knowledge of anything outside of politics.
The girls sat on Amira’s plush bedspread and discussed the various ways the Third would take down the Second. Jura fingered the intricate gold threading while she searched for something to say. They weren’t planning a murder, were they?
“I think your father makes Velder appear dishonest in front of the council.” Jura thought this seemed most logical. As Second of the Thirteen, Velder was nearly as important as the First, and he was expected to live in a way that upheld the moral and ethical codes valued by her countrymen. Preservation of water, honesty and honor, bravery, selflessness, and faithfulness to the Everflame were the most esteemed values held sacred by her people. Unfortunately, as much as Velder made her skin crawl, he was an upstanding councilman who did his job completely.
Amira shrugged. “He is the last of his house. A quick death would be the simplest. A little poison in his wine…”
Jura hit her friend lightly on the shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m serious. Poison in one’s wine is the easiest way. It’s what I would do.” Amira giggled but the laughter didn’t reach her eyes.
Amira is joking. She has to be. Jura forced a laugh before changing the subject.
“I’m going to the arena this evening.”
“What? And you’re just now telling me? Are we using your box?”
Jura’s attention remained focused on the ornate pattern of Amira’s bedspread. “I didn’t know my family even had a private box, but I was invited into the spectators box by Beshar.”
Amira wrinkled her dainty nose and snorted. “Eww, that roly poly excuse for a councilman? Why?”
“He invited me.” Jura bit her bottom lip. “I thought it was a good political move.”
Amira’s eyes bugged. “In what way? So that everyone would be wondering why you were at the games with the Tenth? He’s barely a voting councilman.” She let out a groan. “You’re hopeless. All right, I’ll go with you to the arena.”
“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I can go by myself. In fact, I have to.”
Amira narrowed her eyes. “Are you going on a date? You’d tell me, right? Just because you’re not marrying into my family doesn’t mean that you have to woo the affections of the Tenth.”
“No, I’m not trying to woo anyone.” She frowned at the bed sheets. “Except maybe Markhim.”
“Markhim? The Light Guard?”
Sandstorms. Did I say that out loud?
“Umm, yes. Markhim. But, we’re just friends.”
Amira stared at her blandly. “Right, just friends. Just a crush. I remember now.” She said with a flippant toss of her hand.
“You do?” Jura wrinkled her brow in confusion. She would rather die of thirst than succumb to the embarrassment of willingly admitting her feelings for Markhim. She certainly had never mentioned them before to Amira.
“Of course I remember. We’re best friends, right? And best friends tell each other everything.” Amira smiled. “I know I tell you everything.”
“Yes. Of course.” Surely I must have said something to her and then simply forgotten? That’s possible, right? She pushed the questions out of her thoughts. “In any case, Beshar is not a date.”
“Right. It’s not a date.” Amira squinted down at her in confusion.
Jura rolled her eyes. “It’s not a date,” she repeated. “I was just going to meet with him. Privately.” Why had this conversation turned so awkward?
Amira continued to squint at her friend. Finally, she smiled and stood up. “Well, you better head home and figure out what you’ll wear.” She lifted her brow. “Be sure to stick to jewel tones or else you’ll looked washed out.”
Jura forced herself to take a deep breath and smiled. “Thanks for the advice. You’re always looking out for me.”
Amira cocked her head to the side and smiled sweetly. “Of course, Greatness,” she winked.
Amira used the appropriate honorific for addressing Jura, but it didn’t sound like she meant for it to inflect any honor. What was with all of Amira’s sudden mood changes? And why does she seem mad at me? Again? Does she know I’m hiding something from her?
Jura waved a farewell and left for her rooms. It wasn’t fair that she had to deal with everyone’s judgments and plotting. She shouldn’t have to hear mockery from her friend as well. She was doing the best she could. She wanted to make her father proud. She strode to her rooms, her Arbe squared off around her, keeping step.
Their harmonized movements gave her pause. They always seemed to know exactly when to appear and they were always perfectly synchronized. She knew that Arbe were once slave boys in training. That they had once had tongues and friendly conversation. The boys picked for Arbe training were the most agile, the tallest, the strongest of their age. Arbe trainers appeared after a boy’s tenth birthday. They always scouted out the ones they wanted. It was an honor for those chosen. Shortly after the boy’s birthday, he was taken from his home and brought to the Everflame before enduring a ten-year training process that included removing one’s own tongue on the final day of their tenth year. Then, they are formed into Arbe and sold to the elite.
When she reached her door the two men in the rear of her Arbe swept into her room to look over it thoroughly while the first two remained at the door. How had they known who would sweep the room and who would stay at the door? Had that all been defined during their training? Jura marveled at the realization that there was more than just a physical transformation. Her Arbe must have gone through rigorous mental training as well.
The two that had searched her room were satisfied and left her room to guard outside in the hall. She noticed that they pulled back her covers and checked under her bed. They left without needing to be dismissed. She wondered if anyone else had ever taken the time to study the nuances of their Arbe? Or did the majority just view their Arbe as a fixture of palace life, the Arbe nothing more than silent giants that followed them around to do their bidding? She really needed to search the library again. Maybe she’d missed a book.
…She shook her head in frustration. No, she could not afford to go on a tangent now, she had to stay focused. In just two short days the council would meet again. If her father did not attend, the Thirteen would wonder at the capability of her house to stay in control. Their Rank would be called into question, and it was doubtful they would allow Jura to continue to head council.
She checked on the First, giving him water and staring woefully at the tiny gold chain around his wrist. It was impossibly tiny and yet extremely powerful. She’d tried to remove it that first day. She’d pulled at the clasp with all her might and, sobbing, had commanded the members of her Arbe to try. When even the large scimitars of her Arbe failed to make a cut, she knew it was the fault of the chain’s magic. Without knowing who had put it on him, she had little chance of having it removed. She felt infinite pity for him. The once proud man now shriveled in her cellar chained twice over, by his captor and by his own daughter. He said nothing, just stared off at the distance, waiting for his freedom.
She closed the cellar door slowly, wishing more than anything that she had discovered who had done this to her house. It had to be one of the Thirteen. Who else would have even known of the existence of the blood ch
ain? An old house? One that possibly had records in their own library. She wished the Shadow Dancers had been more help. She hadn’t heard a word from them in all these days, and so she was no closer to exchanging information with them. Not that she had any information to exchange.
She rang for a handmaiden and one shortly appeared. The woman was employed by the palace and thus didn’t belong to just one house. Though it wasn’t uncommon for young ladies to employ their own. Amira had three. Jura had never felt the need for any of her own. She hardly ever needed their services, as they were used only to draw baths and arrange outfits and hair. But Jura wanted to look memorable tonight. Not because she was going to the arena with Beshar, but because she had said as much in front of Amira and her handmaidens. By now, everyone in the palace would know of Jura and Beshar’s outing. Amira’s handmaidens, like Amira herself, were notorious gossipers. Jura had to appear strong and capable, like a woman in charge, not a scared little girl.
She did choose robes that were jewel tones. The emerald green flashed against her dark hair which hung in a fat braid down her back. As usual, her birthstone was tucked beneath her robe and hung low between her breasts. She gave Tylak a passing thought but quickly pushed him out of her mind. She had enough on her plate without adding the stress of the former slave and his missing birthstone. She focused on her appearance in the mirror and decided to select jewelry to complement the robes. She chose green earrings, emeralds the size of her thumb, and she giggled as their weight settled on her ears. She doubted she’d be able to keep them on for the entire night before she yanked them off. Still, they were very pretty, and they had been her mother’s. The handmaiden, Sirikka, chattered easily and exclaimed in delight when Jura put on the earrings.
“You look beautiful, Greatness. You truly look like the Lady of the First.”
Jura grinned and blushed at the simpering maid. “Thank you.” It felt good to be fawned over, even if it was just by the palace handmaiden.
A knock sounded on her chamber door.
Curious, Jura swung the door wide, knowing that her Arbe would never let anyone through who might mean her harm. She got a chastising look from one of them. She decided she would name them, based on their positions around her: North, South, East, and West. They were unable to tell her their true names, but if they were going to hover around her she had to call them something. She smiled back at East, but his disapproving look was gone.