by A. M. Deese
Amira stood in her doorway, looking beautiful in a pale silk dress that clung to her figure and a large white silk scarf that covered barely enough for Jura to consider it an effort to be modest.
“Jura, you look amazing! Truly, I’ve never seen you look more beautiful. I didn’t even know your ears were pierced.”
Though Jura had refused to wear a dress, the emerald green robes and silk pants folded around her skin and showed off her features nicely. Jura smiled and touched a hand to her ears.
“They’ve always been pierced. Mother did it for me when I was baby. These were hers.”
Amira’s face softened. She had lost her own mother at a young age and it was something the girls had bonded over. “I brought you this.” She forced a slender box into Jura’s hands.
Inside the box were a pair of gold filigree spectacles. Instead of perching over her nose, the spectacles were meant to be held in place with a thin gold wand. Jura held the lorgnette up to her face and gasped in delight. They were like little binoculars.
“They’re beautiful.”
Amira smiled and tossed back her thick braid. “I thought you’d like them. I smuggled them back from Kitoi.”
That would explain the excellent workmanship of the gold. Jura tried to keep her face impassive as she examined the contraband. Though the country was under the Tri-Alliance, trade between Kitoi and the Republic was technically illegal without any permits. She doubted that Amira had gone through the trouble of obtaining a permit for the elaborate gift.
She must have done a poor job of hiding her reaction because Amira made a face. “Don’t worry. No one is going to notice. It’s a lorgnette, not a weapon of mass destruction. Besides, you need something nice to wear at the arena. And at court.” She hugged Jura, gripping her shoulders tight. “You’re my best friend and I really am proud of you. I wanted to apologize. I guess I’ve been a little jealous lately.”
“Jealous?” Jura was shocked. “Of me? Whatever for?”
“Well, you’re the daughter of the First. And you’re so smart and interesting. And last week you voted in council. I would never be allowed to do that.” She let out a deep breath, puffing out her round cheeks. “But I shouldn’t have let jealousy cloud our friendship. I’m sorry.”
Jura hugged her back. “Thank you, Amira.”
Amira laughed and gently pushed her friend away. “You better go. Beshar sent a palanquin for you.”
“No.”
“Truly. It’s just outside. Oh, and I have one more gift for you.”
Jura raised her eyebrow, amused by the mischievous spark in her friend’s eyes.
“I spoke with your guard and told him all about your little crush. So now you don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.” Amira’s smile widened. “Afterall, what are friends for?”
Chapter Fifteen
JURA
When Jura was eight, she climbed to the top of the weapon scaffold despite the protest of Akkim. He’d been there to mend her sprained ankle after, but she would never forget the sensation of falling. She felt that same sensation now. Surely Amira hadn’t just said what she thought she said.
“You told him?”
Amira nodded enthusiastically. “Mmm, yes, and I told him if he wants to keep you from dating disgusting old men, he needs to make a stand for you. Oh, here he is now.” She winked at Jura. “I’ll leave you two alone.” Amira turned and left, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
I’ll strangle her. Jura squeezed her hands together and took a deep breath before turning to meet Markhim’s dancing brown eyes.
“Hello.”
“Is that all I get? You send your insipid friend to embarrass me in front of all the Light Guards and all you have to say is hello?”
“I’m sorry?”
He laughed. “Well, that’s a start, at least.”
Her shoulders slumped in relief. She hadn’t realized how tense they had been until that moment. “So, you’re not angry with me?”
“No, I’m not angry. A bit confused maybe. I thought we agreed we weren’t going to tell anyone about us?”
“But there is an us?”
Markhim stepped forward to take her hand but stopped when he noticed the Seventh and his entourage through the thin glass of the adjoining hall. The Seventh nodded to Jura as he passed. “Of course there is an us. So long as you’re not truly trying to woo any old men?”
“No.” Jura laughed. “Definitely not. I was hoping I could get some information though. You know, the sort I can use to bargain with.”
“Well, be careful. There’s rumors surrounding the Tenth. He has the potential to be dangerous.”
Jura rolled her eyes. “You think everyone has the potential to be dangerous.” She lowered her voice to mock his rich baritone.
“I’m serious. The man is very secretive.”
“He’s a member of the Thirteen. We’re all secretive.” Her face softened. “You know I have to do this. Not only for my father but for me. The Shadow Dancers know things. They have access to magic I’ve only dreamed of. I have to believe they can give me the information I’ve been searching for. But I promise to be careful. I brought my book on espionage just to be safe.”
“This isn’t the time to make jokes. Be careful. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Markhim nodded, satisfied. “I better get back to my post. There’s rumors of an escape from the dungeons. It won’t be long until whispers trinkle up through the Thirteen and there’s an inquiry.”
“Maybe we can find a way to stage his death?” Burn it all, that man was still giving her trouble.
“If I find him back in these glass walls, his death won’t need to be staged.”
His eyes twinkled, but his voice was laced with a level of venom she’d never heard from him before.
“Your post,” she murmured, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
“The Everflame isn’t going to guard itself,” Markhim agreed. “Can I see you later?”
Jura nodded. “After I return from the Arena. Meet me in our spot at midnight.”
“I can’t wait.” Markhim smiled and dipped into a low bow before walking briskly down the hall and back to his post.
Now late, Jura tried to keep her running to a lady-like trot as she hurried outside. Beshar really had sent a palanquin, and it sat outside the palace gates with her house’s colors and emblem emblazoned on the side, the golden sun shining stark against a purple background. She raised an eyebrow at the richness. What game was he playing? Had he truly had a palanquin created for her alone? The litter was carted by eight oiled men. They bowed deeply in nod to her stature. Overwhelmed by the fuss made over her, she entered the vehicle quickly, grateful for the privacy the enclosed box afforded. She called for her Arbe to follow, but they had already positioned themselves in their customary square around her. She leaned back against the plush pillows of the litter and enjoyed her trip.
They were slow going, but the steady pace of the men beneath her was soothing and Jura found it easy to close her eyes and let her thoughts drift. She practiced the things she would say when she was approached by members of the council. She would give each a gracious greeting and say, of course she loved the arena (they didn’t have to know that was a lie). Then she would ask if they have a man or a beast in the fight. And she would listen. Perhaps this trip to the arena would finally afford her with some knowledge to give the Shadow Dancers. If nothing else, it was sure to help with her political standing.
Lafer’s Politics of the Sand Sea: Tales of Arena and War suggested that the best way to gain a strong political foothold was to gain the respect of the council, both inside and outside of meetings. That meant attending social functions. And there was nothing more social than the arena. She’d gone once before. Her mother had been alive then, and the family had sat in the public spectator box with the other members of court. Jura hadn’t cared for the noise or the bloodshed. She had stayed closed to her mother who had soothed Jura
by playing with her hair and entertaining her with fairy tales. She told Jura stories of far off lands and adventures of the brave. Everyone had loved her mother. She greeted everyone by name and responded graciously to every conversation.
Jura missed her mother desperately. If Jaydra was still alive, her family wouldn’t be in this mess. She had thrived in society, and people had never called her awkward or shy. Her mother would have known what to do to fix her father. At the very least she would have been capable of maintaining the family’s Rank while a solution was found.
I will make them proud, mother and father both. She had only two days, but there was still hope. Jura prayed that by attending the arena today, she would be able to discover a clue about her father. It was one of her last chances, and she was running out of ideas.
The palanquin jostled as if one of the carriers had lost a step. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into the dark eyes of a Shadow Dancer.
Chapter Sixteen
JURA
She would have screamed but a gloved hand quickly clamped over her mouth. Jura’s eyes widened, and she struggled under the weight of the Shadow Dancer.
Her assailant was larger than Jura, though that wasn’t saying much compared to Jura’s small frame. Jura suspected she was a woman, because her attacker had remarkably slender wrists. The Shadow Dancer was dressed entirely in black. A loose tunic fit over tight black pants that came to a stop before shiny black boots. Jura’s eyes widened when she noticed the long dagger peeking out the top of one boot.
“Don’t scream and I’ll remove my hand, agreed?”
The woman’s voice had a high registry, but her tone was an authoritative growl. Jura nodded.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, wiping her mouth after the woman removed her hand.
The woman’s face was entirely covered by a silky black mask. Only her thin lips and chin were visible, and those lips curved up in a smile.
“How does smoke drift in the wind?”
Cryptic. Jura rolled her eyes. The Dancer fell back against the pillows opposite Jura and leaned against the litter wall, staring at her. By her estimation, they had less than ten minutes before they arrived at the arena. Jura intended to make those minutes count. She searched for something to say to break the silence. She needed answers.
“I thought he would send for me sooner.”
“You were asked to retrieve information.”
“I have,” Jura protested.
The woman giggled, and Jura wondered if her assailant was little more than a girl. And sure, maybe she didn’t have much information but she had something.
“Geedar and his wife are expecting a baby. There is now a solid heir in foundation for the House of the Sixth. And the Third and I have agreed to the terms of an alliance. We plan to announce it tomorrow evening.”
The Dancer snorted. “That’s it? In nearly a week’s time that is all the information you’ve been able to gather?”
“Those facts are not yet public knowledge,” Jura stammered.
“Nor are they secrets. You were tasked to provide us with information and you’ve failed.”
“N-no,” Jura begged, tripping over her words. “Please, I’ll get more. I’ll be at the arena tonight. Surely I’ll learn something new. Please, give me another chance.”
The woman held up a hand. “Stop begging. We suspected as much from you. That is why I’m here,” the Dancer leaned forward, “to give you some direction. You actually did something good. You’re attending the arena tonight with Beshar as your escort. Seduce him.”
Jura’s eyebrow’s shot up. “Excuse me?”
The woman leaned back again, crossing her long, slim legs at the ankle. “You’re young and beautiful, and Beshar is an unmarried man. He has needs. Fulfill them.”
“But—that is, I—”
The woman let out a sigh. “You’re hardly a master at dissemble. You’re much too naive. But pillow talk…” She smiled again. “You’d be amazed at what a woman can find out in her lover’s bed.”
Jura felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “I can’t.” Definitely can’t.
“You can and you will. Beshar has many assets, and we want to know more. He knows something that gives him power over the Thirteen. A secret. We need to find out what it is. Find out and we’ll help you save your father.”
Jura bit her bottom lip and clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. “We only have two days before the next council meeting.”
The litter came to a stop.
“Then you better hurry.”
Jura heard the voice, but the woman was gone as quickly as she’d come. Jura frowned. How did they do that? The curtains opened, and Jura was assisted down from the litter. Her Arbe closed rank around her. Had they really not seen the Shadow Dancer come and go? She studied their faces, but they all had the same blank look. Was it her imagination or did North look a bit distracted? She squinted up at him but saw nothing in his eyes that gave anything away. She sighed and allowed herself to be escorted away by Beshar’s footmen; her Arbe walked tight beside her.
She had forgotten how large the arena was. She stared up at it in wonder, marveling at the tall walls and rounded dome top that were made entirely out of glass. She never had reason to leave the palace, much less travel across the capital city to watch bloodsport. The arena dome, originally commissioned by Josper, was impressive and second only to the palace itself. Jutting up into the sky, the sun reflected off of the glass and sent prisms of light in every direction, the dome appeared to sparkle and glow. Jura’s breath caught in her throat.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
She hadn’t heard him approach, and Jura flinched, startled by his touch.
Beshar immediately dropped his hand from where he’d placed it at the small of back.
Seduce him. She stared at Beshar’s enormous figure, at the beads of sweat that rolled down his pale round face. She swallowed.
“Councilman, thank you for your invitation and the use of your litter.” She inclined her head politely. “You’re too kind.”
“Happy to do so, Greatness,” he held out an arm. “May I?”
She gingerly placed her fingers around his. His sleeve was slightly damp and she wondered if he was sweating through his robes. Don’t think about that, she ordered herself. She concentrated on her father.
“Thank you, Councilman.”
“Beshar, please. You look ravishing.” He smiled at her, flashing tiny yellowed teeth and looking directly into her eyes. Seduction. Right. You can do this, Jura.
“Well then, please, call me Jura.” She squeezed his arm.
Beshar’s eyes widened. “You honor me,” he stared down at her hand. “Shall we go inside?” He swooped out his other arm in a grand gesture.
Beshar led her through the imposing doors to the arena and through a glass hallway behind a gate that held its own Arbe. The men waved them through. At the end of the hallway was a single door. When Beshar pushed it open, Jura was pleasantly surprised by the rush of cool air. He led her to a plush seat and she sat down, accepting a baked tart from a slave.
She placed the tart in her mouth, tasting the dried apricot and honey as the sweet textures rolled on her tongue. “It’s much…” Jura stammered. She smiled without showing her teeth, bits of tart stuck to them. “Much more refined than I thought it would be.”
Beshar nodded. “It’s the only way to watch the fight.” He waved out at the arena that was already full of screaming citizens and shuddered delicately. “I don’t know how they do it.”
Jura held her lorgnette up to her face. She felt a prick of pain and frowned down at her finger. A tiny piece of the gold wiring had bent back and pierced her finger causing a tiny drop of blood to appear. Poison? She’d heard any number of stories in which poison was administered through a tiny prick on the hand. No, it’s a gift from Amira. She shoved the wild fear out of her mind before it grew any strength. Politics of the Thirteen were a breeding gro
und for paranoia. Still, someone did put a snake in my bed…
She pushed the wiring back down and popped her finger in her mouth before peering out at the crowd. They seemed crazed with excitement. She forced her thoughts back to her conversation with Beshar. “I suppose I’ve never known what all the fuss was about it?”
Beshar frowned at her. “Don’t know what’s the fuss? The Fire Dancer and his battle with the dragon is a time-honored tradition. There is no more noble sport on this planet.”
Jura was quick to place a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps I just don’t understand it.” She squeezed her fingers lightly. “I need someone to teach me.” She hoped she hadn’t upset him. She bit her bottom lip in frustration, and Beshar smiled.
“I’d be delighted to teach you.” He leaned toward her. “Jura, I must say this blossoming friendship is a welcome surprise.”
Jura swallowed and tried not to blush.
“I’m full of surprises,” she heard herself saying. I’m possessed by desperation.
Beshar’s smile widened. “I bet you are. Look, it’s the Third.”
Ahmar entered with Amira on his arm and Antar on his left. His house was announced and they swept into the box, their Arbe close behind. The men looked serious and thoughtful. Amira looked beautiful and sweet. Her braid was twisted around the crown of her head and she wore very little makeup, her eyes only slightly lined with khol and her lips a soft pink. She sent a wink in Jura’s direction before seating herself in the back. She snapped her fingers for the attention of a slave carrying a large fan.
Beshar nudged her elbow. “You know Geedar of course,” he leaned closer.
“His wife is expecting.” Jura nodded.