by A. M. Deese
Beshar lowered his eyes and dipped the customary bow, wriggling his thumbs in greeting. “Greatness, how wonderful to see you out and about.” He forced himself to keep his eyes on the ground and away from Jura, though he could feel her trembling beside him. “I trust you’re feeling better?”
“Oh, entirely. I feel like a new man.” He smiled tightly. “Jura, there you are, cowering behind this behemoth of a man. Is that any way to greet your father?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
ASH
“What are you reading?”
He dragged his eyes away from the tome and flashed Kindle a warm smile. The Fire Dancer leaned against his door frame, twirling her assegai with deft fingers.
“It’s the Chronicles. I find myself constantly drawn to them. Perhaps because soon I will find my own name along its pages. There were so many of them, decades and centuries dead, and the only thing that remains of them is a name in a book. Maybe a sentence or two if they’re one of the lucky ones.”
Her eyes were full of sympathy and she leaned her weapon against the wall, not waiting for permission to enter before strolling in and sitting on the edge of his bed. She perched against its thin frame and stared at him like a watchful bird.
“Where’s Kay?”
He pointed to a corner of the room where the young girl sat huddled in a blanket, reading a picture book that Kindle had left with her the day before.
Spotting her, Kindle’s eyes softened and she appeared, well, motherly. Life in the arena made it near impossible for one to have a family. He wondered if Kindle felt loss from the fact that she would probably never be a mother.
“She’s been reading that thing non-stop since you gave it to her.” It had been a good idea. Found in the library, it was a picture dictionary designed for teaching young cadets to read. Though as a whole the slave race was not taught to read, all cadets and those training for the life of a Torch were taught after they were chosen. It had been a simple matter for Kindle to write the words in Drakori beside their counterpart in the language of the Republic. Kay proved to be an excellent reader in her own language, and she’d seemed delighted when Kindle had gifted her the book of simple translations.
Kay sparkled whenever Kindle was around, but had yet to acknowledge his presence, except to offer a smile in thanks for a meal. Otherwise, she’d spent her time reading. Kindle had arranged to come for a language lesson before her sparring practice.
“Hi, Kay,” Kindle called out loudly, capturing the girl’s attention.
Kay leapt to her feet, grinning while she threw herself into Kindle’s waiting arms.
Well, that friendship certainly hadn’t taken long, Ash thought wryly. He watched the girls exchange greetings in the guttural clipped tones of Drakori for a moment before once again losing himself in the book. His father had been a Fire Dancer, and Ash liked to look at his father’s name, though he never felt the sting of remorse. He’d never known the man. He had been conceived while his father was on leave, perhaps he even had a brother or sister, though Ash had never bothered to do any research to find out. His father’s career had ended early, after just two seasons in the arena, which meant that his father had died nearly fifty years ago. His record was spotty at best and already forgotten by everyone except Ash himself, and he only held on to the memory of an idea. With a sigh, he closed the heavy book and pushed it aside, leaning back in his chair.
What was the purpose of it all? They were chosen by the Everflame and the only glory in death was found in a rush of smoke and flames. And yet, he wondered. …Staring at Kay, he found himself questioning what the honor of dying early and leaving a child fatherless was? He’d never wondered at his father for so long before, and he pushed the thoughts aside.
Idly, he opened another book he’d brought from the arena library, one that documented the dragon legends, and flipped its weathered pages. It wasn’t as interesting as the book documenting the Dancers. There had been many dragons, and the book served as more of a ledger, simply stating the dragon’s name and owner, how many matches won, and who had felled the beast at its end. He flipped several pages, skimming entries before he noticed a pattern. When the dragon was owned by one of the Thirteen, the dragon’s lineage was described: the dragon’s birth weight, his sire and dame, as well as any transfer of ownership and trainer. The dragons listed as belonging to the arena held no such information. Instead, these dragons simply had the name of the dragon and the name of the Dancer credited for his death. Interesting. Why not include the other information? Did all arena dragons come from the same breeding pair?
“Kindle?” he called out, not taking his eyes from the book.
“Yes?” She sounded distracted and annoyed, most likely he’d interrupted her.
“Where do the arena dragons come from?”
She muttered something in Drakori before heading toward him. “What?”
“The dragons,” he repeated, flipping pages and searching for a discrepancy in his theory.
“If you’re going to interrupt our lesson, the least you could do is look up at me and stop mumbling.”
Sheepishly, he raised his eyes until they met her scowling blue ones. He smiled. “Sorry. Where do the arena dragons come from? I’ve never heard any mention of our breeding program. No whisper of where our breeding facilities are located. And this book doesn’t mention any of it.”
She shrugged. “I dunno. I never gave it any thought. We must have some sort of land outside the city. I guess everything happens there.”
He was unconvinced. “Yeah. I suppose so.” He sat up tall, stretching his aching arms above his head. Used to be he only felt such aching muscles after a long day in the training field, now it seemed a few hours in the chair were enough to do him in.
“How’s the lesson?”
“It would go better if we weren’t interrupted by the ramblings of an old man.” There was no sting in her catty remark, and her eyes twinkled.
He swatted at her, but his heart wasn’t in it and she moved easily out of his reach. He was aware of Kay’s watchful eyes.
“Come over here, girl. Show me what you’ve learned.”
“We’ve only been practicing the alphabet,” Kindle warned. “Though I’ve a feeling she’s learning quickly.” She waved Kay over, and the girl moved toward them in that graceful floating way of hers. Once again, Ash was struck with the sad thought that Kay would have made a wonderful Dancer.
“Well,” Ash said once she was close, “tell me something in the Republic’s tongue.”
Kindle said something in Drakori, and Kay stared at her for a moment before turning her solemn blue eyes up to Ash.
Without a trace of an accent, the girl whispered, “I want to go home.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
JURA
“Father.” She met his eyes, counting to herself in an effort to slow her racing heart. One, two, three, four—
“Velder mentioned you were spending much of your free time in the company of the Tenth,” her father stated, watching her carefully.
She glanced toward Beshar and met the nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Of course, her father’s chain master didn’t know about Velder’s own blood chain. If Velder didn’t say anything, who did?
“Yes,” she said slowly. “The Tenth and I have sparked up quite the friendship during your illness.”
The First smiled. Her father never smiled, preferring instead to always appear stoic and strong. The sight of him smiling now made her knees shake.
“Yes. About my illness, I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me. You’ve done the Republic a great service.”
“Yes,father. You’ve always taught me to do what’s right.”
“So I have.” He looked from one to the other. “It seems you’ve also taken an interest in politics. I do hope that was because of my own influence and not that of your new friend?”
“Yes, father. I did my best to keep control of our Rank.”
“Did you?�
� His dark brown eyes stared deep into her own and she clenched her fist so she wouldn’t shudder.
“Greatness, if I may suggest, we had best take our leave. The session starts now.” Beshar had whipped out his handkerchief and was wiping the line of sweat at his brow.
Her father frowned at the Tenth. “The session starts when I want it to.” He looked back at Jura and smiled. “But you are correct, we should go inside. Jura, would you care to join us?”
Jura wished she’d been able to decipher more how blood chains worked the night before. Perhaps then she’d better understand just what her father’s chain master was up to. “You’ve never wanted my presence before.” Each word seemed to fight its way out of her mouth.
“Ahh, yes. But that was before you proved you had a head for politics. Come, sit beside me. You will benefit from further lessons.”
The First extended his arm, and Jura took it wordlessly, allowing herself to be pulled inside. Beshar followed after them.
The Thirteen were already seated along their long stone table. Beshar was quick to take his seat, and she noticed that several of the Thirteen muttered at her entrance. During session, only the Thirteen voting members were permitted in the hall. Jura’s presence was unprecedented and a huge faux pas. Jura’s eyes desperately sought out Amira, sitting in for her father. Jura sent her a worried glance, but the corners of Amira’s lips merely turned up in a smile.
Velder hurriedly grabbed a chair from the far side of the dome. He set it up on the dais beside her father’s glass throne and called the meeting to order. She watched Beshar as Velder spoke, but could see nothing that gave any indication of his blood chain. Citizens were called in, and Jura watched as her father passed judgment to each without hesitation. Her father once again seemed himself. It was as if the last week and a half had all been some terrible dream.
The First had worn the ceremonial robes. They all did. It was a voting day for Rank, but this time Jura didn’t notice that her clothing was out of place. She was distracted and stared at her father’s wrist. It was covered by the thick wool of his robe. If she hadn’t known any better, she would never even believe the blood chain was there. When the last citizen was sentenced, Velder announced the vote for Rank. Fatima and Tamir exchanged nervous glances. They had a say in the judgment of the people and the Republic’s politics, but not when it came to their own Rank.
Jura felt her breath catch in her throat. Her father was back now and showed no signs of weakness. Was it enough? Was her family’s position secure? She scanned the faces of the Thirteen, wondering what would be decided. …Wait, there were only twelve. The seat beside Fatima sat empty. How had she not noticed it before? She counted once again, realizing that the Thirteenth was missing. The twitchy little man named Zair. She thought back to the night that she’d met him at the arena. He had disappeared after their brief encounter. Had he been murdered then? She shuddered at the thought.
Velder, or should she say Beshar, was speaking. And though she stared at Velder’s thin mouth, she couldn’t hear any of his words over the buzzing in her ears.
“Jura, what do you think?”
She jumped, meeting her father’s eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry?”
“Merchant Ledair has made a motion to join the council as the Thirteenth. Shall we vote him in?”
So, Zair truly was gone. “Yes, father.”
“Why?”
Why what? Why allow the man to join? “Is there a reason he shouldn’t join?”
Her father stared at her. His dark eyes squinting and thoughtful. Suddenly he smiled, “You must always think before you allow someone to join. What are his holdings? Who has he aligned himself to?” He nodded. “We will second Ledair’s motion.” The First called out to the council. “Does anyone else agree?”
Ledair was voted in, and it was decreed that he would be alerted to move into the apartments of the Thirteenth after the meeting. It was hard for Jura to believe the lives of two men had changed so drastically in the course of one meeting. Ledair was suddenly one of the elite Thirteen, and Zair’s household now belonged to him. Zair was probably dead, his body most likely burned to ash days ago.
“The house of the Third would like to make a motion.” The voice was Amira’s, and Jura turned to her in surprise. What was she doing?
Velder stroked his thin mustache, probably to distract his trembling hands. Jura noticed that Beshar was wiping at his brow. Were their movements somehow connected through their blood chains?
“Speak, Third. This session is still open.”
Surely Amira wouldn’t try to make a move for Second? Surely she didn’t still plan to ask that her house be moved forward in Rank? Her father had yet to recover. He hadn’t made a social appearance since the death of his son.
“The House of the Third would like for the Fourth to face judgment for crimes against their own.”
Jura shook her head at her friend. This wasn’t the way things should be done.
“What crimes have I committed?” Dahr stood up, his chair scraping against the stone floor.
“You killed my brother.” Amira’s voice was soft and her eyes sparkled with hatred. She also stood up and her height placed her nearly nose to nose with the Fourth. “You tried to kill my entire family. You made a move to poison my house in hopes that you could become Third. Don’t try to deny it.”
Dahr’s face went pale, and he shook his head so furiously that his eyes seemed to rattle in his head. “N-no. No, it isn’t true.”
“My lady Third, perhaps you shoul—”
Beshar was interrupted by Amira, “Tenth, you would do well to hold your tongue. I don’t recall asking the opinion of the lower council.”
Velder spoke up. “The house of the Third has made some serious accusations.”
“I second the motion.” The low and husky voice came from the Fifth. She stood up, nodding her head in deference to Amira. “I’ll admit that the council will turn a blind eye on murder when one is aiming to increase their rank, but the botched attempt of the Fourth only proves his incompetence.”
As the Fifth, Denir would rise in rank at Dahr’s absence. All of the lesser council members would. Jura swallowed. No one would speak up in the Fourth’s defense because his absence would work in everyone’s favor.
“But I didn’t do it. You must believe me.” Dahr turned away from Amira and cast pleading eyes up toward the glass throne. “I—I have information.” He thrust a shaking finger at Denir, waving it at her nose. “The Fifth knows! She knows what’s happening. There is a conspiracy. The arena. Don’t do this, Denir.” His fingers gripped the shoulders of the Fifth. She jerked away from him. Dahr shook his head wildly and clasped his hands together as he lifted his desperate face up toward the dais.
“Please, your Greatness. I beg of you. Please! The ar—”
Her father held up a hand for silence. “The council has spoken. Dahr, speaker of the House of the Fourth, your home has been stripped of all rank. You no longer hold the position of the Fourth.”
Dahr let out a low moan. Jura’s breath made a small, whistling sound as she sucked it in between clenched teeth. Her father didn’t even mean to listen to the defense of the Fourth. The man hadn’t even had a fair chance.
Her father raised his palm again. “The council will vote in a new Thirteenth at the next meeting. Now, if there are no other motions this session wil—”
“I want him dead.” Amira’s voice was flat and cold. Jura hardly recognized it as the flippant lilting voice of her friend.
The First frowned, considering this. “Jura,” he said softly. “What would you do?”
Why is he asking me? “He’s already been stripped of his rank. What would his death prove?”
The First tilted his head to the side and raised his brows. “You would grant him mercy?”
She stared at Dahr. The man had slumped back into his seat and held his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. Only a week ago, she had sat in her father’s chair and se
ntenced Tylak to his death. But that had been different. She had been pressured. Her family’s Rank and the safety of the Republic was at stake. But this…this was petty revenge, nothing more. The defense of the Fourth should at least be heard out.
“There’s no proof he even committed this crime.”
Her father shook his head, almost sadly, and tsked. “Ah, Jura. I give you so many chances, and still you continue to disappoint me. Now that we have taken all that Dahr has, he has nothing to lose. And a man who has nothing to lose is a dangerous one, remember that. Amira is right in demanding his death. Your friend is strong. You are weak.” He turned back toward the council and addressed them in his booming voice.
“The request of the Third is granted. Dahr will be held in the dungeons until the next execution day.”
Dahr fainted in his chair.
Jura watched as his body slumped to the ground. No one made a move to help him, though palace guards arrived within moments to haul him to his feet and out of the hall. She didn’t dare look at Amira. She couldn’t stand to look into the smiling face of her friend who had just committed murder.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
JURA
Father is a monster. They’re all a bunch of monsters. Bitter bile rose in her throat, and she choked it back, breathing heavily. She watched as Dahr was escorted from the room, and her father rose from his seat in the glass throne to speak with other members of the council. Get up, she ordered herself. Get up and go to your rooms. Her feet remained planted to the stone floor, and she didn’t rise from her chair.
I can’t even blame the blood chain, she thought desperately. If she was truly being honest with herself, her father acted the same way he always had. She once again questioned if her father was even still wearing the cursed thing.
“Are you alright?”
She looked up at the concerned voice and tried to smile at Beshar. He stood before her, a frown etched into his pale round features.
“I will be,” she murmured. Why was the room spinning? She took a deep breath, “I’m fine.”