by A. M. Deese
Beshar fished around in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief.
She stared at it.
“It’s fresh.”
With a slight smile, she took it and wiped at her face. The heady perfume from the cloth assailed her nostrils. She handed it back, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s lavender and aldehyde.” At her look of confusion he went on. “It’s a calming agent.” He pushed the handkerchief back at her. “Take a deep breath of it. You’ll feel better.”
Grateful, she did as she was told.
“Am I interrupting something?” The voice was Amira’s. Beshar stiffened at her approach.
“Not at all,” Beshar straightened up and inclined his head toward them both. “I was just leaving. I’m late for a meeting with the Fifth.” He met Amira’s eyes. “Excuse me, the Fourth.”
Jura watched him leave, already feeling the effects of the calming oil. She dragged her eyes up to Amira’s, frightened of what she might see.
“Are you alright?” Amira asked. She looks the same. How could she look the same? How could she be so calm knowing she’d sent a man to his death?
“Better now.” Jura stood up, stuffing Beshar’s handkerchief up the sleeve of her robe.
“I was thinking I would throw a luncheon,” Amira said.
Jura stared at her blankly. I want to slap her. The thought shocked her, and she clenched her fist. She’d never felt violence toward her friend before. “Why?”
“Whatever do you mean? Who knows how long father will allow me to act as his interim. I have to take advantage of the freedom while I can.”
“Like ordering executions?”
Amira lifted her chin, a small smile turning up the corners of her full red lips. “Oh, so that’s what this is about. I told you I would seek revenge. He killed my brother, Jura. He would have killed us all. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I could have died!”
“There’s no proof that it was him.” Amira was right. She had almost died. Yet the threat to her friend wasn’t enough to erase the memory of the terror in Dahr’s eyes as he pleaded for his freedom. Without evidence of Dahr’s foul play, she refused to believe he deserved execution. She wanted to hear the full story of his defense.
“Oh, stop being so naïve. Of course it was him. Who else would benefit from the removal of my house?”
“Everyone,” Jura answered softly. Wasn’t that what had just happened? Ledair had just been voted in this morning and was already moved into the rank of the Twelfth.
“I see,” Amira pulled a pout. “Does this mean you won’t attend?”
“I—” She stood up, dismayed that the room still seemed to be spinning. Must be from all the wine the night before. “I think I need a nap.”
“I have a new Arbe. I’ll send your men back to you before the luncheon starts. That way you’ll have a full escort before you attend.” She reached out her hand and placed it on Jura’s shoulder.
Amira’s fingers were icy cold and bit through the pale cloth of her robe. Jura flinched and pulled away. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”
“Goodbye, Jura.” Amira called after her. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
Jura hurried away, before her father, Amira, or anyone else could stop her.