by Jacinta Jade
Luckily, Melora knew how to style hair quite well, so Siraay had the female dress her hair in an elaborate updo that swept her long fringe up and backwards and then twisted and layered it into the other lengthy sections of her hair.
Then Genlie brought out the dress.
It was made from a shimmery blue fabric and had been pieced together from different cuts of the same material, so that the eye was forced to travel over the whole of the dress without stopping.
The back of the dress swooped down in a long V-shape that revealed the small of Siraay’s back, while the lowest point of the V in the front stopped over her breast bone.
The straps of the dress were thick, a secure pressure on Siraay’s shoulders, and the material met in the centre line of her body, sweeping down over her breasts and tightly in to her waist and hips before it flowed out again into a full skirt.
One slit that started near the top of a thigh revealed a long bare leg that ended in a black strappy heel. The shoe itself was completely impractical, and she had chosen it specially to wear with this dress. No one who saw her in these shoes would suspect what she planned to do this evening.
Siraay chuckled out loud, making Genlie and Melora regard her for an instant in surprise before they both glanced away.
Siraay could tell they wondered how she could be so calm, knowing what she was going to do later, but this was her life now. Fighting for what she wanted, but not down in the dirt anymore. No. Now, she would fight with the best of them. And still be the last one standing.
She loved the feel of the dress’s soft folds around her legs as she moved across to the large mirror in her room.
A devastating paragon was reflected back at her.
Genlie had helped with the makeup, using dark blues to bring out the colours in Siraay’s eyes and the dress itself, fading the dark-blue makeup into black smudges that swept out from the corners of her eyes in thick wings. Her lashes were long and full, her lips pale and bare, apart from a little shine that Siraay herself had applied.
And around her neck, as it always was, lay the gold tarzneum necklace that Chezran had given her.
Pleased, Siraay swept away from the mirror towards the door, her dress swishing about her legs as she strode, perfectly balanced on those high and inappropriate shoes.
Genlie and Melora stood ready. Both wore slightly different outfits from their usual tonight—black corsets over thin, gauzy tops, the shoulders ornamented with the gold crosses that were the emblem of Xarcon.
Fancy enough to help them blend in with Siraay as her escort tonight, but not so overdone that the pair would be hindered in carrying out their allotted tasks that evening.
Siraay nodded her satisfaction as she ran her eyes over them, then breathed in deeply. There was no turning back after she walked through that door.
She nodded curtly at Genlie, who opened the double doors, and Siraay swept through.
As she left her room and began to stride down the carpeted walkway, Wexner and Zale peeled off from where they had been positioned slightly farther down the hallway and strode off ahead of her.
Their first task was simple—escort Siraay down to the council chamber for the special banquet, scouting out the corridors ahead while Genlie and Melora guarded the rear.
Not that Siraay really thought that Atalia would be stupid enough to send someone after her tonight, so soon after her first attempt to kill Siraay had failed and everyone was on their guard.
They made it to the stairs without issue and began descending, Siraay lifting the front section of her dress carefully with one hand as she slowly made her way down, taking extra caution due to the heels.
Once she hit the floor below, Wexner and Zale were off once more, checking dark spaces, rooms, and corners along the way well before she got there.
Siraay had purposely waited until everyone else would already be at the feast, so that her chances of running into anyone but servants on the way were minimal.
They turned into another corridor, and after a short walk, Siraay and her four guards stopped before a pair of large doors.
She twisted towards Wexner and Zale. ‘Go and do your duty, then return here once it’s done.’
They both bowed deeply to her and then, silent as shadows, slipped away. They, too, had dressed purposely for the evening, wearing weightless dark clothing and discrete weapons belts.
Once the pair had disappeared into the darkness of the hall beyond, Siraay pivoted back to face the closed doors before her, looking down at the ground and breathing deeply.
She was done with training, with preparing for her new role. Everything she had learned during her time at the Resistance camps and in her days here, first as a captive and then as a member of Chezran’s inner circle, had led up to this moment. She had transformed completely from the naive, stumbling female who’d failed to Change in Lalinta into a cunning warrior who would help lead Kaslon into a new age.
It was time to show Chezran she was ready.
Siraay raised her chin, nodded once, and Melora and Genlie each pushed open the door they were standing beside.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
WARM LIGHT AND chatter enveloped Siraay, and she allowed herself a moment to stand there and take it all in. Just a moment and not one more.
Enough time, though, to allow everyone’s eyes to fall upon her before she started her relaxed but poised stroll down the length of the room towards her empty seat near the lord.
Behind her, the large doors closed again, and Siraay could picture what would greet any servant who approached on the other side—two stunning female elite soldiers, one dark-haired and one pale, knives out and prepared to dissuade anyone from entering until Siraay’s business here was completed.
As Siraay walked across the stone floor, her heels tapping a purposeful rhythm, the remaining light chatter of the archons and captains began to slow and fade, until it died away completely.
At the head of the long banquet table, Chezran rose from his place, wearing a dark charcoal jacket with darker X’s embroidered high on the sleeves, making his shoulders look that much more broad.
‘My lady, it is good to see you looking so … well.’
Siraay’s smile was pleasantly languid. She was glad she had managed to get Chezran to agree to pushing out their first face-to-face meeting after her recovery until tonight. She’d needed that long to prepare her plans. ‘Thank you, my lord. Apologies for my lateness. I had a couple of things to see to.’ Her eyes roamed the table, noting faces and positions, meeting all eyes, and stopping for an extra heartbeat on one pair—that gave her a slow blink in return.
Good, all had been set.
‘Of course,’ said Chezran, with a smile of his own. ‘Please.’ He waved a hand towards an empty seat on Siraay’s right side, which was placed between Loce and Captain Merca, then resumed his own seat.
Siraay moved towards the indicated chair, subtly altering her walk so that the split of her dress gaped open to reveal the length of her leg.
The shift of Chezran’s gaze to that spot, and the gaping mouths of two of the captains—one of them Raque—pleased her.
Siraay reached the chair and, after one of the waiting servants pulled it out for her, smoothly sat down.
To look right across the table at Archon Atalia.
Renhed had arranged it all, of course, through whatever means she had.
No doubt Atalia had been revelling in being placed so close to her lord—although she still had Pyron between her and Chezran, of course, just as Siraay had Loce seated on her right.
And it seemed that Atalia had dressed well for the evening herself. Her pale-green dress suited her light colouring, and she had made some attempt at applying powders to her face.
But it was pleasing to Siraay to see whatever smugness Atalia had been feeling die in her eyes as Siraay placed her hands on the table before her, smiling politely.
Around her, the servants conducted their duties efficiently without intruding, b
ringing forwards a couple of plates and serving Siraay some portions of an excellent looking meal before they filled the gleaming chalice before her with a liquid that smelled like nectar.
She ignored it all as chatter resumed around the table and angled her chin to address Chezran. ‘Yes, it was unfortunate I had to be so late this evening. But it couldn’t be helped when a piece of information came to my attention that I thought it pertinent to act on,’ she said smoothly, pitching her voice in a conversational tone.
Across the table, Atalia had tensed.
‘Really? Anything of interest?’ asked Chezran as he cut into the meat before him.
‘Well, I thought so,’ said Siraay, as if musing out loud. ‘But then, when you find out the identity of the person who tried to kill you, of course you’re going to find it interesting.’ She laughed lightly, as if this were just casual dinner talk.
Chezran froze, then slowly put down his knife and fork. ‘You know who tried to kill you?’ His voice was low and dangerous. ‘Who?’
But Siraay was ready for this interrogation and merely reached out to run a finger along the edge of her glass. ‘It’s amazing what rivalry can drive a person to do. Love, of course, can also make a person lose all sense and act irrationally. She glanced up at Chezran, holding his dark eyes. ‘But a lust for power, for strength through power …’ She shook her head. ‘They can be dangerous motivations.’
Chezran leaned forwards slightly. Not enough to draw the attention of the rest of the table beyond the five of them—because Loce and Pyron couldn’t miss any of it—but enough so that both male archons tensed.
‘Tell me who poisoned you.’
‘Well, see, I could tell you,’ Siraay said, smiling at him coyly, ‘but then you would insist on punishing the culprit.’
Chezran leaned back in his chair in disbelief, then narrowed his eyes. ‘I think that would be my right, unless you disagree?’ His voice had grown even softer, and Siraay felt Loce tap her foot under the table in warning.
Even Pyron’s eyes had gone wide beneath the silver mask.
But Siraay merely smiled placatingly at Chezran, matching his cold tone. ‘I do disagree. As the one who was poisoned, I believe I have the right to punish my attacker.’ She turned her head, and her smile widened as she stared across the table. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Archon Atalia?’
There was a long pause while Siraay watched Atalia try to think of something to say that wouldn’t implicate her, but it was a pause that lasted too long amongst company that was trained to notice vulnerabilities.
Chezran’s head shifted to take in the female archon’s face, the gazes of Loce and Pyron following, and Atalia went pale beneath the combined scrutiny. A more conclusive admission of her guilt could not have been made, even if the female had voluntarily confessed verbally.
Yet still she tried to recover, and Siraay mentally shook her head. A wiser tactician would have known when the deciding move had been made.
‘I don’t know what you’re implying, Lady Siraay, but I would certainly think that Lord Chezran has the right to decide any matters that occur in his city.’ Atalia spoke quickly, trying to cover what the silence had revealed, but it was much too late.
Siraay could see Chezran from the corner of her eye evaluating the head tactician.
Pyron had stopped looking at Atalia altogether and was now focused on Chezran, as if awaiting an order.
The conversation beyond them was beginning to die away as the captains and archons took note of the tense words and body language at the head of the table.
Chezran leaned forwards again. ‘Archon Atalia—did you attempt to poison Lady Siraay?’ His voice was light, polite, and promised death.
The rest of the room stilled.
‘No! I mean, of course not. Why would I?’ But Atalia had started to sweat.
And Siraay was done playing with her prey. She rose from her chair, slow and sure, her grip on her half-filled glass almost strong enough to crack it. She glared across the table into Atalia’s eyes. ‘I know you tried to poison me,’ she accused the female, her voice like ice.
There was the smallest intake of breath from one or two people in the room, and Siraay might have been amused at the reaction if the situation hadn’t been so dire.
Atalia, in her ignorance of just how serious her situation was, leaned back in her seat across from Siraay, and said, ‘You don’t deserve to be here. A jumped-up Resistance soldier is all you are. You should be down with the other walking fodder, obeying us. Instead, you’ve managed to claw your way up here where you don’t belong.’ The head tactician stood. ‘Why don’t you just admit that you’re not the one the prophecy mentions? That it’s all been a big coincidence and that there’s nothing special about you at all?’
Siraay smiled. Even now, Wexner and Zale would be dispensing with Atalia’s own circle of servants and followers—or at least the ones who had had knowledge of the murderous plot. Siraay dipped a finger into her untouched drink, pulling it out and letting a drop dangle from the claw that had formed at the tip of her finger.
It was an excellent demonstration of her control over her forms and her ability to Change, and Atalia paled once more at the less-than-subtle threat.
‘Claw my way up, you say?’ commented Siraay pleasantly. ‘What an excellent description, although you seem to have some aversion to that fact. That I have fought, and shed my blood, time and again, to be right where I am now. But rather than face me directly, you tried to poison me. Are you that afraid of me, Atalia, or is that you are just too weak?’
Her words had the desired effect.
‘I’ll show you who’s weak,’ Atalia muttered, the words spoken so quickly that the threat was made and the female was moving before anyone else besides Siraay had registered was what was about to happen.
Sweeping up a knife in one hand as she stood, Atalia hitched up the length of her green dress in one hand and launched herself across the top of the table, her other hand extended for Siraay’s neck, the knife’s blade aimed downwards.
But Siraay had dropped her glass onto the table and, kicking her chair backwards and away from her, was already bending away, her spine arching gracefully as her hands touched the stone floor behind her.
And Atalia sailed through the now-empty space where Siraay had just been.
But as swiftly as Siraay had moved, she still felt the knife slice through the flesh of her right shoulder, the tip dragging upwards in a shallower slice as Siraay’s body folded still lower.
But as soon as Atalia’s momentum had carried her beyond the table, Siraay twisted, paying no mind to the pain searing through her shoulder as she Changed.
Archon Atalia hit the floor and rolled, preparing to engage with Siraay once more.
But Siraay had already leapt, fury incarnate in her sevonix form, and her teeth ripped viciously through Atalia’s throat before the female had even registered the attack.
The head tactician’s body dropped to the ground, and silence fell as Siraay Changed back.
The kill had been swift, with no energy wasted.
Siraay turned slowly to face the rest of the room, everyone but Pyron and Chezran still seated. Feeling warm blood drip down her chin and onto the bare expanse of skin between the straps of her dress, Siraay strode back to the table and picked up a napkin. Then she dabbed delicately at her mouth and chin, the white cloth quickly staining red.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
THE SILENCE IN the dining hall held for a just a moment longer, before—
‘Everybody, out! Now!’ Chezran’s words were a roar, a wild growl sitting just under his words, and it was his tone that sent the archons and captains scrambling from the room.
A moment later, the doors closed, and Siraay was alone in that large space with the Lord of Xarcon—and the body of her former rival.
Although neither of them spoke, the silence between them was charged, and Siraay could feel her heart pounding, adrenaline still coursing through her.
Yet all this Siraay barely registered, caught up as she was in the dark eyes across from her.
Eyes that were larger than they should have been, a feral glint illuminating them.
‘I want you,’ Chezran growled out at her.
He held himself tensely, and Siraay could see that he was poised like an animal, ready to spring.
But she, still riding that wave of battle lust, had just defeated a rival, and wasn’t ready to comply with anyone’s demands, even if another type of lust was beginning to rise within her.
This resistance was the sevonix within—a lone creature that did what it wanted, when it wanted. An apex predator that only grew fiercer when it was backed into a corner, or forced to do something it didn’t feel like doing. Wild, untamed—this was what writhed beneath Siraay’s skin. She wanted to run, fight, be out in the dark, rocky Xarcon mountains, roaring her victory.
So she smirked at Chezran … and turned away.
Or tried to. He was on her so quickly she didn’t have time to register the sound of his steps, or his increased breathing rate, before her body was being whipped back around and he was forcing his lips onto hers, the pressure almost painful.
Siraay’s anger rose so swiftly it was like a fire being fed with pure energy, the heat of which gave her injured body the strength to shove this impertinent male clear away from her.
Chezran’s face—which now had a smear of blood on it from Siraay’s face—registered surprise and shock, but the fire within Siraay was all-consuming, and she Changed in that instant into a rippling mass of muscle and gleaming silver-black fur, her ears flat against her head, her sharp teeth exposed while her growl echoed off the high ceilings of the chamber.
She had Changed so swiftly that she was in her sevonix form before Chezran’s body had finished backpedalling, but as soon as he could plant one foot firmly on the stone floor, he, too, Changed, and Siraay only had a moment to appreciate that she was facing a larger and stronger version of herself before he leapt at her.