The Devil's Concubine ARC

by Jill Braden

  Jezereet seized QuiTai’s hands and pressed them to her cheek. QuiTai yelped and pulled away.

  “I didn’t do anything.” Jezereet wailed.

  “It’s nothing, my love.” QuiTai gripped her hand to her waist.

  “Then why did you make that sound?”

  She didn’t want to explain. All she wanted to do was sleep. But she showed Jezereet her hand. “A medusozoa stung me. Then I hurt it again on the vine climbing up.”

  “I can see the pain in your eyes.” Jezereet caressed QuiTai’s face. “I wish I could take care of you the way you care for me.”

  “It’s been a very long day,” QuiTai said.

  QuiTai led Jezereet to the divan. She stuck a long ivory pick into the vial around her neck and withdrew a lump of black paste. As the tar cooked in the small bowl of one of the delicate pipes, it filled the room with a sweet, resinous scent. Dark brown bubbles broke in slow motion around the edge of the bowl. QuiTai moved it on and off the flame to keep it from burning.

  Jezereet leaned over the spirit lamp and inhaled. “Lovely.”

  “Hold your hair back if you’re going to do that.”

  Jezereet sat back. Her curls fell around her face and hid the sharp planes of her cheeks and jaw. In the soft glow of the lamp, she almost looked like she had when she’d graced the stages of the continent’s glittering cities. “Is it done yet?”

  QuiTai smiled down at her. “Patience.”

  “You are going to smoke with me, aren’t you? You know how much I hate going into the vapor alone.”

  The temptation was almost overwhelming. In the vapor, she wouldn’t feel any pain. “I shouldn’t. Whoever followed me might be waiting for me to leave.”

  Jezereet’s eyes widened. “You were followed? You saw him already?”

  “I told you when I arrived that I thought I’d been followed.” But Jezereet only looked more confused. “Never mind,” QuiTai said. “Everything will be fine. The pipe is almost ready.”

  Jezereet rose to her knees and pressed her lips to QuiTai’s neck. “Please come into the vapor with me.”

  QuiTai sighed as she turned the pipe.

  “Please.” Her hand slid between QuiTai’s thighs. That was temptation QuiTai could not resist. “All right. A little.”

  “You first,” Jezereet urged her. But Jezereet usually took the pipe the second it was ready. Something wasn’t right. The open window, Jezereet’s artificial laughter... Everything inside QuiTai told her to be cautious. But Jezereet’s hand was persuasive, and QuiTai was too tired to fight fate.

  “Don’t you trust me anymore?” Jezereet asked. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

  Jezereet was the best crier the stage had ever seen.

  ~ ~ ~

  QuiTai came to consciousness to find someone rhythmically slapping her face. Kyam’s voice cut through her fog. “Lady QuiTai! Wake up!”

  It was a vapor nightmare if Kyam Zul had invaded it. If she couldn’t sink back into the warm comfort of the nothingness, she could at least make him stop. Her fist struck out, but hit only air.

  Cold water poured over her head. Sputtering, she forced herself out of her stupor. “What do you think you’re –?”

  Kyam put his hand over her mouth. Grimly, he steered her attention to his side.

  Jezereet lay on the floor near the door. Pink marks marred her perfect throat. She stared unblinking at QuiTai.

  QuiTai pushed Kyam away and scrambled off the bed. She stumbled to Jezereet and gripped her hand. Still warm. “Jezereet!”

  Kyam put his hand over her mouth again. “We must get out of here right away,” he whispered.

  Just blink. Just once. For me. Please, love.

  Kyam whispered again, “You can’t do any more for her. You’ve already done too much.” He sounded as if he hated Jezereet.

  QuiTai yanked away his hand and bared her fangs at him. She felt the heavy tug of her pale green venom hanging from the tips. He had no idea how fast she could drive them into the meat of his hand, or how willing she was to do it.

  “Put those away. They make my skin crawl.”

  The fangs made her lisp slightly as she asked, “Did you kill her?”

  “No.” He pulled QuiTai to her feet. “Can you walk, or do I need to carry you?” When her legs failed her, he grabbed her roughly around the waist. She couldn’t take her eyes off Jezereet. This had to be a nightmare.

  “Do you know a private way out of here? You’re in no shape to climb down the vine, and the front staircase is a little too public,” Kyam said.

  QuiTai shook her head hard. That only made it spin more.

  Lines around his mouth and eyes radiated anger. Maybe he judged her for using black lotus. “Does that mean no?”

  “It means I’m trying to get my brain working again. Have the soldiers been summoned? How many people know –” A sob welled out of her. It burned in her throat; when she put a hand to her neck, the flesh felt tender and swollen.

  Take a breath, Jezereet. Breathe for me.

  QuiTai bent and pulled the hem of Jezereet’s dress to cover her thigh. QuiTai’s lips trembled. There was nothing she could do. Everything she’d ever done was a waste now.

  “It’s too late to give her any dignity,” Kyam said. “You’re in danger. Do you understand that? We have to get you safe.”

  QuiTai shoved Kyam’s arm away and lurched toward the divan. He glared at her when she hung the vial of black lotus around her neck, but his opinion of her was the least of her concerns. Then she slipped behind Jezereet’s dressing table and slid her fingertips over the silk moiré pattern on the wall. When she felt a bump under a rose print, she pushed. A thin door opened in the panel.

  ~ ~ ~

  QuiTai headed down the dark, narrow stairs. When Kyam followed and shut the panel, the passage went black.

  “Hold still for a moment,” he said.

  She was angry with him for daring to judge Jezereet; she was also strangely glad he was there. At least she could trust him to do the smart thing. Right then, she wasn’t so sure she could. Time seemed to have stopped, and her thoughts were wrapped in fog inside a void.

  Water dripped from her hair down the back of her neck. “Did you have to empty the entire pitcher on me?”

  “You tried to hit me. It seemed safer than touching you again.”

  She heard a cracking sound, and then a blue glow filled the hallway from behind her.

  “Hold this.” Kyam passed a glowing glass tube to her. There was another crack, and then enough light to make out the steps ahead of them. The under-lighting cast sinister shadows across Kyam’s face as she turned to him, holding the tube. “Instant jellylanterns. A Ravidian invention,” he explained. “They don’t give off much light, but it’s better than the dark.”

  She tipped the tube back and forth to mix the rest of the chalky chemical at the bottom of the tube with the thick electric-blue slush that glowed brighter the more she shook it. “How do they work?”

  “They dry the blue light jellylantern medusozoa, then grind them up. Half the tube has the dust, the other half water. When I push down the plunger, it breaks a thin membrane between them, and the water mixes with the dust to reconstitute the bioluminescence. But it doesn’t last long. Half an hour at most.”

  Ravidian, she thought.

  They took the stairs downward. At the landing, a long, narrow passage stretched before them.

  “Where are we headed?” Kyam whispered.

  She didn’t bother to answer; he’d figure it out soon enough that it was the café next to the Red Happiness, as the sound of clanking dishes and voices came through the wall.

  QuiTai held up the jellylantern until she spied a metal slot in the passageway wall. Through the opening, she could see the alley that ran behind the Red Happiness, and a bit of the lane beyond. It was dark outside; she didn’t see anyone on the street.

  On the floor under the spy hole was a large black box covered with dust and cobwebs. She crouched to open it: The
fingers of her injured hand felt as if someone had taken a hammer to them and crushed every bone. From the box, she lifted a jacket, velvet leggings, and hat. Kyam had the good sense to stay quiet as she struggled to button the knee-length jacket over her kebaya blouse, although their voices probably wouldn’t be heard over the noise in the café on the other side of the wall. But he chuckled a little as she wriggled into the thick leggings that went under the jacket.

  She coiled her dripping braid into a bun and held it in place with her injured hand as she pushed the hat down on her head and jabbed long hat pins through it. When she was convinced it would stay, she withdrew a small box from the larger trunk. Inside were two vials. She willed her inner eyelids down, opened a vial, and carefully placed the contacts on her inner eyelids.

  “There. Good enough to pass in the night,” she muttered as she pushed away tears and dust from her face. “I can’t see well like this. Is anyone passing by right now?”

  Kyam moved to the observation slot. “A full moon, not many people out. A drunk is staggering toward the Red Happiness, but after him, it’s quiet.”

  “There’s a knob below the slot for the door.”

  “Why did you climb up the vine when you could take these stairs instead?”

  “There’s no way to get in here from the outside. And even if there were, sometimes I’m followed. There are spies everywhere.”

  He didn’t comment on that. She shoved the door open and they stepped cautiously out onto the street.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Mister Zul,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll repay the favor one day.”

  She turned away from him, but didn’t get two steps before he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her off the ground. The problem with big, strong men was that they could render you undignified without even straining a muscle. It was cruelly unfair, QuiTai thought, as she struck at him with both fists.

  “Put up a fight if you must, Lady QuiTai, but I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’ve had a long talk.”

  She kicked as hard as she could. He started to double over, then smiled and shook his head. “That was close.”

  “Not close enough, apparently. If this is your attempt to make me help you, the answer is still no.”

  “I have a better proposition, one you won’t be able to resist.” He set her down and offered his arm. “But we can’t discuss it until you’re somewhere safe. Come with me willingly, or I’ll toss you over my shoulder. It’s up to you.”

  She gripped his elbow hard enough to make him wince. “I hope you know that I despise you right now,” she told him.

  “The feeling is mutual, my dear.”

  They strolled as if they were simply Thampurians out for some air after dinner. If anyone had looked closely, they might have seen her puffy eyes or trembling lips, but they might only have thought she feared rampaging werewolves.

  They did not speak or look at each other; but a block later, they turned at the same time to check if they were followed. She would have laughed if she’d been able to.

  Kyam finally broke the silence. “So, Lady QuiTai, your safe house or mine?”

  Chapter 6: An Unlikely Alliance

  Kyam’s compound sat on the outer edge of the Thampurian neighborhood, past the governor’s mansion and close enough to the sea that she could hear the constant surge of waves on the rocks far below. The kitchen house where he led her, while small by Thampurian standards, was three times the size of his apartment in town.

  She huddled on a stool, arms wrapped tight around her, while he stoked the pit fire. Slowly she began to rock. She sang under her breath; her throat hurt too much for anything louder.

  “That’s pretty. What is it?” Kyam asked.

  “Ingosolian death prayer. I’m singing Jezereet’s soul into the arms of her goddess. She taught it to me when she first became addicted, she made me swear –”

  Two things: that QuiTai would sing the death prayers, and that she would avenge Jezereet’s death. QuiTai had known that Jezereet meant Petrof, who had set her on the black lotus path; but QuiTai fully intended to keep her word now, even though the murderer was still unknown. She would find him, and he would pay.

  There was no way to stop the tears now. She hated that Kyam, of all people, saw her break down. If he tried to pat her, she’d rip off his hand.

  Every time she thought she had control, hopeless tears poured down her cheeks. She was suffocating on grief.

  Kyam went to the sideboard and searched roughly through canisters until he found what he wanted. Agitation seemed to ripple through his shoulders. “I’m making you tuihon tea. Unless you need something stronger?”

  She shook her head.

  He filled an iron pot with water and swung it on a hook out over the fire. As he wiped out two cups, he leaned against the sideboard.

  “You loved her? Why?”

  She winced as her hands clenched into fists. It hurt almost as much as it had on the skiff.

  “Put your hand out. I’ll wrap it. Maybe that will help.”

  “Don’t be nice to me. I can’t bear it.”

  Kyam wet a thin towel with vinegar and wound it around her hand. “If this is your definition of nice, it explains a lot.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to will the pain out of her hand into the towel. “You mentioned business,” she said. “Tell me what you have to offer.”

  “Not until you’re fit to talk.” Steam curled over the mugs as he poured hot water into them. After the tea steeped, he carried the two cups to her. QuiTai took both and poured the tea back and forth between them. When she was convinced they were equal, she handed one to Kyam.

  “You think I’d poison you after going to so much trouble to save your life?” he asked.

  “It’s a force of habit. Drink yours first.”

  He seemed to struggle to hold back a few choice words before he took a sip.

  QuiTai held her cup with both hands even though the heat made her hand throb again. The tea was bitter, but tuihon was a restorative, something people drank to heal: it wasn’t supposed to taste good.

  Then she realized her hands were shaking. She willed them to stop. They did not. “What is this?”

  “Shock, Lady QuiTai, you’re in shock. I’ll go find a blanket for you.”

  She was trembling so hard that she splashed the tea over the floor when she set the cup down. She closed her eyes, but that only brought back the image of Jezereet dead on the floor. By the time Kyam returned and draped a plush blanket over her shoulders, she was wracked by sobs.

  “I can’t –” A wave of grief stole the words from her. “I knew this day would come. Not murder... but I knew the vapor would eventually kill her. You’d think I’d be prepared by now.” She took a deep breath and held it for a moment before slowly exhaling. “Please excuse my excessive emotion.”

  “You sound like a Thampurian.” Kyam pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiped her face. He held it to her nose. “Blow?”

  She gave him a dark look. “You know what you can do with that handkerchief.”

  He put the square of silk on top of a solid wood chopping block as big as a tea table. “That sounds like the QuiTai I know and... well, that I’m used to. A gentleman would give you time to grieve, but as you know, I’m not a gentleman. I need the old you, and I need her quick. The Ravidians disappeared from town hours after we met at the Red Happiness. But no ships have left the harbor for over a week because of the typhoon, and the Ravidians don’t have articles of transport even if one had sailed. So they’re here, in hiding, and my instincts tell me that they’re up to no good. Time is of the essence.”

  Her temper flared, replacing the grief that had clung inside her. “Jezereet is dead, not even cold yet, and you brought me here to pump me for information?”

  “You told me not to be nice.”

  “Oh, do be quiet. Since when do you do anything I ask?”

  She tugged the blanket Kyam had given her closer
around her shoulders. It smelled as if had been put away while still damp.

  “What have you ever asked of me?”

  “I ask you to leave the island every time we meet.”

  “You seem to forget that I’ve been told by my family to stay here, out of sight and out of mind.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  He made a sound deep in his throat, as if he fought back a reply that welled from the darkest recess of his heart. “If you’re going to accuse me of taking advantage of your grief, maybe I should. Tell me about the Ravidians. They had rooms in West Levapur overlooking the harbor, but they moved out several days ago and didn’t leave as much as a speck of dust behind.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the Ravidians anymore,” she said. Petrof would force her to find them, but her urgency had evaporated with Jezereet’s dying breath.

  Kyam gripped the chopping block with big hands. His knuckles turned white. “You’re going to help me whether you feel like it or not.”

  Despite herself, she was a bit curious. With their neck frills and velvet frock coats, the Ravidians stood out in Levapur. Why was Kyam having such a difficult time tracking them? He’d had a year to build a network of informants. Wasn’t that the first thing a spy did when he went undercover at a new assignment? “Did anyone see them leave?”

  “No one who will talk to me. But you could find out. If you don’t already know.” He waited. “Do you?”

  Exhaustion rolled over QuiTai. “I’ll give you this; you know how to pick your times. I can’t think straight and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep, or cry. First a spy, now an interrogator. Congratulations.”

  “You can’t think that I planned this! You may be the most cynical, conniving person who ever lived, but not everyone is like you.”

  “Me in a vapor dream with my dead lover lying on the floor. You miraculously on the scene. What am I supposed to think?”

  With his jaw clenched, he said, “I told you I didn’t kill her.”

  Did she believe him?

  He was rushing her. She needed time to think. She only had his word for it that she’d been in danger. If she hadn’t been so muddled by the vapor, she could have examined Jezereet’s room and figured out what happened. But he’d hurried her away. Was he hiding something?