by J. S. Bangs
“Only if there’s food,” Apurta said.
Vapathi tisked. “You’ll have to go get it. If someone sees me wandering the halls they’re likely to make me do work.”
“No more work for you,” Kirshta said. “You’re my personal maid now. I order you to bring food for the three of us and do nothing else for the rest of the day.’
Apurta got to his feet with a stretch. “All good. The men are still celebrating down in the Dhigvaditya, and I can sneak away with beer for us.”
Kirshta looked from Apurta to Vapathi. A warm, unfamiliar glow filled him, dissolving the pain in his leg and his visions of the murdered Emperor. Contentment. He was safe, and he was with his sister and his friend. Free from danger, fed, clothed, and warm. And he was the Emperor’s Lotus—not just a slave to a powerful man, but a man of power himself.
“Go bring food,” he told Apurta. “I’ll try not to die until you get back.”
More From J.S. Bangs
Pride of Empires: Book 3 of the Powers of Amur
In the halls of the imperial palace, Kirshta takes advantage of his position as the Emperor’s Lotus to delve into the disciplines of the thikratta. While exploring the belongings left behind by his dead mentor Ruyam, he discovers clues which point to an ancient, deadly secret that may change everything—if only Kirshta has the time to unravel it.
Meanwhile, Sadja has come to the capital to carry out his schemes to unseat the newly-crowned Emperor Praudhu. He pretends friendship and sows discord, and his manipulation will upset the plans of Kirshta—and eventually the Empire itself.
And in Virnas, Navran attempts to save his relationship with Josi. But the deposed king Thudra has designs of his own, which will threaten both Navran’s romance and his fragile grip on the throne.
Read the first chapter of Pride of Empires for a sneak peek at what’s coming up, or get it now on Amazon.
Chapter 1
The situation was dire. Half of Navran’s forces were routed, and a tower that he had taken early had fallen to the enemy’s advance. He still held two towers, but one of them was threatened, and his forces were stretched thin between his defense and his attempt at a counter-attack.
Thudra stared at him, a faint, self-satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, his hands folded and resting beneath his chin. “So?” he said. “It’s your move.”
Navran looked down at the jaha board and felt despair. He glanced at Dastha who moved his pieces for him. Dastha shrugged. He didn’t play jaha. Navran was on his own.
“Give me a while to think,” Navran said. He rested his chin in his hand, and played his fingers across the scars on his cheek.
His concentration was broken by the sound of a servant at the door of the throne room. “My lord and king,” the servant announced loudly and bowed. “The King’s Purse wishes to enter to speak with you.”
Navran’s stomach lurched. The thought of the game of jaha fled. His hands went to his lap, and he twisted them together nervously.
“Is she here?”
The messenger nodded.
Navran croaked, “Send her in.”
The curtain behind the messenger parted, and Josi entered. She bowed to Navran, with a muttered “my lord and king” that barely reached Navran’s ears. A glance of distaste passed from her to Thudra, then she pointedly walked around the jaha board and presented herself beside Navran. She looked directly at him once, then away, as if his eyes scalded her. The hot stones in Navran’s gut turned.
“Navran-dar,” she said, speaking in a quiet, even voice. “I just returned from the salt office on the docks. Since this was our first day, I thought I would give you a report.” She gestured to the jaha board, with Thudra standing beside it. “But if you are occupied, I may come another time.”
“Not occupied. I can take a break.”
“That means he’s losing,” Thudra said, the slightest hint of mockery in his voice.
Josi looked back at Thudra, then at Navran with uncertainty. Navran waved it aside. “Go on.”
Josi nodded and swallowed. She folded her hands in front of her belly and said, “Today we began enforcing the monopoly. The announcement was given yesterday, so the merchants all knew it, and most of them did not object. We bought every cask of salt that existed on the docks. At the normal price, for now.”
“Expensive?” Navran asked.
Josi winced. “A little. A lot, actually—nearly all of our coin on hand.” The last of the money which he had received as a loan for giving up the rings of Manjur. “But it was important, at first, to change neither the buying price nor the selling price. No one lost out.”
“Except the salt-buyers whose business has disappeared.”
“There aren’t many of them.” Josi twisted the corner of her mouth, that typical, adorable tic of hers, and it sent Navran’s gut turning again. But she was going on, talking about business, as professional as if nothing had ever happened between them. “When all of the salt casks on the dock had been brought into our storehouse, we began selling to the salt-mongers that take it to market. The usual price, as before. And we made a little profit.”
Some of the anguish in Navran’s stomach released. So they were making money. It was possible that his desperate financial needs would soon let up. “Everything as planned?”
“We didn’t make a lot of profit,” Josi said. “We’ll need to raise prices for that, or else pay the merchants who bring it up from Sadhura less. But I’d wait a month or so before changing anything.”
“But no crisis,” Navran said.
“No crisis,” Josi repeated. “Just a little money, with more on the way.”
Navran allowed himself to relax into the cushions on his throne. He looked up at Josi, allowed himself to take in for a little bit the roundness of her chin, the plump curves of her hip, the crooked bun she tied in her hair, with frizzy strands perpetually escaping. He dared to ask a question. “And you? How are you?”
She stiffened, and whatever pleasure had shown on her face fled. “I am fine, my lord and king.”
Goat piss. So nothing had changed between them. “Fine, my Purse. Continue tomorrow.”
She made a curt bow, turned, and left the throne room. Navran watched her go, feeling the anguish of uncertainty and regret as the curtain closed behind her.
Thudra began to laugh.
Navran shot him a glare. He looked at Navran insouciantly, ignoring Dastha’s potent glare.
“My lord and king,” Dastha said, “should I remove Thudra from the throne room?”
“No,” Navran said. “Finish the game.”
“It’s your move,” Thudra said, leaning back. “And I am not the only one who laughs. First you bring in a woman to be your Purse, then she spurns your advances. Then you spend all your time mooning after her like a hairless boy.”
Navran ground his teeth together. “Why are you saying this?”
Thudra rolled his eyes. “Like many others in the palace, I cannot figure out why you didn’t first take her for a mistress. Why you felt the urge to marry her, well, that is a mystery beyond my comprehension. And here you are after she refused you—”
“Does everybody know this?” Navran asked.
“Of course everybody knows. Even if we didn’t know, it’s obvious to anyone with half an eye. She comes here to talk about money, but you two can barely stand to look at each other. You ask after her like a moth chasing the moon. Chaludra’s fire, there’s plenty of servant girls with heat between their thighs if you’re that lonely. The men are starting to wonder if you’re able.”
Navran’s cheeks flared with heat. “I have duties,” he said. “I am a king. I am Uluriya. I can’t go off bedding any woman who strikes me. Especially not if she is Uluriya.”
“And why not?” Thudra looked at Navran with mystification which seemed genuine. “You’re a king, as you said. You could have a mistress for every night of the week and no one would bat an eye. Do you think the other kings of Amur go around sc
rupulously wringing their hands over the chastity of their lovers?”
Navran clenched his gloved fist. The burns began to throb with remembered pain. “I must remain clean. It’s part of my duty.”
“Your duty,” Thudra said with a sneer. “You allow that flock of priests to boss you around.”
“Because I am a saghada. The chief saghada.”
“And? You cannot bend the rules for yourself?”
He stood. Mingled fury and frustration bubbled in him. The priesthood and the kingship together were his duties, and he would not shirk them, but the nerve was raw.
“The law is the law of Ulaur, recorded by Ghuptashya. No one may bend them.” He gestured to the jaha board at the foot of the dais. “Why do we play this way? Because you are unclean. The Heir may not even touch an unclean thing. So Dastha touches the pieces for me, or I might accidentally brush one of your fingers. And you know,” he said, pacing rapidly from one edge of the dais to the other, “it’s not easy to rule and be holy at once. If I were a typical Uluriya, not a saghada, not the Heir, then I could go into unclean houses, so long as I didn’t stay past sundown or eat unclean food. But the Heir is holy. He cannot enter an unclean house at all. I cannot visit the khadir who hold station in Virnas unless they convert. They cannot enter the inner rooms of the palace—”
“You brought me into the inner rooms when the soldiers rioted,” Thudra interrupted.
“And then it was purified, and me as well. Two saghada took three hours to render it fit for me! The only people who can eat with me are other Uluriya. And the khadir? The khadir are overjoyed by this. The merchants as well. I’ve heard the grumbling sound of their happiness.”
“I’m sure,” Thudra said. “But none of this tells me why you haven’t take Josi into your bed.”
“She is clean!”
“Clean, meaning Uluriya, which means she can go into your inner chambers. Unless I’ve misunderstood something about the purity obsession of your cult.”
“No,” Navran said. “I mean yes. If we are not married, it would render us both unclean. And there would be scandal in the Uluriya.”
“Scandal,” Thudra said with amusement. “What a peculiar problem. I think there would be more scandal in my court if I didn’t have a mistress.”
“This is not your court.”
The mirth evaporated from Thudra’s face. “I know.”
Navran settled himself back atop the cushioned throne. The heat of the blood pounding in his veins made his scars hurt. Thudra looked down in silent contemplation, then looked up at Navran with a bland expression. “But I don’t know why she refused your advance.”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because in the absence of fact, rumor grows wildly. If you want the men to stop speculating about your wilted rice stalk, you should offer a better explanation.”
Navran closed his eyes and rested his forehead in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, painfully.
“See,” Thudra said, “it’s this which makes people think that you are a weak king. You suffer strange scruples, and when something goes wrong, you sit idly by rather than striking hard to gain your goal.”
Navran was quiet. It was all true. He needed a bowl of beer.
“It’s your move,” Thudra said finally.
Navran looked up at the board. What had he been doing? He saw his position as with new eyes, and the strategy he had been pursuing before suddenly seemed pathetic to him. It was cautious and defensive, while a few moves of initiative could destroy Thudra’s position. He called out a move to Dastha.
Thudra responded. Navran announced his next move immediately. Thudra paused and looked up at Navran with a strange look. He made a cautious response.
Over the next several turns Navran put together a counterattack where Thudra had not expected it. Thudra’s own offensive faltered. Navran recaptured his lost tower, and the third tower beside it. With only a single tower remaining, Thudra offered jahaparna.
“Not bad,” Thudra said after a pause. “I think you’re getting better.”
“I’ve always been good at jaha,” Navran said quietly.
“Good doesn’t mean you don’t get better. But I would still be careful. Bold play may stun an unready opponent, but won’t often succeed against someone prepared for it.”
“Are you giving me lessons in jaha, now?”
Thudra gave Navran a milky smile and stood to his feet. “I should go back to my unclean room now. Unless you demand another game.”
“Go,” Navran said. He waved Thudra aside, and Dastha sent one of the throne room guards to escort Thudra back to the room he shared with his family. Navran leaned against the arms of the throne and let his mind wander.
A weak king. He was a weak king. Or perhaps he was just a weak man and needed to add a bit of bronze to his bones. Play boldly. A prepared opponent might defend against bold play, but weak play would lose every time. So who was his opponent?
Josi.
No, not his opponent, but nonetheless the locus of his weakness. She couldn’t remain in the palace under current conditions, and he couldn’t maintain a Purse whose presence sent him spinning. He should resolve the problem, or send her away.
He flinched at the thought of sending her away.
But then, Josi had told him what to do. “Dastha,” he said, “call a messenger. I will go see Veshta at the House of the Ruin as soon as it can be made ready. Let him know that I am coming.”
* * *
Get the rest of Pride of Empires, now on Amazon.
Storm Bride
War. Peace. One woman with the power to choose…
“[A] stand-alone secondary-world fantasy epic of the first order.” (Publisher’s Weekly)
Saotse thought she was special. Once carried across the ocean by the Power of the Sea, the spiritual world abandoned her in a strange land with no way to return. When an army of vicious nomads threatens Saotse’s adopted city, a different Power begins to speak to her.
Keshlik has tired of war. As his men pillage yet another city, the general seeks an excuse to make peace without taking himself out of leadership.
Uya mourns her dead husband killed in the barbarian invasion. Forced into Keshlik’s service, she’s taken as a slave to the barbarian general’s pregnant wife. As she recovers from her grief, Uya must consider whether she should resign herself to fate… or let the bloodlust of revenge take hold.
When Saotse gains an incredible ability that could level the playing field against Keshlik and protect her adopted sister Uya, she’ll have to decide between war and peace. Between life and death. Between the gods and herself.
If you like unconventional fantasy settings, deep characterization, and edge-of-your-seat action, then you’ll love this gripping, beautifully-written epic fantasy novel.
Buy it here at Amazon
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The Wave Speaker is a novella that takes place in the world of The Powers of Amur, two hundred years before the events of this novel.
Pirates. Sharks. And a woman walking across the sea in a storm.
Patara returns from a trade voyage only to be chased by pirates and caught in a storm—where he finds a woman walking atop the waves and speaking to the sea. He and his crew pull her from the water, only to find that they’ve caught more than they bargained for. Will Patara sacrifice his cargo and livelihood to save the last member of a mystic tradition?
Click here to find out.
About Me
Hi, I’m J.S. Bangs. I live in Romania with my family of four, where I work as a freelance software developer, make cheese, play video games, and write books. If you’re interested in getting announcements about future releases, contests, and giveaways, sign up for my mailing list or visit the following link in your web browser:
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