22
Valine’s room was azure. It had beautiful papered walls patterned with large peacock feathers with white marble floors. There were doors opened to a balcony that faced the ocean, the cerulean and turquoise waters lapping at the plum shore. On the far side of the room, a plush bed lay upon a gilt-edge dais beside an attached restroom with hydromancer-powered plumbing promising a rainfall shower. A quaint sitting area in the center of the suite drew it together, and on the south-facing wall was a white door with a six-pointed star for a handle.
Curiously, she tried the door and found it unlocked, the door swinging inward. Valine peered through and found it to be an adjoining suite. She narrowed her eyes at the similarly decorated room. Only this one was grander in scale and decor.
Stepping through, Valine found herself face to face with Malik.
“Hello, Little Liar, how serendipitous this has become.”
Valine swallowed and cast a nervous glance around the room. She had an adjoining suite to the King of Adraali in the palace of Talloh. She was unsure how her life had become so complicated and how her intangible lines had dissolved.
“Did you arrange this?”
“I did. I thought it would be easier to pass information, and if they think we’re lovers, then so be it.”
“Right, well…” Valine trailed off. “I suppose I should inform you of the events in Bastia.”
Malik sobered, plucking at his cuffs. “Yes, of course. Please enter and close the door behind you.”
Valine did so, and found the king in just his shirtsleeves, the neckline displaying sharp collarbones, and the glimpse of a tattoo peeked out from the edge over his heart. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his gleaming chest, the powerful column of his throat. She followed the lines of his body and found his hands busied upon a pair of crystal glasses, pouring water over sugared irises and glazed orange peels. Saints and daemons, his hands were beautiful. His fingers were long and elegantly tapered, his nails short and painted gold and a tracery of veins were prominent, casting up his arms. Those were hands that she wanted on her—in her.
She was so focused on his hands that she didn’t realize he was offering her a drink. She shook her head and took a sip of the sweetened water and stopped him before he took a drink of his own. Taking his hand gently, she pried the glass from his grip and gave him her own.
“You never can be too careful,” she told him, with her not-poisoned beverage in his hand. She took a drink of his. Also, not poisoned. “Both safe.”
Malik cocked his head and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Valine circled to a nearby chair and lounged in it, draping her legs over the arm. “So, most things in Luneth went according to plan, but as I expected, some things along the way went awry.”
“Do tell,” Malik encouraged, taking a seat on the edge of his own chair.
“Well, for starters, I had to kill the dealer by stabbing, so that was unfortunate. And also, I lost nearly all of my belongings on the sands.” She sent him a dark look. “Thanks for that by the way, a death by sand serpents is low on the list of desires.”
“That is my fault.” He paused, panic flickering in his eyes. “Do you still have—?”
“Yes, don’t worry. I still have the fleur de mort and everything else.”
“Good, good. And you were properly seen?”
“Everyone thought they were walking in the presence of Larysa Olympias. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. This isn’t my first assassination.”
“Right, yes.” Malik drank deeply from his flavored water. She could see the slight tremble in his fingers as the ice clinked. He was nervous. “I should leave you to it, shouldn’t I?”
“Most assuredly,” she responded, sucking on a candied peel. “Tonight, I’ll return, and we’ll share what we’ve learned. Does that sound acceptable?”
“It does.”
“Delightful,” Valine pronounced, finished her drink, and stood. “Then I will see you tonight.”
Valine redressed in clothing more forgiving to Talloh’s heat. Many of her possessions had been safely ensconced in Malik’s carriage on its voyage across Enneive, and what was lost on the Twilight Sands was minor. The pants she wore were virtually sheer and billowing red, the high waist circled by a golden chain belt. The equally thin top was cropped with sleeves that were little more than decorative.
She was meeting Sarim, Freyja, and Alastair in the garden of the Vesper Wing, beginning the basics of politicking. The three of them were already present, seated upon plush cushions and woven furniture, and dressed similarly to her. They were eating a plate of cold meats with cheese, and vegetables with hummus, in addition to several dishes of honey-roasted dates. Pitchers of flavored water perched on the low table, and a bowl of grapes sat nearby. Valine plucked a grape and sat next to Alastair.
“So, tell me about this festival. I must admit, I’ve never been to it,” Valine started, pulling the bowl of grapes in front of her.
“You know that Talloh is the only kingdom to have three moons, right?” Freyja began, sipping a cucumber and mint water. “Once a year a giant violet star burns behind the three aligned moons, and bathes the kingdom in violet. It is said that Talloh was the birthplace of the Stygian gods, and this event is the anniversary of their sacred arrival.
“The celebration begins with prayer, a gift, and then dancing. What happens after is up to the attendees and their proclivities,” Freyja scoffed and nibbled on a piece of hard cheese. “I’ve heard in years past there were orgies among the nobility.”
“Say it isn’t so!” Alastair rocked back in mock scorn. “Orgies and debauchery, I would never have guessed.”
Valine knocked shoulders with Alastair, his jewel-bright eyes filled with mirth. “Why do I have the feeling you are the instigator of these salacious events?”
“Like a blade to the heart, you are, Desdemon! I’ll have you know, I’ve participated in one and incited none.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true! It was the last time I was with a woman! She was a radiant thing, but unfortunately, the delights of the female form are not for the likes of me.”
“We, as a female species, grieve the loss.”
“It’s too bad, really. Imagine the damage I would do if I preferred both sexes, thank the saints.”
“Oh, shush,” Valine teased, tossing a grape. Alastair caught it in his mouth, tumbling to the ground. They collapsed in a fit of laughter just as new figures entered the garden.
Just as they’d timed it.
The girl at the center of the group was Crown Princess Jacira. Her golden hair long and waving behind her, jewels spun in her tresses, lavender silks upon her. She was petite and slender, with soft sloping features, and large doe eyes that were a startling shade of lilac. Behind her was a man with chestnut hair and a slight tan, and to her other side was a soft-looking individual with blue eyes and light brown hair.
Jacira held aloft a crystalline bottle—spirits. “By royal decree, I demand you allow us to drink with you.” It was said with a smile, and clearly meant as a joke, but there was no possibility of refusal—which was not a problem, as this was exactly what they’d wanted to happen.
“We would love nothing more,” Alastair said grandly from his post on the ground, spreading his arms wide. “Best seat in the house is right here.” He patted his lap.
The princess tossed her head in a laugh and handed off her bottle to one of her waiting guards. She crossed the space between them on dainty feet and dropped herself onto Alastair’s leg, lounging back and draping her arms behind her. One brushed Valine’s shoulder. The two who accompanied Jacira found spots on cushions among them.
“I do hope we learn some refreshing facts about these unfamiliar faces today,” Jacira said, stroking up Valine’s arm. “And perhaps inclinations may be revealed.”
“They may be,” Alastair rescued, sensing Valine’s unease. “And may I be so bold as to wonder who your delightful friends are?”
Jacira simpered. “This is Tallulah, heir to the Illise Mines—” she indicated the other individual, “and this is Balchon, heir to Raziche’s Den.” Slavers, crooks, and drug lords then.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Alastair offered, kissing their proffered fingers.
Jacira snapped her fingers, and one of the guards poured the spirits into a thin stemmed glass. A summoned servant appeared, barefoot and dressed in worn linen. The servant dropped to a knee and sipped carefully from the glass—a poison tester.
“Gods, it is unacceptably hot out here!” Jacira complained, her voice like an arrow to the mages. “The aethermancers are not performing their duties as they should. If we paid them, I’d be garnishing their wages right now.”
Jacira’s nose turned up at the same moment that a breeze casted over the group. Valine looked over, and saw a tired-looking wind wielder moving his hands with the new flow of air.
“I think there’s more that could be done about this heat, is there not?” the princess continued, looking at the poison tester.
Something nagged at Valine, a sense of unease, and as she studied the ochre-skinned poison tester, and air mage. The tester’s eyes flickered to hers, full of resentment—just for a pause. She saw the unnatural darkness gather around him, before he pulled his hands apart, and shade casted over the garden.
He was an umbramancer—a mage of darkness.
It was then that it clicked. The exhaustion, the ire. Valine realized that things had changed in Talloh and that mages—if not stars-blessed like the queen—were slaves.