12. The Artor Trading Company
The Artor Trading Company
T he following day, Jezebel informed Mila that they would be attending a dinner in the city that evening. She also mentioned offhandedly that Jahan, the former Guard of the Body, would be joining their entourage. Mila felt a thrill of excitement at the news.
She knew she’d earned Jezebel’s trust now, and this event, more than any other she’d attended with Jezebel thus far, seemed most likely to yield a potential opportunity to escape.
Knowing that Jahan was to be the guard in attendance was possibly another bonus. He’d already shown himself to be sympathetic towards her once. Perhaps he could be persuaded to help her again. Perhaps, she fantasised, he was so resentful of Jezebel that he might even join her in her escape.
With this thought in mind, Mila could hardly wait to see him and gauge his energy, and the day seemed to crawl. When the evening finally arrived and Jahan arrived at Jezebel’s apartments, Mila looked up at him with hope and pleasure, but Jahan’s energy was anything but reciprocal. Her optimism swiftly came crashing down.
Jahan’s energy was pure professionalism once more, despite the gaping, bloody hole in his face that was now slightly healed, but still unmissable and grotesque. Jezebel had prohibited him from covering the wound tonight, with even a cotton patch.
“This,” she informed him with glee as the carriage departed the palace grounds, “is to reinforce to all gawkers the repercussions of disappointing me tonight or treating the demon too kindly.”
There were a lot of gawkers around tonight.
The purpose of the dinner was to honour and welcome a new board member to the Artor Trading Company, a powerful corporation that Jezebel was heavily invested in. She explained it to Mila in the carriage, prattling excitedly about her stake in the evening.
“The Artor Trading Company deals almost exclusively in the procurement of luxuries and exotics, and they have an extensive network of contacts that span the most remote corners of the globe. They also have a private army of guards that is larger than the Church’s own private Corps of Guards. And I’m the official Patron of the entire enterprise!”
Mila had heard the name before. The Artor Trading Company was infamous for many reasons. Not least of which were the lack of qualms they had about dabbling in the human slave trade. She remembered once meeting an envoy of the company in her remote home village of Brome, and he had severely frightened her.
The tall, angular man had arrived in explorer’s leathers and with a sharp, manicured beard that looked heavy and awkward in contrast to the bare-faced Highlander men. He had claimed to be searching for rare mushrooms and had proposed generous employment terms if someone in the village would consent to be his collector and purveyor. Mila had feigned ignorance of the Company’s existence, but even she remembered how hard it had been to say no to the man. The money he’d offered had been good, but his demeanour, coupled with the five guards at his side, had silently implied that they hadn’t travelled this far to leave empty-handed. They would ensure that they found something – or someone – to sell if the mushrooms weren’t available.
Mila was not surprised to learn that Jezebel was a heavy player in such an organisation.
While the dinner tonight might have officially been in honour of a new shareholder, Jezebel made it no secret that she considered herself to be the true guest of honour, and she ensured that she timed their arrival at the dinner perfectly to command the full room’s attention.
Heralding her approach were six young footmen, intentionally dressed by Jezebel in striking, but ridiculous, long grey sacks that hung from their shoulders to their knees. Their faces and hands were hidden by white masks and gloves. She also ensured that she was flanked on one side by Mila in her dark swamp-creature gown with her horns out at full extension, and on her other side stood tall Jahan, with his disfigured face.
Jezebel herself had gone to excessive lengths for her evening’s attire. She’d spent two hours having her entire nude body painted by artists with tiny gold dots of varying sizes and patterns, over which she’d laid a thin, spider-silk sheer dress that hid nothing.
In this risqué attire, and flanked by Mila and Jahan, her entrance could not be ignored, and she was not disappointed.
A hush fell over the dining room as the footmen parted like water to allow Jezebel to mince through and wordlessly present herself.
She stood for a long while in the doorway, allowing all inside to glimpse all of her, and then, with a light tug on Mila’s lead, she strutted over to a seat at the head of the table. She had to fight to keep a nonchalant expression on her face but was unable to completely hide her glee.
Mila and Jahan stood behind her, and Mila braced for impact as the energies of everyone in the room came rushing towards them. She was not disappointed.
“I pride myself on being unpredictable,” a male voice from across the table called out. “But even I have never dreamed up anything like this…What in fates are we looking at, Princess?” Mila followed the sound of the voice, and it took her a moment to place why the speaker seemed familiar. Then it struck her.
The man from the crypt. The man with the green eyes who hadn’t betrayed her. Who was he, and what was he doing here?
Outside of the crypt, she was now able to see him properly. He had a very handsomely cut face, with dark brows, a broad jaw, and the light shadow of wild stubble around his lips and chin. She hadn’t noticed back in the crypt that his blond hair was so long that most of it was pulled back and secured behind his head in a bun, with some unruly golden waves refusing to be captured in this manner and bounding forward from his forehead and down his face. They framed his lovely eyes beautifully. She noted also, with interest, that he had a tiny, gold circular earring in one lobe. Very unusual for anyone to have such a piercing outside of the Highlands, let alone a man.
Something about it endeared him to her.
He was impeccably attired. His Company dinner jacket sat draped across the back of his chair, revealing a posh, fitted, dark grey waistcoat that clung to his broad chest. The loose, white shirt billowing underneath lent some softness to the otherwise harsh lines, and a thick, dark blue Ascot tie complemented the golden complexion of skin that had clearly spent a lot of time under the sun. He was unmistakably a sea-faring man and while his attire looked so tidy and expensive that he could easily be accepted at a glance as a ship’s captain. On closer inspection of his roguish demeanour, one could be forgiven for jumping instead to the title of ‘pirate’.
Mila watched the man languidly place his elbows on the white tablecloth and crack a knuckle as he leaned forward. He surveyed Mila, and as he did so, what little relief she might have felt at seeing a familiar face soon vanished. There was nothing in his expression or in the eager lean of his shoulders that revealed any recognition or sympathy for her situation. She tried to reach out with her power to read him, but frustratingly, found that she couldn’t and wasn’t sure why. Her ability to channel and hone her power had come so far in the past month. This should have been easy enough to do, and yet tonight, from him, she felt…nothing. Just a vague shadow energy that indicated something alive was sitting in his seat.
Thankfully, she didn’t need her powers to read his body language, and what she saw she disliked. He held himself in a loose, rolling manner, as though he meant to appear jovial and nonchalant but he couldn’t quite hide his intensity. She was reminded of a cobra poised to strike.
“Oh, these?” Jezebel replied, throwing a hand in the air with exaggerated flippancy. “Merely my pet demon and a server who made the mistake of treating her as though she were human.” She moved on from the explanation swiftly, as though the enormous news she’d just shared was little more than an afterthought, certainly not worth more of an explanation. “Congratulations on your new appointment, Christopher,” Jezebel continued, “Although I am terribly sorry to hear about what happened to Martin. And I regret your father couldn’t join us tonight. Is he well?”
So, this is Christopher Culis .
Mila had now attended enough social events with Jezebel for the name to mean something to her.
Christopher Culis was the great-grand-nephew of the Artor Trading Company’s original founder, and tonight, he was taking over as the company’s second largest shareholder following his older brother’s untimely demise, which, although tragic, had not been wholly unexpected.
For the past eight generations, the eldest sons of the Culis family had all found cruel and unusual ways to die in their thirty-fifth year of life. The family had always insisted that the phenomenon was the result of a curse obtained by a sea-faring ancestor. Many social observers, however, would state that the only true curse in the family was the gene of unbridled ambition that ran through the bloodline.
Cursed or not, this exact fate had recently fallen upon Christopher’s eldest brother, Martin, who had fallen from his horse four months earlier, leaving Christopher as the second most powerful man in the company and the newly instated heir to the Culis fortune. Mila assumed this was who he’d been mourning when she found him in the crypt; however, with the way he carried himself tonight, as though his new status were a physical crown perched upon his head, it made her wonder if she’d imagined his red-rimmed eyes that day.
With effort, she pulled her gaze away from him and looked around the room at the other shareholders, who all kept their faces carefully neutral as they surveyed her. It was as though they didn’t know how to react to her presence and didn’t want to risk displeasing their fickle princess by revealing the wrong emotion. So, despite spotting a few fleeting shadows of fear and intrigue, Mila noted with interest that they all decided to follow Jezebel’s lead and ignore Mila’s presence entirely .
Christopher Culis was the exception. He stared openly and hungrily at her.
“You effortlessly show us, once again, the difference between princess and mere mortal,” he flattered Jezebel, refusing to be distracted by her questions about his family. “But going so far as to take a demon as a pet is unheard of. How has the Church permitted this to occur?”
“The real question here, Christopher, is who do you think has more authority?” Jezebel chirped back delightedly. “Your Princess or the Church?”
With that challenge left floating in the air, she took her seat and signalled to the string quartet in the corner to start playing. This seemed to be the cue for the room to resume its chatter, but Mila sensed that the private conversations didn’t stray far off the topic at hand.
Until there was another entrance.
The front door opened again, and this time, it was the Lady Eliza Picory who stepped through with her young handmaid.
Lady Picory surveyed the room with a horrified look that betrayed that, whatever she’d expected from this invitation, it certainly hadn’t been the sight she saw before her now. She nervously shrank when she saw the formal Artor Trading Company dinner jackets worn by the other attendees and looked downright ill when she saw Jezebel and her footmen, specifically what the latter were wearing.
Jezebel’s cackle told Mila immediately that she was about to witness retribution for the hurt Lady Picory had caused the princess all those weeks ago. The woman had evidently been sent an outfit by Jezebel to wear as a gift, but here she was, dressed exactly as one of Jezebel’s attendants, in a long, shapeless, grey smock and white gloves .
“Who is…is that Eliza Picory?” an older man at the table exclaimed, peering over his glasses. “Dressed as a server? What are you doing, woman?”
“I…” Lady Picory’s face was now beet-red as she realised she was standing before the most powerful men in the country, men who frequently competed with her husband for access to rare goods and services, dressed as Jezebel’s servant.
Jezebel could not wipe the smile from her face as she pointed to the door. “The kitchens are that way, Eliza. I’m sure the entrées are nearly ready to be brought up.”
To her credit, Eliza gathered what little of her pride she could, and held her head high as she turned heel and headed to the kitchen.
What else could she have done? Publicly disobey the princess? Jezebel laughed again, and the sound was joined by the laugh of Christopher Culis from across the table.
“Well now, that was entertaining,” he said, and the hearty words could be heard clearly from the other end of the room. Mila felt Jezebel’s energy beam in response to his solidarity.
“Jahan.” Jezebel snapped her fingers and the handsome, disfigured ex-guard stepped forward and refilled her goblet, which she quickly drained, extending it immediately out to him for more.
Mila watched this with interest. Jezebel liked to drink most nights, but not recklessly like this. Something about this dinner was different for the woman, and Mila was beginning to suspect it had something to do with the presence of Christopher Culis.
Excellent.
If Jezebel was distracted and drunk enough then escape might truly be an option tonight. Mila’s blood thrummed with adrenaline as she scanned the room’s doors and windows and identified the servers’ entry. That would be the best route out of this building. Servants would be the least likely to prevent her if she slipped down that passage. And even if she was confronted, she could say she’d been sent on an errand for the princess. These were not the serving staff of the princess’s palace apartments. No one here knew of the tight control Jezebel usually wielded over Mila. It might just work if she could hold her nerve for long enough.
She breathed deeply with excitement at the thought of this prospect, but then forced herself to turn her attention back to the conversation at hand. If she behaved at all suspiciously tonight, Jezebel would surely notice. Until the moment of her breakaway, her behaviour needed to be as routine as possible.
“I can barely restrain myself, Princess,” she heard Christopher Culis call across the table again. His words came out as a laugh, but there was an edge to it. He was clearly a man accustomed to getting his way, and he wanted more answers about the demon situation than he’d received so far. “Do not hold me in suspense a moment longer. Tell me, are demon pets a new commodity?”
Jezebel considered her reply carefully. Mila knew that she hadn’t liked the idea her father had briefly suggested, of enabling those in the aristocracy, such as Eliza, to have their pick of demons for entertainment. She enjoyed the notoriety and the exclusivity of having the only one. However, Mila also sensed that there was something about Culis’s attention and approval that Jezebel deeply desired, and she was not ready for him to lose this intense interest in her just yet.
“I am considering it,” she said eventually, haughtily. “My exposure to demons is more than most, and I have found that, despite their inherently evil and vile nature, many of them have harmless, and in some cases even useful, abilities. My demon here, for example, can read energies.” Again, she decided to use the opportunity to threaten the room. “She will report to me after this dinner exactly who among you can be trusted… and who harbours poisonous intent against me. So be warned, do not say anything at this table with a half-truth stuck in your throat.”
Mila noted with interest that, once again, the room shifted as the men tried to consciously change their energy towards the princess – without quite knowing how to do so. She felt with fascination the way they tried to reshape their fear and disdain for the woman into thoughts of appreciation for her beauty and strength.
All except one. Culis.
With burning curiosity, Mila sought answers from him again, forcibly pushing away the energetic hum of the rest of the room to try to focus just on him, and again she was thwarted. While she could sense him in the room as a living being, the specifics of his energy were blurred and unreadable, with a muffled, hazy quality to it, despite her best efforts. It was inexplicable, and infuriating.
He saw her staring, and although he misunderstood the reason for the frown on her face, he correctly assumed what she was trying to do and smiled in response, a cool challenge written in his eyes. “No need to worry about me, little demon. I’m happy to tell the princess exactly what I think of her, and she knows that.”
Beside her, Mila felt Jezebel flush with both outrage and desire, which heightened as the sleek man rose from his chair and approached hers. He knelt beside her and leaned forward with a familiarity Mila had not expected to see. There was clearly a history between these two.
“Hello again, Princess,” he said in a low voice and with a wry smile.
“What do you want, Christopher?” Jezebel said with playful wariness.
“Only to see your beauty up close.”
“Flatterer,” she accused. "And…liar. "
“Guilty,” he agreed with a laugh, then leaned even closer. “You know exactly why I’m here, because you know exactly what you’ve done to me by bringing this thing here.” He gestured in Mila’s direction. “This is how a spider reels in a fly, placing the web right over the most interesting flower in the meadow.”
“You’re saying I’m a spider, Christopher?”
“I’m saying,” he gestured to himself with flamboyant self-deprecation. “I’m a predictable, mercantile fool, who will be miserable all night – at my own dinner party, nonetheless – unless you have mercy and toss me the smallest morsel of an answer to my questions.”
Mila listened to the conversation, incredulous that he was able to take such a tone with the princess. She’d never heard anyone speak with her like this, but it seemed to be working. Jezebel sighed, as if this was all very boring, but Mila could feel her enjoyment resonating strongly.
“I’ll be brief,” Culis spoke softly, and only to Jezebel, as if they were co-conspirators. “I believed your Divine father to be the sole…consumer of these creatures. What would happen if these new pets turned out to be valuable and people were… reluctant to sacrifice them?”
Jezebel nodded slowly at his words, luxuriating in his close presence. “A valid point. I’ll admit I have not discussed the specifics with him directly. But he did mention vague support for the concept of demons as pets when I presented this one to him. I imagine that, if it could somehow be assured that each demon would be sacrificed eventually, he would be amenable to the idea. It’s the High Priest Abbott who would have a conniption.”
“I think both you and I would enjoy watching that.”
“What do you mean?” Jezebel asked.
“Well…” Culis was slightly more cautious now, pausing briefly before replying. “That question you posed to the room earlier, about who is more powerful, you or the Church? Well, let me answer it with one of my own – why is that even a question we consider at all? You are the God-King’s daughter. Who in the Church has the gall to challenge your authority… ever?”
“Abbott,” Jezebel hissed, almost to herself, but Culis leaned into it, his lips close to hers as he whispered.
“And wouldn’t you relish the opportunity to wipe that question from Abbott’s mouth?”
And wouldn’t you love to ride on her coattails as she does? The thought came to Mila swiftly, and to her surprise, Culis looked over sharply at her, as though he’d somehow heard it.
“What’s this one’s name?” he drew back slightly from Jezebel, motioning towards Mila with his head.
“It’s…” Jezebel stopped in her tracks, realising without embarrassment that she had never thought to ask. “I have no idea,” she laughed.
Culis looked at Mila expectantly, waiting for her to share it, but unless Jezebel ordered her to, Mila resolved that she would not, and Jezebel did not seem inclined to humanise her demon an inch more than she had to. So, Mila said nothing and just stared back at him, waiting to see what would happen next.
Eventually, Culis conceded defeat on the question of her name, but continued to address Mila. “And you can sense energies. Very intriguing. Does that mean you can sense the difference between humans and demons too?”
What a good question. Smart man. Dangerous man.
“It does.”
Not even Jezebel missed the way his eyes lit up at her response. “If you’re trying to figure out a way to use my demon for your own purposes, then I’d stop,” she said with a tight laugh. “I don’t like to share. ”
“I do love a challenge, Princess. You know this.”
“It’s a challenge I’m afraid you’ll lose.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever felt afraid.” He playfully raised an eyebrow. “What’s it feel like?”
Jezebel giggled, and Mila sensed the blood pounding in the princess’s body. Jezebel opened her mouth to reply, but at that exact moment, the servers arrived from the kitchen, Eliza included, bearing the entrée, a rich, wild mushroom and rustic garlic soup, and Culis was forced to return to his seat on the other side of the table.
In his absence, the discussion at Jezebel’s side turned to other matters, to new islands discovered on a recent voyage that were inhabited by a tribe that seemed to consist entirely of women. Although Jezebel was distracted by the new topic and ridiculing a red-faced Eliza whenever the opportunity presented itself, Mila could tell that something had changed. A seed, something to do with proving something to Abbott, had been planted in her mind.