Chapter 4
Lord Jadren El-Adrel shifted on the big, iron chair in the receiving hall and suppressed a yawn.
He didn’t like to call the monstrosity of a chair a “throne,” though it looked like one, and Seliah delighted in calling it that, just to poke at him.
He’d tried to get rid of the cursed thing, a relic of his vicious mother’s reign as Lady El-Adrel.
She’d loved playing queen of her captive realm and had relished all the little perks that set her above her inferiors, which included everyone else in the world.
In truth, though, it was just a hard, uncomfortable, and ugly oversized chair.
The house, however, seemed to like it and resisted every effort he made to remove or replace it.
And dealing with the complaints of the various minions House El-Adrel was enough to put him to sleep.
He supposed if the ass-numbing chair was even slightly more comfortable, he would fall into a stupor, so there was that.
Still, was it a bad sign if you couldn’t feel your legs?
He shifted again, bouncing one knee to see if that would encourage blood flow, which pinched his balls uncomfortably.
The prickling sensation in his scrotum gave him a stab of alarm.
What if he became unmanned from sitting for so long?
He’d heal from it, as he healed from every cursed thing he’d so far encountered, but a chronic case of genital gangrene might prove to be the one thing that could destroy him.
Jadren El-Adrel: struck down by penis rot. What a pitiful epitaph that would be.
“Stop squirming,” Seliah hissed at him from where she sat beside him in a far more comfortable chair. “Are you even listening?”
“I think I have penis rot,” he whispered back.
She didn’t even pause. “You do not.”
“My ass fell asleep an hour ago. Anything could be going on down there. Maybe you should check it.”
Seliah slid him a sideways look, her catlike eyes canny. “You’re not funny. Put on your big boy panties, Lord El-Adrel, and pay attention. The debate is almost over and you’ll have to make your judgement.”
Since he had not, in fact, been paying attention, that came as mostly welcome news. The almost over part anyway, not the decision aspect. “What should I decide?”
“Really?” she hissed at him. “How do you look at yourself in the mirror?”
“I don’t,” he shot back with a sly smile. “I look at my beautiful familiar.”
She rolled those beautiful amber eyes, wrinkling her nose in a charming, but decidedly unbeautiful fashion. “You are responsible for this house, Jadren.”
“I never wanted to be Lord El-Adrel,” he griped, shifting his butt again.
He definitely had never wanted to sit in this chair.
He did not share his late mother’s affinity for discomfort.
He’d had enough pain to last him several lifetimes, which—given his quasi-immortality—might be an infinite number.
The upside was, he’d also inherited none of her sadism.
“Yes, well, I never wanted to be a latent familiar and shackled to a wizard who thinks I look like a stick insect,” she retorted, “but look at me now.”
He snickered. Seliah would never, ever forget that one-time, flippant remark of his, even though they both knew he’d never meant it.
It certainly wasn’t remotely true now. Having her magic tapped regularly—and getting satisfyingly laid even more regularly, he liked to congratulate himself—along with proper rest and nutrition had allowed Seliah to flesh out and blossom.
She would never be anything but tall and rangy, but she looked healthy, finally, instead of like a starving waif.
And, despite her pretense at irritation with him, she radiated happiness.
Taking over House El-Adrel hadn’t been easy for either of them, but he liked to think they were suitably rising to the challenge.
“I’d like to look at you right now, wild girl,” he purred, mostly to make her blush.
Maybe more than mostly. He’d fucked her vigorously once already that morning, but imagining stripping her up on this dais and having her bent over the arm of the throne while everyone watched her squirm…
mmm. The immediate erection that fantasy generated at least reassured him that he didn’t have penis rot after all. “What if I—”
“Lord El-Adrel?” Bogdan called out. “Lady El-Adrel. Is there some… problem?”
Reluctantly, Jadren wrenched his gaze from Seliah’s blush.
Even though he hadn’t finished articulating his filthy suggestion, she’d clearly followed his train of thought to the logical, for him, conclusion.
His brother, Bogdan, and his sometime conspirator Wizard Anita stood before the dais, both drawn up in postures of offended pomposity.
They had conveniently forgotten their combined attempt to keep him from taking over as head of the house and seemed to think he owed them something, including this audience. Did they have a surprise coming.
Spare him the arrogance of entitled wizards who thought they truly ran House El-Adrel and who still viewed him as the inconsequential nonentity his mother had made Jadren into.
He might have decisively defeated Bogdan for leadership of the house, but you wouldn’t know it from his brother’s attitude.
Jadren had also killed their awful mother and sister.
In his defense, they were actively attempting to murder him at the time, and harm Seliah, which had really upset him, as he’d been very accustomed to their attacks on him, but she was a different matter.
But matricide was its own reward and he’d won the dubious honor of running House El-Adrel, a job he’d never wanted.
Some of these wizards who’d known him since he was an unloved toddler, particularly his brother, still thought of him as inconsequential.
What amazed him most was they seemed to think he didn’t know it.
They pranced and preened and worked their little cadres of malicious, backstabbing social climbers, bringing their contrived squabbles to waste his time, all while conspiring to depose him and take El-Adrel for themselves.
They also flattered him egregiously, blowing so much sunshine up his skirt that he’d have third-degree burns on his ass instead of this numbness.
As if he’d somehow forgotten the almost thirty years during which they’d treated him like less than dirt.
He’d been everybody’s favorite whipping boy—often literally—and they seemed to think he’d continue on that way.
Wizard Anita smiled at him fatuously. “Lord El-Adrel, we know you’re a busy wizard and an insightful leader of our mighty house, with many more important issues demanding your attention.
If you could simply rule that I be given full control of the previous lab space for my new venture into developing sentient automatons, then I—”
“Lord El-Adrel is far too intelligent and perspicacious to make such a foolish, short-sighted decision,” Bogdan interrupted, loudly talking over the wizard.
“The lab space has historically belonged to the biosciences research division of El-Adrel. Wizard Anita’s automatons have no need for the extensive living quarters there. ”
Living quarters. A nice euphemism for the glass cages the unlucky experimental subjects were forced to exist within.
Jadren was all too familiar with those “living quarters,” having been one of those unlucky subjects for far too many, torturous, best forgotten chunks of his life.
Bogdan seemed to have conveniently forgotten that fact.
Or he assumed, as many did, that once Jadren had extracted himself from the vivisection blade, he’d be more than happy to throw someone else under it.
Seliah put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his, patting it reassuringly. “You all right?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Peachy. Happy as berries in cream.”
“Jadren,” she began in a worried tone.
“I should cover you in berries and cream and lick it off. Slowly.”
“I know you’re deflecting.”
“Shh. Put on your big girl panties and pay attention. Or,” he glanced over to leer at her, “take them off. Right here and now. I dare you.”
“I’m not wearing any,” she shot back, tossing her long, rusty black hair over one shoulder.
The rest of Jadren went on full alert, not a single fingertip numb at that point. “Is that true?”
“Make a ruling. Get us out of here. And maybe I’ll let you find out,” she answered, looking pointedly at the battling wizards.
“The future is in automata!” Anita nearly shouted, her face reddening. “With an army of sentient automatons, we could outsource all of our defense currently handled by mortal creatures who require expensive supply chains. We could muster an army to—”
“Everyone knows you need House Elal wizards to supply the spirits to make your walking piles of gears into soldiers capable of more than trudging in a straight line endlessly. And that’s not going to happen anymore because Elal, in case anyone has forgotten, has pulled their alliance from us, thanks to—” Bogdan broke off hastily, realizing his gaffe.
Yes, thanks to Jadren and Seliah—and to Seliah’s brother, Lord Gabriel Phel, refusing to return Lady Veronica Phel to her insane father.
Bad enough that Nic’s sister, Alise, was trapped in House Elal.
Putting Nic back in her father’s hands would spell doom not only for her, but potentially for the entire Convocation.
Jadren wouldn’t be surprised if Piers Elal didn’t have ruling the Convocation as dictator/tyrant/king on his long-term agenda.
Even if Elal hadn’t yanked their collaboration with El-Adrel on the secret project to make an army of quasi-sentient automatons—quasi because even the most complex spirits still weren’t all that bright, except for demons and djinn, and no wizard in their right mind messed with those—Jadren would’ve killed the alliance himself.