Chapter 8 #2
“Just a warm up, purple,” Athira hissed. “You’ll never see the real thing coming.”
“You don’t think I’m capable of protecting her,” he replied. “But you’re wrong. There’s a reason my family have occupied the same holdings in the realm for so long, and it’s not because we’re weak.”
“You are a purple, and so you are weak. You will die because of the mating you have stumbled into despite what you were born as,” Athira replied. “And then my daughter will die with you, so you will never be worthy enough to me. Your presence ensures that she will meet her death too soon.”
With those words, I gained sudden insight into Athira’s mind.
Gratia had been her constant. Not that Athira didn’t love Carmine, but she really loved that he was king—and therefore untouchable.
Safe. His whole life—from his first breath—Carmine had been a source of terror for her.
Terror of the grief and loss she would know if her mate killed him.
Then one hundred years of daily terror while my father reigned and kept her son in the dungeon.
She’d never allowed herself to believe that Carmine would live and be safe, but she’d allowed herself to believe that for Gratia, and now a purple demon had arrived to steal away that surety.
I understood Athira.
She was scared to lose her child.
Raes protecting himself just now may be the only thing that would convince Athira otherwise. He had to show her that one thousand times, then one thousand times more. And then, Athira may let herself believe that Gratia would be okay. That a purple wouldn’t kill her daughter through their mating.
I could also point out that if Athira wished to keep Raes safe, the best thing she could have done was publicly support their mating. But who was I to point out the obvious?
All eyes turned to Carmine.
“Where is the food?” he asked. He frowned at Tsan. “Go ask about the food.”
I smiled. Straight into it. “And fetch my mother-in-law’s drink while you’re at it, yellow.”
Tsan rose and shuffled to do our bidding with the appropriate amount of hunch in his shoulders. My stomach churned. I was going to make this up to him after.
Except I was betraying what he really wanted—what he’d agreed to help me with.
I sighed happily. “How was your day, mate?”
“We aren’t mated yet,” Carmine replied. “Not until you kill your sister.”
Gratia and Raes snapped to look at me.
“You should consider asking Raes to kill one of his family members to prove himself,” I said to my sister-in-law. “How will you know how he really feels otherwise?”
Raes paled, and Gratia looked at her brother.
“Is that true?” she asked him. “For what purpose?”
Gratia blinked when Carmine slowly turned to look at her. His sister wasn’t dumb by any means. She had been the one to point out to me how he worked—that he only ever served the interests of the realm, and if I wanted anything, then it had to serve the realm too. Or align with those interests.
Gratia bowed her head. “I’m sure you have your reasons, brother.”
Carmine didn’t answer, then returned his focus to me. “You have decided against helping the realm.”
“How long has it taken you to kill my sister? Oh, that’s right, you haven’t killed her yet. In months. I’ve said I’ll kill her, and I will.”
Please take your time, Tsan.
The feeling of ice crawled over the ceiling and walls.
I held the king’s gaze. “Or are you hoping that I won’t kill her so you don’t need to continue our mating?”
“Hopes are for the desperate, Syera,” he answered. “You reek of it. Where is that fool of a yellow?”
Tsan reappeared as if summoned, and a stream of yellows and oranges trailed in his wake, holding trays. Tsan set the king’s tray in front of Carmine, then swiped a goblet off another tray and took it around to Athira.
He circled the table again and looked at me.
“You may sit,” I said.
Tsan sat, and fixed his eyes on the plate.
A female servant glanced at him, then at the king.
“Is something the matter, orange?” the king asked her.
She sucked in a breath. “N-no, my king. Nothing is the matter.”
“Does my treatment of this yellow bother you? You can tell me.”
The orange was smarter than that. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been smart enough to keep her expression as smooth and uncurious as the others.
She bowed low. “No, my king. It is not my place to be bothered.”
He leaned forward. “You’re right. It wasn’t.”
Carmine whipped out crimson smoke, tinged with my black, and the orange’s head rolled across the floor.
The demon king drank from his goblet after. “Clean that up, and get out.”
I heard Tsan swallow. His forehead shone with perspiration too. But those weren’t bad displays. Tyran wanted to be feared tonight. He wanted me to know how easily my friend could lose his head.
I had to show him that didn’t matter to me, without pushing him to actually do it.
I sniffed the roasted zaza. “Mmm, I’m famished.” Grabbing a leg of zaza, I tore a chunk away.
Athira started on her food while Gratia had fixed her sights on the far wall, and didn’t seem inclined to chow down on her dinner while a beheaded corpse was cleared away. Raes settled for a drink from his goblet.
Tsan waited until Carmine had started to eat before picking up the slice of seeded dunkr, which was a food somewhere between a cracker and bread.
Silence reigned, other than the sounds of chewing and a body being dragged away.
Carmine said at last, “It is not often we host a yellow at a royal dinner. What has your life been? Who are your family?”
The demon version of “tell me about yourself.”
I didn’t stop eating, though my stomach was protesting the greasiness.
Tsan answered, “My parents were yellows, my king. They worked in maintenance on the sewage systems their entire lives.”
“You can’t get much lower than cleaning other people’s shit,” Athira chimed in.
I smiled at her. “Isn’t that what you do for your son? Clean up his shit?”
After a lull, Tsan said, “I worked there for a time when younger, then found a job as a janitor in an assembly factory.”
“You have always been a servant,” Carmine said. Though it wasn’t really Carmine, but I couldn’t split my mind when the conversation felt one breath from exploding.
My friend nodded. “Yes, my king. I hold no illusions about my power or where I belong. I was happy to clean and restock and do whatever other tasks were assigned to me. I was surrounded by other yellows and oranges too.”
“And do you prefer the company of your own kind?” Carmine sneered.
“I do,” muttered Athira. “Why did you invite a yellow to dinner, my son? I can barely choke down this food.”
Such a bitch.
The beauty of Athira was that she was playing a part—distracting Carmine in small ways to help me keep Tsan alive. Or give me a reason to create a distraction by attacking her later. But I was also pretty sure she meant every word.
Her son looked at her. “My apologies, Mother. I wished to know the friend of my mate-intended. Answer my question, yellow.”
Tsan said, “Yes, my king. I would say that I prefer the company of my own scale color. I best understand them, and they best understand me. I do not feel on edge around them, as I do around our predators—which are every other demon in the realm.”
Subtle flattery. Acknowledgment of his “place” in the realm. Tsan was a genius.
Carmine tilted his head. “So the fortress is not where you would choose to be.”
Athira snorted.
Gratia and Raes had quietly settled into their food, and weren’t in a chatty mood. Oddly.
“No demon in their right mind would choose to stay in the realm when they could live in the fortress, my king. I am grateful for the opportunity to live in this luxury. And with such grand food. I will remain for however long you’ll have me.”
“It was Syera’s choice that you come here. Also Syera’s recommendation that I invite yellows and oranges to join the war council.”