Chapter Thirty-Two The Lies of Desil Demothi
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE LIES OF DESIL DEMOTHI
G OVERNOR M ATHERANOS SAT in a grand high back chair, his prominent widow’s peak highlighting the symmetry of his leonine mane of white hair.
Vision returned, Lythlet turned her head in all directions, trying to gain her bearings.
The room was round, small, but with tall, vaulted ceilings that made Lythlet feel minuscule.
Two doors—one behind, one in front, both outfitted with heavy door bolts.
Not a room she recognized—she had no idea where within the massive arena they were located.
Ever so faintly, she could still hear the audience’s uproarious rage through the ceiling.
No less than three huge men were posted around the room, the Eza’s guards awaiting their command.
Two held their crossbows forth, aimed at Lythlet and Desil.
“Master Dothilos told me you were cunning,” the Eza laughed, wagging a finger at her. “I suppose I shouldn’t have bothered with the blindfolds and all that nonsense with you.”
Lythlet caught Desil’s eye, and they stared bewildered at one another. Certainly, they had been convinced by Saevem’s appeal that the governor was working with the Eza—but the idea that the governor was the Eza had never crossed their minds.
She thought immediately of their earrings, praying desperately a member of the Coalition of Hope had been listening all the while.
If that were the case and they had any common sense, they’d send someone in now to seize Governor Matheranos at the scene—tangibly finding him at the arena would be key evidence.
“An honor to be here with you, Governor,” she said, settling into her seat and deciding to buy time.
The Eza took a moment to soak in her sycophancy with a smile.
“Wise enough to know when to grovel, aren’t you?
But let’s get on with it. I have a special request perfectly suited to your particular skills.
You came with special recommendation from Renveld, who assured me you have an expertise in fraudulent accounting.
I do have my own trusted accountants, but Renveld was adamant that I consider enlisting you in this as a trial for your capabilities. ”
Lythlet grimaced, intuiting the reason. She could not say no to the Eza, to the most powerful man in Setgad—and thus Master Dothilos was restarting their poisonous relationship with no chance for her to decline.
“What is it you wish me to do?” she asked.
“Fabricate the financial records of Corio Brandolas. Create an incontrovertible case for his corruption I can present to the Court.”
Her eyes widened.
“That man has been a pest for years, and I want to squash him once and for all.” A glimmer of genuine frustration broke through the Eza’s jovial demeanor.
“Forge a set of accounts that I can use against him and vilify him in the eyes of the city. The whole works, if you please. Unlawful misuse of allowances and expenses, mysterious ‘donations’ from unsavory folk and foreign entities, entertainment expenses being spent at the most debauched brothels, illicit siphoning of party funds into his own private accounts—anything. Make me believe the Coalition of Hope is a party teethed on graft, patronage, and immoderation.”
He went into further detail, outlining the sheer range of parties she could implicate in these forged records, the timeline the transactions ought to cover, and certain key members of the Coalition who he especially wanted to tear down together with their party leader.
By the end of it all, Lythlet needed a moment to let everything soak into her frazzled mind. “So, you want me to destroy Corio Brandolas’s reputation,” she said slowly, winded.
“Oh, I do like how you phrased that. Corio Brandolas—destroyed! Yes, indeed, I want the man shamed by the whole damn city, until he can’t even crawl out of his house without being pelted with tomatoes.
We’ll have the whole city speculating that Corio spends his nights snorting euphoriants off whores with colluders from the Ora Islands before long.
Maybe his wife and her damn family will finally cut that pathetic parvenu off from suckling at their teat any longer.
You exercise your creativity, and I’ll have my people move the funds around to make reality match your imagination.
We have a disgruntled former aide of his who’s defected to our party, and he’s more than willing to publicly support whatever allegations of corruption and moral profligacy you forge by claiming the accounts were recorded by him secretly over the tenure of his service to the Coalition. ”
Lythlet breathed in deeply, contemplating the task he’d so gleefully laid out. “Very well. A question, if I may.”
“Certainly.”
“Why have you brought my friend here?” She tilted her head toward Desil.
Governor Matheranos smiled. “Renveld told me I may need something to remind you of what you’d lose if you failed me. I thought your darling childhood friend would be the most convenient option. Disobey me, and the Rose shall have his petals plucked by these men.”
Desil shifted uncomfortably.
“Have you always been the Eza?” she continued, wondering how long she could stall for.
“There has always been an Eza, and there will always be one. Just as there always has been a governor of Setgad, and there will always be one. It just so happens I decided to have my time as both coincide with one another.” He let out a genteel laugh.
“I doubt Hemharrow Corinthos would be glad to know his bloodline’s been abusing his good reputation to leverage a foothold in the world of politics, but I thank him for the leg up he granted me when I decided to broaden my scope beyond the underworld decades ago. ”
“Aren’t you worried?” Desil blurted out. “That we now know who you are?”
Governor Matheranos stared at him incredulously.
“Dear boy, you really are as daft as Renveld says. What could you possibly do to me? I am in control of both upperworld and underworld laws. I could have these men gut you on the floor before me right now. If I wanted to play by the tedious rules of Court law, I could simply have you arrested for participating in an outlawed bloodsport. Even if you made the poor decision of betraying my identity to the world, what difference could you make? Good luck finding folk willing to believe two penniless slumdogs running around the city, shouting that Governor Matheranos is the Eza. Better men than you have attempted to drag me down for more credible crimes and failed. Why would I fear you?”
They had no answer, sitting in silent petrification.
“I believe I’ve made my point sufficiently clear,” the governor said. “Now, Miss Tairel, if you could have your work ready by the end of the week for my people to collect.” He arced his gaze to one of his guards. “Inform the match-master I’ll be taking my leave.”
The guard departed the room, and the remaining two stood at attention, awaiting orders.
“Blindfold our guests once more and take them to—good grief, are those spectators still making such a ruckus?” He turned his head upward, glaring disdainfully at the ceiling, through which came a rising swell of noise.
Indeed, the audience shouts had gotten louder, crescendoing throughout their discussion.
Bull and bear were united in fury, screaming and shouting like children having their favorite toys snatched away from them, Master Dothilos suffering the task of pacifying them.
The muffled baritone of Master Dothilos bled through periodically, the words lost to the layers of stone between them.
Louder, the shouts grew, louder. Foot stamps could be heard, coordinated at first, then scattered like the thunderclaps of a stormy night, voices dissolving into shrieks.
Lythlet strained her ears—there was one particular sound pattern she kept detecting.
A single word, two syllables, altered beyond comprehension.
Ch-ma? Hitch-an?
Her eyes widened.
Watchmen?
She cast a quick glance at Desil, wordlessly telling him to get ready. A golden opportunity was lurking around the corner.
“Sunsmith, these incorrigible animals,” the Eza said, shaking his head. He rose, ready to complete his order to the remaining two guards.
At that moment, the guard who’d left minutes ago came racing back, red in the face. He shut the heavy wooden door behind him, slotting in the bolts to lock it. “Watchmen!” he panted. “Watchmen raiding the arena!”
“What in the Sunsmith’s name are you on about? I haven’t called for a raid.”
“Not your watchmen, Eza. The ones given to Corio.”
Governor Matheranos froze. “How would that bastard get the Court to sanction an independent arena raid? On today of all days?”
“I don’t know, Eza, but they’re hunting for you.”
Governor Matheranos glanced sharply at Lythlet. His eyes narrowed. “What’s that on your ear, Golden Thorn?” He reached up and snatched her earring, ripping her earlobe. She shrieked at the pain, raising her bound hands to comfort her bleeding ear.
“Were you spying on me?” he shouted.
He struck her, and she spat out a mouthful of blood. He was about to strike her again, but she stared up at him. “You better run if you don’t want to get caught, Eza.”
He sucked in his breath, irritated. Then he spun on his heels. “You, follow me,” he shouted at one guard. “The rest of you—kill them.”
The Eza and his chosen guardsman forged on ahead, unbolting the door in front and departing the room. The remaining two stepped forward, their crossbows aimed at Lythlet and Desil.
The one targeting Desil fired first, the click of his crossbow and the whistle of its quarrel shrieking through the air.