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Still pondering the vision Araine entered her new apartment and gasped inwardly as her two new attendants stood and bowed, startling her. Inae and Jemma, both linen-clad, slender, quick, and dark-haired. Would she ever be used to having attendants? Really, she must plead with the Lady Dasarai to be left alone. Araine smiled at the pair, who looked hopeful, as if trusting her to rescue them from boredom. Well, she must disappoint them. “Just ignore me. Sit down and rest. I’ll be in the garden.”
Jemma, the most forward of the two, nodded, her sleekly combed and bound dark hair gleaming. “As you say. But sometime, Prophet, you’ll have to give up and let us follow you.”
“Don’t you want a fan?” Inae offered, fluttering a particularly pretty confection of flower-painted palm leaves at her.
“Not now, but thank you. I’ll sit in the shade.” Araine rested the prophet’s branch against the wall then headed to her storage chest. Even as she lifted the lid, she heard the Infinite’s verses whispering to her. Saw the golden words living before her gaze, filling her soul with their consolation. She lifted the scrolls gently from the chest, sighing as some of the ache ebbed from her heart.
Infinite? Let Lord Sheth reconsider! Save him, I beg You. And protect the king.
Despite her fear she fretted over the king. Forget his perfect form and royal status—Bel-Tygeon’s soul was precious to her, as was the Lady Dasarai’s.
“Thank You, my Creator, for bringing me here despite my fears! Let me serve You!”
She drifted outside to her new garden at the height of its late-summer glory, all scented flowers, stone-treaded paths, and blooming ornamental trees sheltering low-carved benches. Cautious of her gauzy crimson veils and jewel-garnished robes, she settled onto a particularly wide bench, opened a scroll, and read. The Mighty One, the Infinite, speaks and summons all from the sun’s rising to its setting....***
When she finished reading she hugged the scrolls nearer and closed her eyes. “Infinite? Bless Your Name! Calm my fears. I know Your will is perfect. Let me always seek You and rejoice in Your Word. Though I am no one, remember me with the favor of Your chosen! I will praise You with the harp for Your faithfulness.”
Sandals clicked delicately over the nearby stones.
Zaria.
Araine saw the young woman intrude even before she opened her eyes. Envy approaching in the favorite’s form. Araine straightened, drew her bejeweled veil over the precious scrolls, and stared at her visitor. Zaria inhaled deeply and her eyes widened. “You’re awash with his fragrance; you’ve been with him!”
“Never fear,” Araine murmured, hoping to calm the furious young woman. “He was scolding me.”
“He kissed you!”
“No.” Araine argued. “Not quite. He—”
Zaria slapped her. “I sold myself to become the king’s wife and queen, not to be shown up by some Siphran!”
As if Siphran were a bad word. Araine flung herself to the opposite side of the bench, then stood, still hugging the scrolls, her cheek stinging and undoubtedly as crimson as her robes. In the doorway to her rooms, Jemma and Inae started forward, but Zaria’s attendants grabbed them, provoking a struggle, with Jemma at the scuffle’s very center, clawing her attackers. Araine yelled, “Stop! All of you. This is my garden, my chamber, and I want you out!”
Oblivious to the commotion Zaria screamed, “You will not steal him from me!”
Infinite, how am I to deal with such hysterics? “Zaria, I have no intention of stealing him from you or anyone.”
“I don’t believe you!”
Zaria lunged across the bench and grabbed for the scrolls, clearly intent upon ripping them from Araine’s arms. No! Araine lifted a defensive hand. “Infinite!”
A slash of light opened the air between them, solidifying into the branch. “Zaria, stop!”
Zaria muttered something that sounded like an unladylike word. She swiped at the branch, then screeched as the branch flared. Searing, snapping sounds filled the air, and the scent of burned flesh made Araine turn away and gasp. “Ugh!”
Zaria retreated, staring and clutching her blistered hand. “You’ve hurt me!”
“Because you attacked me—after I warned you.” Araine set the branch between them, staring past its fiery metallic glow at Zaria, while listening.
Tell her, the Infinite murmured. I see her soul. It is not too late....
“Zaria,” Araine pleaded, “your Creator warns you. He sees your soul. It’s not too late for you, so please listen to Him. Don’t plan evil, or you’ll be rewarded with evil of your own making.”
Zaria’s dainty face turned ugly with hatred. “I don’t want lectures. I want you gone!” She circled the bench, glaring as Araine countered each step, facing her, Zaria’s wrath rising with Araine’s every evasive turn. “You will not replace me!”
Such killing hatred. Infinite, did Zaria send the dreki’s talon?
No. He followed the answer with a brief image—fine, masculine hands, gold rings, manicured fingernails, embroidered, formal dark blue robes...and knowledge of Zaria’s one true love.
“Zaria,” Araine cautioned, hoping to settle her, “above all you want to become queen. But that can never happen if you destroy yourself with your own ambition.”
Zaria bared her teeth and pitched herself across the bench, reaching around the branch to claw at the scrolls. Araine whipped the precious Books of the Infinite from Zaria’s reach, just as Zaria’s lovely dark curls brushed against the glowing branch and caught fire.
Araine gasped. “Your hair!”
Before she could try to help, long, dark, ragged tufts of scorched, severed curls fell softly onto the stone bench. Puffs of smoke lifted from Zaria’s head and from the lost curls. She screeched and slapped at her smoldering scalp. Her attendants abandoned their tussle with Jemma and Inae to help their lady, who now wailed, “You’ve ruined my hair!”
“Not permanently.” Araine retreated, quite unable to look away from the singed favorite. Oh, my. She’d lost a considerable amount of hair....
Sobbing, Zaria snatched her lost locks then fled as if she hoped to restore them. With glue perhaps? Araine grimaced and slid a glance toward her smug attendants, scratched and rumpled but re-pinning their hair as if such feminine frays were an everyday occurrence in the palace. “You saw the whole thing. I never intended to burn off half her hair.”
Jemma sniffed, adjusting her unruly black locks, her sharp little face remorseless. “She shouldn’t have invaded your rooms. Anyway it’s only her hair. It’ll grow back. You should have smacked her nose and flattened it.”
Beside her Inae fought to stifle laughter but failed. “Imagine the story we’ll tell in the kitchens tonight!”
Oh no! Everyone would hear. Trying to imagine the king’s reaction, Araine covered her face with one hand. “Infinite? Why do I suspect I’ll pay a price for shearing Zaria?”
***
SEATED AT HIS DESK Nikaros pressed the official stone cylinder seal into the dark blue wax, dried it, set the document in its proper box, and reached for the next parchment. Saving the king’s life had nearly doubled his duties these past few weeks—and likely increased the risk that Bel-Tygeon would keep him permanently enslaved in Sulaanc. Would any king release a slave so knowledgeable of military matters? Even so his new role as the king’s civil military administrator was more interesting than writing endless copies of notes for Ebatenai to be sent to various provinces.
Receiving reports and attending concerns for the royal commanders had also increased Nik’s respect for Commander Utthreates and Commander Rtial Vioc. As well as for the endlessly grateful Axiyn Seir, who’d been promoted to Vioc’s former role as commander of the king’s own regiment. Each man routinely communicated with Nikaros, and all three had expressed confidence in Nik’s abilities as an administrator. Perhaps now—
Ebatenai swept into the room and then stopped. His small brown eyes widened in his round face, and he squeaked, “Son of Levos! Why are you still working? The king will wonder if you are delayed. Haste-haste!”
“I forgot the archery practice.” Nik growled at himself, jumped up, and snatched his mantle. “Forgive me. I was reviewing the latest requisitions.”
Exultant as any man just freed from prison, Lije leaned into the room, taunting, “No doubt you’re doing a bad job as usual. Hurry up, laggard, or Josias will beat you!”
“Don’t make me wish you were still caged,” Nikaros threatened. But he grinned and bowed toward Ebatenai, who waved them both from the room.
Josias punched Nik’s shoulder the instant he left the work room. “Are you sure you’re healed enough to draw a bow?”
“Are you?” Nik arranged his blue mantle in folds over his left shoulder and nearly jumped as one of his newly appointed attendants offered a gilded pin to hold the mantle in place.
As Nikaros fastened the pin, Josias grumbled, “No, I didn’t agree to join your practice. I’m likely out of form.”
“The king asked if you two could match me for archery. I told him nearly. You’re commanded to come with me.”
Lije interceded, both dark eyebrows lifted hopefully. “Will the prophet be there?”
Araine. Nik’s heartbeat quickened. It had been weeks since he’d seen her; she’d be a most welcome sight today. He flicked his mantle into place then marched ahead. “Who knows? I’m just a slave.”
“Just?” Josias mocked him while matching his pace. “You’re more than that, son of Levos. However it amazes me that the king’s guards trust any of us to be near him with weapons.”
His mood darkening with the thought, Nik warned, “If anything happens to the king in our presence, guilty or not, we’ll die at once. And the Eosyths will face an unprecedented slaughter. Therefore we protect him with our lives.”
They trekked through the maze of turns within the elaborate palace corridors and finally entered the secluded royal garden. Nik squinted at the dazzling sunlight as he led his friends along the paths and then through the small wilderness. In the green open space beyond the bridge, Bel-Tygeon was already selecting his weapon, the richly polished chosen black bow and arrows gleaming in the light. He barely nodded as Nik, Josias, and Lije offered obeisance then straightened.
Nikaros accepted his bow and arrows from a slave and flexed his fingers over the perfectly polished and curved bow, admiring the grain’s sheen in the sunlight. It was a blessing to be well again and to feel his strength fully recovered.
Truly his new honors, responsibilities, lavish living quarters, and rich garments could not compare to the reassurance of his restored health or to his dreams of freedom. Somehow he must escape Belaal without endangering his people.
Did his parents believe he was dead? He dismissed the thought to focus on his surroundings.
“Targets, beware!” Bel-Tygeon called out, drawing Nik’s attention toward the far side of their shooting range. There the king’s slaves stood their ground near the targets, demonstrating their unspoken opinions of Bel-Tygeon’s shooting skills.
Bel-Tygeon shrugged then focused only on the series of targets against the far posts. Holding a spiral cluster of arrows in his left hand against the bow to shoot with each draw, the king released one arrow after another, not as quickly as an Eosyth but admirable enough for a man who’d never practiced the method until this year.
He handed off his bow to a slave then motioned at Nik, Josias, and Lije. “Your turns.”
Exultant, Nikaros gathered his arrows and yelled, “Targets, beware!”
The slaves fled, making him grin. Clearly his fellow-slaves felt no obligation to flatter a mere slave-administrator.
Pacing back and forth, he shot arrow after arrow into the targets, regaining speed and confidence as he moved. When he finished he handed his bow to Josias. “You’re not the only one who’s out of practice.”
“Show-off!” Josias grumbled.
From the corner of his eye, Nik glimpsed four men standing near the bridge, watching them. Ebatenai, Commander Utthreates, Commander Vioc, and Commander Seir, none of whom would be here without royal invitation. Nikaros smiled at the men but with a sinking dismay. He’d been duped. Bel-Tygeon had used their archery practice for Belaal’s gain.
Sure enough, as soon as Josias then Lije finished, each commendably striking their targets, the three commanders approached, followed by Ebatenai. Bel-Tygeon motioned at Nikaros, while speaking to the commanders. “You saw how he and his friends use their weapons, a chance not availed or used in Parne, to our loss! I want all of your men trained in this method at once.”
To ultimately be used against the Eosyths? Nikaros gritted his teeth. Infinite, I am a fool!
Cold-voiced Bel-Tygeon ordered, “Son of Levos, show the commanders your style of archery.”
He complied, every muscle and movement under compulsion as fury built itself like a bonfire in his gullet. All three commanders watched his technique in perfect silence then bowed to the king, who dismissed them and resumed his own practice.
Lije muttered, “So now we stand here like fools!”
Nik exhaled. Might as well place the blame where it belonged. “My fault.”***
“I’d say so,” Josias huffed, a man ready for bruising. Before Nik could wallop his friend and earn royal censure, Ebatenai approached again, followed by the Lady Dasarai, a beautiful young woman with heavily veiled hair, and...Araine, with a number of attendants.
Nik’s fury vanished at the sight of Belaal’s prophet, gloriously pretty in the sunlight, her veils sparkling with tiny jewels, no match for the sudden brightening of her gaze when she saw him. Did Araine care for him?
The woman with the heavily veiled hair smiled at Nik. A furtive malice in her glance, her voice raised all the hairs along his arms as she called too loudly, “Oh, look! Prophet, you have an admirer!”
Araine blushed wild-rose pink and flung the smug woman an impatient look. “Zaria, be serious!”
Bel-Tygeon glanced from Araine to Nikaros. His voice dangerously quiet, he asked, “Prophet, do you admire him as well?”
Araine’s blush deepened, and she protested, “It is not my place to admire any man, Sire. I am your servant, your slave.”
Bel-Tygeon flung down his bow. “Then, slave, answer my question! Do you admire this man?”
She paled and offered Nik a vulnerable look. “I...yes. I do.”
The king stalked toward Ebatenai, hissed something at him beneath his breath then waved everyone off. Ebatenai beckoned, not looking at Nikaros or Josias and Lije. “Come away, Sirs. We are dismissed for today.”
Not risking another glance at Araine, his fury rebuilding, Nik followed the chief steward. They crossed the bridge and passed through the small wilderness. There, where the trees and thickets gave way to well-tended flowering plots, a handful of the king’s guards loitered, talking quietly among themselves as they waited for Bel-Tygeon. Ebatenai spoke quietly to their leader, who stared, gaping like a fish snagged from water into air.
Thin-voiced Ebatenai snapped, “Do as you’re commanded!”
The lead guard waved his men toward Nik, Josias, and Lije. “Arrest these men.”
Immediately two guards held weapons readied, while the other three produced cords to bind the Eosyths.
Lije protested as one of the guards approached him. “But I was just released! Are you serious?”
While his arms were restrained and bound, Josias scowled at Nik. “We suffer because a girl blushes and admits she admires you? Infinite, spare us from jealous kings!”
“Spare us indeed,” Nik muttered as a guard tightened cords around his wrists then shoved him along the path.
Evidently unable to pass up the temptation of sarcasm despite their predicament, Lije added, “Well, you’re not even much to look at, Nik. Or to listen to! Is the girl blind?”
“She must be.” And yet if Araine cared for him, prison might be worth her esteem.
Unless Bel-Tygeon’s jealousy ultimately demanded his life or his friends’ lives. Or Araine’s. The thought sent hair-raising prickles of apprehension along Nik’s arms. If the king turned against Araine, how could he, an imprisoned slave, possibly rescue her?