“You have to understand, Eden, that whilst the Satori is undoubtedly of Sha’sek origin, he might not be so easy to spot as it is seeing me in the street. Have you ever heard of the Dance of Demons?”
“It’s a feast, held once a year at the break of summer, on all the islands?”
“It is. And as part of that, entertainers parade through the streets. You have women made up to look like men; men that make themselves up to look like women. There are pale skins, dark skins, even blue skins. It isn’t hard to create the compounds to make your face this way. Think of the women at court; the powders they use to pale their faces. This Satori could easily disguise himself if he so wished.”
Eden blanched. “Wouldn’t a man in powders stand out somewhat if he was walking down the street?”
“He would, but I don’t think a man that has evaded our justice for so long would be so careless. We are looking for someone beyond clever. He may also be powerful enough that he would be on the lookout for anyone actively hunting. He may sense that someone is curious, someone is searching, and will simply run from where he is if he detects that particular emotion.”
“How is that possible? How can you feel someone searching?”
“I’m not blessed enough to know, my lord. I am not gifted, like some of the Sha’sek kind are. Indeed, as the generations go on, so I hear, there are fewer and fewer gifted being born.” This was in complete opposition to what Sammah had told Quinn. “I have already sent for the necessary scrolls from our generous libraries; my brother’s city boasts the largest of them all so we shall not want for knowledge. I know time is of the essence. I have sent my fastest messenger bird, and have asked for the swiftest couriers. Still, it will be quite a wait. The Severed Desert is no easy place to cross.”
Eden scratched his head. “I normally understand my opponents. I can see their bodies, and predict the moves they will make. I think I will have my work cut out, trying to work out this Satori, if I can’t understand how he does what he does.”
“Even I can’t understand that, my lord. It is best to try and overcome that early on. We can all learn new skills, especially the younger of us.”
Quinn sat miserably in the corner, her chin resting in her hands. She had been instructed to wait on Eden and Sammah; this was to replace her role as a maid for the foreseeable future. As she had been the recent victim of an attempted murder, her father had deemed it unsafe for her to be roaming the castle alone at night. No one, not even Ross, had argued with him. It was a restriction Quinn had not asked for, and she felt trapped. Even more agonising, was being so close to Eden and not being able to talk to him. Instead, she took the opportunity to study him. She wanted to know what every inch of his face looked like, how he physically reacted to words, so that she could tell what he was thinking without having to use her power. She listened for the timbre of his voice, and the gestures he used when talking. Quinn had already identified that he sat forwards in his chair without thinking when he was excited, and he scrunched his hands into fists when he was frustrated. It was fascinating; even better that she could back up her theories with quick verifications. Gestures identified, she would not send her power back when those triggers presented.
In return for this close study of mankind, all she had to pay was the occasional pitcher of wine or water, and so far two runs to the kitchen. This was her second day. Sammah had told her that she was not to engage Eden unless he engaged her directly in conversation first; he had from that moment on talked at the young man so constantly, that Eden had barely had time to think, let alone dwell on the young woman sitting in the corner.
Eden saw that at first, Quinn had looked utterly bored. No small wonder. If Shiver had commanded him to sit in the corner of a room waiting to pour drinks for two men perfectly capable of picking up their own pitchers, he would have walked out in disgust. Quinn didn’t have that luxury. It was the first real definition between their lives that had been drawn. They had been interrupted only twice so far. The first time had been Maertn, the healer. The lad was looking much better since his knockdown in the courtyard, the bruising on his face was now all but gone. Maertn had been resting in the healing rooms, under the bitter care of his own mentor. That had been a chagrining turn of fortunes, and Maertn had stung from the rebuke that he couldn’t treat his own wounds. Having a fractured shoulder notwithstanding, Maertn had been certain that no one else could treat him better. As such, what with being a terrible patient, it had taken him longer than usual to heal. When he reported to Sammah, it had been to give a statement to Eden, and to confirm that he would be returning to his normal duties. Maertn had flung Quinn an apologetic glance. He probably wished he could swap places to save her, Quinn thought. After that, he was gone. The next visitor had been Shiver, checking on the progress of his new favourite son. He had strided around the room, and may as well have been thrusting each time he stood still. Peacocks didn’t pose as much. He had tried leering at Quinn, but had been called to heel immediately by Sammah. Quinn hadn’t missed the triumphant smile that passed Eden’s lips at that point.
“I think it is time for you to take some rest, Eden. I have been talking at you a lot; your mind must be running away with you. Take some time at the baths, or sleep. Do whatever you please for the afternoon. Quinn, please go and fetch Sirah. She should be in her own rooms. She is to come here straight away. Then go and report to Maertn. See if he needs any help in the apothecary.”
* * *
Sammah leant back in his chair as the two left, stretching his limbs and relishing the feeling as each joint popped, a brief vibration in his muscle resonating through the area sending a shudder of pleasure through his body. As she waited for Sirah, he moved out of his chair to a mirror, and redid his ponytail. Moving in closely, he brushed some dust out of his eyebrows. The young lord was a frequent visitor to the baths, but he still didn’t maintain the levels of cleanliness expected by the Sha’sek noble houses. No one in this filthy country did.
The door opened and closed with barely a click. “Sirah. Take a seat. Have some wine.”
The woman did as he bade. Sirah had been a quiet servant since the courtroom debacle. She had done as he had asked, keeping a close eye on Quinn throughout. She had told him then, that she had news for him regarding his young empath. He had waited on calling her on it, to ensure it wasn’t some impulsive opinion drawn from a spontaneous reaction to something Quinn may or may not have done. Sammah did not trust impulsive decisions, even less than he respected spontaneous reactions.
“You have news for me, on Quinn?”
Sirah sipped from a small glass of red wine. A fine choice, Sammah noted. Sirah did like the finer things in life. That was, after all, why she had chosen to chase him above all others.
“I do, baron. It seems our empath is maturing in more ways than one.”
“Oh? How so?” Ross had already informed Sammah of Quinn’s apparently innocent cavorting in the baths with Eden. Sirah’s so-called news was no longer news. Still, he did not want to steal the woman’s thunder, not after making her wait for so long.
“It seems she is showing more than a passing interest in Shiver’s son, Eden. She had quite an eye for him during the courtroom. He was on her eyes more than anyone else there. That is something I think you can take advantage of.”
“Indeed. This is very interesting news.” Sammah feigned interest, stroking his chin and grasping up his own cup to take a sip of rich wine. “Did she talk about him to you at all?”
“She didn’t, baron. There again, we both know that, of the two of us, Quinn is more likely to open up to you.”
“There is very little love lost between you, isn’t there? Do you think you could perhaps be kinder to Quinn? A bit more gentle with your words, to make some progress? She is not a threat to you, Sirah.”
Sirah coloured gently, more through embarrassment at being caught out in her snide bitchery than anything, if Sammah was any judge of merit. He let the silence stretch out a little more, and was rewarded with a brief fidgeting from a woman who was usually so rigid and composed.
“I will do my best to change my attitude, Sammah. But you measure me wrongly. I simply dislike the girl. She is too simpering. Too…conforming.”
Sammah removed his shirt. Sirah arched an eyebrow and put her glass to one side. “She is what I have formed her to be. You will learn that this is the way things are. Or you will stop being useful to me.”
Sirah smiled lustfully. “I can learn to live with that.”
She rose from her chair in an elegant curve and swayed her hips as she moved slowly towards Sammah. He swung his head to match her own movements. She was a creature of a certain nature, he reminded himself. She was not at the top of the food chain. She was, therefore, liable to bite any creature, whether it was food, or a threat. Sirah would never be able to obey in the immediately submissive way that Quinn did, and he had tried for long enough to adapt her to his needs. As Sirah reached him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head for the expected kiss. Sammah dipped his lips to her neck and left one lingering kiss on her soft olive skin. “You make this too easy for me, my dear.”
He lifted a hand and pushed back her already tilted forehead, and with the other he swept his sharpened knife, clutched in his hand from the moment she had walked in to the room, across her exposed throat. The knife bit so deeply that the tendons themselves were cut; Sirah couldn’t even lift her head back up to look her killer in the eyes. Sammah closed his own eyes as the arterial spray washed over him. He spat some back out in to Sirah’s face. The heat from her lifeblood was invigorating. When the blood flow stopped, he let go of her head, dropping her down on to the stone, making sure she didn’t fall on to his imported carpet. He beckoned to the corner of the room. Ven, Elias’s potential replacement for now, stepped forward. He was a mute, like all of his mercenary cousins who had chosen to serve the baron. A life of peace for both of them. “Get rid of this. Make sure it’s somewhere that it will be found, and quickly. A body found early won’t count against the young Eden yet, especially if it’s a Sha’sek. Did you get my bath ready?” Ven nodded twice. Sammah waved him away, and continued undressing. Looking down, he saw the blood covering his chest. He was briefly fascinated with the rivulets of blood running against his skin, until he saw the blood staining his trousers all the way down to the knees. He removed them and called Ven back.
“Burn these. I don’t want a single strand of the fabric to be found, please.”
Ven nodded again, and Sammah headed to the copper bath, which had been mounted over coals in his bedroom. He slid his body in, tensing at the heat searing his skin. Sirah was going to serve him more in death than she would ever have done in her pathetically over-ambitious life. Her body was going to be dumped near to the castle perimeter. As soon as a Sha’sek was found, one of Sammah’s own retinue, it would prove that the Satori was indiscriminate in who would be chosen in his attempts to trigger war. Next, Sammah would need to go through all of the people that Quinn had previously visited who were still alive and in the city. All of these people would know that Quinn was female, and that Eden’s hunt for a predatory male was pointless. All of these frayed ends would need to be quickly trimmed to keep everything in check. Sammah dunked his head under the water. He could hear nothing but the muffled sound of his own heartbeat. It was a strong noise.
And Quinn thinks I don’t go through any trouble for her. He mused playfully before he again sank his head underneath the warm waters.