“Nycati is secret royalty.”
“The best kind. I take it, they’re hiding his pedigree?”
“Yes. Except their society is hung up on etiquette, and the duke slipped up a couple of times and treated their candidate with too much deference. The gap in rank was obvious.”
“And you wanted them to know that you know. Any particular reason?”
“Nycati has a date with Kosandion tomorrow, after the 2nd Trial. If he tries anything, I won’t just restrain him, I will expose him, and I wanted them to understand that.”
“And you brought me along to demonstrate that not only you know but other people are aware of his lineage as well. Killing you would be pointless and killing me would be difficult.”
“Yes.”
Gaston let out a rumbling chuckle. “Have you ever considered a career in skullduggery, Dina?”
“Everyone is offering me a job lately.”
“You’re doing so well. That’s how it works. Do you find any of the offers tempting?”
“None at all. I don’t need a new job, I just want people to stop making the one I have more difficult.”
Gaston laughed.
I waved goodbye to him and headed straight for my bedroom. Tomorrow would be another busy day and I needed all the rest I could get.
22
Ah, it is that time again. The wonderful FrInnDay, when we come together to learn of the latest happenings in Gertrude Hunt and pass judgement on the silly beings within. Welcome, honored guests! During our last happy meeting, we learned more about Derryl of Is, the lone female werewolf with a 2×4 chip on her shoulder, and watched Dina remind Nycati that innkeepers are a power unlike any other. Today we bring you the Trial of Talent.
Warning: the following chapter contains a brief description of animal cruelty. The Universe is vast and not everyone abides by the same standards.
The light of early morning illuminated Kosandion’s private balcony and the bags under his eyes. He took a sip from his coffee mug and looked at it.
“Why is this so sweet?”
“Because you didn’t sleep last night,” Sean said. “You need the sugar.”
Kosandion frowned at him and took a big gulp.
Orata fidgeted in her seat. “Perhaps, a booster…”
“No,” Kosandion said firmly.
Orata looked at Resven. The Chancellor spread his arms.
“At least some drops for the eyes,” Orata said. “Just for the optics.”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?”
“They’re bloodshot,” I told him.
Kosandion hadn’t slept for almost forty-eight hours. The night before last he dealt with Vercia’s betrayal. We’d gone to sleep close to 2:00 am, and he was still awake. When I had gotten up 2 hours later to deal with the latest Dushegub caper, he hadn’t gone to bed. Last night was the same. Orata had let it slip that the Conservative Alliance was proving to be a thornier issue than anticipated. Other political factions had entered the fray, and things became “a little complicated.”
Kosandion had paced a few times during the night because it helped him think, and Gertrude Hunt woke both Sean and me up every time he moved too much, which was why the two of us decided to join him for the morning briefing.
I read somewhere that lack of sleep was cumulative. After this event was over, and we got Wilmos back, I would sleep for a week. Unlike Kosandion, I couldn’t stay up for 48 hours straight without some chemical help.
Kosandion held out his hand. Orata jumped up, put a small vial into his fingers, and went back to her seat. The Sovereign put two drops into each eye and firmly set the vial on the table.
Resven approached, picked up a dish with one of Orro’s beautiful muffins on it, and held it out to Kosandion as if he were a two year old.
“Please take a bite, Letero.”
Kosandion just looked at him.
“Sleep or food,” Miralitt said. “You must have at least one.”
Kosandion picked up a muffin and took a small bite. “Let’s move on to the ratings.”
Orata looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Surkar is leading across all categories with an average of 17 points.”
Kosandion chewed his muffin. “Of course he is.”
“It’s that damn show.” Orata waved her arms.
“What show?” Sean asked.
She glanced at Kosandion. He nodded.
Orata tapped her tablet and tilted the holographic screen toward us. On it a panoramic shot of a battlefield rushed toward the viewer, following a bird of prey that swooped down over the field. Bodies in armor littered the bloody ground. Here and there, individual duels still raged, the fighters tripping over corpses. The view zeroed in on a large warrior in antique Dominion armor. He climbed over a hill of the dead to a rock jutting from the bodies. Atop the rock, another fighter splattered with blood roared, brandishing a spear.
The challenger made it to the rock and ripped off his damaged breastplate, revealing a shockingly muscular chest. Miralitt raised her eyebrows.
The two men clashed. Weapons rang, striking each other. They danced across the crag, cutting and slicing. Finally, the challenger leaped and buried his sword in his opponent’s throat. The wounded man clasped his neck, spat out a torrent of blood, stumbled about, waved his arms, seemingly forgetting that there was a blade in his throat…
The hero leaped and kicked the pommel of the sword, driving it into the man and knocking him off the cliff. Miraculously, all the soldiers on the field stopped to watch the body fall. It landed with a meaty thud.
The hero pulled off his helmet. He looked remarkably like the Dominion version of Surkar. If not for the obvious differences in size and pigmentation, they could have been cousins.
“I’d watch that,” Sean said.
Kosandion rolled his eyes.
The hero grabbed a flag, pulling it from under the corpses, triumphantly planted it by his feet, and bellowed. “Warriors! Comrades! Look! The tyrant is dead! Let his death serve as a warning to those who dare claim our freedom!”
“‘Claim our freedom,’” Orata muttered. “It’s not even good writing.”
“They’re not watching it for the writing,” Miralitt said.
“No, but they are watching. In huge numbers.” Resven glanced at Orata.
She covered her face with her hands.
“I swear on this field watered with the blood of our battle-kin that my blade shall not rest until every threat to our liberty is vanquished. As long as my heart beats in my chest, I will stand for justice and peace.”
The camera panned to the few warriors standing among the carnage below.
“That’s a lot of peace,” Sean said.
“Yes, they had a large budget,” Orata said. “They even got Samrion for the lead. He’s an intellectual, nuanced actor. He usually does mystery and intrigue shows. We talked before the production. He was very apologetic. Apparently, they paid him an obscene amount of money. I don’t know what they were feeding him to get him to that size…”
“Who are ‘they’ and when did they have time to put all of this together?” I asked.
“They are the Enforee family,” Resven said. “They own one of the largest video channels, and they opposed the Letero’s succession. They lost and now they’re bitter.”