Chapter 5: The Dangerous Dance

  The princesses of Stet-Lek were used as lures for lords to salivate over, only to be yanked away by Rontisil’s puppeteering hand. When the lords did their king’s bidding, the king would tease them with the prospect of marriage, only to repeat the trick. Bardom noticed this, and took pity on the women.

  Several grueling days later, Bardom was fixed into the routine of a Shavu soldier. Every day followed the similar pattern as before—work, train, eat, sleep. His body was exhausted, and his mind was worn. While the men still drank together, he was not ready for the women that the Shavuim were offered. Even if they were becoming more attractive.

  He started to feel that the women were only offered to them to make more Shavuim, which was only confirmed when he learned that half the whores that came were already pregnant. How disgusting the Lekkians are to treat these people like farm animals, Bardom thought, questioning his choice to infiltrate their country. Perhaps they were too far gone to fix, and assassinating their king would not help their situation.

  One afternoon, Yashin was showing Bardom a counter-attack technique—he called it the ‘up-swing’, where a low block was combined with a quick upward slice to stun the opponent. Bardom took the pointers in stride, practicing the motions in several different positions when a messenger rushed into the training facility.

  As he’d hoped, Bardom had gained a great deal of respect even though he was still new. The other Shavuim discussed him often, and he was included in many social circles. This messenger approaching them was a sign that Bardom’s plans were working.

  The lad was a low-ranking guard, a position filled with young, often ambitious, relatives of low Lekkian nobles. Amusing as it was to see these green boys grovel to General Kagarani, it was surprising to see him directed toward Bardom. Yashin’s expression showed he did not like it.

  “Sir Yashin! Na’Vanad!” he huffed, standing straight and saluting Yashin.

  “What is it!” Yashin yapped.

  “Our General commands your audience, he is returning from the Great Leader’s court,” he reported.

  Yashin grumbled to himself. “Come on, tolo. Let’s see what the hell you did this time.”

  Instinctively, Bardom stood at attention, as he was now accustomed to, while Yashin looked more visibly agitated. The whole walk to the general’s chambers he was muttering about Bardom’s stunt when they arrived in Stet-lek. It was odd how quickly Yashin pivoted to aggravation when he was scared. If Kagarani loves you so much, why fear him?

  Bardom, however, suspected it was something else. If the Demon King truly wanted them dealt with over his actions in Erdoegi’s district, he would have sent officers. Instead, he had Kagarani summon them. Bardom lived around his father long enough to know what was discipline and what was punishment.

  Kagarani entered grumpily, taking his seat behind his desk and glaring at the two.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Yashin bowed. Bardom joined him.

  He let out a breath, calmed himself, then looked over the two men. “I had hoped the news of your little act of bravery wouldn’t be noticed by the Great Leader. Imagine my disappointment when it was a subject at court today.”

  It was weeks ago, Bardom rolled his eyes.

  Yashin paled. “My apologies, my lord. I will discipline the Shavu-Ker for this embarrassment.”

  “He laughed, Yashin,” Kagarani said, to their collective surprise. “He thought it was admirable, and he laughed at Erdoegi’s indignation over it, too. Apparently, those boys Na’Vanad threatened were his aspirants. Now they have been relegated lower than the Shavuim, all because the Great Leader liked it.”

  “He liked it?” Bardom said cautiously.

  Kagarani raised an eyebrow at the Shavu. “He called it ‘aggressive morality’. You spoke his language, without even knowing it.”

  Bardom glanced down, then back at Kagarani. “Does he know I buried those children?”

  “He did not indicate it, but I’m sure he does,” Kagarani said with another heavy breath—the man looked like he’d just evaded death and couldn’t believe it. “Anyway, he’s ordered you two to accompany me to tonight’s gathering. You’re to wear formal dress and be groomed. Eat before, I will not have the other generals studying your eating habits in an attempt to embarrass me further.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” Yashin bowed.

  “Are you sure you want me there, my lord?” Bardom asked, beginning to fear that he would be exposed in such a crowd.

  “Our Great Leader has requested your presence specifically, boy,” he said. “We’ll bronze your skin to blend in.”

  “I have bronze skin, my lord,” he said

  Kagarani looked him over as if seeing him for the first time. “Aye, I suppose you do. For some reason, I forgot you were southern.”

  “Why is that, my lord?”

  “I assume all Shavuim are from the north or the islands,” he said dismissively. “Now go. Yashin will brief you on how not to embarrass your liege at a formal event.”

  The barber took his cloth and wet the whiskers on Bardom’s neck, while Yashin sat brooding. “Vakin let his boys go cleanshaven, eh?” The barber’s thick, shaped beard told the story of many years of work. He was a Lekkian in Kagarani’s employ.

  “The general never cared much,” he answered.

  “Well,” the barber shrugged, “General Kagarani has a distinct look he requires of his men on formal occasions. No hairs below the top of the Larynx. Sharp line at the top of each cheek. As long or as short as you’d like, but cleanshaven is an affront to our liege lord.”

  “Very well,” Bardom said, feeling his skin crawl as the razorblade scraped against his skin. Any of these men could kill me at any moment, yet a smiling barber is who scares me?

  “While we wait,” Yashin said, “let me educate you on what we wade into tonight.”

  Bardom glanced but did not move his neck.

  “There were seven warlords who controlled this country, once,” he said. “When the last king, the good man Tovin, died, the seven warlords each picked sides over his succession. His son was a boy of six years at the time, and could not rule. A bloody civil war occurred in response, leading to the murder of the entire royal bloodline, including the boy heir.”

  “Why was there a conflict?” Bardom asked. “Who was the boy’s regent?”

  “General Reglin,” the barber nodded. “You’re a smart one for a Ker. Never heard a Shavu say ‘regent’ before.”

  “I am full of surprises,” Bardom smirked.

  “Yes,” Yashin said, “Atla Reglin was tasked by the king to be regent—to protect his son and guide him to kingship. Ultimately, the king’s daughter proved to be a key piece in dismantling this plan.” Yashin looked out the window. “This whole kingdom, if you could believe it, was covered in blood for ten years, all because Reglin vetoed a marriage between the king’s oldest daughter and another lord.”

  The barber finished Bardom’s neck and pressed a hot towel against the skin. “Tell it true, Yashin! I remember it well.”

  “Aye,” Yashin nodded. “Perhaps there ought to be more context. The girl was only twelve years old.”

  The barber made a disgusted face. “And the general who coveted her was 40! A hundred painful deaths would not have been enough for Perrit Solili!”

  “He wanted her for political reasons,” Yashin placated. “Nonetheless, the family was fractured. The girl, bless her soul, was kidnapped in protest by General Solili’s men in the dead of night. The child king and his regent laid siege to the general’s keep and murdered every man there.”

  “A terrible blunder, it ended up,” the barber scraped the top of his cheek with the razor.

  “Indeed,” Yashin said. “The girl died. The king’s supporters rushed to arms against Solili’s supporters, which just turned into an excuse for rivals to kill each other.”

  “I was young then, but I remember the way those armies burned this city,” the barber said. “So many deaths… soldiers and regular folk. Young and old. I don’t think most appreciate the peace we have now.”

  Yashin ignored the comment. “In the end, the child king died. His mother died, and every cousin he had was either killed in battle or hunted to extinction. Tovin’s blunder was not settling his affairs before he died. Reglin’s was overestimating the power of a dead man’s word. The only warlord who survived that war was…” he glanced at the barber, remembering he was Lekkian, even if he was cutting the hair of a Shavu-Ker, “...the Great Leader. He outsmarted all of his enemies and seized control of the food, the water, and ultimately the capital.”

  “Solili and Reglin were both killed publicly,” the barber said, “bless the Great Leader. They were villains.”

  Bardom said nothing.

  The barber rubbed the hot towel against Bardom’s cheeks. “We are far better off now.”

  “For almost 15 years his leadership has seen the prosperity of this country,” Yashin said. “There is not a man in this kingdom who would stand against him. That’s why everyone stands with him to advance themselves.”

  “Politics,” the barber snorted, walking behind Bardom and exploring his hair. “Do you want to keep it long, Ker?”

  He looked at Yashin’s slightly shorter cut on his graying hair. “Take it down like my master’s.”

  “Alright,” he grabbed his scissors and set to work.

  “What does this all have to do with tonight, Yashin?”

  “Ront—” he corrected himself, “the Great Leader, installed five generals to help secure his rule. They each received a large number of slaves—enemy prisoners who lost the war. These generals were all his lieutenants, even our esteemed General Kagarani. Now, in their middle ages, the generals are growing bolder in an effort to expand their legacies. For anyone who knew the Great Leader before he took power, they knew he was ambitious enough to take the whole continent. Now, his generals are willing to do so, and the Great Leader isn’t restraining his desires for conquest. The people believe in the Great Leader’s legend, and have become willing conscripts to these generals, who have now shown their dedication to war by taking Katan-Bat.”

  “I know this, Yashin,” Bardom said.

  “Aye,” Yashin replied, “but what you don’t know is how these generals play their games. How they loathe each other so.”

  “They seem quite unified on the field of battle,” Bardom said.

  “They never strike with more than three combined forces,” Yashin said. “The Great Leader prefers to keep three complete armies near the capital at all times, preparing for the others to revolt against him. Fortunately for him, the people believe so fervently in his mythos that the generals would not dream of rebellion.” He spread his hands. “Why then does General Kagarani fear embarrassment from them?”

  Bardom thought. “He’s lacking friends to protect him.” Is Yashin telling me I’ve picked the worst Lekkian warlord to support? That he’s close to being destroyed?

  “Indeed,” Yashin said. “Tolo, our general has one friend at best. Or I should say, ‘had’.”

  “You’re kidding,” Bardom glanced at him through the mirror, shoulders slumping.

  “Vakin was General Kagarani’s only friend among the generals. That’s why it was so easy to keep you as a Shavu.”

  “Do you know what they do to Shavuim without a master, Ker?” the barber asked.

  Bardom looked at him through the mirror.

  He mimed a slit throat.

  “Anyway,” Yashin continued. “You know some of the other players. Aya Ralu holds the greatest favor among the generals, despite what you may think of him. The Great Leader likes him best, with Kagarani second. The other three generals are simple to understand. Li’am Erdoegi is probably the next most relevant. He controls port shipping and river transport. Without him, the other armies could not operate.”

  “He didn’t like what I did,” Bardom commented.

  “It will be interesting to see how he reacts to your presence,” Yashin agreed. “After him, there is Peteri Giala—he owns and manufactures the best artillery for the other armies, making him one of the richest generals—and has a large army, only smaller than Ralu, Kagarani, and the Great Leader. The only one wealthier is the last, Vali Nendroghi—he breeds and sells the horses for the others.”

  “Nendroghi has the money because he doesn’t buy the Shavuim for soldiers,” the barber muttered. “Thinks they’re bad investments.”

  “I don’t understand,” Bardom said. “Why are the wealthiest generals the least relevant?”

  “Money is helpful,” the barber said, “but power is in the hands of those who can take that money away. Ralu and Kagarani have the most men and weapons.

  “They all buy and sell,” Yashin said. “Everyone has their moments of wealth. Ralu and Kagarani wisely see the plunder of the neighboring kingdoms as the greatest prize. Why hoard their money here then? So they buy and sell, buy and sell, until they have what they want most—the gold of other kings.”

  “Yes, it’s like a cycle,” the barber agreed. “buying and selling…”

  “Remember,” Yashin said, “vassal knights are paid. Thus, Lieutenants are paid a salary, officers are paid a salary, but Shavuim are at the mercy of their masters. The generals feed, house, and outfit their men, but few of them are paid a wage. That is up to the vassal generals who own them to decide.”

  He dances around the word slavery like a barefoot man does hot coals. Bardom said none of this out loud, however, it made his stomach churn in discomfort. Such an evil system.

  “The Great Leader finances his own army?” Bardom asked.

  “Yes,” Yashin responded. “They are meant to protect him and his house first, the realm second.”

  “How do Ralu and Kagarani make their money?” Bardom asked. “They don’t plunder every day.”

  The barber smirked. Yashin looked uncomfortable.

  “Lord Kagarani owned mining operations for coal and iron,” Yashin said. “He’s in the process of selling them.”

  “He’s planning on leaving for Katan-Bat full time,” Bardom deduced.

  Yashin nodded.

  “And Ralu?”

  Kagarani sighed.

  “He sells the slaves,” the barber said casually. “The men sell fast. The women are whores, and that makes him even more money than the Shavuim. He’s got a lot of money—he just spends it. That’s why his palace is the best.”

  Yashin nodded. “That’s true. He buys so much artillery, so many horses, so many weapons…”

  Bardom saw the look in his eyes. He’s afraid of Ralu. Little does he know how to exploit an arrogant man like him. Father made sure I did.

  “So, five generals, under the great leader,” Bardom carried on.

  “The Great Leader views himself as a general too, but high above the others.” Yashin answered. “With Vakin they were seven, altogether. Now they are six.”

  “Seems like they could use another general,” Bardom smirked at Yashin, “and that General Kagarani could use a friend.”

  ***

  Bardom felt strange attending a party as a stone-faced soldier, no longer the eye-catching prince he once was. The ornate castle was the home of General Nendroghi, the horse trader. The gates were topped with stone sculptures of great stallions, reared with their riders raising their swords, in unmistakably Lekkian armor.

  Inside, Bardom was impressed. There were high ceilings, arched at the top, there were torches and lanterns all over the place to illuminate it with a warm glow as the sun began to wane. The tall windows were left open to keep the natural light coming in, which would last for another couple of hours.

  Once Yashin and he entered behind Kagarani, they were directed to a spot where they would stay until it was time to leave. They were not to do anything whatsoever except stand still. He stood straight, hands to the side, flat against his simple formal dress. His tunic was black, with Kagarani’s crest on the shoulders—an owl. Patient and watchful. His trousers were unwrinkled and tan, fitting tightly to his legs and feeding into his boots, which were far more ragged.

  With his hair cut to drape around his face, he felt like he was wearing a disguise. As a welcome sight, he noticed several ladies watching him as they passed by, giggling to each other at the unusually handsome Shavu at the party. Taking shelter at a corner of the tall ballroom, beside a tall and unbelievably thick pillar, Bardom and Yashin could see everything happening at the party.

  Trying to not get irritated by Na’Vanad’s attention-gathering looks, Yashin studied the crowd with his keen eye, so Bardom did the same.

  Kagarani greeted merchants and lower level officers, until he finally took his place with the other lords, who gave him little attention.

  What did he do to earn their distaste?

  Upon an announcer’s call, the whole crowd knelt, and Bardom joined them. Rontisil entered, with several young women behind him. Bardom counted five.

  “Who are they?” he whispered to Yashin.

  “Cursed with daughters,” Yashin answered in kind.

  “Does he have no other children?” Bardom asked as they stood up.

  “He tried to sire a son for a long time,” Yashin said discreetly, as everyone stood up, “but only a year into his rule, a new concubine tried to kill him when their clothes came off. Horribly embarrassing for him, and that put an end to his constant trials for a male heir.”

  “Interesting,” he said. “Who was the concubine?”

  “Some northern whore,” Yashin said dismissively. He looked at the young ladies. “The one in the violet dress was her daughter. Rumor was that he tried to take the baby from the mother, and that was why she tried to murder him.”

  “Was that true?” Bardom asked, skeptical of any rumor originating in Stet-Lek.

  “Who knows?” Yashin was disinterested.

  Bardom could not ignore her beauty, his eyes stuck on her like sap on his hands.

  She had beautiful light brown eyes, and tan skin, like Bardom’s. Her hair was black and wavy, worn down past her shoulders, while her sisters all wore theirs up in a newer Lekkian style. Her cheeks were bounced up in a smile—performative but bright. She let men kiss her knuckle, then held her elbows to the side and clasped her hands when it was time to curtsy to a lord.

  Kagarani and the other generals came down from their perch to greet the Great Leader with a bow, then greeted each of the daughters. Bardom noticed how Kagarani kissed the cheek of the lady who caught his eye, the two exchanging the first real conversation she entertained. She flashed her eyes at him while she spoke to the general. Kagarani glanced back for a moment as they laughed to each other.

  “She has a close relationship with Kagarani,” Yashin noted.

  “Romantic?”

  “No,” Yashin frowned. “No, it’s a fatherly relationship. Like a protector of sorts. Less and less lately. Perhaps his only other friend after Vakin.”

  “What is her name?” he needed to know.

  “Laila.”

  Bardom smiled, and she took note returning one herself. He finally turned away. “And what happened to her mother?”

  “He killed her,” Yashin said quietly. “Then Kagarani raised the girl for some years while her true father shunned her. That much is public knowledge.”

  “And now he parades her around,” Bardom said passively, studying the young lady again. She was conversing now and ignoring him. She was the only one who let her smile drop when her father left the floor. He could tell by her posture and the way she carried herself that she had a bite to her, an edge that could ruin her enemies. Naturally, that drew him to her even more.

  Bardom noticed another man, the last of the warlords, devoting particular attention to another one of the princesses.

  Yashin and Bardom shared a look. “That’s Aya Ralu.”

  Bardom turned his gaze to the gallant man showering the young lady with compliments. He’s holding Adella. I will kill that man one day.

  Some time passed, which Bardom spent watching the court's young officers dance with the ladies. It struck him as odd that the lords were all officers, showing off their ranks, not their wealth, while they ate luxuriously and drank the most expensive wines. Instead of fine jewelry and fabrics, it was the number of men one had slain, and the number of slaves he had, that marked success in this place. The whole country was upside down to him.

  Yet, somehow, that young lady, the odd one out of the Rontisil daughters, kept grabbing his eyes, telling him that he was not the crazy one. That this place was cruel, that these people were evil.

  Then she looked back at him, and looked frightened, unlike the first look they shared. He looked away, but carefully glanced back before returning to a stern, dutiful expression. She was curious about him, he knew. That would get the women talking about him. The men already were.

  “Come,” Yashin grumbled. “The general is summoning us.”

  They marched up open stairs, where the generals sat and drank high above the party, on a balcony in view of the others. Bardom locked eyes with Laila again, watching him ascend the steps. He smiled at her.

  “Shavu-Ker!” Yashin hissed stiffly. “Eyes forward. We are about to meet the Great Leader. Bow as I told you. Do not let your reckless tongue get you into trouble! One misstep and you are dead.”

  “Peace, Yashin,” he said. “I’ve met great men before. And this one is beneath me.”

  “That arrogance is why you’d be wise to heed my advice,” Yashin grunted.

  They arrived before the guards, who took their swords immediately. They wore metal masks that cover their faces, mostly made from steel. As one took Bardom’s blade, he sized him up, then stepped away to let him pass. Bardom thought it was a formality, but another masked guard searched him for more weapons. These guards were more than cautious—they were unwelcoming. They wanted guests to be uncomfortable when they met Rontisil, roughing them up as they checked them.

  Bardom shared a hard look with the knight—who wore a shining mask of silver, in the shape of a man’s face. The eyeholes were wide to show the skin around his eyes—which was painted black to make the whites of his eyes stand out. After a staredown, the knight let him pass.

  “Sire,” Kagarani said, “allow me to present Shavu-Kara-Nila Yashin, and his Shavu-Ker, Na’Vanad.”

  Bardom laid eyes on the wretched dog. Rontisil was a noticeably ordinary-looking man for the monster that he imagined—matching much of the styles of the other lords. His graying brown hair was worn long, his beard trimmed well and close. His eyes were wide and striking, such a deep blue they nearly looked black. Bardom thought he would look tired, but this man was wide awake. Murdering innocents, apparently, did not hinder sleep for everyone.

  What was most impressive was how broad he was. He was fit and muscular—suggesting that he trained intensely. Given his age, it was perplexing, unless he was altering his body chemistry. It wasn’t much of a secret that Lekkian lords consumed potions or enhanced their physical abilities. Some kept them looking younger, others made them stronger and more energized. In Katan-Bat, there weren’t chemists that made them, so Bardom never touched them.

  I could still take him, Bardom thought. I’m faster, and he’s not much stronger than me, I’m sure.

  “Ah,” the Great Leader leaned back in his chair, studying Bardom. “I would expect to see a Ker quivering before my sight, yet he—” he pointed his finger at Bardom in amusement, “—he does not.”

  Bardom bowed, along with Yashin.

  “Great Leader,” Yashin said. “You honor us with your invitation and presence. My Shavu-Ker is pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Oh, dear,” Rontisil said with a disappointed frown. “Does he not speak our tongue?”

  I almost regret that I do, Bardom quipped in his thoughts.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Thousands of years ago, both peoples spoke different original languages. But now, the Lekkians and Katanese spoke nearly identical languages, only regional vernacular and accents made them distinct. In fact, the whole continent spoke this language, known as Im’lishon. It was only because of Bardom’s commitment to a neutral accent that he was difficult to root out among the Lekkians thus far. Posing as a Shavu helped, too. Eventually, he adopted a subtly Lekkian accent, but that would take years.

  “He does,” Yashin answered.

  “Speak then, Ker,” Rontisil said. “They say you tore the L’Ani kids from his squires.” He jutted his chin at General Erdoegi. “Why?”

  The other generals watched with interested eyes, while Lord Kagarani squirmed in his seat.

  “I am honored to be in the presence of our Great Leader,” Bardom bowed again. “In my tenure in General Vakin’s forces, I was taught to believe that killing a man made you responsible for War Guilt. The L’Ani children were thus my responsibility, sire.”

  This argument, although boring to the lords, would at least explain the action well enough to avoid suspicion.

  “How’s that, Ker?” Rontisil asked, the subtle sting in his voice nearly throwing Bardom off balance. “Because I remember killing their father and grandfathers. Wouldn’t that make them my responsibility?”

  Bardom nodded in agreement. “I bore witness, your excellency. Afterward, I found the most elusive of the L’Ani’s, who had come looking for his niece and nephew.”

  Rontisil rose in his seat. “I heard this. Is it true, Ker? Don’t lie!”

  “Aye,” Bardom nodded. “I did, indeed, kill Bardom L’Ani.”

  Rontisil squinted slightly, holding the silence in his palm like a weapon, trying to make Bardom sweat. Bardom relaxed as another voice interrupted.

  “Such passion for your victim’s family,” Erdoegi commented snarkily. “Perhaps Vakin should have taught you restraint at the appropriate times.”

  “Perhaps, my lord,” Bardom agreed.

  “Impressive,” Rontisil leaned forward with interest. “You speak very well for a Shavu.”

  Bardom deferred to Yashin. “Na’Vanad was considered a prime asset by Vakin’s Lieutenants. They had big plans for him.”

  You’re a better liar than I thought, Yashin, Bardom thought.

  “So you took the opportunity to advance yourself with a vassal,” said the interested voice of Aya Ralu, leaning back into his chair with his arm resting lazily, looking at Kagarani. “A wise choice, although uncharacteristic, Yashin. All your years of service, and you’ve been content in the same position… for three decades.”

  Bardom paid special attention to Ralu.

  “My lieutenants are keen individuals,” Kagarani responded. “Yashin himself can hardly possess the title of Shavu any longer. Na’Vanad will ascend to such heights one day, I have no doubt. Let it not be said that our friend, Vakin, was not a man of prowess in identifying talent.”

  Bardom, along with the whole table, knew that Kagarani was a friend of Vakin’s—at least they had been, before whatever happened in Katan-Bat. His hollow words were ignored by the table.

  Bardom bowed again. “General Nendroghi, I compliment your home—this is a most exquisite party. I am humbled and honored to be here.”

  Nendroghi seemed surprised, then sat up taller. “Erm, ah! Yes, thank you, lad.” He swallowed, realizing he should say something. The man was shorter than the others, bald and pudgy too.

  Aya Ralu grinned through the silence. “This Ker must pay, sire.”

  Nendroghi frowned. He did not like that his attention was taken away so quickly.

  “Hm,” Rontisil stroked his bearded chin. “How should he be punished, Erdoegi?”

  “This is an affront,” Erdoegi said like a purr. “We should take his hands.”

  “Hands?!” Rontisil exclaimed at the thin general with a voice like thunder—the lords jumped in their seats. “How will he eat? How will he fight my enemies in battle? You’d deprive us of the best in our ranks?” You’d have our frontlines handless!”

  Erdoegi sighed, appeasing his master. “You’re right, sire. Perhaps a toe, then?”

  “Hm,” Rontisil pondered. “What do you say, Shavu?”

  The lords, disgusted and surprised, turned their eyes to Bardom. I shouldn’t do it, he thought to himself, but the thought of missing a toe was too miserable.

  “The honorable lord spits on General Vakin’s memory and my duty to you, Great Leader.”

  The lords sat silently with jaws ajar, until Ralu laughed. While the others were affronted, Rontisil considered Bardom. Yashin visibly clenched his jaw, while Kagarani held still, not reacting with all his willpower.

  Rontisil finally smirked. “Zeal and wit. Aye, Erdoegi, the Shavu will keep his toes. As punishment, I will honor him as a Shavu-Kara.”

  “Sire!” Erdoegi lost his composure. “Honor him?”

  “I’ll not hear it!” he hissed back. “Clearly this is one of the only Shavuim with a brain in his head. Let’s see how great it is.” He turned toward Bardom with his hand extended to the party below. “Tonight, you may dance to celebrate the honor I bless you with, Shavu-Kara. Soon you will prepare for our conquest of the Midlands. Lord Kagarani shall have you with the vanguard where we will see just how well Vakin designed you.”

  Bardom bowed. “Thank you, sire. I shall not disappoint.” What does Kara mean?

  Yashin bowed too, and they made to leave, but Bardom halted.

  “Sire?” he turned back to Rontisil.

  “Yes, boy,” the demon king responded.

  “May I dance with your daughter?” he asked.

  Rontisil must have felt the eyes of his generals on him. It was a test, and they all knew it.

  “Which one?” Rontisil asked with a slight smirk.

  “I regret that I do not know her name,” Bardom said.

  “Very well,” Rontisil said. “You may invite any of them to dance for a minute. It will give the people something to talk about for a few days.”

  The generals looked shocked. Bardom knew Kagarani would be infuriated. Aya Ralu only grinned deviously. He liked Bardom—or rather he liked Na’Vanad—already.

  With more bowing, Bardom and Yashin exited, and took back their swords.

  “Well,” the older slave said. “I suppose that went well, but you nearly fell into your grave several times.”

  “I danced around it,” Bardom smirked.

  “Dancing with his daughter is a foolish idea,” Yashin said.

  “You’d better dance, Shavu-Kara!” Rontisil called to him from the balcony, laughing to himself.

  He doesn’t think I’ll do it, Bardom smirked to himself, sharing a knowing look with Yashin.

  “Please don’t,” Yashin squirmed.

  Bardom looked at him with a straight face. “I will dance with his daughters, only for the satisfaction that I will hold in my hands that which he loves. Knowing I have the power to take that from him will be some small relief.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Yashin said.

  Bardom shrugged and nodded his agreement.

  “Who told you he loved his daughters?” Yashin asked. “That’s faulty information.”

  Bardom paused, glancing at the ladies sipping on wine goblets. The unusual one spared a glance toward him and smiled covertly. Now she’s playing games, he thought.

  “I’ll dance anyway,” he replied, knowing it wasn’t about a power game. He just wanted to dance with this beautiful woman. “What was her name, the one whose mother tried to kill him?”

  “Laila,” Yashin replied, his disapproving brow furrowing.

  Bardom nearly jumped, thinking he said ‘Lya’ at first. Once he quickly realized that wasn’t the case, he laughed quietly as he came to a realization. Her name means ‘night’. Perhaps she will help me bring darkness to her father’s rule.

  “Don’t embarrass yourself, Shavu-Kara,” Yashin warned him, as Bardom held Laila’s gaze. She was so beautiful, and looked nothing like Rontisil. A fear warned him distantly: perhaps she is like him on the inside—cruel, monstrous, evil!

  Am I not capable of the same? Quickly, his conscience quieted and his feet strode towards her. Yashin cursed behind him.

  They stood face to face, eyes locked.

  He heard the onlookers whispering, “Shavu!” like a slur—shocked to see this man approach their king’s daughters.

  They stood in a row, accepting visitors and suitors, Laila receiving none. Her brown eyes looked over him, noticeably different from the blues and greens of her sisters.

  He bowed slightly to her. She did not curtsy as he instinctively expected. I’m not a prince anymore…

  “My name is—“

  “Na’Vanad,” she finished for him. “I’ve heard of you.”

  He stood taller. “Am I truly so interesting?”

  “I heard what you did,” she clarified. “I find your kindness unusual—and intriguing.”

  Bardom grinned, then glanced around the room discreetly. “My lady, I would like to ask you to dance, but I fear I would sully your reputation. I am only a Shavu-Kara.”

  “You are not the only slave in this room,” she said. “Better to be the highest of them than a woman with barely a choice.”

  “Is that a yes?” He ignored her questionable logic. She had more freedom than any Shavu in the country. Yet I have few choices myself, princess.

  She smiled slightly, more from her eyes than her lips. “Perhaps, you should ask my sister, Bilsa. She is far prettier, and more esteemed. She ought to be brought down a peg, don’t you think?”

  “Ah,” Bardom glanced to his left at the pretty lady, her dress far more ornate than Laila’s. “If it pleases you, then I shall.”

  “It does,” her devious smile deepened.

  Bardom grinned, and bowed to her. “As you wish, princess.”

  Kagarani felt his chest tighten with desperation. This Shavu will be the death of me, just as he was for Vakin! Damn Yashin for not executing him for a deserter! The Great Leader is letting me walk myself off a cliff… the others cannot wait for my doom.

  “Son of a bitch,” Ralu said, hunched over the balcony. “He’s talking to your daughter, my lord.”

  Rontisil stirred, setting down his wine with an amused brow and a grin. “Which one?”

  “Laila,” Ralu replied, and Erdoegi and Giala hurried to watch too.

  A laugh escaped Rontisil’s smug lips, “Perhaps the bastard’ll finally take her off my hands.”

  “Sire,” Erdoegi said. “He’s approaching Princess Bilsa!”

  With his amusement gone, Rontisil rose up and pushed the other generals out of the way. Kagarani set down his drink and stood up to see what his Shavu was doing now.

  “General Kagarani,” Rontisil said to him. “What is your Shavu doing?”

  “I believe he is doing as he requested, sire,” Kagarani replied.

  Bilsa giggled. Na’Vanad was smooth, elegant in his presentation—like he was trained in the manners of formality and courtship. In a moment, he took her hand. The two stepped onto the dance floor, with whispers and eyes following them. To Kagarani’s despair, they danced beautifully.

  Kagarani saw what Rontisil must have seen. This boy was no slave, or at least he was not always a slave. He was mocking the Great Leader and his lords, marring the reputation of the most coveted princess in the court. Bilsa was long rumored to be Aya Ralu’s future bride, and the younger warlord seethed with indignation at the spectacle. Kagarani knew that Rontisil would not tolerate it. He just didn’t understand why he let Na’Vanad go with permission to dance with the princess in the first place.

  “Loran,” Rontisil finally said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “Execute that boy tonight.”

  Kagarani felt a wave wash over him, inexplicably telling him to protect the Shavu. “Sire, you did tell him he could dance with any of your daughters.”

  “But he was stupid enough to do it!” Rontisil flared. “Bilsa’s standing is sinking before our eyes! How will she marry now?”

  It was an amusing question when any of the generals before him would lick his boots to marry Bilsa. He noted the frustrated looks of jealousy on their faces, particularly Aya Ralu’s.

  “Great Leader,” Kagarani said, “I do believe that his Shavu, whom you’ve just promoted, is too excellent a soldier not to keep. Let him have his fun tonight. Bilsa will marry well, I assure you.”

  “Indeed, Loran,” Rontisil said stiffly. “We will see how excellent he will be, with you leading him to the East Midlands within the fortnight.”

  Kagarani tried not to react. “Of course, sire.” I suppose that is better than slitting my throat right here, but not by much.

  Rontisil turned away from him and looked at the dance floor. The dance would end soon.

  Kagarani returned to his wine, smelling it for poison. He wandered off the balcony as the dance concluded, feeling the need to be away from the other lords.

  I just stood up to him. He’s sentenced me to death by war for it. I shame my blood, I shame the men in my service. Over this foolish Shavu, nonetheless! I’m losing my grip, I must regain it. I must not falter now, not when I’m so close to my aims.

  “My lord,” Yashin whispered.

  Kagarani’s eyes popped up. He took him aside. “Your man is causing more of a stir than I’d like, Yashin.”

  “I’m sorry, lord,” he replied. “I underestimated the lad.”

  Kagarani sighed. “He just ordered me to execute him.”

  Yashin raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Relax, he’s safe,” Kagarani sighed. “What do you have for me?”

  “He’s dead,” Yashin said grimly. “Really dead.”

  “Damn!” he hissed. “I held out hope. Vakin was one of the last good men here. He’s not unhappy that he’s gone. I smell conspiracy all over this, Yashin. What can Na’Vanad tell us of the circumstances of his death?”

  “He said he doesn’t know anything,” Yashin said, “I’m sorry, General.”

  Kagarani let out a heavy breath, closing his eyes. “I really held out hope that he was still out there. With his army. Waiting, biding his time… that Na’Vanad was a sign—an emissary of his to tell me where to go, and what to do.”

  “Perhaps, my lord,” Yashin said quietly, “Na’Vanad is everything we are looking for.”

  Kagarani frowned. “How so?”

  Yashin kept his eyes on the Shavu as he danced. “He’s a very skilled warrior—better than most knights in this kingdom—he could have a real chance at earning a mask. Think about it: a knight of the King’s Peace, in your army, leading the conquest northward…” he bit his lip and spread his hands, “That is something valuable.”

  “A Shavu as a knight of the King’s Peace?” Kagarani’s face was so skeptical it bordered on disgust. “I don’t see it, Yashin.”

  “How many Shavuim have you promoted to Lieutenants?” Yashin said with a bowed look of displeasure.

  “Yet they are still Shavuim,” he said. “You suggest we elevate this man to something greater than he is.”

  Yashin gave him an impatient stare.

  “Apologies, Yashin,” he sighed. “I don’t mean you.”

  “All slaves are slaves,” Yashin said. “I don’t mind the treatment, my lord, but if you think Na’Vanad is less than a man, then you believe the same of me.”

  “Most Shavuim aren’t as wise as you are,” Kagarani snickered.

  “Na’Vanad is wiser, my lord,” he said leaning closer. “He just needs the guidance to realize it.”

  “You are enamored with him,” Kagarani noticed. “Why?”

  Yashin shook his head halfway as he tried to formulate an answer. “It’s unexplainable, but he is everything you loved about Vakin.”

  Kagarani raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “Really?”

  Yashin nodded.

  “Then why is he trying to get every warlord to kill him?”

  Yashin shrugged. “He has Vakin’s defiance.”

  Kagarani knit his eyebrows. “Are you suggesting…?”

  “Oh,” Yashin caught himself. “I don’t believe that’s the case. The rumors of Vakin having children continue to be just rumors.”

  Kagarani grunted a disappointed nod. Deep down, he wanted Na’Vanad to be a child, or a relative, of Vakin’s. It would be easier to believe the young man was truly extraordinary.

  “Would you trust me on this?” Yashin asked.

  Kagarani looked over his old confidant. Then he nodded. “Aye.”

  “Let me groom Na’Vanad for command. If not a knight, then a lieutenant who will serve you as well as I have.”

  Kagarani nodded once more. “I'll charge you with it. But teach him quickly! I cannot protect him forever.”

  “You dance wonderfully,” Bilsa said with a smile only a princess could give. “Surely you’re no ordinary soldier.”

  “I am not,” Bardom agreed. It was easy to slip into the role of nobleman once again, like putting on an old glove that fits just right. He remembered so much of his former self, the way he would flirt with women and enjoy himself at parties. He spent too much time distracting himself then, and that led to his failure. His duty was to protect the L’Ani name. Instead, he warmed Lya’s bed and drank, then his whole family was murdered. There was no justice in that, only horror. Horror, and guilt.

  But Adella still lives, he remembered. And Aya Ralu has her. There was still a path to some small feat of redemption. He reproached himself for thinking so selfishly.

  It is not your redemption you seek! It seemed to be his father’s voice. It is her own welfare you will protect. Don’t forget that you are but a servant to your guilt—your pathetic inadequacy. Your arrogance brought ruin on your family, let it not ruin you any further!

  Finally, as the monologue in his mind quieted, the dance finished. He bowed to her. “You are a charm, my lady.”

  “And you, a fox,” she smiled whimsically.

  This woman has no idea how brutal her father is, he thought. If she did, she would never be so cheerful, even if she was madly in love.

  His eyes darted to Laila, who was ignoring an old merchant to grin at him. He smiled back, then felt a hand grip him.

  For a surreal moment, he thought he was dead—waiting for the knife to slice through his neck. But it never came, instead, Yashin pulled him away.

  “Nice trick,” he said, “you’ve pissed everyone off, now.”

  Bardom glanced around the room. Everyone did seem cross. A group of women crowded around Bilsa and spoke hurried hushed tones at her. Laila was the only one watching him among them, while many others shot him dirty looks from around the party.

  “You’ve ruined that poor girl’s reputation!” Yashin hissed, rushing him out of the room. “Everyone will blame you. If you’re hanged by morning, I can’t stop that. I warned you tolo, I warned you!”

  “You know I don’t fear death,” Bardom frowned at him. “Do you expect me to pity her? An heiress of this hell? She has it better here than anyone else—why should dancing with me change anything about her?”

  “It shouldn’t,” he said, “but you are a slave. Think how your actions may hurt others like me.”

  “You're right, I shouldn’t risk your hard earned status as a slave,” Bardom replied mockingly. “But the more I see here, the more I realize that we aren’t the only slaves here. Everyone here is, especially if they believe who you dance with has any bearing beyond an enjoyable night.”

  “Do not let your eastern ideals make you a target,” Yashin admonished him. “I’ve kept the general supportive of you, but the more you play prince instead of Shavu… the more likely you will fail. That drags me down with you.”

  “Right, wouldn’t want to jeopardize that plan you promised,” Na’Vanad glanced at Yashin with a side eye. “I sense that you and your general are in a far more precarious position than you let on.”

  “You’re right.” Taking a patient breath, Yashin made sure no one was eavesdropping. “Vakin was murdered.”

  “No shit,” Bardom scoffed.

  The older man rolled his tired eyes. “It’s very unusual for a general to lose his whole army. Vakin had 10,000 men a year ago. Going into Katan-Bat—”

  Hearing the name of his home made Bardom irritable, the mask of Na’Vanad slipping once more.

  “—he had only 7,000. So few for an invasion… they died en masse in the frontier that borders Lekkian territory…”

  Bardom raised a suspicious eyebrow. “I wondered if Vakin really died there. I’d bet someone lured someplace safe and killed him, then took care of his army. But who?”

  Yashin spoke in a hushed tone, taking Bardom to a quiet corner. “My investigation has returned only one conclusion. Vakin’s men were ambushed—and not by L’Ani men. Ralu and Kagarani were the only other armies in the region, followed by the Great Leader’s. Ralu’s army got to the city first.”

  “You think he did it and left a dead army in his wake?” Bardom asked.

  “I think the demon king tasked him with removing a powerful adversary,” Yashin glanced at the balcony. Aya Ralu had a smug grin on his face as he watched over the dancers, pleased that Na’Vanad had gone away.

  “How would they have killed a whole army without anyone knowing?” Bardom said quietly. “They’d have thousands of men who were there now roaming Stet-Lek. They’d be bragging, but no one has heard as much as a peep about this. No one even thinks a Lekkian lord was involved in killing Vakin.”

  “Then who else?” Yashin asked.

  Bardom thought, knowing Yashin had a point. No Katanese force could have met Vakin with any meaningful numbers, let alone enough to overwhelm them. Their allies would never have been there to meet them in battle, either. There was no secret army to blame, it had to have been a Lekkian army on the march. Kagarani knew that. All the other lords knew that. Yet they all pretended.

  They’re afraid they’re next, Bardom thought in a voice that sounded much like Wahda’s.

  “How is Ralu keeping his men quiet?” Bardom asked.

  “I wonder the same thing,” Yashin said. “I wonder if he used men he later disposed of.”

  “Thousands of men?” Bardom frowned. “No one is that evil. He could use those men.”

  “Hm,” Yashin said. “I think if you asked most of Ralu’s army if they passed Vakin’s army on the road, they’d tell you they didn’t. Not because they’re lying, but because that is what they believed to be true.”

  Bardom studied Yashin.

  “Ralu is known for hiring mercenaries to kill his enemies. He doesn’t like to do it himself. What if Ralu hired men for the fight, then killed them to keep the cover story?”

  Bardom couldn’t piece it together. Yashin clearly thought more about this than he did. “Someone in Ralu’s confidence would know about it.”

  “I agree.”

  “Who can we ask?”

  Yashin looked at him with disappointed boredom. “No one, Tolo. No one will listen to us.”

  Both were silent for a moment.

  “Gain his confidence, Tolo,” Yashin said. “That’s the only idea I have. A very stupid idea.”

  Bardom agreed that it was stupid. But it was the best idea he’d heard from the man. Kagarani needed to make a move.

  “What does it matter how it happened?” Bardom finally said. “Kagarani blames Ralu. That’s it. Why agonize over how it happened?”

  “Because Lord Kagarani is in danger,” Yashin replied. “And he needs to know who is against him now.”

  Bardom waited for more.

  “The other generals are closing ranks behind him, fearing what he’s capable of now that he’s desperate. Meanwhile, the Great Leader intends to send us away, undoubtedly to be supported by Ralu’s forces. This way, Rontisil men guard Stet-Lek with no major domestic threat…and his empire grows.”

  “He really sees Kagarani as a threat?” Bardom frowned. “He just sacked a city for him.”

  “This is how it is.”

  Bardom couldn’t tell who was trying to coax Bardom into acting, Yashin or Kagarani. Gaining Ralu’s confidence was not just dangerous, it was too difficult a task.

  Bardom didn’t like that, so he turned his attention elsewhere. “Who’s governing Katan-Bat during all of this?”

  “That financial burden has been assigned to Kagarani,” Yashin said, looking away to avoid further talk on the matter, but Bardom’s look made him continue. “His lieutenant; Shai Olek, is governing in his stead with a force of 2,000.”

  2,000 could be overthrown with a well organized guerilla force, Bardom’s conscience came again. But we would be crushed by Ralu’s forces once again if we succeeded. He blinked away the thoughts of rebellion, remembering Adella, remembering how close Rontisil was—his throat ripe for the slicing.

  “Forget Katan-Bat,” Yashin said. “We’ll be leaving for the West Midlands in just a matter of weeks. Victory there will be crucial for our standing. It’s the only way to stay ahead of Ralu’s machinations. The Great Leader will back whichever side he feels the winds blowing to—if it isn’t ours, expect death to follow.”

  It took all his courage not to curse Kagarani, his mind unable to focus on his strategy of helping this enemy as he realized he held no control over the situation.

  “What do you require of me, Yashin?”

  “We must endear you to Ralu,” he answered. “An alliance, however cold, is in our best interest to survive these next months.”

  “He holds my sister by law as a slave!” he hissed. “Heaven above knows what they do to her every day!”

  Yashin turned and growled, “And you would throw her to the dogs for a chance at Rontisil’s neck!”

  Bardom huffed through his nose, avoiding Yashin’s eyes by watching the party bitterly. I’d curse the Kahl if He hadn’t given me the path to free her—woe to Adella and her suffering!

  “See the bigger picture, tolo. You are a knight, whether they know it here or not. Win for us, and we may finally triumph over our rivals, and you will have your revenge.”

  “You have no concept of the restraint I forced upon myself tonight,” he said. “I so craved to cut each of those pompous monsters down, but instead I flattered them. It tasted of bile—the rot of dishonor... Revenge is too soft a word, Yashin. I have come here to punish them.”

  Yashin reeled him back, keeping him calm. It was for good reason, Bardom felt his blood boiling.

  “A knight forever has his honor,” he said quietly. “It’s a symbol of what it took to earn the title. If you aim to live up to that, then maintain your resolve. You may be a slave, but you are still a man with choice.”

  Bardom’s heart softened as he noticed Laila studying him. He unclenched his jaw as they locked eyes.

  “I would like to command a regiment, if we are to go to battle,” Bardom said. “I will not have raping and pillaging be our methods.”

  “You will be my second,” Yashin said. “The men you’ve trained with will be under our joint command.”

  Bardom’s eyes stayed fixed on Laila and her naughty smile. She made him feel better. How did she do that? He hadn't felt calm in weeks.

  “Slaves leading slaves,” Bardom muttered with a faint grin forming across his lips. “They will hate what we accomplish.”

  Bardom and Yashin exited the party early, seeing the stir they caused. As the guards mocked them, they started walking toward the edge of the palace gates. As the two made it to the exit, they heard a call from several masked men approaching from behind them. Their faces shimmered in the light of the braziers illuminating the yard.

  “Halt,” one of them ordered.

  Bardom frowned at the panic on Yashin’s face. Both were armed, but clearly that didn’t mean anything. These were members of Rontisil’s personal guard. The Knights of the Peace.

  He noticed the metallic faces they wore. They were all slightly different, but each resembled a human face. The eye-holes were wide, and the skin exposed was covered in black paint to make them look inhuman. They were tough knights, with badges to signify their elite status affixed to their belts.

  Personal knights, Bardom thought resentfully. I should avoid them in the future.

  “You’re Na’Vanad?” one with a brass mask asked, leading the trio.

  Bardom didn’t answer immediately, then nodded slowly.

  The knight took out a baton and swung down at him. Bardom instinctively dodged it, but that only increased their attention. The other two restrained his arms, and the brass knight threw a punch to Bardom’s gut. As he gasped, the knight grabbed his hair.

  “You don’t touch the princess,” he said through the mask, eyes hard and angry.

  “She touched me!” Bardom coughed.

  “SHUT UP!” The knight punched him across the cheek, then rammed the baton into his ribs. The other knights threw him on the ground as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Don’t forget who you are, Shavu,” the knight said. “Your arrogance could be your death.”

  “Sir Esel, I will keep him in line,” Yashin promised. “You’ve sent your message.”

  “Perhaps this is the sort of man Kagarani keeps out of spite for the Great Leader,” Sir Esel replied. “See to it that I’m wrong.”

  * * *

  Bardom sat on the roof of Kagarani’s barracks. Neighboring the military campus was the General’s home, a grand building with many spires and layered roofs—a palace for a warlord kinder than the others.

  He sighed, watching the dark city and the starry sky. The clouds moved so fast as a storm approached. He could see the lightning several miles away, showering another part of the city.

  Bardom, came a voice.

  He looked up. What was this? Some sort of hallucination? “Father?”

  Bardom, the voice in his head was so solid, so… divine.

  “Kahl,” Bardom smiled like warm sunshine was bathing his cold body on that moonlit night.

  I’ve given you the path, the Kahl said in his mind. Deliver my justice. Do not stop.

  Then the voice subsided. The clouds kept moving faster. He could hear thunder approaching.

  His imagination drifted to thoughts of his brother, and his children—the image of their lifeless bodies seared into his memory. No matter how hard he tried to think of other things, he could not stop seeing their bodies paraded through the street. And the way those rats cheered…

  The indignity, he thought. They were just children!

  Atzulah was the paragon of decency that Bardom always looked up to. He was the right man to succeed their father, and an even better father to his children. Bardom did not know enough about politics, but he did know that the people liked him, which was assuring. Even if he was jealous of him, he loved Atzulah. Poor Atzulah.

  Memories of wrestling as boys, swimming off the cliffside, and being carefree flooded his thoughts as he laid on his back, the first rain drops hitting his cheeks.

  “Why?” Bardom found himself asking the sky. “Why must we both cry?”

  He heard the screams in the crowd as Atzulah had the life strangled out of him.

  Bardom let his lips press together as a sob tightened his throat and his chest. He closed his eyes and tears fell down his temples, while the rain came down harder. He was bruised and battered from Sir Esel’s ‘message’.

  He cried as he remembered his fallen loved ones and his dead friends, letting the rain soak him. Yet, Adella still lived—enslaved, tortured, and humiliated. The lady was the most prized in all of Katan-Bat, yet chose Atzulah over all the other men of their age. Now, all that she had was gone—taken, stolen from her. Her love, her happiness, her peace.

  For so many days there was a war in Bardom’s head, a war of what to do. Now it was clear. The storm in his mind was fading, cleared by the rain that purified him that night. He felt something close to peace…

  Purpose.

  A violent purpose.

  The Blood Son was meant to protect his family’s legacy, by any means necessary. He was all that remained of them. If ever he wished to live as Bardom L’Ani again, he would have to fight his way through his enemies. It would take time, perhaps his whole life, to accomplish, but one by one the generals would fall. Rontisil would fall. He would liberate his home and return to it to lead them.

  Determination replaced the war in his mind with direction. He felt himself ease, the tightness in his chest relaxing. His first objective was to find Adella. If he could trust more than just Yashin, then he could start something of a life in Stet-Lek—and find some help in his mission. That was how a slave could win it all, with small steps that turn to great leaps.

  Being a Shavu would be a major hindrance. More than ever, Bardom ached for the honors of a knighthood, just so that his goals would be easier. Yashin knew this well. It was time Bardom started listening to the man.

  I suppose I’ll just have to get one, he thought. But who to fool?

  Then Bardom remembered Yashin’s idea. Gain Ralu’s confidence. All his persuasion, but it was Adella who spurred Bardom to action.

  If I can persuade Aya Ralu to favor me, then perhaps he can volunteer me. I must be cautious, bending too far in one direction can be catastrophic. I cannot lose the support of General Kagarani, nor can I jeopardize my chance to extract Adella from Ralu.

  The thunder clapped extraordinarily above him—and the rain came down in furious sheets.

  “A conundrum, indeed,” he mumbled to himself, letting the rain bathe him. “But I’ll win.” He lived that day for a reason, he decided.

  Who is your favorite character so far?