The Sitians floated into the room. Their long, brightly colored, exotic robes draped to the floor, covering their feet. Wearing animal masks trimmed with bright plumes of feathers and fur, they stopped before the Commander and fanned out into a V-shape.
Their leader, wearing a hawk’s face, spoke in formal tones. “We bring you greetings and salutations from your southern neighbors. We hope this meeting will bring our two lands closer together. To show our commitment to this endeavor, we have come prepared to reveal ourselves to you.” The speaker and the four companions removed their masks in one rehearsed movement.
I blinked several times in astonishment, hoping that during the seconds of darkness everything would be set right. Unfortunately, my world had just mutated from bad to wretched. Valek glanced at me with a resigned look as if he, too, couldn’t believe this new turn of events.
The Sitian leader was Irys. A master-level magician stood a mere three feet before Commander Ambrose.
26
“IXIA WELCOMES YOU TO OUR land, and hopes to make a fresh start,” the Commander announced to the southern delegation.
As I waited behind the Commander, I wondered what would happen to the Sitians once Valek informed the Commander that Irys was a magician. Contemplating the mischief she might create before leaving the castle, I tried to envision a best-case scenario. I failed, realizing this was probably only the beginning of the end.
Valek watched thoughtfully as the southerners and the Commander exchanged more formal statements. I guessed from Valek’s demeanor that Irys had not used her magic. After the official greeting ceremony concluded, the delegation was guided to their quarters to rest from their journey and to await the evening’s feast. Protocol decreed that pleasantries and entertainment preceded hard-core negotiations.
Everyone, except the Commander and Valek, filed out of the war room. I started to leave, but Valek grabbed my arm.
“Okay, Valek, let’s hear it. Some dire warning I presume?” the Commander asked, sighing.
“The Sitian leader is a master magician,” Valek said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He probably wasn’t used to being sighed at.
“That’s to be expected. How else could they know we’re sincere about creating a trade treaty? We could have ambushed them instead. It’s a logical move.” Unconcerned, the Commander turned toward the door.
“She doesn’t trouble you?” Valek asked. “She’s tried to kill Yelena.”
The Commander looked at me for the first time since we had entered the war room. “It would be unwise to kill my food taster. Such an act could be misinterpreted as an assassination attempt and halt negotiations. Yelena is safe…for now.” He shrugged off any more thought of my future safety and left the war room.
Valek grimaced. “Damn.”
“Now what?” I asked.
He kicked at one of the conference chairs. “I anticipated a magician with the southern delegation, but not her.”
He shook his head, as if to clear the frustration that gripped his voice. “I’ll leave the power twins assigned to you while she’s here. Although, if she’s determined to get you, there’s nothing they or I can do. I lucked out with Mogkan. I was just around the corner when I felt his power surge. Let’s hope she behaves while she’s a guest in our land.”
Valek pushed the chair against the table with a loud bang. “At least I know where all the magicians are. Mogkan was the one I felt during the Generals’ brandy meeting. And the southern master is now in the castle. Unless any more decide to show up, we should be safe.”
“What about Captain Star?” I asked.
“Star’s a charlatan. Her claims of being a magician are just a tactic for scaring her informers so they don’t double-cross her.” Valek sighed.
“Generals, Sitians and feasts increase my workload. Which reminds me, you need to stay for the entire feast tonight. A tiresome chore, but at least the food should be good. I’ve heard Rand wanted to use the Criollo for a new dessert, but the Commander refused his request. Another puzzle, since Brazell has been sending the stuff by the wagonload, and has promised to ship the dessert to all the other Generals. They were clamoring after it like it was gold.”
I saw a flash in Valek’s eye. “Any unusual symptoms, feelings or appetites since you stopped eating the Criollo?”
It had been three days since I had eaten a piece, and I couldn’t recall any actual physical symptoms that might be linked to it. Eating it had lifted my spirits and given me a boost of energy. I longed for its sweet taste especially now that my chances for freedom had dwindled.
“A mild craving,” I told Valek. “But nothing like an addiction. I find myself thinking about it from time to time, wishing for a piece.”
Valek frowned. “It might be too soon. The Criollo could still be in your bloodstream. You’ll inform me if something happens?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”
Poor Valek, I thought, stuffed into his dress uniform three times in as many days. Elaborate decorations had been hung in the dining room for the feast. Crimson and black drapes hung along the walls, and red and gold streamers twisted and dipped from the ceiling. The room was ablaze with light. An elevated platform had been constructed to support a head table where the southern delegation, the Commander and Valek all wore their finest clothes. High-ranking officers and upper-level advisers were seated at round tables circling the room, leaving the middle empty. In the corner a twelve-piece band played sedate music, which was a surprise since the Commander frowned on music, considering it a waste of time.
I sat behind Commander Ambrose so he could pass his plate to me. As predicted, the food was marvelous. Rand had outdone himself.
My dark uniform blended in with the black drapes along the wall, and since I doubted anyone beyond the dais noticed I was there, I watched the others as I waited between courses. Ari and Janco sat next to each other at a table by the door. Attending their first formal function as Captains, they were clearly uncomfortable. Knowing them, I was sure they would rather be drinking beer with their comrades back in the barracks.
Irys and her retinue were seated to the Commander’s left. Their formal robes had swirls of color and glittered in the firelight. Irys wore a diamond pendant shaped like a flower, which sparkled on her chest.She ignored my presence, which was fine with me.
After the servants cleared the meal from the tables, they extinguished half of the lanterns. The band quickened their tempo until a pulsating rhythm vibrated the glassware on the tabletops. Costumed dancers burst into the room, holding blazing staffs high above their heads. Fire dancers! They performed an intricate and complex routine. Watching them whirl and spin to the beat left me gasping for breath. I understood now why their festival tent had been so packed with enthusiastic fans.
At one point, Valek leaned back in his chair and said to me, “I don’t think I would have made it past the audition, Yelena. I probably would have set my hair on fire by this point.”
“What’s a singed head for the sake of art?” I teased. He laughed. The mood of the room was energetic and elated. I hoped the Commander wouldn’t wait fifteen more years before having another feast.
The dancers finished their second encore and exited the room. Irys rose to offer a toast. The Sitians had brought their finest cognac. Irys poured a glass for the Commander, Valek and herself. She didn’t seem offended when the Commander’s goblet passed to me.
I swirled the amber liquid and inhaled the sharp odor. Taking a small sip, I rolled the cognac around my tongue, then spat it onto the floor. Gagging and retching with the effort, I tried to expel every last bit of it from my mouth. Valek stared in alarm.