The Deacon pressed her lips together. “If Merrick were here, it would be easy. But since he is not . . . ” She paused, eyeing him in a calculating fashion that Raed did not appreciate. When she did that, the woman who entranced him was washed away, and he caught a glimpse of the Deacon the Order had made.
She shook her head. “I guess that method wasn’t the best for the shade—we will just have to rely on my limited Sight and manipulating them into revealing themselves.”
The eunuch had obviously taken her orders to heart, because he appeared with the three women and even knocked courteously on the door. The ladies smiled at Raed—but he didn’t feel particularly flattered—after all, they saw very few men who still had their balls.
They were all indeed blonde, blue-eyed lovelies, and he couldn’t help smiling back at them. However, a second afterward he felt Sorcha stiffen at his side. No matter how intelligent or disciplined the female of the species was, competition was a part of their makeup that they could never shake.
These women were a little different—they were used to sharing a man, and it was obvious that Onika of Chioma enjoyed the trappings of his rank to the utmost. Each of them was delightfully curvy, with varying shades of honey hair and blue eyes, and being in the harem, they dressed to emphasize these attributes.
“Ladies.” He gave them a little bow, slightly more awkward than it might have been. “Thank you for your attendance.” Part of him couldn’t help wondering what Sorcha would look like dressed as these women were. The twitch in his pants at the thought was slightly distracting.
Two of them beamed at him, while the third and most beautiful looked far less impressed.
Sorcha tilted her head, looked at him askance, and raised one eyebrow as if to say, “I am interested to see where you are taking this.” Yet she remained silent, her fingers resting on the Gauntlets at her waist.
“You pulled me away from a game of trange,” the least amused one snapped. “I was about to win a pretty fortune from Lady Moyie.”
Raed tried not to take offense. “I am sorry, Lady . . . ”
The woman let the sentence dangle in the air for a second before folding her arms over her chest and replying, “Lady Gezian.”
“Well”—Raed pulled out a seat, and offered it to her—“Lady Gezian, my Deacon friend and I are terribly sorry to have taken you away from your game—but the Prince himself has sent us here on a mission.”
“Really.” One of the other two women beamed. “Lady Lisah and I would love to help.”
“Speak for yourself, Jaskia.” The other pouted. “I have never cared for Deacons.”
“I know,” Sorcha spoke up, her voice light while she directed her response with ruthless efficiency, “we are such a bother, what with protecting everyone from geist attack. Terribly dull of us, we know.”
Lisah opened her pretty mouth, struggled to find something to say in response, but coming up with nothing, snapped it shut instead. She sat meekly on the chair next to Lady Gezian. Meanwhile, Lady Jaskia continued to beam at Raed.
He wasn’t quite sure if she expected him to throw her on the table and have his way with her right away, but it was actually a little unnerving after a moment or two.
Luckily, Sorcha stepped in with her usual bluntness. “We are investigating the deaths that have been happening in the palace—and more specifically the Chancellor’s.”
“You know very little, then,” Gezian interrupted. “The Chancellor died of old age . . . or boredom.”
“Oh really.” Sorcha pointedly pulled her Gauntlets from her belt and slapped them down on the table directly in front of the three other women. Jaskia gave out a little squeak and jumped. “That’s not what your Prince thinks.”
Suddenly all traces of amusement, lust and irritation were washed from the ladies. It had to be the conditioning of the harem to instantly take very seriously anything that fell from Onika of Chioma’s lips.
“What did Father have to say?” Jaskia asked, and Raed, taken by surprise, turned on his heel to look at her. She certainly did not have the Prince’s coloring, but it was naturally impossible to tell if they had the same features compared to him—thanks to that damned mask.
“You’re the Prince’s daughter?” Sorcha leaned forward, resting her hands on the table and pressing the whole weight of her attention on the girl.
Jaskia blanched a little. “Just one of them in the harem—maybe ten or so. We remain here until we are married off.”
No tone of bitterness lingered in her tone, giving the impression that she had no resentment over that. Something had sparked in Raed’s mind—he recalled his grandfather’s journal and the mention of the peculiar breeding habit of that Prince of Chioma.
“And the heirs? The male children—where are they kept?” he asked, pressing his hand against his beard.
Jaskia shrugged. “I don’t know—obviously they are not ept in the harem—so I have never seen one.”
Which sounded perfectly normal, except the words of his grandfather echoed in his head.
Sorcha cleared her throat. “Well, regardless, your
Lisah sat up straighter in her chair. “Naturally—no one wants a murderer loose in the palace. What do you need to know?”
“Where were you and what were you doing on the day of the Chancellor’s death?” Sorcha said bluntly, and Raed inwardly winced. Active Deacons were taught a lot of things—cantrips, runes and history—however, what they were not taught was tact. He knew that mostly the Order turned up, fought geists and sent them packing. They dealt with the undead—not usually the living.
“You suspect us?” Lady Gazian slammed back her chair and rose to her feet while her face blazed bright red. “How dare you come in here and suggest that we have anything to do with these murders!”
Lady Lisah replied in a slightly calmer tone. “We are confined to the harem. How do you think we could have even gotten out of it to go and murder the Chancellor?”
“You could easily go outside if you had help from one of the eunuchs.” Sorcha folded her arms. “I am sure that even without the lure of sex, you ladies all still know how to wind men around your little fingers.”
“But how could we—” Jaskia held her hand up to her mouth. “How could we do such terrible things? None of us could possibly do that . . . ”
Gazian rolled her eyes. “We were at the trange tournament, if you must know—it is held once a month, and all of us were playing that day.”
“I presume others of the harem can vouch for you being there?” Raed sat on the table and smiled pleasantly at Gazian, who had trouble not smiling back.
“Is my word not enough?”
They might be cosseted and locked away, but these women were like Court females all over the Empire: they expected to be treated with respect. They demanded it, in fact.
He had to be careful. Though the Prince wanted them to find answers, Raed doubted he would appreciate his women complaining. “Normally, yes—but this is serious, and my partner here”—he gestured to Sorcha, who tilted her head—“is the kind of woman who goes on hard facts.”
It was the tactic used all over the Empire—from city guards to politicians—one nice person, one angry one with the stick. When faced with that, people always chose to turn to the pleasanter person—well, at least those not used to the technique.
Gazian glanced at the other two women. “Both Lady Jaskia and Lisah were at the tournament—we can vouch for one another.”
Lisah gave out a little chuckle. “Yes—of course we can . . . but”—she paused, a tiny frown bending her flawless forehead—“but Jaskia wasn’t there in the morning. She—”
What exact excuse the daughter of the Prince had given was never to be found out. The room shook and rumbled as if thunder was bearing down on them. That was impossible, since thunder in Chioma was restricted to the rainy season.
The smell of spice and sweat filled the room as shadows swallowed up its corners. Jaskia screamed, her mouth flying far too wide for a human body to bear, and the sound that came out of it was far too large for her tiny body. Then she began to stretch upward, flesh pulled impossibly long. The sound of it grated on the ear and turned
