Tahki tried to remember the layout of the castle as they moved along. It wasn’t large, but everything looked the same: black walls, white floors, empty rooms.
None of the rooms caught his interest until they entered one of the larger wings on the second floor.
Tahki froze just inside the door. Every inch of wall was covered with animal heads or animal parts. Antlers, horns, feathers, teeth, claws—all he could think about was how much Sornjia would hate it here. How disgusted he would be that all these animals were killed for no other purpose than to decorate a room.
Even Tahki felt a little unnerved by all the dead eyes staring at him, but it also amazed him. He’d never seen so many unique species. The predators had been displayed on pedestals or wooden boxes around the room. Some had been posed walking, others in a fierce fighting position. He recognized striped bear-wolves and tusked gators, red-clawed eagles and horned stoats. In the very center, a large black wildcat sat. Her specular coat shined in the pale light from a northern window, a hint of red woven into her fur. She was as big as a horse. He’d never seen an animal quite like her. The only predators back home were emaciated wild dogs. Sornjia had rescued a young pup with a broken leg one summer. He raised the dog for a few years, until it got run over by a cart. Sornjia had cried for days. Tahki had bought him another dog as a replacement, a proper, well-bred dog, but Sornjia had said it wasn’t the same. To this day, Tahki didn’t understand why.
“You look disturbed,” Dyraien said. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those bleeding hearts who thinks it’s cruel to hunt. They’re only animals.” Dyraien flicked the nose of the black cat. “This one here? She reminds me of you.”
“I remind you of a dead cat?”
“You remind me of one of those eastern jungle cats. The big ones like this. You slink when you walk, eyes wide, skittish when you come across something unexpected. They’re clever, these cats. Hard to hunt. But their pelts make beautiful rugs.”
“So you think I’d make a good rug?”
Dyraien gave him another handsome smile. “I think you’d look nice draped across my bed.”
Tahki fought to keep his cheeks from reddening. No one had ever spoken to him like this. People of Vatolokít weren’t as reserved as people from Dhaulen’aii, and a small part of him liked the attention.
Tahki coughed and tried to change the subject. “The castle is so empty, it makes this room seem a little… extravagant.”
Dyraien nodded. “Before my mother fell ill, she was a great hunter. She often traveled overseas on safari and brought back magnificent animals from her hunts. When I moved her here ten years ago, I brought her animals with us. It comforts her to be around them. For a long time she loved to sit in this room and stroke their fur and talk to them. But now… now I don’t think she recognizes them.”
Tahki bowed his head. “I’m sorry. It must be very hard on you to see her that way.” Not only did Dyraien take care of himself, but he tended to his mentally ill mother. Tahki couldn’t even make bread.
Dyraien shrugged. “We’re all dealt a different hand in life. We choose either to play that hand or to fold.”
“Still, it’s sad what happened to your mother.”
Dyraien plucked a feather from the eagle on a pedestal. “She knew what she was doing.”
Tahki frowned. “What do you mean?”
Dyraien smiled, but it was cold. “I only meant, had she taken better care of herself, maybe she wouldn’t have fallen ill.”
A tense moment passed between them, and Tahki hated himself for asking so many questions. Dyraien was the only person who had shown him any kind of good faith.
“Gale says she’s never seen anything like your work,” Dyraien said.
Tahki swallowed. He had never felt both pride and fear at the same time when someone talked about his work.
“I would love to say I’m the right man for your project,” Tahki said. “But I don’t know anything about it.”
“Then it’s only fair I tell you, isn’t it?” Dyraien nodded, more to himself than to Tahki. “My mother and I lived in the capital city. I moved her here when she fell ill. It’s been a struggle, to say the least, keeping something like this a secret. If it weren’t for Rye, I think I would have gone quite mad myself.” He brushed a stray blond hair from his face. His eyes filled with something—bitterness or hatred or resentment. “In normal situations, if my mother were to pass away or become unfit, I would take over as ruler of Vatolokít. But our country, bless my dear country, is changing. Did you know the queen no longer acts as prosecutor if a woman or man is guilty of a crime? No, the council chooses five citizens and presents them with facts. The citizens then vote on if the accused is guilty. Fascinating, isn’t it? Such power in the hands of the people. What a remarkable time we live in.”
“It is remarkable,” Tahki said. “I think it’s the reason so many foreigners try to find work here.”
Dyraien licked his lips. “But it’s not perfect. No country is, I suppose. See, I received a rather nasty shock just before my mother fell ill. It seems the people like the idea of having a say in their country’s law. So much, they feel they should also have a say in who rules their country. I was warned by
