Though the earthquake incident had dampened the city’s festive mood, things began to regain inertia once the priests came out of their temples with their respective processions. The three temples in Doeta were dedicated to the Weaver, the Sentinel, and the Warrior, and each of them had some big-ass “thing” they would bring out and parade around the city before locking it back into their temple.
Each float was either a fully decked wagon with a frankly ludicrous amount of gold and gemstones, or a palanquin requiring thirty-odd people to carry it around. Either option didn’t really make a difference in the sense that what they carried was roughly the same thing: a divine artifact. Some super-enchanted piece of equipment that existed as a promise that if shit hit the fan, then they would be put to good use protecting the city.
Supposedly, each of the processions had a mage amongst their ranks, casting some illusion spell to depict the history and storied past of the artifact. It was some story entirely unique to Doeta, highlighting its complex relationship with the three deities it had chosen for patrons.
It was a way for people to regain trust that everything was under control, a move clearly pushed for by the Emir to keep everyone happy.
Despite the obvious crowd-control and political nature of the parade, Liam would’ve given an arm to get a closer look at the whole thing.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t; there were too many priests walking about, particularly priests of Thalgrim. Even if the Weaver’s ploys didn’t involve Doeta, she was well known for blessing her priests with the ability to sense anyone else that might carry a blessing of their own. It helped her keep tabs on things she might have otherwise missed.
And Liam was blessed by Maridah, which would single him out pretty fast.
There was even the risk that he’d be called a cultist if they could recognize it was a blessing not of the main pantheon deities.
What options did that leave him with? It left him grumbling to himself in a dreary, washed-out tavern with no windows and the same color palette as mud. It didn’t smell much different from mud, and it was absolutely empty due to how far it sat from all the cool things. Liam didn’t mind the silence, but dammit, he’d been looking forward to enjoying more of the day.
“Maybe I can snatch some ice cream on the way back… and there are two more days of festivities after today,” he consoled himself, taking a spoonful of fish soup. “One of which will have the procession… again.” A sigh, and another spoonful, his gaze falling on the murky contents of his bowl. “This soup is better than it has any right to be.”
If only they’d known there would be a big-ass celebration, then maybe he could’ve asked Maridah to pull the blessing out and re-apply it once they left Doeta. But the only way to have known in advance would’ve probably involved sending Wolf as a forward scout…
“Actually, why didn’t we send anyone to scout ahead?” It felt like it would’ve been a huge oversight on Maridah’s part. Hell, during their time in the jungle, while traveling down the river, the Goddess had put such thorough preparations in place that it’d felt like a covert military campaign.
Which was a fair approach since she was moving her relic to Cracked Bay, which put her at severe risk. If a single God caught on… they would pounce. To take a relic from another deity was a massive boon, literally increasing the number of “lives” you had available before you got eradicated from the mortal realm.
Liam didn’t get the chance to dwell much on the thought, as a new patron had entered the quiet little tavern. A draxani dressed in a white toga and carrying the emblem of a claw on his chest, flanked by two guards. There was something familiar about the reptilian as their gazes met.
Wait.
“Grauch?” It was hard to recognize the guy without the less formal attire. Liam still had some trouble distinguishing between individuals of the races that weren’t human. But he was fairly certain the red and yellow scale pattern on his snout was the same.
With a simple muttered order, the guards began talking to the tavern owner, offering some coins while the draxani approached Liam. “It is good to see you are in good health, sir,” he bowed his head slightly.
“You’ve been looking for me?”
“Indeed, sir, it was no easy task. The Amil was worried something might have happened during the events of this morning.” Grauch remained slightly bowed as he spoke. “If it wouldn’t be an inconvenience, she has invited you to dinner, though with the understanding that this might be a bit too abrupt.” His gaze lowered to the fish soup, then back up at him. “The Amil would, of course, understand if you have other previous engagements.”
“Not much going on; I was actually thinking of heading back and calling it a day. Though, as you can see, I won’t have much of an appetite.”
The nighttime events were taking place the day after; apparently, the first night was left event-free as a way to allow the merchants to restock more freely without the safety concerns of a large crowd.
“Would you wish to leave now?”
Liam perked up a little. “No sense in wasting food. Would you want some? It’s really good soup.”
Grauch hesitated, glancing over at the guards. “I couldn’t; I am a servant-”
“And we’re not in the Amil’s estate. I doubt she’ll get angry over it, but if she does, I’ll say I insisted.” Liam gestured toward the chair opposite his own. “Please, I doubt you’ve had an easy day going around looking for me. And you did promise to tell me about your matron at some point.”
“I… did indeed.” That appeared to win him over; the draxani gave a short chirping sound to the two guards before sitting down. “What would sir wish to know?”
“‘Liam’ is fine, but I won't complain if you switch back once we’re over at the estate again.” He took a long gulp. “If it’s not too personal, I was mostly curious about why a Trovan would cross the Three Deserts. I heard things have been going well over the last while.”
The Trovan queendom was a draxani-led nation on the southern border of the Caliphate. They were neighbors in every sense of the word, even culturally, though Trovan was a small and tasty target. The Caliphate had been trying on and off to conquer them (mostly because getting an army across a desert was a pain, even with mages at hand), but the current sultan had deemed it not worth the effort. So the small nation was currently a century into enjoying relative peace and prosperity.
“My matron never spoke of her time in Trovan; she was a very private woman, you see.” Grauch commented as one of the guards brought him a bowl. “I was very young when the al-Hakim household took us in as servants. They were a humble household at the time; they took me in as an errand-boy, while my mother worked in the kitchen and cleaning.”
“Sounds rough,” Liam muttered.
“On the contrary, it was a definite improvement over being a tanner and a washer.” His stiff reptilian snout twitched in an upward twitch, flashing sharp fangs in the semblance of a smile. “Better smelling too.”
Liam visibly shuddered; he remembered reading about tanning back when chemical factories didn’t exist. To summarize things, they used things found in sewers to tan hides and prep leather. And that was as far as he was willing to think about it while still eating a meal.
“What of you?”
“Going to tattle on me if I answer honestly?” Liam asked in return.
“A servant’s job is never truly done.” The draxani carefully tilted his head back as he emptied the contents of the spoon into his muzzle. “But perhaps if it is a secret, then perhaps I could tempt you with how I became the al-Hakim patriarch’s favored servant?”
“You drive a hard bargain, but to be clear, it’s not that it’s some big secret, but more that where I grew up is too different.”
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Grauch managed to arch his brow in a very questioning way.
“If you don’t believe me, then try this for size.” Liam leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. “With a common farmer’s monthly salary, I could probably buy around three times my weight in black pepper.”
Which should have been a massive shock, as pound for pound the average cost for black pepper in the Caliphate was roughly equivalent to gold. It was hard to grow, and though some mages knew ways to make the endeavor far quicker and easier, they’d sooner have a horde of servants do it for them. Because what mage would be insane enough to lower themselves to being a glorified farmer? People who’d rather keep face than make a mountain of gold, that’s who.
It made more sense in the context that face and prestige were the difference between sinking and swimming for a merchant as well as a noble. One could be pseudo-royalty and very important even when they were in a mountain of debt. And that alone could pave the path back into wealthy life. Meanwhile, one’s fortune could turn to dust if the wrong rumor spread around.
“I have never heard of such a place,” Grauch commented as he took a long sip from his soup. “Which is a feat in itself, as one of the hobbies the al-Hakim patriarch had was to collect items from every corner of the world. Why, for a time he’d been disgraced as he’d spent the household’s treasury on his collection. If not for the Amil’s rise, the al-Hakim name would have eventually vanished.”
Liam quirked a brow, suppressing a mild sense of concern. “Seems like a big ask to ruin a family by collecting oddities. Though a lot of the luxury stuff that’s moved around is sold for too much since it comes with tall tales thrice repeated.” Liam was a little miffed that the draxani hadn’t shown the slightest bit of surprise. “Some merchant somewhere finds something weird or odd, and sells it at a bloated price, giving some crappy story about some non-existent monster or another. Every merchant down the chain repeats the story and makes it grander.”
“That would be exactly what helped me become the patriarch’s favorite,” Grauch chuckled. “I had a nose for hoaxes.” Tapping the patch of gold and red scales on his snout, he rubbed it twice in a spiral pattern. “Which might be going rusty, as you appeared honest about your black-pepper tall tales.”
“Because it’s true.”
“If the place you grew up in was so odd, was your family equally odd?”
Snorting loudly, he shook his head. “Now that is a subject I’m not going to talk about without some alcohol.” Emptying the last bits of his bowl, he glanced at Grauch. “The highlights aren’t exactly interesting either. Just two people living vicariously through a son who was too sickly to be anything other than a disappointment.”
“I have never heard that expression before,” Grauch frowned. “What does it mean to live vicariously through someone?”
“It’s when you give up in life and put all your hopes on someone else’s success,” he explained. “And if that person doesn’t follow the path you set out for them, you get very angry about it.” Sighing, he glanced at his meal-buddy. “Though, I guess it’s the norm over here, for a parent to be expected to map out their child’s future.”
Because in this world, families were far more important than the individual, the very epitome of this mindset being arranged marriages. It was something his own parents would’ve probably happily taken up had it been an option for them at the time.
Grauch laughed lightly. “If I may be so bold, I would say that if I disagreed with your view on the matter, then I would be doing a severe disservice to my sayyida. It was through her efforts to break free from the previous patriarch’s plans that she saw to raise the household to where it stands today.”
“Sayyida… I heard someone use that term with Miss Aisha.”
“It is the term for the mistress, yes, for she is the mistress of the al-Hakim household.” His voice was full of amusement, raising the bowl to his snout and emptying it in a singular long gulp. “I think we have dallied enough, may I guide the way back to the estate?”
“Only if you ease up on the ‘sir’ until we get there.”
“Agreeable terms.”
So they set off, with one guard ahead and another at the rear, moving through the city streets. Grauch was far more familiar with the place and it showed, as every street they entered would be relatively empty of activity. This was not the draxani’s first rodeo, and he knew exactly how to move around a city that was jam-packed with visitors from the whole region.
All the while they exchanged mostly meaningless small talk, harmless personal stories, with Liam taking a few liberties in subtracting certain details from his own narration. Grauch’s own tales were mostly of the troubles he’d got up to as a “young whip-tail,” which could get quite amusing.
“Say, I don’t know if this is a normal question or not, but how old are you?” Liam asked as they reached the gates of the estate. “I haven’t seen many draxanis, so I am not good at judging age.”
“This would be my sixtieth winter.”
He did a double take. “You do not look a day older than forty,” he joked, abruptly adjusting the mental timeline of the stories the draxani had shared. The reptilian people had slightly longer lifespans than a human by a couple of decades, but it had still come as a surprise. “Does that mean you helped raise the Amil?”
“I’ve been serving her since her birth, sir.”
“Wait s-” Looking down, Liam realized he’d stepped over the threshold of the gate. “Well shoot, I guess that’s that.”
“The Amil is waiting for you at her study, sir, right this way.”
“No time to freshen up?” Liam asked.
“The Amil has insisted, sir; she apologizes in advance,” Grauch said, his clawed finger touching the enchanted pendant around his throat.
“Right.”
There wasn’t really much enthusiasm to meet her as he was right now. He needed a very long bath before he could get rid of the smell of stale adrenaline from that morning. But maybe she had a good reason for the insistence. Frankly, he’d tried not to think too much of how things had ended during breakfast, but now that he did, it left him with a slight awkward feeling.
A collector who’d been closer to a hoarder, a man who’d spent every dime in his pile of treasure, disgracing the family. It shouldn’t have sounded off, it shouldn’t have caught his attention, but it did. Because murder entwined fates, and fate was a force that sought to resolve itself.
“Out of curiosity, is the previous patriarch still around?”
“He still lives, yes, though he did not live in Doeta, so what I know is very limited. For the most part, I heard he secluded himself to better research his latest acquisition,” Grauch hummed in thought. “I think the location was a fishing village not too far from here.”
He grit his teeth, his eyes hardening on the wooden door ahead of him. “Is it Torum?”
“Yes, exactly so, sir.”
Even when he’d seen it coming, he still felt all color draining from his face, his hand inches away from the handle. His breath caught into a hitch, the wheels spinning in his head. The confirmation was like the toll of a bell.
He’d killed Aisha’s father.
The most immediate concern was whether she knew. If she did, then why had she taken him as a guest? Even if she didn’t, there was a more concerning question looming overhead. He should have known about her, there was no way in hell he’d remember about the collector and not recognize his family name.
The knife felt heavy in his boot, its contour sharp against his skin.
“Sir?” Grauch startled his thoughts back into reality, to the heavy wood and metal door.
Liam closed his eyes.
Breathe.
Remembering Wolf’s lesson, he inhaled, then exhaled. It took him a moment to calm everything down. “Sorry, just… I just realized something important.” Even when he’d buried his memories of his world, he’d followed his gut, it had not failed him then, and tampering or not, he was going to trust it now too.
And his gut told him he owed Aisha the truth.
With a second heavy breath to stabilize himself, he pushed the doors open and stepped into the study.
The first thing to hit him was the mild scent of ink and parchment, yet he also caught something mixed in, something mild that reminded him of incense, the sort he’d encountered at church. It tickled the back of his mind, trying to stir a memory. But it wasn’t relevant right now, so he ignored it, focusing on the cold green glare of the Amil.
Aisha al-Hakim was seated behind her desk like an arbiter, eyes icy cold and deadly sharp. The woman inhaled sharply, a scowl betraying the intent of the words to follow.
Yet the instant their gazes met, she hesitated, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “You… did not respond to the summons.”
“Summon?” Liam asked.
“The token provided to you has an enchantment meant to convey a message when necessary,” she spoke with a steady voice. “Did you perhaps lose it?”
Liam fished into his pockets, pulling out the metallic object and showing it to her careful gaze. “I’ve had it on my person all day.”
“Then did someone forget to recharge it? Hm…”
He squirmed a little, realizing he’d handled the token with his right hand, and had likely drained it himself by accident. “Listen, Aisha, before anything else, I… have something important to say.”
The woman’s gaze sharpened again, shoulders tensing. “Yes?”
“I…” Liam grimaced. This did not feel like something to just blurt out, but he couldn’t think of a more tactful way to broach the subject. “Your father died, and…” He squeezed his hands. “I was responsible for it.”
“Oh.” Aisha blinked twice.
“I should’ve told you before you invited me, but at the time I didn’t know you two were related,” he continued, words spilling out. “I didn’t want him to die, but he’d-”
“He invited you as his guest and tried to kill you,” Aisha’s words were followed by a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and lowering her hands to the table.
“You… knew?” He didn't deny her claim, though he also didn't correct her as that would involve revealing too many things.
“When I last heard of him, I suspected that was to be his fate. When you came bearing some of his belongings, I knew there were few other ways he could have met his end,” she gestured across from herself. “I believe we did things out of order. Please, sit, let us talk of my father,” she sighed, her gaze hardened. “And of the consequences.”