Dueque stood over the body of his eldest son. Bad luck, a startled horse, and a broken neck had cost him a second child after he had already lost Shajita to the boy’s own damn stupidity. But Kasbel had been a fine young man. A little energetic in his youth – all Makavians were – Kasbel had settled down in his teenage years and become responsible, reliable, and a promising heir. Not only was he directly in line to become patriarch, but family had been grooming Kasbel to take over the business and administration roles which Dueque presently dealt with himself.

A small part of Dueque began to calculate the financial loss that the family had suffered because of that damn horse. All of his children had received the best care from birth, after all. Self-disgust swept the figures away a second later, but the grief had not come yet. Realizing that, he began to grow angry.

“We’ll slaughter the horse,” he said calmly. “Give the meat to the paupers.”

“As you wish,” his attendant agreed.

“Do you know why the horse bucked?” Dueque asked.

“A rabbit spooked in front of them. It is strange, because the horse was normally quite well tempered.”

“Bad luck,” Dueque said. “Father warned me to expect bad luck. I didn’t believe him. Now I have lost two sons.”

“Shajita still lives,” the attendant pointed out.

“And yet he is dead to us,” Dueque said, sighing. “Perhaps I should have bought him a woman, but I thought he was too young for that. Perhaps if I had, he wouldn’t have gotten wrapped up in the foolishness, but if the disgrace he made of himself was ever known, the embarrassment to the family … I could forgive it, but Father will not.”

“Of course,” the attendant said noncommittally. He was also doing the calculations in his head to see how this accident would affect him. Only slightly older than Kasbel, the attendant had been with the family for years. Long enough to have formed emotional attachments. Long enough to grow close to the young man with whom he had spent so much time. Long enough to have secrets deep and personal, shared by only the two of them. And now only him.

But he could not express his grief. Not now. He would have to find privacy, soon, to cry and scream. But for now, he felt all of the pain and grief which Dueque lacked. Behind their masks, both men struggled to come to terms. One of the men had lost his son, and the other his lover. They could have spoken, helped each other face this tragedy. Instead they stood in silent vigil.

The door to the parlor opened, and Shiasbemu stepped in. He had taken the time to change into mourning clothes, Dueque noticed. Dueque himself was still dressed in his opulent robes proclaiming his status. Part of the man was furious for his father delaying his visit for such a triviality, another part was filled with shame that he had not done the same. As always, his father was technically correct in his conduct, as to show up to his grandson’s wake in normal dress would be an insult and inspire gossip and scandal.

A death of a young man in the family was a tragedy, but not a scandal. No, turning it into a scandal by failing to honor Kasbel with the proper respect would only make the situation worse.

And yet Dueque raged inside. Anger was an unfamiliar emotion to him. He was a calm man. Shrewd, but generally happy.

“Thank the divine you still have a spare,” Shiasbemu said in a perfectly reasonable tone. “We’ll have to ensure Natibel doesn’t meet a similar accident before we can find you a few concubines to --”

The slap was resounding. Shiasbemu’s guards leapt into the room, ready to attack, but the old man waved them down.

“I apologize. This is not the right time for that conversation,” he said calmly. “I forgive you this one time, but do not ever strike me again, Son, or you’ll find yourself envying Shajita’s fate.”

“Your grandson is dead,” Dueque said with a tranquility he did not feel. “How can you simply feel nothing?”

“I grieve. Kasbel was a fine man, a fine heir. I loved him and will miss him. But we must address the stability of the family sooner, not later,” Shiasbemu explained calmly. “Two of your sons have been removed from succession in as many years, and I have always had concerns about Natibel’s capacity to govern.”

“You insult one grandson son after disowning another and disrespecting the eldest at his wake?” Dueque hissed, but restrained himself from striking again.

“Yes,” the old man admitted. He sighed heavily. “Dueque, son, have you considered that this might be an assassination?”

Dueque jerked in surprise. He had not, but the question needed an answer. Kasbel had been a skilled rider from youth, and the horse reportedly well trained. How then did he fall out of the saddle? “Inspect the saddle. Belay my order to slaughter the horse until it’s been examined by an expert. The saddle and tack too.”

“Good, you’re thinking again,” Shiasbemu praised. “If they went after Kasbel, either one of us could be next. Or Natibel. As for Shajita? Hah, he is safest where he is, with everyone believing he is dead.”

“If you knew we had enemies why did you--”

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“Of course we have enemies! No family grows as successful as we are without generations of enemies! Most of the men and women we do business with would just as soon stick a knife in our backs as say hello!” the old man exclaimed. “I didn’t know of any active threats. However, with the empire in chaos, it’s impossible to say who would take the opportunity to weaken our holdings.”

Once again, Dueque was shamed to realize that his father was correct. And the shame made the rage boiling in his guts.

He had never been an angry man. He had lived a happy and charmed life. The son of a powerful patriarch, he had actually loved his wife from the moment they’d been introduced, and he’d had five wonderful children. Three boys and two girls. He had always loved his children, but the realities of his station and the expectations of the family kept him busy. And now he would never see two of them again, and instead of sorrow, he felt a rage that started fiery and hot, but rapidly froze to ice. If someone had taken Kasbel from him, then he needed answers, and he would make them pay.

But he knew who had taken Shaji. Or, at least, who prevented him from reclaiming his youngest son. Shaji had erred, badly, yes. Rumors that he had forged documents to embarrass a martial genius in a faraway sect had returned home, somehow, which had damaged both the boy’s and the family’s reputation.

The rumors were backed up by the testimony of a registered scholar, who had filed a formal complaint against the Makavian family. The complaint was a black mark, one that had driven up the cost of the tutors the family employed for the rest of their children. But neither the rumors nor the coin lost to the tutors for Dueque’s remaining children and their cousins justified disinheritance. Not to a father’s eye. Shaji had been young, only fourteen! He deserved a second chance, yet it was denied to him by his own grandfather!

“I will contact Shun to begin the investig--”

“Do no such thing!” Shiasbemu interrupted his son. “Trust nobody not already in this room with our suspicions. Because they are only that, my son, suspicions. Until we prove otherwise, we must act as though we suspect nothing. I will see to the investigations myself, Dueque.”

Dueque took his rage by the throat and throttled it the way he wished he could throttle his father. “And what do I do while you investigate?” he said, his voice calm velvet ice.

“Grieve,” his father suggested.

“I, I don’t know how,” Dueque admitted. “I feel numb, and angry.”

“That’s a good start,” his father told him. And then, to his surprise, the old man embraced him. “Anger is a good start, my son. Not all of grief is wailing and rending of clothes. Sometimes it is calm and detached. And angry. Hate me, if you must, but I do what I must for the family. What is best for all of us.”

“And Shaji?” Dueque challenged. “You have disinherited him, forbidden me from sending rescue or even acknowledging that he lives! I have not lost one son but two, but one of those sons still breathes! How can you--”

“I do what is best for the family,” Shiasbemu repeated. “If what I think has transpired, then disinheriting Shajita has saved his life. Because if it were not for him running away on that fool mission of his, then I believe it would be him in this coffin, not Kasbel.”

Dueque jerked in shock. “You know who did this!”

“I do not even know it was not an accident, my son. There is a possibility, however, something which I have feared since you returned from the trip you took to the west seven years ago.”

“Explain. Father, you owe me an explanation! Is this about the bandits? That situation was resolved by--”

“That nonsense has nothing and everything to do with it. Oh if only you hadn’t sold that slave!”

“Baty? What does he have to do with this?”

“The boy? Nothing. His grandfather? Either nothing, or everything. And with the Anzabos disgraced and scattered, I do not even know who to ask to find out.”

~~~~~~~~

Rena had never regained her self-confidence after she had lost to Jazirqe. Her younger cousin had turned Rena into the unwilling pawn in the opening gambit of the Anzabos clan’s take down. As a pawn, Rena had been used masterfully, extracting every bit of intel that she possessed and then used as a decoy during the raid of the clan headquarters. The Elders of the clan had never imagined that the Law would team up with the former members of the Orders as they had, and that in doing so they would easily outmatch the clan for manpower.

The battle had been a joke.

Rena would have been killed by the survivors of the clan for her role in the farce, except most of those survivors had cracked under the expert questioning that the Law and their allies put them through as well. There had still been some who suggested it, but ultimately Uma had pointed out that they were so weakened that they couldn’t afford to lose any more agents. That Uma was in charge of the local branch after having all of her superiors hanged was troubling, but nobody was more dedicated to the clan’s resurgence.

Rena, however, was beginning to have doubts about reclaiming what was lost. Not that she wanted to, but that it was possible. The Anzabos clan name, once a cause of fear and respect, was now worth something between a fart and a good laugh. Their manpower had been gutted, and their foundation shattered beyond repair. Rena quietly questioned whether it wouldn’t be better to break up the remains of the organization into individual units, or to merge into other clans who could use skilled agents.

She was afraid to say so, however, for fear that her loyalty might be called into question. The others were still watching her for any sign of weakness, and her second defeat by Jazirqe only caused the whisperers to grow in volume so that even she could hear them.

When she had recovered from the bomues, she had tried to pick up her cousin’s trail, but had found nothing. Jazirqe had simply vanished into the fields surrounding the village. Rena had sent word back to headquarters that the traitor had been spotted, then she had tried to infiltrate the inn where Jaz had been working.

That had been a mistake. She had escaped without revealing herself as an Adept, but also without her dignity as a spy. She had been recognized at once for her family resemblance, and although she had tried to play it off as searching for a runaway bride, the patrons had threatened to gang up on her to ‘pay her back for chasing off the pretty one.’ She had been forced to flee without gathering any intel at all.

With no other leads and nothing else to do, she headed east, hoping to find some trace of wherever Jaz had gone to ground.