“Hrrrgh! Graaagh!”

Merchant Princess Feruzeh stared lifelessly from silken cushions as Cas, clad in only a loincloth to display his body, hefted a heavy stone in the middle of his house of strength. His grunts filled the high-ceilinged chamber, and sweat poured down his carefully built musculature.

“Graaaagh! Hrruuuugh!”

His cries were unseemly, forced from his lungs with the enthusiasm of a jabbering ape, and she could vaguely tell he was being purposefully loud. Yet, exhaustion had yoked her with a burden so heavy that she could not bring herself to care. She could not remember her last night of full rest, and sleep deprivation had only built over time.

The world seemed to be in constant fog, her mind often went blank mid-thought, and her gait wavered whenever she walked. Cas had laid out a veritable feast of fresh grapes, wine, dried dates, and lamb roasted in cumin, but her stomach constantly churned so heavily these days that the delicious smells only sickened her further.

And Cas knew all of it.

Why else would he arrange for her to meet him in his house of strength and force her to sit through his daily exercises? It was an insult, and at one time she would have burst from his palace in outrage.

As it was now, though, she was grateful for his grunts.

They helped keep her awake. Away from the crawling horrors that visited every time she dozed.

SLAM!

Cas dropped the weight onto a pad of burlap filled with straw, and then stretched, yawning widely like a lion. “All done,” he finally acknowledged her, sauntering over and dropping to the cushions across the platters.

“Why did you call me, Cas?” she muttered in a weak voice.

Squelch.

He bit into a handful of grapes, and his chewing filled the room. Juice ran down his chin as he kept full eye contact without bothering to wipe it. “We will trade,” he declared.

Squelch.

He continued to chew loudly. “I understand you have acquired star anise from Nayokhram. I want it. All of it.”

Feruzeh cringed. She should have known this was coming. “What…” she asked reluctantly. “What do you offer in trade?’

Squelch.

He continued to chew. “Wheat from Nubtuka. Hundredweight for a hundredweight.”

“That’s an insult!” she balked, briefly returning to full alertness. “A common crop for a rare spice in equal portion?! You’re robbing me!”

He popped another grape into his mouth, not even bothering to close it as he burst the plump fruit between his teeth. “No. It’s a fine trade. Everyone needs to eat. Not everyone needs to taste. Wheat is guaranteed, while your spice might sit in your warehouses until it turns to dust.”

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“I already have buyers, Cas, you can’t-”

“I think,” he cut her off. “You would sleep better if you considered my offer.”

Her words died in her mouth. “…what?”

“Merchant Prince Navid spurned an offer of mine last week,” Cas gripped a piece of lamb by the bone and bit into it, the meat juices mixing with the grape already marring his face. “It seemed he regretted his choice so dearly that the guilt drove him into night terrors. The poor old man’s heart gave out,” he shook his head mournfully. “First his daughter died the same way, and now the old man. Navid’s poor grandson, scarcely little more than a boy, is forced to take up his mother’s and grandfather’s seat as head of house and part of the mercantile council.”

He lifted a golden rhyton cup, forged in the shape of a monstrous winged lion. “May his term last a lifetime,” he pronounced, then noisily guzzled the wine within.

Feruzeh was far too perturbed and exhausted to join his toast, but he paid that no heed. “It’s a shame though. It seems that Navid’s line has weak hearts. So many die so easily in sleep.”

Cas fixed Feruzeh with a piercing look, like the eagle would to a lone lamb as it circled high above. “Tell me, Feruzeh. Is your heart strong? Your husband’s? Your mother’s? Your daughters’?”

As the merchant princess began to tremble, Cas reached over and placed a free hand on the jewel-encrusted sceptre he always carried these days. Her gaze drew to it, as though compelled by some sinister force, and took in every single sharp line of those evil looking glyphs. The violet jewels shone like a multitude of insectile eyes, glaring at the world with brute instincts and the ravenousness of a locust swarm. The smile Cas gave her seemed to mirror that bottomless hunger, and he slowly made a fist, kissed it and offered it to her.

“Do we have trade?”

She nearly recoiled, wanting nothing more than to never touch that vile hand. Yet, even through her foggy thoughts, the faces of her family came to mind. She imagined them twisted in their beds, their bodies forever frozen in final horror.

She gave a great, heaving shudder that quite nearly became a sob.

Then she kissed her fist and reluctantly knocked her knuckles to his. “We have trade,” she muttered.

“Good!” he finally wiped his chin.

He clapped twice.

His servants and guards immediately appeared from darkened alcoves.

Her own followed, but with the gait of dying men.

“Come! Let us feast in celebration in the main hall! Then you can go home to a good night’s rest,” he peered at Feruzeh closely.

Then he outright smirked.

“You look like you need it.”

Some hours later, when the moon was high, the arid air cool and the merchant princess long departed in defeat, a pair of figures slipped to the bottom of Cas’ walls. With cloaks wrapped tight around them and hoods pulled high, Wurhi the Rat and Kyembe the Spirit Killer scaled the wall, their deft hands quickly finding grip on the rough stone. Pausing to peer over the parapet and seeing no nearby patrol, the two darted to the other side and dropped into the gardens below.

They crouched in the dark among the fruit trees and low ferns with the undulating chirping of crickets filling the night.

“Quick! Quick now!” Wurhi whispered, beginning to crawl forward.

“Wait!” Kyembe held up a hand. He had one pointed ear cocked toward the dark. “Do you hear that?”

The little thief halted, listening carefully to the shadowed foliage. “All is quiet to me.”

He shook his head. “There are beasts padding in the dark. Three to our left, two to our right.”

Wurhi swore quietly. “Cas’ mastiffs. I’ve lost a few friends to their teeth.”

“Hrm,” Kyembe looked up to the trees. “No wind tonight. We can avoid their noses if we keep our distance.”

“We can do better than that,” the little woman dug into one of several pouches in her tunic and drew something she’d stolen that afternoon: a chunk of spiced goat about the size of a child’s fist. Carefully, she unraveled a sling from her belt, and placed it within. “I’m going to toss this to the south,” she whispered. “Tell me as soon as those dogs move, then guide us around them.”

Kyembe nodded. He rose into a half crouch, ready to spring at any moment.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh!

She slung the meat into the dark, sending it crashing into the underbrush.

A guttural barking resounded from the south, approaching where it fell.

“This way!” Kyembe said in hoarse whisper.