FOURTEEN

Zaethan

   “This better be good, Kumo, after making me wait three days for a single report,” Zaethan warned his cousin in a low voice, having already woken in a foul mood that morning.

“Owàamo to you too, Ahoté,” Kumo hailed as he approached. “Owàa met you with a vengeance today.”

“My temper has nothing to do with the sun or how he greets me. It does, however, have something to do with being incapable of providing the commander with an explanation for the Haidren to Boreal’s delay. Report. Now.”

“Uni, Alpha Zà,” the beta acknowledged, lowering his chin as he wisely shifted to formal Darakaian address. “Zahra assigned Jabari to the guard rotation outside both the Haidren and al’Haidren apartments, hoping he’d pick up some information, but they speak mostly witch-tongue in passing. So, I had Takoda sweet-talk that southern yaya in the kitchens, you know the one with the—”

“I don’t give two shtàkas how you acquired the information, Kumo, I just want to know what it entails.” Zaethan scratched the stubble along his jaw impatiently as he glowered at the brass doors ahead, which led to the Quadrennal chambers he was late entering.

“Apologies,” Kumo said hurriedly. “Jabari says the Haidren’s party stopped in a port town…Tadeas, I think. Looked into some disappearance. The Najjan found another corpse like we’ve seen here in the Proper. Neither he nor Takoda caught much more, except the boy was butchered, not drained. I don’t know what the y’siti did with the body. Probably served it in a stew, yeah?” Kumo crinkled his nose. “Should we keep investigating?”

“Ano.” Zaethan shook his head. They’d already wasted enough time on the matter, and his father wouldn’t be pleased if he kept investigating the dead cross-castes against orders.

“Uni, Alpha Zà.” Kumo struck his right fist against his chest and retreated to relay the order to the pryde.

“Wait,” Zaethan called after him, reconsidering. “Keep Takoda posted near the younger witch. Just in case.”

His beta twisted mid-step and nodded once.

“Shàla’maiamo, Ahoté.”

“Shàla’maiamo,” Zaethan uttered the Andwele farewell, requesting the moon watch over his cousin in turn.

He waited until Kumo rounded the corner before he gripped the byrnnzite door handles and heaved them open with authority. Zaethan had quickly learned from his time at court that one rarely needed to apologize for tardiness, when one arrived unapologetically. Besides, after he’d finally gathered the missing information to bring his father, Zaethan didn’t plan to make excuses for being late to the political version of a tea party.

“Zaethan, there you are! Come, come!” Dmitri exclaimed, eagerly waving him over.

“Why, Lord Darakai, how considerate of you to finally show up,” Sayuri droned from where she lounged next to their prince at the head of the immense pentagonal table. “Your belatedness was a gift, really. It offered the two of us some time to catch up. Our Prince Dmitri has been in high demand as of late.”

Sayuri’s dark, vulpine eyes flashed accusingly at the impassive y’siti seated across from her. The al’Haidren to Boreal remained unruffled in her modest layers of crisp linen and linsilk. Their dissimilarity was tangible, when one compared her pallid, spectral manner against the vivid, serpentine woman who’d one day serve as a conduit for Pilar’s ever-evolving agenda. By the way Sayuri eased her ruby lips into a coy smirk, her personal agenda to position herself at Dmitri’s side had not changed.

Not that the House of Darakai would ever permit such a union, nor would the Ethnicam’s other elite. The only reason Zaethan’s House bowed before the line of Thoarne was the simple fact that a drop of ancient, Darakaian blood pulsed within Dmitri’s mixed, Unitarian veins. A blood which somehow contained everything Zaethan was, and yet everything he was not.

“My duties as Alpha Zà are more pressing than your list of social obligations, Lady Pilar,” Zaethan said with a sneer as he crossed the room and came to stand behind Ira Hastings, who’d seated himself to Dmitri’s right. “You’re in Darakai’s seat, Ira, or did you get lost on your way from the tavern this morning?”

“Ah, right you are.” The slightly disheveled al’Haidren picked up his wine and moved to Bastiion’s seat beside the y’siti. “Hello, gosling, care for a drink?”

Ira reached to refill her untouched glass, only to find it was already full.

“I’ll be more inclined to converse with you, Lord Bastiion, if you refrain from using these crass monikers,” she corrected him, lifting a stiff, arrogant chin. “You may address me as Lady Luscia or, if you prefer, Lady Boreal, as is your right.”

“Well, I do apologize, Lady Gosling.” Ira rakishly tipped his drink to salute her. “Boreali women have my utmost admiration, I assure you.”

“And here I always considered you an elitist, Ira.” Sayuri lifted a brow. “My, how your palate has changed.”

Zaethan couldn’t fathom why his friend insisted they convene. Restrictions were still in place around Dmitri’s power, and this juvenile bickering was the only foreseeable outcome of their assembly. Already annoyed, Zaethan watched the y’siti control her breathing, slowly inhaling and exhaling, as the other two al’Haidrens exchanged words about her. She draped a pale arm over the side of her chair to methodically stroke the muzzle of her uncommonly large wolx, though to keep which of them calm, Zaethan couldn’t tell.

Dmitri cleared his throat and stood, using his cane for support. “I would like to officially call this Quadren to session,” he said formally. “I know it may seem a bit…silly, I suppose, us meeting like this. My Quadren is politically dormant and we are bound by countless constraints, but I’ve decided to proceed unorthodoxly and deviate from Orynthian tradition.

“Over the last year, I’ve spent a great deal of time delving into the journals of my predecessors, specifically the entries recounting the dealings of their Quadrens through each generation of Haidrens. From my grandfather, King Aquila Thoarne, to his mother, Queen Roma Thoarne, and as far back as the ledgers allow. The single commonality between them is one I find rather unfortunate.” Here Dmitri paused, glancing at each of them for emphasis. “Not one generation has managed to fulfill the true purpose of the Quadren, which is, by the way, to work together for the good of the realm. While each of us are divided by House, we are united under the banner of Orynthia, and it is as Orynthians that we will lead.”

“Bridging the gap between our peoples starts at this table, Highness, and I for one am devoted to the cause,” Ira pledged. He winked at the y’siti and lazily ran a hand that had never known labor through his shining mahogany hair.