Irona 700 by Dave Duncan Read Free Book Online

at the moment. Trodelat was angling for a seat on the Treaty Commission, which supervised the behavior of the tribute states. The graft involved in settling even one boundary dispute would make her many times richer than she was already, but probably she was more interested in the prestige. Although she never admitted it, Trodelat had her heart set on eventually becoming the first-ever female First. Irona could not imagine a worse fate.
    â€œSurely I need something more permanent?”
    â€œOh, I meant as well. The choosing was just a thought.” Trodelat mused, although she had probably been planning her next words for days or weeks. “With your background, perhaps the Harbor Board? Or Supervisor of Fish Markets? Both good training grounds. Not romantic, but the romantic ones don’t pay well.
    â€œAnd,” she continued, before Irona needed to think up any polite refusals, “it really is time you started wearing some jewelry. You are still as skinny as a fishing pole, too. People must think I don’t feed you or trust you near my jewel box.”
    â€œI eat like a hog, ’80, and you know it! If I stay slim, it’s not from want of trying and certainly no fault of your excellent cooks.” As for jewels, right from the first Irona had declined offers of loans of any of her tutor’s adornments on the grounds that she would wait until she had earned such finery for herself. She had drawn that line purely on instinct, but two years’ experience had promoted it into a personal statement. Although the Chosen never discussed their own backgrounds, they were always ready to gossip about one another’s, and it had not taken Irona long to identify a few of the Seventy whose origins had been humble, although none as humble as her own. And she had noticed that the poorer their families had been, the more they were now inclined to flaunt their present grandeur, men and women both. So let them glitter and shine! She wore her sandals, her smock, and her jade collar, and that was absolutely that.
    â€œOh, look at those shadows!” Irona sprang to her feet. “I must rush! My dancing coach is eager to give me extra lessons.”
    â€œNot too eager, I hope?”
    â€œThat, too. That’s why I insist on early morning classes. He’s not as ambitious then!” Laughing at her own lie, Irona scurried away. Deception was not part of the official curriculum, but she was getting good at that, too.
    Irona sent a slave to fetch a litter for the journey up to the First’s Palace. Half an hour later, she slipped in through the public door of the Juvenile Court and took a seat in the front row. This was the fourth time she had sat in on the proceedings over the last couple of months. Members of the public who attended, mostly witnesses or relatives of the accused, generally shunned that conspicuous location, and the three justices must certainly have noticed her blue-green robe and jade collar. She was quietly—if not subtly—demonstrating interest.
    Juvenile Court paid much better than the Fish Marketing Board, and she suspected that a seat on the bench could be hers almost for the asking. Minor offenses and first offenders were tried by district courts. Only crimes that might call for the death penalty came to the attention of the Chosen, and even the hardened cynics of the Seventy must dislike ordering children flogged or killed. Irona was repelled by such thoughts, but it was a job she was sure she could handle more sympathetically than people who had been rocked in golden cradles.
    Capital punishment took several forms in the Empire, but one thing the executions all had in common was that the criminal was gagged first. A name spoken with a dying breath was a prayer to Bane. Nothing was more dangerous than a death curse.
    The big hall was filling up, although she was still alone on the front bench. The four clerks filed in and spread their tablets and slates on their