Storm and Steel by Jon Sprunk Read Free Book Online Page A

alloy, possibly electrum. A centerpiece of four candles surrounded by fresh lotuses completed the elegant tableau.
    Horace walked around the chamber. Tapestries imported from the West covered the walls from floor to ceiling. In them, men and women in classical garb were depicted at a grand feast, eating and drinking as they made merry. A sideboard had been set up with several sealed jars, presumably wine or spirits, as well as an array of cutlery knives and long forks.
    Another door opened, and two men walked in. By the cut and design of their robes, they both belonged to the zoanii class. Lord Temuni was older and exceedingly slim with a long, narrow chin to match his sharp nose, while Lord Oriathu was short and stout, his clothes straining to contain his round paunch. Both men were shaved bald in the custom of the ruling class. Horace resisted the urge to reach up and touch his hair.
    The zoanii looked to Horace in unison, and they both strolled to the opposite side of the table in a not-so-subtle gesture. Horace did his best to ignore them. He was already sweating under his tunic, despite the cool breeze blowing in through the open shutters.
    More guests arrived—eleven in all, including him. All nobility of various ranks, the cream of the royal court. Horace had seen most them several times at the palace, either at official events or in passing. He knew their names and even a little about the cliques into which they aligned themselves, mostly thanks to Mezim. They all watched him. Not openly—that was not the Akeshian way. Instead, they glanced at him with sideways looks and expansive sweeps that were meant to appear to take in the entire room, but he noticed their eyes lingered on him a little longer than the artwork or the place settings. They mingled and chatted, their voices light and full of mirth. At least, so it seemed on the surface. Already in his short time at court Horace had learned enough about Akeshian politics to understand a smidgen of the game they played. The lesser players circled their superiors, but not just those with which they were allied. No, they circled their foes as well in an intricate dance that somewhat resembled the movement of fish schools, flowing in and amongeach other, sometimes matching their movements before breaking apart for no outward reason. Meanwhile, the two largest “fish” in the room, Lord Temuni and Sarleskar Balashi, who was the acting commander of the queen's military since Prince Zazil's mysterious disappearance. An incident, by the way, which no one—in typical court fashion—ever talked about, as if there were an unspoken rule that members vanished every so often, and it was best not to discuss it. The whole thing made his head hurt.
    Fortunately, servants orbited the room with carafes of wine and liquor. Horace gulped down the first cup of red wine and sipped at the second, feeling somewhat better.
    A door opened at the far end of the room. Lord Xantu came in, wearing his customary robe of deep black, head freshly shaved. Four handmaidens entered behind him, all of them wearing identical purple gowns cut to expose their left breasts. Each bare nipple was painted gold. The handmaidens formed an aisle from the door, through which arrived Byleth. Never one to allow herself to be outshone, the queen wore a sheath gown of indigo silk so sheer it was virtually transparent. A heavy necklace of gold and sapphires did nothing to distract from her sensuality as she sauntered to the table.
    â€œMy lords and ladies,” Byleth said, holding up her arm as if inviting an embrace. “Please, be welcome.” She looked to him and held out her hand. “Lord Horace, come take your place beside me.”
    He took the couch beside her. The upholstery was so supple that lying on it was a sensual experience. Byleth had told him she designed these couches especially for him, presumably to make him feel more at home. She had been so excited to show him that