The Beysa stiffened. "Kadakithis loves me. I know this, though he says nothing. Mere days after our eyes first met he sent his wife away and all his concubines."
Chenaya felt her brows knit closer. She had not liked Kadakithis's bride; the frail little thing whined far too much. Yet, her cousin had seemed devoted to her. "Sent his wife where?" she persisted.
"How should I know?" the Beysa answered, mocking. "Haven't you reminded me that Rankan business is for Ran-kans?"
Chenaya studied again those weird brown eyes, the thin pale hair that reached to the waist and lower, the finely boned hands and ivory skin. The Beysa was, perhaps, only slightly older than she. Yet, she gave some impression of age. "You're pretty enough," Chenaya admitted grudgingly. "Maybe, by some god's whim, you have bewitched him."
"Yet, mine is the beauty of the moon, while you shine like the very sun," the Beysa answered harshly, making what could have been a compliment sound like an insult. "I know the ways of men, Rankan, and I know of temptation."
Amazed, Chenaya reassured her. "There is no need for your jealousy. The Prince is my cousin."
But the fish-eyed woman would not be calmed. She answered coldly, "Blood has no bearing on passion. In many lands such a relationship is not only condoned, but encouraged. I do not know your customs, yet. But the thinner the blood, the easier the passion. Cousins you may be, but let us not put temptation in his way. Or there will be trouble between us."
Chenaya clenched her fists; scarlet heat rushed into her cheeks. "On Rankan soil I come and go as I please," she answered low-voiced, moving closer until only an arm's length separated them. Then, she turned the chalice and slowly poured the remainder of her wine on the floor between them. It shone thick and rich on the luxurious white tiles, red as blood. "And no one orders me." Her fingers tightened about the gold chalice as she held it under the Beysa's nose. The gold began to give and bend as she squeezed; then it collapsed under her easy exertion.
Chenaya cast the cup aside and waited for its clattering to cease. She no longer bothered to contain her fury; it found a natural vent in her speech. "Now, you understand me, you highborn slut. You think you're running things around here right now. That doesn't matter a bird's turd to me. If Kadakithis has developed a taste for painted tits, that's between you and him." She raised a finger, and a small, threatening little smile stole over her mouth. "But if I find he doesn't approve of your residence or your highhanded attitude, if he's not a fully agreeable party to your presence in his city"-the little smile blossomed into a grin of malicious promise-"then I swear by my Rankan gods I'll hook you and scale you and clean your insides like any other fish sold in the market."
The Beysa's only response was an icy, unblinking stare. Then, a tiny green snake crawled up from the folds of her skirt and coiled around her wrist like an emerald bracelet. Eyes of vermilion fire fastened on Chenaya. A bare sliver of a tongue flicked between serpentine lips. It hissed, revealing translucent fangs that glistened with venom.
"Quite a pet," Chenaya commented, undaunted. She stepped away then and drew a slow breath, willing her anger to abate. "Look," she said. "I've no great desire to make an enemy of you. I don't even know you. If you care for Kadakithis, then you have my good will. But if you're using him, watch out for yourself." She drew another slow breath and sighed. "I'm leaving now. I'm so glad we had this little talk."
She turned her back on the Beysa and strode from the apartment. The guards waited in the hall beyond and escorted her through the palace, across the grounds, and to the main gate. Her litter and four immense and heavily muscled men clad only in sandals, crimson loincloths, and the broad, carved leather belts that were the fashion of Rankan gladiators waited just beyond.
"Dayme!" she hailed the largest of the four. "Come see the fish-eyes they hire for guards around here!"
Coming to his mistress's side, Dayme laid a hand on the pommel of his sword. A nasty grin, not unlike the one Chenaya wore, twisted the comers of his lips. He towered head-and-shoulders above the tallest of the Beysa's men. "Not much to them, is there. Lady?"
Chenaya patted the closest Beysib on the shoulder before she stepped through the concealing silks of her conveyance. "But they're very sweet," she replied.
"Shupansea!" Molin Torchholder raged. His normally reserved and passive face reddened, and he shook- a fist at his niece. "She rules the Beysib people. When will you ever learn to hold your cursed tongue, girl?"
Chenaya muttered an oath. Her father had brought Molin home after concluding the purchase of the estate, and she'd made the mistake of mentioning her exchange with the Beysa. She hadn't had a moment's peace in the past hour. Not even the sanctity of her dressing room gave her reprieve as he followed her through the house, questioning, berating.
She gave him a blistering glare. If the old priest had the balls to invade her chambers, he was going to get an eyeful. She ripped the silken garments from her body with an angry wrench and cast them at his feet.
Molin sputtered and kicked the shredded clothing aside, ignoring her bare flesh. "Damn everything, you spoiled brat!" He grabbed her arm and spun her around when she started to turn away. "You're not in Ranke anymore. You can't lord it over people as you once did. There are different political realities here!"
"Brother," Lowan Vigeles spoke from the threshold, "you are in my house, and you'll speak civilly to my daughter. And you'd best release her arm before she breaks yours."
Molin gave them both a frosty stare, but he abandoned his grip. Chenaya flashed a false smile and moved to one of many chests pushed against the walls. There had been no time to unpack, but she knew the right one and opened it. She pulled out a bundle of garments, finely sewn fighting leathers, and began to dress.
"Brother," Molin began again in a more moderate tone. "Niece. I beg you to trust my judgment in these matters. You're very new to the ways of Sanctuary." He folded his arms and made a show of pacing about the room. "Your news of the Emperor's murder is terrible, indeed."
"The entire royal family," Lowan Vigeles reminded, "at least those within Theron's reach. Chenaya and I barely escaped, and they may hunt us here. You too. Brother."
Molin frowned; then the frown vanished. "That's why we need the Beysib. They will protect Kadakithis. They are completely loyal to Shupansea, and she seems to dote on the Prince these days."
Chenaya shot her father a look; a barely perceptible nod of his head silenced her. "What about the 3rd Commando?" Lowan insisted carefully. "They placed Theron on Ranke's throne, and they know Kadakithis is the legitimate claimant to that throne. Did Theron truly exile them, or are they here to commit another murder?"
Molin frowned again and rubbed his hands. "I know nothing about them, except that they were originally formed by Tempus Thales when he served the Emperor."
Chenaya stomped into a boot. "Tempus!" she spat. "That butcher!"
Molin Torchholder raised an eyebrow. "How many have you slain in the arena since I've been gone, child? For Tempus Thales, death is a matter of war or duty." He looked down his nose at her. "For you, it is a game."
"A game that fattened your own purse," she shot back. "Do you think I don't know about the bets you placed on me?"
He chose to ignore that and turned to her father, extending his hands. "Lowan, trust me. Kadakithis mustn't leam about his brother's death. You know what a young, idealistic fool he is. He would ride straight to Ranke to claim his throne, and Theron would cut him down like late wheat." He turned to Chenaya now, genuine pleading in his voice. "Better to keep him here, safe in Sanctuary, until we can formulate a plan that will give him his birthright."