The High King's Embalmer

By S. Copperstone

On a planet very much like Earth, Jibade, the royal family’s shape-shifting embalmer, is intent on finding those behind the assassination attempts of the family. To further complicate things, he is kidnapped by bounty hunters, escapes, but finds himself hunted by the king’s own men. Can he find the source behind the deaths before the heirs of the family are extinguished?

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. Copperstone
• Release date: Jul 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311462718

S. Copperstone

S. Copperstone has been writing unusual things for many years. She lives with a cat named Hobbit, who insists on sitting on her lap during her writing time. Samples of her work can be found at Bygone Era Books, LTD "Bittersweet Tavern", on Amazon: "The High King's Embalmer", Jukepop Serials’ web serial entitled, “Two Bits,” (December 2013 to present), and “The Chest,” published in the print edition of the Static Movement anthology, (Liquid Imagination Publishing) 2009, among other places.

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The High King’s Embalmer

by S. Copperstone

Smashwords Edition

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to business establishments, events, locales or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

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The High King’s Embalmer by S. Copperstone

Copyright @ 2014 S. Copperstone

Cover design by Joshua Pomeroy of the Pomeroy Creative Group

Published by S. Copperstone

The High King’s Embalmer

Jibade, the royal family’s shape-shifting embalmer, is intent on finding those behind the assassination attempts on the royal family. To further complicate things, he is kidnapped by bounty hunters, escapes, but finds himself hunted by the king’s own men. Can he find the source behind the deaths before the heirs of the family are extinguished?

Preface

The High King’s Embalmer blossomed from one novel I wrote so many years ago, to gradually morphing into another.

The original novel changed after memories surfaced of a visit to the ROM (Royal Ontario Museum) in Toronto, Ontario, many years ago, and viewing the Ancient Egyptian exhibit. It bothered me to see the mummies on display, and yet I couldn’t look away. These were once living people, with families, friends, enemies, hopes and fears. I wondered how it would feel if, a thousand years from today, archaeologists found our deceased and placed them on display in a museum. It’s a good thing to preserve the past, but I also believe it’s wrong to desecrate a grave. Contradictory, I know (my opinions are my own). By desecrate, I am referring to separating the belongings and items that were buried or placed with the deceased—grave robbing in the most simplest context. It was their belief that the dead needed these items in the afterlife, or when they came back again.

In the novel, Jibade has a deep respect for the dead, even as a heart-eater. Kingdoms were founded on the importance of preserving the dead for the afterlife and because of this Jibade and his father were once revered and cherished by the humans.

— S. Copperstone

The Scorpion and the Frog

A scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a stream and the scorpion asks the frog to carry him across on its back. The frog asks, How do I know you won’t sting me? The scorpion says, Because if I do, I will die too. The frog is satisfied, and they set out, but in midstream, the scorpion stings the frog. The frog feels the onset of paralysis and starts to sink, knowing they both will drown, but has just enough time to gasp, Why? Replies the scorpion: It’s my nature...

—Aesop’s Fables

Chapter 1

My master posed a riddle for Podargos, the citrus farmer from Kamusta. It was a death sentence whether he realized it or not. The king enjoyed exterminating his subjects over minuscule issues, and I was happy to oblige.

To blend into the shadows cast by the weeping palms, I darkened the pigment of my skin, then leaned against the stone wall to be nearer to Podargos. The act of translating his unusual Kamustan dialect into the complex nuances of my native telepathic-pictographic language proved to be energy-consuming. Searching for hidden meanings and listening to the rest of the guests without their knowledge spent most of my attention. The citrus farmer had an unusual pattern in his aura. He was hiding something from the king.

My fingers brushed against the black linen kilt that wrapped around my hips as my hand rested lightly on the carved, bone handle of my knife. Each pulse of Podargos’ heart stirred a deeper growing hunger in my stomach. The king had promised me a heart earlier that week. I had assumed it would have been Podargos’. Instead, he toyed with the man. It had been a while since I tasted a living human heart. I’d gladly take the one belonging to Podargos.

I recalled from the guards’ chatter that Podargos was a self-proclaimed overlord and tax collector of the peasant farmers. He had developed a habit of creating the pretense that he was a cultured man worthy enough to obtain a coveted dinner invitation from the king. But, it was also said he had grown disgusted with Triton, and found the current royal leadership of Cardia offensive. Everyone suspected he had sent a death threat to the king, anonymously.

A sip of His Most Royal Majesty’s finest Cardia Proper water please, before I answer? Podargos asked nervously.

Fine, take your time, Triton, King of Cardia, wiped his brow with a linen cloth. Have some wine. We have all evening.

Several of the after-dinner guests laughed apprehensively.

The hired servant bowed before the king. With great skill and practice, he did not tip the tray of empty wine glasses, not even a rattle quaked from the movement. He turned and approached Podargos, who took a glass with a nod. The servant then turned away to enter the palace.

My canine ears pivoted in the direction of the servant’s exit. He spoke to someone inside about the personal suffering he endured of having to serve the king with such unattainable perfection. I lost interest and returned my attention to the citrus farmer.

Despite my hunger, it was not the time. I could use Podargos to humiliate the king without his knowing I was the source. Triton was not my true master, and I held no great love for him.

I closed my eyes a moment to welcome the faint warmth from the fading sun. It eroded the chilly anxiety that had fallen over the dinner party invitees. My sensitive nose struggled to ignore the lingering aromas from the meal recently served that mixed with the sulfuric odors from the war taking place beyond the courtyard walls. I opened my eyes to scan each human in attendance, searching the auras for the slightest sign of offense against the king. Despite my feelings regarding the king, I was obligated to serve him. His ancestors’ blood also ran through my veins. They had saved me from death.

Podargos sipped from his glass, but his stare roved over the gardens. He searched for his famed bodyguards from Kamusta amongst the king’s dinner guests. They had disappeared, vanished as people tended to do in Cardia Proper, even I didn’t know what became of them.

Perhaps you need the question repeated? the king asked with a tired voice. His fever was taking its toll despite his excellent achievement of hiding his sickness. Maybe inspiration will come to you, Podargos.

Sire?

Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet.

Perhaps the children of the former high king would— Podargos said, stalling for time.

Enough! Answer the riddle.

Yes, Your Majesty. Podargos inhaled a deep breath as his nervous gaze shifted from one high-society visitor to another.

The citrus farmer had surprised me with that remark. With such a blatant lack of respect for King Triton, Podargos had planted the seed without my mental prodding. He had given everyone a reminder that his twin brother still had living heirs, and that the king would not gain the highest title as long as they lived—unless he could convince the courts otherwise.

Is His Majesty feeling better? Podargos asked. I heard His Majesty had been feeling under the weather.

That was a secret. The citrus farmer had my complete attention. I focused on him, and him alone.

My Majesty is waiting for the answer. From death comes sweetness; from the devourer a home is made; from bones and hide a civilization thrives, the king said. "Come now, Podargos, you know the cycle of nature; the spring tides and autumn monsoons.

You stated on this very eve that you claimed knowledge of the ancient books of wisdom, and of the words spoken only amongst the embalmer priests of his kind, regarding the dead. Triton nodded in my direction.

I stepped away from the wall to be amongst them, but always apart. A change came over the ambiance of the soirée. Silence gorged itself on the formerly elated conversations. The responses that followed the king’s revelation of my presence came in gasps and hushed whispers. Faces turned and gawked at me.

Two prevalent emotions surfaced from those who knew of me: hatred and fear. My presence within the king’s household had been hearsay. They knew Triton had acquired me, but few had seen me. The king kept me busy embalming in the cellar. Everyone knew what I was capable of.

Choosing my native form heightened my senses and allowed me to read the emotions and auras of the guests. It did nothing to remove the fear that it invoked in humans. They knew me as an alien-creature who communicated with the dead, one of the rarer ouHor Kem who could sense an approaching death. It wasn’t magic, although humans believed so in the past. My sensitivity was higher than most.

Podargos swallowed hard and sweat formed on his brow. Self-importance gave way to nervous fear. The odor nearly suffocated me though I was a dozen paces away.

OuHor Kem! I did not know that rabid, jackal-thing was here. He choked out the words so low. I doubted any human heard.

A thing I was not. Rabid? Hardly.

Humans needed to name things, to classify everything. My kind had no need to name ourselves. Humans referred to us in an ancient dialect which meant: Death Dog, or the Black Dog, so named for the coal-black shores of the River, the fertile blackest of soils, and the ebony wood which grew nearby; for our frequent visits to the dead’s resting places. Other shifters of my species loved to feed off the dead’s remains, but it happened rarely. I preferred the fresher, living sort. It was much tastier.

Despite my dislike for this simple man, and my abhorrence of being called a thing, I still wanted to use him at that moment. If I could plant a thought into his brain without his noticing, an easy answer to the king’s riddle...

Come closer, Podargos of Kamusta. My Majesty may not be able to hear you correctly and I’m certain you would not want me to misunderstand your answer, King Triton said as he leaned forward in his blue wicker chair.

The king acted like the pharaohs and kings of old. I recalled how they also addressed themselves in such a manner.

Instead, the citrus farmer inched toward the gate as if prepared to make an escape. A fruitless gesture. The king’s men blocked the exit. Their weapons would shatter his femurs before he ran three paces.

My elbow brushed against the citrus grower as I passed him on the way to the veranda where the king sat. From that touch, an electrical charge surged through my body.

Podargos glanced at me with a blank expression as I spoke telepathically into his head—an ability I rarely used on humans. Most humans’ thoughts were a jumbled mess I could not figure out. As his was no different, I made a special effort to try.

Braver now, Podargos stepped forward. Through his lips came the words:

O wise and noble master. Your greatness shines from the deserts and rain forests of Cardia, to the rolling, verdant hills of the island of Kamusta, and down to the plateaus and dry mountains of the southern lands. Your riddle is hard, and yet, familiar to those who know the greatness of such poetry. My hesitation was due to the choice offered to me. We are a simpler people on Kamusta. Our language is not as poetic and lyrical.

Hmmph. King Triton swirled ice cubes in his glass. He nodded for Podargos to continue, but raised an eyebrow in my direction.

I slowed my breathing to calm Podargos’ thoughts, revealing none of my intentions to the king.

I was momentarily confused, the citrus grower said, for as His Majesty stated earlier said during his fabulous dinner, I know few things.

Nervous laughter erupted from the guests.

In our dialect of Kamusta, I say this: Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweet... Podargos said after the laughter tapered off.

The telepathic link was lost from a distraction on my part. An aura-less human entered the gardens without hindrance from the king’s men. I suspected he was the king’s war counselor as that energy of authority followed him.

Most sorry, Sire, Podargos said after a struggle. I lost my train of thought. To cover his sudden lack of infused knowledge, he choked and coughed. He cleared his throat and finished his drink.

Stalling again? the king asked under his breath. So far, you’ve told me nothing.

Please Sire if I may, I shall now continue.

To assist Podargos in his recovery, I provided another clue into his thoughts.

The answer is from the scriptures. Nothing is stronger than a lion, nor sweeter than honey, Podargos said quickly.

The king was furious. He sat forward in his seat with a scowl. He had wanted the citrus grower dead, but knew some of his guests would never allow that. He needed their support and money. He had promised no one would die at his dinner party if Podargos could answer the riddle.

I smiled inwardly. With Podargos’ life spared, there was to be no assassination that evening. No one needed me. I climbed the plank steps of the veranda, and bowed my head to the king with both wrists crossed over my bare chest. I knelt on one knee before him. Born into slavery on Ocana, it was something I had to do, but, even I had hopes and desires whispered away where no one could find them.

Chapter 2

The last mummy laid neatly in his sarcophagus. Next to his body, I placed the trinkets and personal items his family given him to have in the afterlife. The prayers were painted on the coffin with its flush dovetail joints holding up well and showing no signs of giving way. I finished sealing the outer lid to the coffin with bees’ wax.

Without looking up from my work, the presence of the king’s men, always watching me, was in the back of my mind. They could wait. I glanced at the board hanging on the wall to see who was next. The king had done a wonderful job rallying his wealthier citizens to have their loved ones embalmed in the old manner. It kept me busy for the greater part of the year.

There were no other pending corpses.

His Majesty wants to see you. Enrikos, the one I loathed the most of the two guards, pointed his weapon where my heart resided. In his other hand, he held a small silver cylinder rod with his thumb resting on the on button switch.

Having been zapped enough in my life, I knew it was not a pleasant experience. I nodded and climbed the stairs, sandwiched between the two. I hesitated on top of the landing, halfway up the foot-worn stairs. The unfamiliar human without an aura I had sensed the evening prior joined the royal couple.

Enrikos dug his knuckles into my spine and pressed the silver rod against my upper arm. I’ll turn this on if you don’t move.

I complied, but my curiosity remained on the aura-less human.

The king’s man entered the sitting room. I couldn’t see around him as he blocked my entrance.

Sire, the ouHor Kem, the king’s man said as he shoved me in front of him. He just finished the last body.

Good. Good. We can use the payments instead of another tax hike. I’ve had to raise the prices for his insistence that everyone have the full seventy-days instead of fifteen, King Triton said, or three. And for each to receive three inner coffins plus the outer sarcophagus? Unheard of, and undeserving. Just an extra expense I don’t need. One that no one will know about anyway. He eyed me with disdain as though it was my fault for insisting the commoners receive dignity in the old way.

Who in their right mind would open up the outer sarcophagus to look at their dead? Tell me that, the king said, eying those in attendance with a raised brow. It’s not as though they’ll receive the Opening of the Mouth ceremony.

He shook his head as if I was hopeless. What I had done for the commoners was an old argument he waged with himself. No one else dared speak in objection.

I approached the king and bowed before him on the uneven cobblestone floor. My hands and kilt were smeared with red and white paint from the death masks and coffins. The guards hadn’t given me a chance to wash them before they whisked me upstairs. The king will be displeased.

The king pointed his chin to his right. It was my cue to take my usual place on his right side.

The décor hadn’t changed in the room I rarely entered. It was once the high king’s favorite. A potted palm leaned against the wall of one corner. All the walls of the sitting room consisted of whitewashed stone with few paintings or décor—an obvious contrast between the king and queen.

King Triton sat to the right of his wife, Dorcia. Both wore full regalia and kohl-lined eyes. A headdress of fine white linen sat atop his head. Many gold ornaments and jewelry adorned him: gold collar necklace; armbands; ankle bands; earrings, and rings on each finger. He resembled a pharaoh of olden times. He wasn’t the high king, but preferred to dress the part. Everything about him was formal as though to reinforce who he thought he should be.

The queen was no less impressive in her manner of dressing with many gold, turquoise, carnelian, lapis necklaces, earrings and rings. A thin, silky peach-colored material formed her dress. A black, jasmine-scented wig donned her head with silver beads braided into the hair.

The aura-less man held an informal air of command as he moved away from the doorway opposite the entrance I had entered. The heavy scent of mint and oranges lingered on his tanned skin and his taut physique appeared to be ready for war. He bowed on bent knee before the royal couple.

Life, prosperity and health to you always, Your Majesties, he said. With a perspiring drink in one hand, he rose and wiped the other on his short-sleeved linen shirt. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

The early morning sunlight cast a bright halo around him and I saw my reflection in his lenses: a human-like, athletic physique with a head of the ancient jackal. The skin on my head and neck were the deepest and purest of black pigments. It seemed invisible against the onyx pools of his lenses. The gold rings in my nose and ears glinted, as did the luminance of my eyes.

Glad you could make it, Zephyrinus, the king said.

Ah, so this is him... Zephyrinus, the so-called old friend of the royal family, and the king’s war counselor. It is claimed he possessed psychic abilities. I doubted that, but his lack of an aura intrigued me. Under normal circumstances, not the war counselor, nor anyone, would be allowed near the king with such an informal attitude.

Forgive me. I was detained on another matter, Zephyrinus said.

You are forgiven, Triton said calmly.

Really?

Have a seat. The view’s great, other than the usual debris. Triton pointed to the large window overlooking the bay of Cardia. He indicated the poorer side of Cardia on the outskirts of the fortified city, the working-class fishing village.

Although, I can’t ignore the smoke, the king said, then dramatically covered his nose with his hand. It chokes the pleasant breezes from the sea I do enjoy so much. I don’t know why the battle continues this late into the morning. You must do something about that. I don’t want that noise shaking us out of bed and interrupting our sleep again.

It shall be remedied, Your Majesties. The war counselor took a seat on the king’s left.

Is it true, Your Majesty, that he is half human? Zephyrinus raised his dark glasses to reveal his eyes with a nod of his head in my direction.

So claim his registration papers. I was not there to witness his birth. The king chuckled.

Zephyrinus chuckled, a perfect imitation of the king. Of course not. His Majesty would need to be several dynasties older.

King Triton laughed. Indeed. At least—

I ask because there is nothing human about him, is there? The war counselor eyed me with fleeting curiosity. I find it curious.

He interrupts the king...? No one does this and lives! The war counselor retained my focus.

He does a fine way of avoiding the human form when he can. I find it a bore and an irritation at the same time. His way of rebellion, I suppose. It’s become tiring to repeatedly beat him, or lock him into the human form. My Majesty leaves him as he is.

The topic ended with uncomfortable silence, originating from Zephyrinus.

Strange. He cares about my treatment?

Your Majesties, Zephyrinus said with a nod to both king and queen. We’ve secured some information of interest. His Highness Keos was most successful in his dealings on Kamusta.

Jibade has knowledge of Kamusta, and can locate the twins, the king said with a nod in my direction. Verdonst may be a good place to start.

Zephyrinus nodded. Verdonst is a good place, I agree, Your Majesty. Kamusta...will be more difficult. The native population there, how do I say this delicately?

Rebels? Unappreciative ingrates? Triton said, unaffected. Jibade will accompany you.

My heart sank. If I refused I would be punished. If I was captured for running away, the outcome was little better.

I can’t go against the true heirs to the crown to satisfy King Triton. I can’t jeopardize the twins’ safety. How can I get out of this? The fear was loud in my mind. Any ouHor Kem with telepathic abilities might have heard it. I regretted sending it to the forefront of my thoughts but it was too late to stop it.

Zephyrinus drank from his perspiring glass, eying me over the rim with a raised brow. Unlike the usual reaction of fear most humans had shown me, not even his heart beat increased.

My war counselor will accompany you, Jibade, the king said. Only with him are you allowed safe passage. If you separate, I’m not acknowledging your legal presence to be there. Be sure to go to Verdonst and find this particular fisherman’s wife who may have knowledge of the twins.

She raised the boy, Zephyrinus said calmly. We don’t know where they live or their names, but are aware the boy was brought to village. The girl lives in Ithomorca.

You’ll leave prior to dawn tomorrow morning, the king said to me.

I slowed my breathing to calm my churning stomach. Despite the internal turbulence, I bowed my head in subservience.

Podargos entered the room, and bowed before the king and queen. Life. Health. Your Majesties.

I did not have time to save the citrus farmer’s life again as I had the evening prior. I didn’t bother to try, the citrus farmer was on his own. Whatever the king decided, I would perform.

Have a seat, the king said and wiped at his forehead with a linen cloth. Did you enjoy the breakfast?

Breakfast was delicious, Your Majesty. Podargos avoided looking at me, even though he clearly found my presence unsettling. His adrenalin infused blood nearly sickened me. It was much stronger than yesterday.

You missed a fabulous dinner last night, Zephyrinus, the king said, turning his attention away from Podargos. The stuffed rambutans were delicious. Just the right savoriness, the right amount of leatheriness when you bite into the succulent flesh. Can you believe they are ripe already?

Triton cast the citrus grower a sideways glance as he said, Not at all like that chicken tongue-seeded, withered stuff you sell, Podargos.

The queen looked down her nose at Podargos.

The citrus grower cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eying all in present company, except me. Excuse me, Your Majesties. I had come to believe I would be rewarded for my—

Strange seasons indeed, Your Majesty. The war counselor ignored Podargos. He nodded in my direction.

Expecting trouble, Sire? I meant to ask sooner. His Majesty doesn’t normally summon his embalmer so quickly. It appears he had not the time to wash up.

Triton placed his tea cup on the small table in front of him. No. Not usually.

Where are the others, Sire? Zephyrinus asked.

Others? The guards are at the main gate. Triton directed a stern eye at his war counselor. You haven’t told them to leave, I hope.

No, Sire. They’re at the gate. The maid lets me inside most of the time, that is why I asked.

She has been sent out to the shops, the queen said.

Zephyrinus bowed his head.

The king’s relaxed form tensed. He leaned forward slightly. There was a change in his aura. Anger most prevalent. My ears pitched forward, awaiting his command.

Zephyrinus eyed me with caution. His anticipation is... Forgive me Sire, I have no words.

You have the words. I sent him a telepathic message, speaking into his mind’s ear to test him. His lack of response gave credence to my suspicions that he was a charlatan. I expected as much.

He lives for this, I believe, King Triton said. The hint of a fresh heart is enticing to his primitive ouHor Kem side.

Primitive? Hardly.

We’ve located Prince Marcion. He frequents Ithomorca, Sire. The war counselor sipped on his drink. Ice cubes clattered against his glass. He keeps bodyguards and is unapproachable. The daughter, as I’ve said before, I’ve personally encountered.

It does not matter, Triton said. I will be the next high king and my son will claim the throne after me. Prince Marcion will not be a threat. He waved it away with a flick of a napkin. He finished his drink then dabbed at his lips.

Unlikely.

Your Majesty, I must see to other commitments. The queen excused herself from the room with a final glance at me and at Podargos.

As you wish, Your Majesty, the king said.

All in attendance bowed as she left, except me.

Podargos, you hardly touched your meal this morning. Was it not to your standards? Triton asked.

I am grateful to have been invited to breakfast, but I find—

Something bothers you? Triton asked.

Sire, but...I admit my surprise. Your Majesty, I—

Your answer to my riddle was unexpected. I’m not pleased with the embarrassment in front of my nobles and financial backers last night.

Sire, I apologize, Podargos said. At the time I suspected however, had I chosen to answer, it would have been wrong. Perhaps my answer, whatever I say, still may be. Your ouHor Kem’s presence here confirms that now.

State your allegiance, Podargos.

Sire?

The death threats grow tiresome. There’s a rumor you instigated them. Someone poisoned my oldest son. He’s still in recovery with the best doctors available. Surely you’ve heard about that.

Podargos rubbed sweat from his eyes. His nervous gaze moved between the king and me.

Please, Sire. Call down the ouHor Kem so that I may speak freely of my allegiance.

The king laughed. Jibade stays. You are most... entertaining Podargos.

No Sir. Yes Sire, I...

It rankled me the way the king toyed with the man. Adrenalin infused blood never enhanced the taste.

The king nodded to the guards who flanked the doors.

Who cares for Cardia? Triton’s words slowed and his voice deepened as he spoke. For your orchards and groves on Kamusta?

Your Most Royal Majesty does.

And?

I feel it wouldn’t matter if I lied, Your Majesty. My loyalty remains with the former high king of Ocana and his children. I don’t— Podargos said.

I am to be the next high king. You seem to forget this.

No Sire, I must disagree.

So do I.

Cardia is my territory and as such, homage is be paid to My Majesty, and My Majesty alone. Triton’s irritation rose in his aura and his voice.

Yes, my liege.

I’m pleased with your candor in my presence, and at the same time, appalled Mr. Podargos. The weak assassination attempts are tiresome, Triton said.

Sire, I must plead innocence. I was—

Jibade, take care of this problem.

I expected the terrified man to die before I could have a taste of his living heart. Before the citrus grower realized it, I was behind him. My fingers brushed against the starched linen black kilt wrapped around my hips as I removed the obsidian blade from its sheath. In one swift motion, I reached out, pulled Podargos’ head back by his hair, and slit his throat.

Zephyrinus leaped back with the swiftness of Sobek. In the same motion, he shoved his chair back against the wall.

A tinge of regret filled my thoughts. I had not done enough to keep him alive, to secretly irritate the king. But, I could not refuse the assassination attempts on a member of the royal family who shared my blood. It was Podargos’ life, or mine. The king would never accept my disobedience.

Podargos’ body sprawled across the floor. His hands grasped at his throat, trying in desperation to stop the bleeding. His free hand flailed and grabbed for my ankle.

Executing the citrus grower turned out to be a real party killer. An uncomfortable vibe churned the air, more than the usual tension-filled moments surrounding the king. One of the guards turned his head away with a grimace.

I awaited the king’s approval as I stepped over and off to the side of the citrus grower. Although preferring to cut deeper beyond the trachea, Podargos needed be alive so I could read his blood. Dead blood cells held less information.

Triton’s eyes held a glassy sheen. His fever had worsened and I could not say I was displeased. His charade continued, but he could not hide the sickness from me, not the ashen shade lurking beneath his tanned skin. He was beginning to show the same symptoms his son had taken before his death. I suspected the king had a month left to live unless the physician could perfect the cure. Despite the poisoning, I did not foresee poison as Triton’s demise.

Nonchalant about the dying man at his feet, the war counselor genuflected to the king.

Sire, I’ll return tomorrow morning to collect Jibade, and to speak about my missing servant. I fear he may be lost somewhere on Ithomorca, Zephyrinus said.

Have you informed the auction houses there? Maybe someone’s attempted to sell him?

Yes, Sire. No one admits to having seen him. I’m sure he’ll turn up. I bid His Majesty wellness and my loyalty.

Podargos’ hand whacked against the table leg, knocking water glasses onto the floor. One rolled to come to a rest against a chair leg. The other shattered.

Both guards returned their focus on their duties with blank expressions. Each eyed me with mistrust and repulsion.

Your devotion to the pretender king is admirable and unwarranted, I said telepathically to Zephyrinus.

Finish it, Jibade. He’s overstayed his welcome, the king said. To his guards, he said, You’re not needed. See to the gates.

Zephyrinus cast me a side glance as he approached the doorway with a spark in his eye. Perhaps he had understood.

I knelt beside Podargos, as the guards quickly stepped around us. I held his flailing arm still with my knees, and with a swipe of my knife, beheaded him. I sat back against my heels with closed eyes. Each inhale and exhale of breath pulled in the scent of his blood, immersing myself in the energy. I dipped my finger into the expanding sanguine pool from the citrus grower and tasted it to learn something more about him that I hadn’t seen in his aura. Sour odors lingered in the unhealthy blood.

‘To seek without finding equals a waste of time,’ my father had said in the past.

With intent of not squandering the precious life-force that flowed from Podargos, I agreed.

I cut an incision large enough for my hand to slide under the ribcage, then reached inside to retrieve the thing needed most for my divining and my continued existence, the heart. Blood spurted from the aorta in the palm of my hand. A simple lick followed a nibble. The cooler, arterial blood held less waste and urea, and provided a clearer picture into Podargos’ thought process. Blood cells caressed each papillae of my tongue as I chewed the smooth muscle. A tangy rancid aftertaste overpowered the first. Poison had fouled the citrus farmer’s blood, one not of Ocana... but of some place else. It was a poison I found unrecognizable.

Podargos’ day-to-day life history didn’t hold my attention, but through his eyes I scanned through memories to the day he received the king’s invitation:

His hands shake while he opens the letter with the royal seal of Cards.. Tremors prevented me from reading through his eyes. In the next scene:

A cloaked figure injects a yellow liquid into a bottle of wine and the fruit kept in a basket on the palace kitchen’s counter. The figure retreats out the same door I used earlier to enter the king’s gardens. The citrus grower sees everything and has the opportunity to stop him, instead he ignores the intruder.

There was something familiar about the intruder...he was ouHor Kem.

Podargos had accepted the king’s invitation with intention of using me to speed up the death process, knowing he would die in prison for his involvement in the organized crime on Kamusta.

I opened my eyes. The citrus grower from Kamusta was more cunning than I had suspected.

The king leaned back in his chair. His cold, dark eyes focused on me.

Well Jibade? Is it finished? You insisted I invite Podargos. You said he was the one behind my son’s future death. And mine as well. Was your divining correct?

Chapter 3

The shape of my tongue did not allow me to speak the king’s language in my native form. I wiped my mouth and chin, took a breath, and transformed into full human form. During the shift, my concentration reached its peak, and a warmth spread through my tepid blood. I willed the color of the skin on my head and neck to resemble my master’s golden tone. My canine ears diminished and morphed to human. Each pull and withdraw of the ligaments and bones required complete knowledge of cellular control. The deep primal urge to take a bite of every living human in the room surged, but I had to rein it in.

It is a poison, I said as I massaged my cheeks to ease the ache in my jaws from the transformation. That is why nothing I gave His Majesty had eased his ill—

What are you saying? You were there, Jibade, the king said with the volume of his voice rising by the second. "You had tasted all the food, then as now, and still my son is gravely ill. And now you say I have this poison in me? What else did you say? You said my death would be quick, yes. Did you not say that you could prevent it and I would live a long life in the same breath? You said my son would pull through his illness. You know the outcome of that. How can I believe my outcome will not be the