Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
But I can't talk to Maeve. Not right now. I have to go meet my brother.
I take a deep breath and continue down the hall, towards the bridge. Lord Straik is there, seated at a station and talking with Kazex, Aithar and Sakkar who cluster nearby. They stop talking the moment I enter the bridge, and Straik gets to his feet. "Are you ready to do this?"
"Ready as I'll ever be." It feels a bit like I'm walking to my own funeral. Perhaps I am.
Straik gives me an assessing look, no doubt noticing how I haven't changed my clothing. That I'm not bothering to dress up to impress my brother. "How many guards do you want me to send with you?"
I shake my head. "No guards. I told him it would be a parlay and I meant it. I will approach my brother with open hands."
Straik rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as if it pains him. "Look, I get wanting to be honorable, but I also know a thing or two about power-hungry family members. It's not crossing a line to protect your tail. It's common sense. You think he's going to show up alone?"
I hesitate. "No, I do not think that."
"Then I'm sending two guards with you." He gestures at Kazex and Aithar, who looks rather young and reminds me of one of the custodians back at Port. "I'll keep my medic on alert in case your brother tries anything, and we'll have the ship ready to go at a moment's notice. I've already paid the docking fees so we can head out the moment things go sour. Are you meeting him at a public place?"
"Marketplace," I answer. "A pickle vendor."
"Good. Stay in public. He's not going to want to slaughter you in front of a thousand onlookers."
Lord Straik does not know my brother very well. I could absolutely see Rem doing something like that. "If I don't come back, will you make sure that Maeve is taken care of? I do not want my brother to know anything of her. I want her to be free to live her life."
The mesakkah lord nods. "If you don't come back, we'll bribe whoever we need to back on Risda to make all records of you disappear."
I'm satisfied with that. Closing my eyes, I take a steeling breath and say, "I'm ready to meet my brother."
CHAPTER
ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN
ZHUR
My brother stands out amongst the people of Haal Ui. Most of the milling crowd is dressed in casual, nondescript clothing of varying layers. Stations are notorious for being drippy and either humid and warm, or too chilly—hence the layers. Everyone dresses down on a station because the last thing you want is to make yourself a target for thieves.
Everyone except Remrrrtel.
My brother wears stark black with a stark black cape tossed across his shoulders, the inside of it an equally somber gray. Military medals adorn his sleeves and his boots have a ridiculous shine, as does his belt buckle. His posture is stiff and alert, and his expression is as cold and remote as I remember.
He stands in the midst of the busy market located in the center of Haal Ui and people actually swerve to go around him. There's an island of space around him and his lone bodyguard, as if no one wants to dare to get near.
I stride toward him, Kazex and Aithar at my back. The two a'ani wear plain uniforms, so it's not obvious what ship they serve upon. They're armed, too, but not visibly. I'm not armed at all. If my brother wanted to kill me at this parlay, I'd have been dead before I stepped foot into the marketplace. It's a good sign that I'm not.
It's an even better sign that Rem carries no weapons of his own.
His expression doesn't change as he lays eyes on me, nor does his tail twitch. Rem gives away nothing as I approach, but that's no surprise. My brother has always been remote and difficult to reach.
"Rem," I say, approaching the pickle stand.
"You're orange." Rem's expression doesn't change.
"You're a usurper," I shoot back, keeping my expression just as casual.
He doesn't blink. "You wanted this parlay. Speak your piece."
I move toward a table in the midst of the busy semi-circle of food stalls. The table I pick is covered with someone else's leftover foodstuffs, a greasy wrapper left behind. I flick it aside, then settle into my seat, indicating he should sit with me.
Rem flings his cape out as he sits, his shoulders back, his posture stiff. I can feel rather than see my two a'ani guards flanking me a few steps behind my chair. Rem's brought Cor with him, a massive bruiser with jet-black fur and a scarred ear. Cor has always been my brother's guard, and I know he's worth ten men. Rem is well protected...which isn't surprising. What is surprising is how much interest our small group is garnering. Rem doesn't blend. Neither does Cor. Their clothing is stark but immaculate, and the way they carry themselves lends an ominous air to things.