Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(89)

I look around the area for more bodies. By my count, there should be fifty-one other men.

I take careful steps toward the side of the archway. For some reason, I’m remembering when I first walked through here, feeling frustrated because the walls were too thick to glimpse the throne platform from the outside. Since then, I’d learned it was for defense. So an assassin couldn’t shoot the king from the hallway, but it meant I’d have to rely on my ears now. Something I was well used to. We hold our breath collectively as we all strain to hear something, anything to tell us our family is still alive.

A child whimpers.

I hold a shaking fist to my mouth and share a hopeful glance with Sanjay. My mind races to think of some kind of plan. We need to know what we’re going into, but the odds of being seen on the way to the roof to peer through the hawk’s entrance are high. And who knows who will die while we waste time trying to get a good look?

I motion the others to retreat to a branching hallway.

“I’m going in first,” I say. “We need to know more before engaging them. I’ll enter alone. Listen carefully to what I say; I’ll try and pass on any information I can without raising their suspicions. If there are too many, you’ll need to think of another plan. Maybe the Elite can be lured to the training yard and shot.”

Malir swallows. “The king will have my head if I let you go in by yourself.”

I grin without humor. “Malir, you’ve seen me fight. You know Jovan trusts my judgment. And you’ll be joining me soon. We keep the element of surprise.” He recognizes this as an order and gives a short nod. I draw out my veil from beneath my tunic, shaking it out.

“You won’t be able to see with your veil on,” Olandon says.

“It won’t be an issue,” I reply. “I have to go in with the veil on or they’ll kill me straightaway. Be ready. I have no doubt this will end in bloodshed.” I peer into the eyes of the men, all of them loyal friends.

I look into my Olandon’s last. “There’s fire in your eyes, brother,” I note with a grim smile.

“And there is ice in yours,” he replies.

I nod to the others and place the veil over my head. I needed to stall the Elite to gather information from them. The sight of the Tatuma would make them pause.

“Wait for my word unless they kill me immediately,” I instruct.

“Be careful, girly,” Ice says.

I straighten, blinking until I can make out the corner of the hall we huddle in. Then, leaving the men behind me, I skim to the archway with soft steps. I think about what awaits me on the other side and my body begins to hum.

I am the Tatuma of Osolis and I’m going to protect my enemies against my own people.

I pass beneath the thick curved entrance into the food hall, shoulders straight and steps measured. My senses are focused. My ears pick up the gasps and screams of a large group of people. The pitch is high. The sound of women or children. Relief settles in my bones. At least some still have their lives. The sounds are coming from the far back of the food hall in the area where the watch usually sit, farthest from the throne platform.

Most of my attention is on the remainder of the room. More specifically, the whir of a released arrow.

The whir doesn’t come. But a voice does. One I’ve hated.

“This is indeed a surprise, Tatuma Olina. I am glad you are faring well. We have feared you a prisoner or dead this last half-revolution.” Hare’s voice carries across the room. My torturer.

Jovan’s deep tones ring in my ears saying, “Bullshit.” If only that were the way the game was played on Osolis.

“Indeed, Hare,” I say in a cool, detached way. “You will be pleased to deliver favorable news to my mother.” I hide my snort of disgust and continue. “I know the Tatum’s army lies in wait on the Oscala, but I did not expect the Elite here.” I keep my head facing to his voice as I peek side to side. There are at least seven outlines. And I’ve heard the brush of feet on stone. I don’t know if there are more Elite or if it’s the women and children shuffling in fright.

“We came here to slaughter the king’s assembly,” he calls back. His honesty surprises me. I wonder what he expects my reaction to be. Keep him talking, Olina.

“Cassius was always fond of Tatum Ronsin’s tactics. However, you’re lucky I arrived before you had time to follow his orders,” I say demurely. My measured stride through the hall continues. My heart sinks as I do. There are more than twelve here. Drummond was right. Either the Elite has grown, or they’ve brought reinforcements.

“Luck is an interesting choice of word, Tatuma,” he says, slighting me by omitting my name at the end of my title.

I chuckle. “You are brave to insult me, Elite. Or stupid. Either way, it tells me a great deal about your orders.” The soldier stiffens, no doubt angry at giving himself away.

“How was my mother when you last saw her?” I gasp and cover my mouth as the man jerks. “Forgive me, Hare; I hope I have not offended your delicate sensibilities with a question. I’ve been too long on Glacium and my Solati mannerisms suffer from disuse.” Questions were the height of bad manners.

“Your mother thrives, as always. Strong and beautiful.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. “No doubt you stress the word beautiful because of the veil I wear.” A child begins to cry behind me. I wave an arm in the air as I sidestep so my back is to the benches instead of the women and children. If they shoot me, I don’t want to dodge the arrow only to have it hit one of the terrified Bruma behind me instead.