The Slave City_Steampunk, humour, and adventure by Celine Jeanjean

Author:Celine Jeanjean [Jeanjean, Celine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lotus Press
Published: 2019-01-31T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 36

Jabir was sweating profusely by the time they left the throne room. He fancied he could still feel the Seneschal’s gaze on him, like hot coals boring into his back.

He heard footsteps behind them, and he knew without looking that it was the Seneschal. His gut twisted with panic. His one hope was that the Seneschal would still need him to get Cruikshank and Adelma. And when Jabir got his hands on the two women, he would make them regret messing up his plans.

“My apologies for what happened just now,” the Seneschal said as he reached their little group.

His voice was soft and so low it didn’t echo against the marble. It gave the odd impression that he was a part of the palace while everyone else was intruding.

“As wise and benevolent as our leader is, he can sometimes be… volatile. His Radiance didn’t really mean what he said. You are honoured guests of Azyr, and His Radiance wishes for you to continue enjoying your stay in our wonderful city. Please have no concern about your safety, and give no more thought to all this nonsense about spying. You are still free to visit the palace if you wish, but you aren’t expected to do any kind of report, and of course, none of it will be construed as anything other than a visit to one of the world’s greatest palaces. For now,” the Seneschal continued pleasantly, “I need to have a word with Jabir, if you don’t mind.”

Jabir’s bowels turned to water.

“Of course,” Reheeme said. Her face betrayed nothing, but Jabir knew she would be burning to know what that was about. And suspicious. Not that it would matter if he couldn’t survive his interview with the Seneschal.

Jabir followed the Seneschal, not looking back. He felt as though his entire world were unravelling beneath his feet so that soon he would be falling, falling down into the abyss. He had to find a way out, and quickly.

As he followed the Seneschal, his mouth grew dryer, which made it tricky to answer the Seneschal’s polite chitchat. By the time they reached the Seneschal’s office, Jabir was so tightly wound that his shoulders and neck felt like they had fused into one painfully tense mass.

The Seneschal took a seat, gesturing for Jabir to take the chair opposite him. Slaves brought tea-making implements, and the Seneschal prepared the tea himself, his long, spindly fingers moving dexterously.

Jabir found himself wishing he had left Reheeme alone to conduct her rebellion. It would have failed, quietly fizzling out. He might not have gained a place on the Council, but he would be alive and well. Instead, he had overreached himself, grasping for a position and money and power, and he was on a knife’s edge, about to lose everything. He had to pull himself together. He had to be calm and assertive, show the Seneschal he was someone to be respected, not a fool who had just failed on a momentous scale.

Jabir realised the Seneschal was watching from beneath hooded lids, and a jolt of fear stabbed through him.

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