Chương 24: 23 The Obsidian Tower

Hot steel bit into my wrists, the dry air digging into my lungs as I walked. I kept my eyes down. The rashes on my arms had started protruding, turning rough as pumice. The longer I stayed, the worse the rashes would become. The closer they came to their natural form, the less oppressive the heat felt.

"Too dejected," Samirah, the Queen's chief attendant, murmured behind me.

"You're a palace slave, not a war prisoner." I lifted my head, but it felt wrong considering the shackles. Bianca walked beside me, eyes level, expression neutral. She had assumed her cracked, darkened form, resistant to the heat. It didn't matter that the chains were fake. Seeing her in them ignited something venomous within me. She caught my gaze and nodded once. My loose sandals slapped against the stone as we passed another pair of Vulcans standing at attention, lances held upright.

I glanced over the edge of the bridge, gut tightening at the orange glow that flowed beneath. Heat waves danced over the moat of lava. My fingers curled against the cuffs. It felt like a fire giant was kneeling on my chest.

"There's a latch near each cuff," Samirah said quietly from behind.

"Press one, and the restraints will spring open. Don't bump it prematurely, or else I'll get you real chains." I counted the sentries on pedestals lined along the bridge at regular intervals. Ten per side, Vulcans with breastplates, brass caps, shields, and spears. Twenty. My last fight with a Vulcan flashed through my mind. One warrior. I wouldn't have beaten him if not for Naomi's intervention.

"You remember where the lamp is, pirates?" Samirah murmured.

"We remember," I assured her, voice low.

"We just need brands to bypass security."

"You'll be presented to the Sultan first," Samirah said.

"If he accepts you, we'll have you properly marked. They'll begin initiation, and you'll make your move when a clear path presents itself."

"Initiation?" Bianca asked, her neck muscles tensing.

"You'll be tested for obedience. Depending on how you perform, you could be flogged, starved for a few days, then healed. His majesty likes to give his pets a taste of disobedience." Great. I flexed my hands, exhaling forcefully, but I couldn't slow my racing heart. A distant volcano rumbled, and specks of black ash started drifting down like an inversion of snow. I glanced up. Twelve or so carpets darted and swooped at various levels of the spire.

A young Efreet streaked by on a small one, gripping the corners and leaning into the turns. A freighter carpet as wide as a ship's deck docked at a balcony while figures rushed to unload cargo.

"Eyes level," Samirah warned, prodding my shoulder. Her touch caused a swell of warmth in my tunic. Dual black doors hung open, and they seemed to widen as we approached. The chains clinked as I shifted, fighting a wave of nausea. Bianca peered at me, lips pressed to a tight line. I wanted to send her a message. Reassure her over my terminal. I didn't know what to say, and I was probably the only one losing my cool. I glanced at my mana counter. At level six, I only had thirty mana. I had to be frugal.

We stepped through the yawning doorway and into the obsidian tower. Vertigo hit instantly, my mind grasping at the details, trying to put the picture together. An open shaft yawned through the tower's core. Half a dozen lifts and counterweights rose and descended to the various levels. A squad of Primord Fire Troopers marched with parade precision on the base floor, rifles braced against their shoulders as an officer barked orders.

Other palace slaves rushed across the main level, toward servants' corridors and stairs that vanished into chambers built into the tower's ring-shaped core. Most of the slaves on this level looked like Coredwarves, trailing smoke from tiny horns on their brows. Samirah led us to a lift that already held two Primords in scrivener's robes waiting to go up. They recognized her instantly, bowed, and stepped off. She nodded to a lift manager, and the world lurched as we ascended.

I turned to get a good look at our escort. She stood, nearly seven feet tall, red skin flashing through a slit in her skirt and bare arms. Ash drifted from her shoulders, and a circular halo of shimmering heat blurred the air behind her head.

"They're not allowed to ride the lift with you?" I asked, trying to calm my mind.

"They could," she purred, eyes blazing.

"They just know who I am." Floors rushed past us, ring-shaped galleries blurring together. I watched the cables descend and rise, studying the mechanisms and working out the basics of how they functioned.

"Let me remind you," Samirah warned.

"If you are discovered, you will be disavowed, tortured, interrogated, and executed. No doubt you'll be tempted to allow my name to pass your lips when you're under the questioner's lash—don't. I have protections in place; your confession won't save you when I'm the one who flays you."

"I thought you wanted us not to talk," I said.

"Don't threaten me with a second date." Bianca rolled her eyes. Samirah's eye twitched, then she smiled.

"Confident, are you, thief? I admire that."

"Hey," Bianca cut in.

"We've heard there's a Bloodwake Exploit in Obcity. Someone called the Auditor?" Samirah's gaze slid to Bianca. Her grimace reminded us that even though she was our contact, she was not our ally.

"The Auditor's not here for pirates. He's here for Cousins from Paradise. He spends most of his time watching the docks." I forced my face to remain blank. We probably wouldn't run into the Auditor here. That was good. Captain Snapfist's pirates at the docks? Ourabora be with them. My lips pursed as a new realization pricked my mind. How did they know we were Cousins? The lift began slowing before it came to a stop at the top floor of the hollow center, about three-quarters of the way up the tower's total height.

We'd use a different lift network to access the throne room. Samirah swept off the platform, Primords bowing as she passed. We hurried after her.

"Samirah, darling, is that you?" Samirah froze, turning.

"Ignara?" An Efreet drifted over, half a dozen Vulcan slaves following her with heat lamps. The newcomer's flowing burgundy gown exposed her shoulders, revealing the yellow ripples in her ash-grey skin. I tried my best to melt into the background.

"Ignara? When did you get to Obcity?"

"Less than three hours ago," Ignara said, clapping her hands together and bobbing from foot to foot. The posture made me think of my sister meeting with her school friends after summer break.

"How was the flight?" Samirah asked, waving us back dismissively. Ignara shrugged, her slaves closing in around her, holding the heat lamps close.

"We had to fly around an eruption, but the carpet was fast enough. I say, there's a certain mood here today, everyone walking like they're barefoot on chipped glass." Samirah glanced around before lowering her voice.

"The Auditor's here." Ignara laughed, clapping her hands with glee.

"The Auditor, for whom? Tell me you haven't been conspiring or cheating the books to elevate your position?" I bit my lip, not looking but straining my ears to hear.

"No, it's not me," Samirah said.

"It's—" she cut off.

"Oh, darling, you can't tease me like that," Ignara said playfully, touching Samirah's wrist.

"Now leak. I want to know everything." The edges of Samirah's eyes tightened.

"Not for free, you don't." Ignara pursed her lips.

"Samirah, you wound me. Is our friendship really so transactional?"

"It's the Ash Lords' Court," Samirah said.

"Everything's transactional."

"My, my," Ignara's words came out playful, almost flirtatious, as her eyes glittered.

"Your time here has made you sharp." Samirah simply shrugged.

"Very well," Ignara sighed as if she were parting with gold coins in exchange for a cheap drink.

"I'm operating the weapons forges in Incindra. I have the best working under me. Alras, Verinder, Rutwin…" I flinched, chains clinking. Rutwin—the dwarf. Uncle Lance's party member. For a moment, I was back in Orabora's white void, watching as she showed me his fall from Paradise. I glanced up to find Ignara's eyes on me, no doubt drawn by my sudden reaction. She continued spilling court rumors, but her eyes never left me. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

I swallowed, staring at my feet.

"... Two thousand new Inferno-13 Rifles. With the new levies, we're expecting two new battalions of field troops."

"Do you have a timeline?" Samirah asked, eagerness touching her words.

"When do we march on Paradise?" This time, it was Bianca who glanced up. My mind whirled. New armies, marching on Paradise?

"Now, now," Ignara chided.

"I showed you my lamp, show me yours." Samirah watched a Primord dignitary pass by, then lowered her head and dropped her voice.

"We have Cousins in Obcity." Ignara's eyes went wide. I'd no doubt be sweating heavily if it hadn't already dried up.

"Cousins? My dear, whatever for?"

"They tried to steal orange steel from the Sultan's refineries. They failed. The Auditor seems to believe they'll return. He's already identified the Registrar who removed the bars from the records."

"How's the interrogation?" Ignara asked, a cruel tinge spicing her words.

"He hasn't been apprehended yet," Samirah said.

"The fool signed to have the steel loaded on a ship. Then he vanished. The Jet Lamp secret police are investigating it now."

"You think these Cousins are foolish enough to try and reclaim their bounty?" Ignara asked, plucking at an elongated tooth.

"They'll have to," Samirah said.

"The bait's too sweet. The Auditor had the bars loaded on a ship ready to sail. They'll swing in, and the Auditor will take care of them personally." I shifted a shackle so it wouldn't dig into my wrist. This wasn't going to work. Snapfist was doomed. Unless Naomi and Ingred could pull off a really good distraction, we needed a new plan.

"And what are these?" Ignara asked, glancing past Samirah at us.

"Exotic. Are you selling them?"

"A gift from the Queen, to the Sultan," Samirah said.

"For his collection."

"That so?" Ignara strode past Samirah, her slaves trailing her. My shoulders tensed. Her marbled grey and yellow finger drifted down, tilting my chin up. I shied back, her skin feeling like a pot fresh from the stove.

"Ah, yes." She pinched Bianca's chin and tipped her face up.

"What are they? The male is partially human, but this one?"

"Expensive," Samirah said.

"That's what they are. Collectibles. So if you'd please." She redirected Ignara's wrist, pulling her fingers from my chin. I rubbed the skin where her touch had left a prickling sting. Ignara leaned down.

"Not even branded yet? Samirah, you're sure you don't have more of them?"" I don't have any of them," Samirah said pointedly.

"They belong to the Queen." Ignara straightened and sighed.

"Be glad, little collectibles." It took me a moment to realize she was speaking to us.

"Things could be worse," she grinned, a predatory display of teeth.

"Some slaves are used for ugly tasks. Utilized until worn out, then discarded. You? You get to be display pieces. Make sure you don't break. Glass, once chipped, rarely gets to stay on the shelf." Was I supposed to answer? What was the protocol? I shrugged.

"You lot should be careful. Broken glass is sharp." Her eyes widened, then her grin widened.

"My, the Sultan will love domesticating this one."

"Speaking of which." Samirah grasped my arm tightly.

"I'm expected. Don't go too far, Ignara. We need to chat." I stole a final glance back at the ash and yellow Efreet, and she wagged her fingers at me. Samirah led us to a much smaller lift. My mind hurried. In simple gossip, we'd caught glimpses of Scorched Rock's plans. Was this an opportunity to gather proper intelligence? I cleared my throat as the lift rose, much slower this time.

"Scorched Rock isn't going to go to war with Paradise," I said. Samirah's gaze snapped to me, a look that she'd probably reserve for an actual slave.

"What do you know, pirate?" she growled, rising to my bait. I shrugged.

"Posturing. Paradise and the Wake have rattled sabers at each other for as long as anyone could remember. There's never been a kinetic war, and there never will." She sneered.

"So certain are you, Sailor? What do you know about oceanic politics?"

"It's always the same," I said casually.

"Paradise this, Wake that. You watch, they'll have another peaceful summer, then another year of them pouting on their islands."

"Don't be so sure," she said, lip curling.

"Things are different."

"That's what they always say," I shrugged. Her eye twitched, the urge to correct me taking over.

"So arrogant," she said, genuine irritation biting through.

"Well, what about the crack in the sky? That's new. And Granduncle is dying." Her leer shifted into a grin when she saw the look on my face.

"Didn't know that, did you? I sit in on all of the high councils. I know more than you could ever hope to glean from tavern gossip."

"Dying?" I choked, shaking my head.

"That's not possible."

"Yes, it is," she gloated.

"Puppetmaster stabbed him with a legendary artifact. What was it called? Prisoner's—" she searched for words.

"Retaliation," the word slipped through my lips, ice creeping down my spine. My eyes flickered to the corner of my HUD where a quest notification hovered. <<System Message: High Family Quest: Recover the cursed artifact Prisoner's Retaliation from Puppetmaster. Return the handle to Granduncle>> <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 02: 01: 06: 54: 09>> Puppetmaster. Heat flushed my face. Granduncle was dying, and it was his fault. I suddenly became aware of Samirah staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"How did you know it was called Prisoner's Retaliation?" A chill made my hackles rise. That wasn't information a pirate would have. Bianca cut in abruptly.

"Everyone knows about Prisoner's Retaliation. I've heard about it at Raft Town, at Los Colmillos, even once at Terra Slab." She shrugged.

"They say it's an axe."

"Dagger," Samirah corrected, happy to be the one with superior intel.

"As the poison spreads through Granduncle, the seal will degrade, the crack in the sky will lengthen. So no, it's not posturing. The war is here, and we're going to win." I lowered my head, staring at my toes. So many implications, too many missing pieces. Samirah continued.

"Then there's Krathic-Thar's new Vizor—Puppetmaster. Seems the Drake-kin is making a name for himself." My mind flashed back to that night—the night my father, the traitor, went missing. The night Puppetmaster had shown up at our door to drag my sister and me back to the Bloodwake. Lightning flashed, and Puppetmaster gripped my wrist with his clawed talon. Elena shrieked at him, pounding on his other hand with her fist. My mother sagged against the doorframe, head slumped.

"Come on!" Puppetmaster hissed, dragging my sister and me along. Fear compelled me to follow. Thunder cracked, and a figure appeared in the downpour, his neck slick with blood. I thought it was my dad. I almost called out to him. Another flash ignited the storm, lighting up Lance Coralfin's Primord-red skin.

"Let them go, Vittorio!" Lance snarled. Liquid gold wrapped around his arm, solidifying into a trident in his hand. I blinked, and I was back in the moment, my hand rubbing the wrist that he had held all those years ago. The lift continued to rumble. Bianca stroked her chin.

"I heard Puppetmaster had fallen out of favor with the Bloodwake."

"Poor little pirates, always behind with the news," Samirah goaded.

"He's been elevated. Now he's overseeing the war effort, and Puppetmaster isn't the type to posture."

"No," I said, fingers going numb.

"No, he's not." I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the lift stopped at a Primord liftmaster. The engineer bowed to her.

"Move, slave!" Samirah snapped, shoving me from behind. And we were back in our respective roles. My finger grazed the tiny lever by the lock. One press and it would spring open.

"Bow your heads and don't draw attention," Samirah ordered with a hiss. We stepped into a throne room, braziers and torches hissing and snapping along the chamber's sides. Superheated glowing lines snaked through the black stone throne, and an Efreet two feet taller than Samirah filled the seat. Sultan Azhar Al-Harraq's broad shoulders spread twice as wide as mine, his heat halo flickering behind his turban. Another lift lay waiting off to the side, and the vaulted ceiling stretched up many stories higher.

"I told you, I want you to get rid of her!" A female Efreet snapped. Her belly sagged over her sash, and a full bosom strained the fabric. The Queen—I presumed.

"I told you," the Sultan growled.

"She's a political necessity. Without her, her father won't fall in line!" Samirah stopped, and we came to a halt behind her. The rotund Efreet woman shifted.

"Not now, Samirah! If my lord husband is going to act like a child, then perhaps he doesn't deserve his gifts!" The Sultan's scowl melted as he shifted his gaze past his wife—to me.

"Gifts?" he asked, sitting upright. The Queen huffed a laugh.

"Not anymore. I'll return them." Samirah bowed low and turned.

"Wait." She froze in place, a smile gracing Samirah's lips. I couldn't help but be impressed—this performance—his reaction… These two women knew exactly how to get what they wanted.

"Heartburn," he said affectionately as he rose.

"You shouldn't have."

"And I haven't," the Queen hurrumphed, folding her arms.

"Take them away, Samirah."

"No," the Sultan said, striding forward as he rubbed his hands together.

"Love, perhaps I have been a little bit difficult."

"Mhmm," the Queen purred as the Sultan took her hand.

"You're right. I should listen to you more."

"And?" the Queen coaxed.

"And—" the Sultan's eyes flicked toward Bianca and me, like a rancher pretending not to be interested in a prized stud and broodmare.

"I'll leave her where she is," he promised. The Queen pouted, lips pursed. I wanted to throw up.

"Forever, I'll have her sent back to her father." The Queen smiled.

"That's what I wanted to hear," she motioned.

"Samirah." Samirah put a hand on each of our backs, guiding us forward. Warmth bloomed on my tunic where her hand touched.

"Hello," the Sultan bent over, glancing from me to Bianca.

"What are you?"

"The male is a human," Samirah said.

"Somehow, he's been crossbred for chimeric traits. We think from Prime Rock."

"That's impossible!" the Sultan said, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Mammal to reptile? Has that ever been done before?"

"He's able to endure the heat," Samirah continued.

"Not as well as some, but he is a rarity." She shifted to Bianca.

"We're not sure what the female is, but she's highly adaptable."

"Heartburn," the Sultan said, turning to his wife.

"I love them! Get them processed at once. I want them with the rest of the collection." Boots struck stone behind us, and I turned.

"Pardon the intrusion, majesty, but I need reinforcements at the docks immediately." The Speaking Primord's ceremonial robes flared out at the shoulders, and a metal disk with a seal hung from his sash. His purple hair bordered on pink, and warm blue skin drank the light. A Tephrite perched on one shoulder, leathery ears twitching. The Sultan sighed, shifting.

"You asked me to remove security from the docks, now you're asking me to reinforce them?"

"First, I'm not asking," the Primord said.

"And yes. Pirates are gathering to launch an attack. A lot of them. They've already spiked the cannons of three navy ships." My eyes went wide. Was this the Auditor?

"What?" the Sultan fumed.

"Cousins, you said. Not pirates!"

"So they got some help," the Primord said.

"I need boots on the ground now. I could deal with your pirate problem, but I'm saving myself for the Paradisian Users—" The Tephrite on his shoulder shrieked, pointing a long finger at me. I stepped back, eyes narrowing. Not just any Tephrite. Customs Warden Azhak's Tephrite. He'd apparently taken it personally when I drop-kicked him. The Primord frowned at the outburst, confused, then his gaze darted toward us. I recognized the movement in his eyes. Not looking at us directly, but reading an interface.

"Users," he gasped. Then he smiled.

"Found you—Cousins." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 02: 01: 06: 33: 23>>