The King and the Courtesan (30 page)

As someone who had never crossed the border of her own country, I was nervous. It seemed foolish to visit
Jahral
on a first trip abroad. Only the craziest, most suicidal of journalists went there in hopes of a story that might change their career. That was it. Politicians didn’t even venture into Jahral’s neighbor, Juxtacane. The closest secure place was Vonosh, and even its border was slammed by constant Yentis attacks coming through Juxtacane.

But I was with Ezekiel. I’d be safe with Ezekiel. Or so I hoped. Who were the Yentis against one of the richest men in the world?

I didn’t want to consider the answer to that question.

Before taking off, I let Mimi know that I was leaving and not to worry about me. I called Yogi and Rose, too, because I knew they’d wonder. I waited anxiously during the flight, playing with my shoes and the skirt tight around my thighs, just waiting for
something
to happen.

Land finally slipped into view again. I glanced at my watch. We’d been in the air about six hours. Not too bad of timing for crossing an ocean.

I found my seat as the plane descended. I pulled closer to the window, watching as the land zoomed in. I saw lots of green.
All
green. The trees were so thick I couldn’t see anything underneath. I’d heard that Jahral was hot and swampy. It definitely looked like somewhere you could get lost.

Ezekiel joined me in the seat to my right, sipping a glass of wine as he stared at the screen of his phone. He didn’t seem much interested in the scenery. It was apparent he’d been here many times before.

I expected a city or an airport, but as I heard the wheels descend, all I noticed was a long strip of black asphalt. The sun was setting here, so some blue lamps guided the plane toward the runway. Due to the lack of building lights or…anything, I assumed this was a remote, private airstrip, exactly the place where you could be murdered and no one would ever know.

A car was waiting for us. I was expecting a limo, like we always rode in, or at least the black sedans that Ezekiel was fond of. But this looked like a military truck. It was so caked in mud that even the headlights were hidden. A camouflage net covered the back, while a man stood in the passenger seat, carrying an automatic rifle on his back.

Two more jeeps showed up, none of them any cleaner than the first. They all carried what looked like soldiers, and there were two men in more casual wear. I shrunk back, moving closer to Ezekiel out of instinct. Their faces weren’t any friendlier than their muddy military uniforms. The biggest guy in the first truck climbed out, spitting before making his way over to us. I recognized his Jahralian features immediately—ink black hair and purple eyes.

He extended his hand in greeting to Ezekiel. Ezekiel curled a lip and ignored it. The man shrugged and withdrew his hand.

“Bruce,” Ezekiel ordered.

Bruce spoke to the man in a language I assumed was Sehitian, the native language of the Jahralians. It was a fast, sibilant language,
angry
almost, but perhaps that was just my fear telling me that.

“He says he’s here on time, just like you requested.”

Ezekiel sniffed. “Well then. Give the man a medal. However, there’s no excuse to escort us in vehicles such as…these.” He sighed heavily and took my arm. “Where the hell is Osric?”

“I see him,” Bruce muttered, just as one of the men in casual dress made his way to the front. I recognized him immediately, even though the last time I saw him was when he’d been leaving Blade’s apartment. Osric, of course, was Jahralian, though he could speak Sumerthan without an accent. He was handsome, but beneath his good looks and charm there was a hint of cruelty, the same kind I sensed in Bruce and Garrett.

He was dressed in traditional Jahralian garb: a long tunic with boots that came up past the knee to prevent getting covered in leeches while wading through the swamps. There was nothing too bright or elaborate, since Jahralians considered decoration a frivolous self-indulgence.

“Welcome to Jahral, sir. Pleasant flight?”

“Is this the caravan you arranged?”

“Yes, sir. I apologize for the state it’s in—nothing but a truck can get through the roads right now. We were hit with a week of rain, and everything is covered in mud. Also, Jahral isn’t exactly the greatest place to rent a limo.”

Ezekiel looked irritated, but let it go. “Osric, have you met Melissa?”

“I’ve seen her about Metro.” He stepped forward and bowed his head slightly.

“Osric,” I greeted, barely giving him a nod.

“I may be gone often. Osric will be looking after you.”

I paled. “Wh-what?”

“I’ll show you around the house a bit,” Osric said with a grin.

“But—”

“Let’s get going. I’ve been standing in this heat for far too long.”

“You could remove your coat, sir,” advised Bruce.

Ezekiel ignored him and headed for the first truck. I went to follow, but Osric took my arm.

“He’s going somewhere else. Second truck, miss.”

“Miss,” I said sarcastically.

Osric raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer Melissa?”

“Shut up, Osric. You know I would.”

Osric clucked his tongue. “A viper.” He winked. “I suppose you haven’t changed.”

“I suppose you haven’t, either.”

Osric pulled me toward the truck with a bit more force than was necessary. The minute we left the asphalt, my heels sunk deep into the earth. I let out a cry and waved my arms, trying to retain my balance. Osric laughed, reaching for one of my flailing arms to pull me straight again.

“Wrong footwear for Jahral, Melissa,” he chuckled.

“Well, I apologize for wearing the
uniform
. I can’t go clunking around in boots like you.”

“That’s why it would be best if you stay in the house and be Ezekiel’s ornament while we do all the work.”

I huffed, but there was nothing I could say. I
was
Ezekiel’s ornament, and pretending I wasn’t was fruitless.

The truck ride to Ezekiel’s house was far from pleasant. The roads were uneven and thick with mud, which made for slow going. Mosquitoes were already attacking me, though Osric promised me they sprayed around the house to take care of that problem. The heat was heavy, like a sizzling, wet blanket draped over my shoulders. I felt sweat glide down my spine. I was expecting pleasant tropical weather, like that of Goddess, but Jahral was something else.

At least the local fauna was interesting, if the truck remained steady enough to keep me from falling over. Giant mangrove trees grew like weeds, their vines hanging down so low over the road that sometimes I had to duck to avoid getting smacked in the face. Flowers of every color and shape bloomed amidst the greenery, flourishing in weather that humans weren’t meant for. Beneath the pelt moss and grass were what looked like vast pools of water.

“Swamp. All of it,” Osric said over my shoulder. “Step off the road and you’re up to your waist in muck. Some of it’s just mud. Some of it’s water. And there’s all sorts of nasty things swimming in it.”

I shuddered. I’d heard that escape from Jahral was difficult. I’d assumed that meant they had tough border control. Perhaps they did, but it was probably the wilderness that prevented most of the refugees from fleeing. It also made invading Jahral difficult, since no one knew the land better than Jahralians.

Eventually, the road split. Ezekiel’s truck went one way. Mine went the other. Without the creak and splash of the other truck, the drive was shockingly quiet. I noticed the ground evening out and the swamp vanishing. Tall brick walls on either side of the road replaced it, carefully manicured ivy running up each side. Even in Sumertha, that was the sign of a very wealthy man.

We passed through several wrought iron gates with towers and guards on either side—none looked friendly. They all waved us through without a problem. It was getting dark, so I couldn’t see the scenery very well. Normally the darkness didn’t bother me, but in the middle of a mysterious swamp surrounded by guerrilla fighters, it kept me anxious. With Roger there, I might have felt some level of calm. Instead, I had some guy I barely spoke to and
Osric
, who had always been such a smarmy bastard.

“So how long did you live in Jahral?” I asked. I hated the eerie silence even more than I hated talking to Osric.

“I was five when I moved to Sumertha,” he muttered.

“Oh. So you moved there with your family?”

“My mom.”

For some reason, I couldn’t imagine Osric having a mother. But, of course, he had to have one.

“Why’d she move to Sumertha?”

“Why
wouldn’t
she move to Sumertha?” Osric turned slightly startled eyes to me, as if shocked I could possibly ask such a question. “There was nothing
here
. She was in an arranged marriage with an asshole. I vaguely remember him.” Osric reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it smoothly, even though the truck jolted from potholes.

“She must have been a brave woman,” I whispered.

“Maybe she wasn’t brave. Just terrified.” Sadness descended upon him, and for a moment, I wanted to feel sorry for him.

“Is your mother—is she—?”

He took a drag from his cigarette. “She’s pretty sick.” Then he turned and stared out into the wilderness, hair blowing in the breeze. He didn’t elaborate upon what illness she had, and it made me think of Roger’s wife, of my sister, of all the battered women trying to make it and failing.

“I’m sorry.”

He took a deeper drag this time, clearly ruffled. “Whatever.” He stood up and gripped the bars that formed the walls of the truck. He said something to the driver in Sehitian. I decided to turn my attention back to my surroundings.

We arrived at the house—though “house” didn’t do it much justice. It was a mansion made of bleached white adobe, rising three floors and spanning out as far as a city block. There were fountains and manicured hedges and a cobblestone drive that circled in front. It was absolutely breathtaking, of course, but nothing that particularly made it different from any other mansion in a tropical place.

“All right.” The truck stopped by the steps, and Osric reached past me to open the door. “We’re here.”

“Didn’t notice,” I muttered as I stuck a leg out. My thighs were sweaty, and I could feel a drop of sweat slip between my breasts. Ugh. How could one stand this
heat
? Even summers in Sumertha weren’t this bad.

The cobblestone was not fun to walk on in heels, but I managed to get to the steps, which were concrete. My bodyguard got out as well and followed me with my bags in hand. Osric patted the hood of the truck, and it drove off with a rev of the engine.

“Welcome to the nicest house in all of Jahral.” Osric nodded at the two men with rifles near the entrance, then opened the door. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Even better than the ruler of Jahral’s?”

“I would say so. Jahralians aren’t much into luxury. It goes against their beliefs.”

“Right. They’re into humility or something, right?”

“On the surface. Underneath they’re just as hedonistic as you and I.”

The foyer floor was made of red tile, which made my heels especially loud. A glass dome holding a huge, crystal chandelier soared above me. Tropical plants grew in large pots, blurring the line between indoor and outdoor. There was a staircase to the right and a huge sunroom to the left.

“Um, so what do I do?” I asked.

Osric shrugged. “Wander around, I guess. Make yourself comfortable. If you go straight, there’s a pool. Ezekiel told you to pack a swimsuit, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Ezekiel’s bedroom is on the second floor. It’s hard to miss.”

“Okay.” I wanted to do more than just lounge around, but that was my job, for the most part—lounge around in skimpy clothing and prove to everyone that Ezekiel could afford a trophy. I headed for the staircase.

“Oh, and one thing.” I stopped and turned back, listening to Osric. “Stay inside if you can, all right? You can wander the gardens, but don’t go too far. You’re safe if you’re on Ezekiel’s land, but the soldiers outside of the compound may not be so kind.”

“I don’t see why I’d
want
to walk off, considering it’s all swamp. Is there a town nearby?”

“A few miles away, sure. But Jahralians aren’t fond of strangers, and I don’t think the alligators are, either.”

That was one way to give me nightmares. I was relatively sure alligators couldn’t climb stairs, so I felt safer with them than I did with any Jahralian soldiers. “Fine. I won’t go anywhere,” I told him, then headed upstairs. Ezekiel’s bedroom
was
easy to find. When I turned left, there were huge double doors at the end of the hall. I grabbed the handles and pulled, but the doors were locked. I sighed in exasperation and turned to my bodyguard, who still carried my spare luggage.

“How do I get in here?”

“You’ll need Osric.” He pointed to the touchpad by the doors. “You need fingerprint ID.”

“Are you serious?” I growled and began to march for the stairs again, but the bodyguard took my arm.

“I will get him. You wait here.”

Osric was slightly amused when he arrived, telling me he’d forgotten about this particular feature. I think he just wanted to frustrate me. He pressed his thumb to the touchpad and typed in the code. The door blinked green, and then he motioned for me to try again. I did, and the doors opened without a problem.

I didn’t thank him as I went into the bedroom. I told the bodyguard to leave the luggage and do as he wished. I wouldn’t need his protection here.

There were huge windows all around, but they were all barred, probably to keep out invaders. No luck escaping from here. There was a huge white bed in the center of the room, along with equally large white furniture, like a wardrobe and a dresser with a gilded mirror.

Sighing, I sat on the bed. I supposed I could tour the house. I went through my bags and found my slightly shorter heels. Not the best exploring shoes, but the only ones I had.

Slipping them on, I left the bedroom, leaving the doors open so I wouldn’t need Osric’s help again.