Flameseeker (Book 3) (24 page)

Miele screeched, and Kaijin winced, feeling her discomfort.

Asha gently pulled out her wings, scrubbing the membranes.
After she finished the bath, Asha wrapped a small towel around Miele’s
shivering body and dried her thoroughly. She held Miele like a tiny baby and
smiled down to her.

“Kaijin,” Omari called, making Kaijin look from
the girl to him. “You are going to be meeting my father, and there are a few
rules you must adhere to.”

“Such as?” Kaijin asked, trying to ignore Miele’s
whines in his head.

“Small things to a foreigner like you, but
important ones, nonetheless,” Omari replied. “In case you have forgotten, you
do not shake hands in greeting. Never
ever
touch the
shak’ha
under any circumstances, lest he says otherwise. You must bow.
Always
bow. Since you are a foreigner, you will bow deeply, from the waist, holding
for at least five seconds before rising.”

Kaijin lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously? That detailed?”

“Yes!” Omari’s gaze hardened. “Your bow signifies
your status. You are a foreigner and stranger to him, thus you mean very little
to him, so your bow is much lower and longer.”

“Oh, thanks,” Kaijin said sourly. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Before entering the
shak’ha
’s
quarters, you must remove your shoes; do not speak to him unless spoken to; and
when he
does
speak to you, you must answer every question, regardless of
if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“What if he asks me a question I don’t know?”

Omari shrugged. “Then say you do not know. But beware,
Kaijin. My father can easily spot a liar.”

“All right. Go on.”

“You must also adhere to the seating order, and—”

“Wait,
seating order
?” Kaijin blinked.

“Indeed. The
shak’ha
sits first, then me,
because I am his eldest and only son, then you. You sit to my left. Also, you
must sit cross-legged, back straight, hands rested on both knees. Slouching or
sitting any other way is a sign of disrespect.”

Kaijin held his breath as Omari droned on and on
about the particular customs, from general mannerisms to proper eating
etiquette.

“Now, then, any questions?” Omari asked once he finished.

Kaijin exhaled. There was no way he’d be able to remember
each and every rule.
‘A
few
rules’ he says. Maybe I should just
simply follow his lead, instead.
“No questions. I look forward to meeting
your father.”

Omari looked down his nose at him. “As you
should.”

The doors upstairs opened, and the third attendant
returned with Kaijin and Omari’s clothes, all cleaned. Without making eye
contact with anyone in the room, she set the folded clothes on a dry rock by
the pool, and promptly left.

Ta’mei and Asha ushered Kaijin and Omari out of
the bath, helped them dress, and then led them and their familiars back
upstairs. Tariq was waiting for them, and the two women departed. Kaijin and
Omari followed Tariq farther down the corridor to another set of stairs, this
time to their left. The stairs were lined with a plush red carpet. They
ascended five flights and arrived in another corridor. Small, ornate clay pots
that lined the walls burned with magical blue-white flames that gave off ample
light through the entire corridor. The pots, Kaijin noticed, were reminiscent
of the ones Jarial used to have in his home when he was training him.

They walked to the end of the corridor, where two
immaculate golden doors stood. Miele screeched an empathic message from
Kaijin’s shoulder.

“Yes, Miele, this must be it. Unless there is
more ‘protocol’ we have to go through.”

The doors opened without warning, and three menservants
exited, carrying empty silver trays. Noticing Omari, they halted and bowed
deeply at the waist. Omari acknowledged them, then shooed them away with a
flick of his wrist.

The smell of cooked meat wafted from the golden-hued
room. Through the ajar doors, Kaijin saw more tapestries with the same symbol he’d
seen throughout the Harran. Ornate rugs, pillows, and cushions covered much of the
floor, but Kaijin didn’t see any chairs. A massive bed, surrounded by sheer
golden curtains, sat in the rear of the room.

In the center of the room, surrounded by cushions,
was a low square obsidian table, which was covered with various meat and
vegetable dishes, as well as wine bottles.

A lone man sat at the table, quietly sipping from
a silver goblet. His earth-toned robes displayed an array of patterns of
geometric shapes. Setting the goblet down, the man looked up, right at Kaijin.

Kaijin froze, feeling the man’s hard stare from where
he stood. The man’s eyes narrowed, and he thoughtfully stroked the ends of his
black neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Kaijin could’ve sworn he saw the man smile.

XXV

Kaijin watched Omari step to the side and remove
his sandals outside the door of the master quarters. Kaijin followed suit,
pulling off his leather boots and setting them neatly beside Omari’s sandals.
The cold floor made him wince.

“Remember the rules,” Omari whispered to Kaijin, adjusting
Percival on his shoulder.

Yeah, right.
Kaijin nodded to Omari anyway.
Miele flew from Kaijin’s shoulder, latched on the underside of the doorway, and
waited for him.

Tariq ushered them both inside, and before the
door closed behind them, Miele flew up from her perch and clung to one of the
grooves in the high ceiling.

Kaijin glanced back. Once again, Tariq hadn’t followed
them in.

Standing along the wall near the door were two
white-clad servants with teal sashes around their waists. One of the servants,
a young boy who looked about twelve, carried a brass basin. The other, a young
man in his late teens, held a matching brass pitcher. A white cloth was tucked
over his sash.

Omari slowly bowed his head, greeting the man at
the table. “Father.”

A bright smile lifted the man’s mustache. He rose
from the table and swiftly approached Omari. “Omari, my son! The attendants
informed me you were coming. What a pleasant surprise!” His thick rolling accent
matched that of the other people that Kaijin had heard there.

So that is Shak’ha Amil, Omari’s father.

Omari kept his head bowed. “It is wonderful to see
you again, as well, Father. Unfortunately, I have come on not-so-pleasant
business. We must talk.”

Amil nodded curtly. “And talk we shall.” His gaze
wandered to Kaijin, his smile never fading. “And who is your guest?”

Upon being acknowledged, Kaijin dipped into a low
bow at the waist, as he remembered Omari telling him to do. “Greetings, honored
Shak’ha
. My name is Kaijin Sora.” He held his pose for five seconds
before rising.

“Kaijin,” Amil repeated. Wrinkles deepened under
his dark eyes as his smile grew.

“He is but a foreigner, Father,” Omari said
simply. “But one I thought you might find of some interest.”

“I see.” Amil didn’t take his eyes off Kaijin.

Kaijin kept himself from staring, but he couldn’t
help but sneak a glance at him every so often. Something about Amil intrigued
Kaijin and reminded him of his mother. Amil’s almond eyes looked just like
hers, with the same slight upward slant. Kaijin missed her dearly.

After some seconds of awkward silence, Omari said,
“By the way, Father, I have something for you.” He pulled off the obsidian ring
and showed the
shak’ha.
“It is your favorite ring, the one that was
stolen from you all those years ago. My friends and I found it on a half-Dragon
in the underground tunnels of Ostwyn.”

Kaijin eyed the ring.
So that’s why Omari was
acting so strange about it before....”

Beaming, Amil took the ring. “Ah! This is glorious!
I cannot believe you managed to find it again! I loved this ring very much.
Your grandmother gave it to me when I was a boy.” He happily slipped the ring
onto his right finger and admired it. “It is still as beautiful as I remembered.
Thank you, Omari. That means a lot to me.”

Omari smiled and bowed his head.

Amil beckoned Kaijin and Omari to the table.
“Come, both of you. Your journey must have been long and tiring. I ordered the
servants to bring food and drink for you.” He returned to his cushions at the
table and sat.

Kaijin waited for Omari to sit before sitting himself
to Omari’s left. Kaijin mimicked Omari’s sitting position, crossing his legs
and straightening his back, with his hands atop both knees. His gaze wandered to
the mouth-watering dishes of food: grilled catfish, meat and vegetable kebabs,
chickpea soup with sliced eggs and vegetables, flatbreads topped with eggplant
slices and parsley, seasoned rice mixed with cabbage leaves and tomatoes, and a
bowl of mixed fruit slices. The spicy aroma drifting from the dishes was
unfamiliar, but Kaijin thought he’d never smelled anything so appetizing before
in his life.

Once everyone was seated, the two servants rushed
over and stood beside Amil, their heads bowed. Amil held his hands out, and the
boy held the basin under them. The older servant poured water from the pitcher
over his hands, and Amil rubbed them together, washing them. The young man set
the pitcher down and hastily retrieved the cloth from his sash, smoothing out
its wrinkles and holding it while Amil dried his hands.

The servants moved on to Omari, who held out his
hands for the water to be poured. “Everything looks delicious, Father. Thank
you.”

Kaijin was tended to last. He gave the two
servants a nervous smile and held out his hands. The water was room
temperature, unlike the bath. After a few moments of washing his hands, he
dried them on the offered cloth.

Amil was staring at him.

Kaijin gulped and averted his eyes.
Have I done
something wrong?

The servants moved away from the table and set
down their washing items. Amil held up his goblet. The older servant selected a
green wine bottle from the table and poured a drink for him. The boy gestured
toward the dishes.

Amil refused with a shake of his head and a
shooing gesture. “So, Omari, have you completed your studies at the Citadel
now? Is that why you have returned?”

Omari looked to his father and sighed, shaking his
head solemnly. “No, Father. Though I wish it was the case.” The younger boy
approached him, and he quickly pointed out various dishes he wanted, then sat
back while the boy spooned portions form each of the selected dishes onto his
plate. “There was a murder. My master, Na’val Faulk, was found dead.”

Amil stopped lifting his goblet when it was halfway
to his lips. “What?”

“And I have reason to believe it was the work of
the Beshara.”

Amil’s gaze hardened, and he lowered his goblet.
“What makes you so certain?”

“Master Glace of the Citadel helped me investigate.”
Omari pushed the rice on his plate with his spoon, then he paused. “There was a
symbol on the assassin’s dagger that was found lodged in Master Faulk’s body.
The symbol of
Ben-nyu.
”

“
Ben-nyu
...” Amil lifted the goblet again and
sipped its contents.

Omari went on to tell the story to Amil. Kaijin, already
aware of events from Jarial, half-listened to the conversation. The servant boy
approached him, and following Omari’s lead, Kaijin pointed out his desired dishes—which
happened to be all of them.

“We later found a note that Saris Beshara wrote to
his father, Tachus, mentioning the murder,” Omari said. “I do believe Tachus
Beshara is trying to see that his son ascends to the Council.”

“Mmm. Yes. I received a rather cryptic message the
other day. Something along the lines of Tachus’s son becoming one of the Nine.
I did not believe any of it.” Amil set down his goblet and pushed it aside. “I
do not know what Tachus intends to do, but I grow tired of his antics.”

Omari growled. “I am going to kill the one responsible
for Master Faulk’s death.”

Amil eyed Omari sternly. “Patience. When the time
is right, your master will be avenged.”

Kaijin took a bite of flatbread then stopped, remembering
his promise to Ranaiah.

“Kaijin?” Amil’s voice broke Kaijin from his
thoughts. “I assume that you are involved in all this, as well?”

Kaijin blinked and swallowed the bread. “Uh ... No,
sir. That is ...” He glanced over at Omari, who shot him a glare. “I don’t
know, sir.”

Amil lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t
know
?”

Kaijin swallowed again a lump that had formed in
his throat. “I am looking for someone, a rogue priest named Vargas. He has
fallen and betrayed the Ignan clergy, and he almost killed me. I think there is
some connection between him and the Beshara. That is all I know.” He didn’t
want to mention the note Ranaiah had showed him, and he silently prayed to
Ignis that Amil wouldn’t probe any deeper.

Amil stroked his beard in thought. “Vargas. I know
that name from somewhere. He is not of the Beshara family—of this I am certain.
But he most likely works for them.”

“I would rather kill every last one of those
Beshara scum,” Omari muttered, then shoveled a spoonful of catfish and rice in
his mouth.

“No,” Amil said quickly. “Though I agree that the
murderer must be punished, killing off the Beshara is not the answer. For several
generations, our forefathers strove to bring peace between the two families.
Now I must do the same. Somehow.”

Omari sighed. “Why must we continuously endure
this needless harassment, Father? They will never want peace. Only chaos.”

“There is always a way, Omari.”

Kaijin continued eating his meal in silence,
trying to enjoy it as much as he could.

But his mind kept wandering to Ranaiah, and the
thought of her having once been unwillingly involved in the feud made the
chickpea soup taste bitter.

Percival slunk to the table, and he nuzzled Amil’s
side. Smiling, Amil rubbed Percival’s furry head. “Oh, Percival, still ever the
spry little sneak you are like when I last saw you.”

Percival raised his head, sniffed Amil’s hand, and
squeaked contently.

“He missed you, as well, Father,” Omari said, and
then bit into a morsel of meat from his kebab. He offered the edge of the stick
to Percival, and the weasel tugged off a piece of meat with his jaws and held
it triumphantly in his mouth. “There. Now leave Father alone. Where are your
manners?”

Percival ducked under the table with his meaty
prize.

Miele swooped down to Kaijin and snatched an apple
slice from his plate. She returned to her perch above Kaijin, where she happily
feasted on the apple.

“Miele!” Kaijin scolded. He frowned up at her, but
she ignored him and kept eating.

Omari scowled. “Forgive Kaijin, Father. His
manners with his familiar are still lacking.”

Kaijin glared at Omari.
Bastard’s got some
nerve!

“It is fine.” Amil looked to the ceiling and held
out his hand. “Come down from there, little one,” he called. “Let me get a good
look at you.”

Miele quickly finished her treat and flew down to
land in Amil’s palm.

Amil grinned and lightly petted her furry head.
“You have a beautiful familiar, Kaijin. I can only imagine how you managed to acquire
it.”

Kaijin observed Amil’s handling of Miele in awe. He
even sensed deep contentment coming from Miele.
“He must be a really
powerful mage for
you
to listen to him,”
Kaijin said to her. “Miele
sort of acquired me, sir. I’ve had her since I was five.”

“Ah, very good.” Amil held Miele out to Omari.
“Cute, is she not?”

Miele hissed at Omari as Amil brought her closer
to him. She leapt from Amil’s hand and returned to the ceiling.

Omari curled his lip, and Amil burst with laughter.

Wow, he’s nothing like the stuck-up leader
Omari portrayed him as.

Amil pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward the
bed. “My familiar, Ganga, and I have been inseparable since my youth, as well.”

Through a small break in the sheer curtains,
Kaijin spotted something small coiled atop the bed. He craned his neck to view
Amil’s familiar more closely.

He realized the coiled object was actually a red,
yellow, and black-ringed snake. His eyes widened.

“Ganga is a scarlet coralsnake, Kaijin,” Omari lectured
in a haughty tone, not looking up from his meal. “One of the deadliest snakes
in the world.”

Kaijin blinked.

“Moreover”—Omari lifted his nose up at him—“only
the most powerful mages are able to acquire such a dangerous familiar.”

“Indeed,” Amil said. “But do not worry, Kaijin.
She is harmless within these walls.” He rose and went to a storage chest in the
rear of the room, which he rummaged through while Kaijin and Omari finished
their meals.

Amil returned to the table, carrying a small black
pouch. He set the pouch down in front of Kaijin and returned to his seat. His
eyes were narrowed and focused on Kaijin, and from the way Amil’s mustache rose
slightly, he was smiling again. “I never imagined that I would be giving this
to you, but I am glad that I am. It is rightfully yours, after all.”

Kaijin glanced at Omari, who looked as curious and
intrigued by the pouch as Kaijin was.

“Well?” Omari prodded. “Are you not going to see
what is inside?”

Kaijin swallowed and ran his fingertips over the
pouch’s soft silken material. He felt a hard lump inside.
A piece of
jewelry?
He slowly tugged the drawstring loose and slid his fingers inside.
He felt a small chain, which he caught and pulled out.

The chain held a silver locket, which Kaijin put in
his palm, letting the chain hang freely from his fingers. He looked up at Amil
and furrowed his brow.

Amil nodded to him. “Open it.”

Curious of what he’d find inside, he carefully
pried open the tiny lock.

He discovered a delicately-painted portrait inside,
of a young woman who looked to be nearly his own age. The woman’s slightly slanted
eyes, her long ebony hair, and perfect smile complemented the smooth bronze
skin of her angular face. Kaijin’s eyes started to burn with sadness.
That ...
That looks like—!

“Let me see, Kaijin.” Omari leaned his head closer
to him. He quirked an eyebrow and looked from Kaijin to Amil. “Father, who is
this woman?”

Amil beamed. “That is my elder sister, Elianee.
She gave this to me before she left home—left Ankhram. She swore she would
never return, because she could not endure our father’s demands, nor the
senseless bickering between our family and the Beshara. But she and I had
always been close, and she wrote a letter to me once she was settled in
Aransiya. She got married. Had her first child.” He indicated Kaijin. “She did
not write me any more after that, for whatever reason, but I was still very happy
for her.”