Heir of Beasts

Ch. 5.6- Warm Blood and Warm Bodies

Sorry this chapter took so long, I've been suffering from writer's block. Also, the beginning of this chapter was moved to the end of chapter 5.5 because I didn't like the current chapter divisions, so you might want to go back and reread. And as always, thanks for reading.

- Swpoet

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"Shall we?" Sholu asks, holding out his hand. He's standing to the side of my chair, smiling so serenely I want to scream.

"Shall we what?" I snap, unable to help myself.

"Dance," he says, motioning around us. "The plates have been cleared and the band has begun to play. Outside these walls wagons of food are being distributed to hungry Rizsavans. All anyone can talk about is the bright future of the city now that the Kyorin are gone. It's a time for dancing."

"Are you asking me or commanding me?"

His smile falters. "Would it really be so bad to dance with me?"

My eyes answer him.

He sighs. "Take my hand, O'otani. People are watching now."

I look around. The lords and ladies turn in drunken circles, lost in revelry. They shimmer like dragonflies beneath the light of the sconces, laughing loudly, existing in a dream world of sweet music and gauzy silk. It's a glamour, all a glamour, as separate from the gritty reality of Rizsava as the citadel is from earth.

"Let them watch." I answer. What can they do to me? They're all just bugs, turning tighter and tighter circles around a temporary light.

"And I suppose you'd let them talk, too?" He asks.

I shrug. "Why not? What can they say that matters, fools that they are?"

"The talk of fools has felled kings," he tells me, holding his hand out farther. "They will not talk tonight. You will not give them reason to. You will dance, and laugh, and be merry, and the new regimes will grow strong because of it."

I hesitate, then lay my hand in his. Just a few more days, I tell myself, only a few more days of letting him command me. Soon Halima will be safe, his leverage will be gone, and I will finally be free.

He smiles and helps me up, wrapping his arm around my waist as he leads me closer to the music. For a brief moment I imagine cutting that arm from its body and leaving it a bleeding, formless stump. It allows me to smile a genuine smile at our onlookers.

And we do have onlookers. Attention follows power, and they think us the most powerful in the room. Gentlemen raise their glasses in toast to us as we pass. Many smile and bow. Several ladies even glare at me when they think I'm not looking, jealous of Sholu's attentions.

I laugh. They're fools, all of them: glittering, simpering fools. Do they even know if they lust after the power or the man?

It's all the same to them, I suppose. The measure of a man is his power, and power rolls off of Sholu in waves. It doesn't hurt that he has a pretty face, a striking bearing, and perfectly refined manners. The majority of them probably think me lucky to hold his arm.

But they have no idea what he really is. He's a coyote wearing a tunic, a trickster whose pretty words and impeccable manners only serve to hide the blood dripping from his muzzle onto the marble floor. He's nothing more than an animal, amoral and self-serving. He would swallow any one of them whole without a second thought.

So would I. But for now, they have to think me innocuous, so I swallow down my violence, my anger, and put a smile in its place. After all, I still have a part to play.