The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 7: Traitors: Section III: Kirin

Irina tsked behind him.

Bronze and silver plates laden with pie, olives, and roasted goose filed past the table and out the door.

Kirin's belly growled and he soothed it with a rub, thinking on the fine meats and delicate olives to come, though the longer Marianus waited to either name or purchase a new taster, the longer Kirin feared he'd lose his position as bodyguard and be sold as a war pig.

Edra made for the doorway carrying the pigeon pie, but Delos grabbed her arm and snatched the dish straight from her hands. He laid it on the table with a clunk and carefully cut a slice, which he shuffled onto a smaller dish before handing the rest of the pie back to Edra. "Hurry up," he snapped at her.

Edra inched past him, gaze fearful, like she'd spied something frightening in his eyes and wanted away.

Delos waved at Ibby. "Everyone, out."

The kitchen slaves scurried away—all but Irina. Delos remained, blocking the doorway that led to the peristyle as though he and Kirin had business together.

Kirin strutted up to him, head high, and snarled. "I have somewhere to be, eunuch."

Delos looked up, at last meeting Kirin's eyes. He shoved the plate firmly against Kirin's chest. "The senator wants you fed first." He cocked his chin at the stool where Irina was resting her feet.

Kirin grabbed the edge of the plate. He wanted to throw the pie in Delos's face, but Marianus's orders were Marianus's orders, and he plodded back to the stool.

Irina hopped to her feet, smiling as though entertained by Kirin's suffering. She plucked a cooked berry from the plate and popped it into her mouth with a twisty smirk, then pierced the pie crust with her finger. She sucked off the juices slowly.

"Irina," Delos interrupted. He cleared his throat. "That meal is for Kirin."

Kirin raised an eyebrow at the head slave. "Suddenly you care that I'm well-fed." He shoved the plate at Irina. "Makes me want to get to work."

He stood back up, ready to leave just to see the expression on the fat little man's face, but Delos stepped into his path.

Sunlight from the window and firelight from the hearth danced across Delos's forehead, catching in the beads of sweat collecting there. "Unless you plan to disobey the senator, you'll eat."

From behind Kirin, the stool creaked as it took Irina's weight. "He's not going to listen to you," said Irina. "Maybe if you were nicer." Pie crust crackled as she bit into it.

Delos's gaze shifted to the slave woman. He looked about to dart toward her.

Fear prickled across Kirin's skin, his arm hair bristling like a chill wind had blown through the room, though it was warm from all the cooking and the hearth.

Something was wrong.

Delos rushed toward the stool, but Kirin caught the man's wrist and hauled him back. Delos stumbled, nearly falling to the kitchen stones. Delos's hands trembled. His eyes were almost feverish with fear.

"Don't eat that," Kirin snapped at Irina. He turned to look at her. "There's something in it."

She stopped chewing and spat out pastry and pigeon and herbs onto the plate, wiping her greasy fingers off on her skirt. "What's wrong with it? Delos?"

Delos clenched his teeth, eyes wide. Then sorrow, even remorse, filled them. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

He wouldn't have felt such remorse if Kirin had eaten the poison. Anger knotted in Kirin's stomach, though he shouldn't be surprised. Delos had judged Kirin from the moment he'd been welcomed into Marianus's service.