Deities of Deceit

Chapter Sixty-two

Iman Bashar | Sixty two
—
COLD VISIT
—

"Jookwah," Elota sank on the bench opposite me. "Seen the new battalion?"

My eyes trailed to where they were seated, nine of them, the first new arrivals since my battalion a month before. I nodded and moved my gaze back the way Tom had left with guard forty-five.

Tom had once again been summoned. A bitter taste spread across my tongue, making the slightly soured oranges crushing between my teeth more bitter than they were. Those five minutes—if he could last that long—guard forty-five took her away from me always seemed to stretch a thousand years. With every second, the little space beside me grew cold and lifeless. There was no greater damning feeling than knowing I could do more, yet be incapable of any of it, choosing over and over again to bite my tongue on the matter.

"The new battalion brings with them an interesting rumor," Elota continued, "it's an unbelievable one." There was subtle laughter in his tone but I didn't turn to see his face, my eyes were on the corridor waiting for Tom Tom to emerge.

"You shouldn't find much unbelievable in here." I placed a palm around the bowl of porridge I had reserved for her, it was getting cold. "What the fuck is taking that imbecile so long," I muttered under my breath, my forehead tightening.

"Iman," Elota called, I raised my gaze to him and he nudged me toward my fingers, they were tightening around my fork again. I loosened my grip. Sometimes it felt like Elota always sat with me to keep me away from trouble. "A white prince," he said, "in the palace." Elota's voice was direct and solid enough to drag my gaze back to his smug face.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"A white prince has been crowned, they say, he is to marry the queen," Elota explained. I huffed after a moment's pause.

"You think yourself funny, Lota."

"It is what the new battalion says. They also say the city is infested with protests about the matter, and Her Majesty refuses to address the people. There are rumors about an uprising. A big one that could span years and even cripple the economy." He chewed.

"An uprising?" My left brow slightly arched.

"Many have poured into the capital to protest Her Majesty's decision to crown a white man. Amongst oracles and the military, the same opinion is held." He swallowed. "What a time to be alive, hmm? Change is coming to Arjana." A large smile grew on his lips.

"A white prince would never sit on the throne as king," I spat, and the smile on his face shrunk. "Her Majesty would be foolish to even consider this. It would be the same as forcing a sword into the heart of her monarchy, and from what I gather, the Queen is no fool." I turned my gaze to the passageway and threw an orange into my mouth. It had been well over thirty minutes, it never took forty-five that long to finish.

"You think it only rumors?"

"I think nothing." My gaze returned to him. "And neither should you. Prisoners need not concern themselves with the ways of the outside world. Even the black ones."

"A soft wave of change is brewing if there is any truth to the matter. I would love Arjana to be a better place when I get out in six years." He dug for another spoonful of food.

"A better place?" I sneered. "Maybe for you. As long I live and breathe on Arjanian land, I will always be just another white girl good enough to tend the chores and keep my legs open," my voice was rough with resentment, had I been anywhere else I might have raised it at him. But no one messed with the rules during dinner.