"Through violence comes peace"
Dakkoul
"No, not really." Jalen scratched a gray patch of hair on his chin. "A man who agrees with so many people is suppressing a lot. Who knows what he actually thinks? But I like him, all the same."
"He is likeable," Dakkoul admitted seeing Malek now scrubbing the floors with the boy with black curly hair called Pipsqueak. Much more likeable than me. A movement at the door drew his attention. It was Coleus, the frown on his lips dragging down the scar that messed up the whole left side of his face, making him look more grotesque than usual. He never ate in the dining room anymore. Dakkoul stood up expecting to be summoned but Coleus was not looking for him. He called to Malek under the table. Malek bounded over to him. They spoke, then he plodded over to Dakkoul and hung his head.
"Are you to go to Lord Rustavan?" Dakkoul guessed.
"I don't want to, Hattavah," said Malek wiping his hands on his thin tunic and furrowing his brow. Dakkoul stared at him and found himself believing him. He shook off the notion. Trust had to be earned and earned again. It could not be assumed.
Jalen came forward to make it a circle. "Please don't report what Alyssia said. She'll settle down."
Malek shook his head. "I won't."
"You best go," said the Hattavah, trying to sound neutral but it made his insides twist to think of Malek discussing him with Lord Rustavan. "I'll be in my room when you finish. You are not to disturb me. Sleep outside the door."
They watched him leave. Jalen raised his eyebrows.
"Part of my punishment from Lord Rustavan. My own personal slave. Only his job is to spy on me, to make sure I fulfill my duties."
"I guess you'll know soon enough if you can trust him."
The Hattavah shrugged. Lord Rustavan was clever about using information at the most damaging time. He wouldn't blurt out anything he learned like a child spilling secrets. "It's getting late."
Jalen took the hint. "Must go pack for tomorrow," he said his hand resting on the table as he stood. "You've relieved my mind, Hattavah."
He held his hand out to the Dakkoul, who looked at it for a moment before he shook it, remembering that other strange hand he had so recently shook. Was Jagur even still alive?
Pipsqueak poked his head up out from under the table and Dakkoul waved his fingers in his direction, receiving a grin in return before he went out of the dining room and down the drafty hallway to his quarters.
"Hattavah?" said an all too familiar voice, saying his name with a funny little lilt in the middle, a protest perhaps that she was calling him that at all. Keilah.
He swiveled around in the hallway that was somehow empty of everyone except them, taking in her silk dress with the white fur collar and cuffs and Alyssia hovering behind her.
"There's something I must tell you. My name has been put forward for The Vixen Trials."
It felt like a slap to the stomach, but he responded with careful indifference. "The Prince would be brilliant match for you, Keilah, if you want to stay here. You would have the best of everything."
The corner of her lips trembled. "What's he like?"
"I've only met him once, a couple of years ago. They say he is everything a Wayvolkan Lord should be. You'd match," Dakkoul said diplomatically, recalling as he spoke the boy who woke at the slightest sound. His acute hearing and his open, friendly manner had saved his life. He wondered what the boy was like now he had matured.
"I thought so. Baba said as much. I want you to know Dakkoul that Jagur said I was not to consider myself bound to him. That if my affections went elsewhere, I should not feel guilty. You said yourself he is dead." Her voice trailed off and she covered her mouth. When she spoke again, her voice was higher, more strident. "Not that I want him to be dead. You'll go and check on him, won't you? By the end of the three months."
"Does it matter? You have already chosen your path."
"I have," she agreed. "But Jagur does matter. He was my very good friend among the Vene-Jakaan, my constant champion and companion. I don't share his faith and as the matter stands, I therefore cannot marry him. I'm Wayvolkan, and I should be Wayvolkan. This is where I belong. That is why I am willing to meet the Prince with an open heart. I just want you to understand, that's all."
"I understand perfectly. You are Lady Keilah, a Wayvolkan." Dakkoul schooled his features not wanting the disgust he felt to leak onto his face. Whatever their past, she was now the acknowledged grand-daughter of his owner, and as such his mistress. He gave her a mock bow and answered in the tone he reserved for highest of Wayvolkan aristocracy. "Is there anything I can assist you with, my Lady?"
She looked at him for a long moment as if expecting him to say something more. "No Hattavah," she said at last, the lilt gone. Her face became more fox-like than he had ever seen it. "There is not."
Dakkoul made himself move away from her and down the hallway that led to his room, and saw Coleus, tapping his sandal against the ground. "Where have you been? Lord Rustavan is waiting."
And Dakkoul remembered with a sudden chill that Malek had just been speaking to Lord Rustavan. What had he been saying?
He bit back an exclamation of surprise when Coleus led him to the Bel-Aviim. Malek was strapped to the Apistola face down, his back bared in preparation. Lord Rustavan stood over him, the cutting stick in his hand. "Ahh Hattavah," he said at his approach. "How good of you to join us. I thought you wouldn't want to miss this."
Lord Rustavan tossed the cutting stick to Dakkoul. He snatched it out of the air by the wooden handle, avoiding the two sharp blades. "I think in this case, at least, I can ask why."
"He disobeyed me. He would not tell me what Jalen said to you."
A vein above Dakkoul's temple throbbed. "I ordered him away. The fault is mine."
"I see," said Lord Rustavan and then fell silent.
The silence was of the kind that burned Dakkoul's throat until he had to speak. "I wanted to talk to Jalen privately. The Lady Keilah ought to have a bodyguard."
Lord Rustavan raised his eyebrows, which made him babble on. "She knows Jalen. He was respectful to her, when we met him after the Sheradith. The other soldiers weren't. That is all."
"She will need a bodyguard. Choose whom you trust. It's the secrecy I mind."
"I don't want Malek breathing down my neck every time I do something," Dakkoul said finally allowing some of the anger he felt to surface. "Must he listen to my every conversation?"
Lord Rustavan inclined his head, as if he were granting a favour.
"Lucky I don't have many then," Dakkoul grumbled but he kept looking at Malek on the Apistola, waiting for the inevitable. All those times it had been his friends on there, he had tried to persuade Lord Rustavan to let them walk away unscarred. Each time he had failed. And now it was Malek's turn, with his wild claims of brotherhood and something rebellious surged in him, wanting him to stop it somehow.
"You're looking at this all the wrong way," Lord Rustavan said smoothly. "You've been unsettled this year, Hattavah. You cut yourself more, not less. You are growing erratic, as this incident with Keilah proves. See Malek as a gift, to help you regain control. Remember the words of the Fox?"
"What words?" Dakkoul asked, alert and wary. The Fox's words always seemed to dovetail with Lord Rustavan's most unpleasant orders.
"Through violence comes peace."
"Wise is the way of the Fox," he said, in unison with Coleus and even Malek muttered the required words.
"Instead of taking out all that anger and frustration you feel on yourself, take it out on Malek like I do on Coleus. It cools the heat in your heart." Lord Rustavan leaned forward. "Hattavah, you have delayed long enough."
Dakkoul took the cutting stick in his hand. He looked down and saw a blue eagle etched beneath Malek's right shoulder blade. A sign of freedom. Malek twisted his head slightly and whispered, "Not the tattoo".
Dakkoul grunted his assent, then hit him with quick brutal strokes until enough blood had run down to fill the cup a quarter full. The eagle still flew but she was splattered in blood.
"Finished so soon?" Lord Rustavan inquired, examining the liquid in the cup, sniffing it, before putting it back down in position. "Next time I expect more. Fox-dancer, I haven't tried your blood before. I look forward to it."
Dakkoul got the bandages from beneath the Apistola, aware of the necessity of hiding the anger still strumming through his fingers.
When Lord Rustavan finally left, and Coleus had scuttled off to take the cup to the house-priestess for her blessing, Dakkoul seized his chance running his hand along the back of Malek's head. There was a bump that felt identical to his. A cold thrill went through him. Malek had spoken the truth. He was his brother.
A/N: My husband has a genetic bump on the back of his head that male members of his family share (including his cousin). After feeling it on his head and on others, I just had to put it in a story.
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