CHAPTER 21
Jezebel adjusted her hair, pushing stray wisps back away from her face. She listened with feigned interest to the speaker who was going on and on about the importance of the Council members. Normally she would have been pleased to listen to someone rightly talk about how important she was, but at this particular time she was quite anxious to return to her room. She wanted to see if Devon was well enough yet to be sent on a mission, and was therefore growing impatient with the speaker's long-windedness.
Devon had been healing rapidly since she had added her power to his trance. She had set three different healers to the task of fixing him up to get him back in peak condition so he could get back to work for her.
As she pushed the strand of hair away from her face, her fingers lingered on her neck a moment. She felt the rough surface of raised skin, tracing her fingertip over the mark she had there. Devon had tried once before, when the mark had first appeared on her neck, to try and find out what it was. He had no luck, and eventually his attentions had to be employed elsewhere, leaving the mystery of her mark unsolved. But perhaps now that they knew about the Order, he could make some progress into the matter by adding their contacts to his own. From the information contained in the books from Farthen, Jezebel had ascertained that the mark was a variant form of the rune for 'blood'. But more than that she couldn't fathom. After seeing the same mark on that hussy, she was not about to let the matter drop again. She knew, despite Jonathan's attempt to cover his excitement, that the mark she had mentioned seeing on that little slut had meant something to him. Jezebel wanted to know what it was.
The speaker was just finishing up about the Councilor's roles in the kingdom, and he called each one of them forward one by one. As her name was called, she rose gracefully from her seat and waved to the applauding crowd. She smiled at them, watching their faces as she glanced around the room. Most here were lower nobles, excited to have received an invitation to the palace, and they cheered her with abandon. She noted that both Carlon and Farthen were here as well. She gave them each a short wave. She also nodded to her father who was clapping politely, sitting within a group of older men who were mostly chewing on cigars. He gave her a small smile in return.
As the ceremony ended and people started meandering towards the refreshments, Jezebel excused herself from her throng of admirers, saying she was worried about Devon and wanted to check in on him. She made some idle chit-chat with people on the way out, not wanting to appear rude to her future subjects, and then demurely excused herself from them as well.
She quickened her pace as she left the main hall, winding her way through the palace halls towards her personal suite. She sighed happily to herself. My own suite at the palace! I always knew that this is where I should be, and though the King's bed would be even better, this is another step towards my eventual rule. Now that I've gotten this far, nothing can stop my advancement to garner even more power! The Order has been a useful stepping-stone to help gain my rightful place within the palace. Between the power I can gain from rising in their ranks to use those below me and the power I already now have as a Councilor, no one will be able to stop me.
She unlocked the door to her suite, and pulled it shut behind her after entering. Devon was sitting up on the bed, gingerly sipping at a mug of something steaming that a healer was holding. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as she pushed it towards him, urging him to finish it. With a resigned sigh, he gulped it down.
“How are you feeling?” Jezebel asked him, dismissing the healer with a look. The woman quickly removed herself from their presence.
“I'm feeling much better, Councilor. I may be up for that little errand you wanted tonight as long as my contact is available.” Jezebel nodded, pleased. The sooner she found out about the mark the happier she'd be.
“What about our other project, any news back on that yet?” she asked anxiously. As soon as she had gotten rid of Jonathan the other day when - when the unthinkable happened and my prize was stolen out from underneath my nose - she had gone straight to the country manor and taught her hounds there a whole new little trick.
She had been pleasantly surprised to find that she had still been gripping a tuft of hair that she had ripped from the girl's head, and she used this to ingrain upon her pets who to kill. That particular rune shone blood red when she was done, having poured her anger into the shaping of their training. She had no doubt that when they found her - and find her they would - they would rip her gorgeous little body to shreds. It was a moment that she wished she could be there for, but she would not risk the whore getting away again. Twice already her quarry had escaped her, and she did not intend to give them another chance.
She had alerted her own militia, as well as the city guard, that the renegades were dangerous traitors to be caught and brought in by any means necessary. I do so hope that the hounds find them first though. Devon had guessed that the renegades would be out in the wilderness, and out there you never know what you might run into. Whereas in the city a death would have to be explained, in the woods when you come across a pile of flesh, you just move quickly on, especially with all the rumors floating around about the reawakening of the dark beasts. Jezebel smiled, imagining the girl reduced to a bloodied pile of flesh and bones. Gryffon, on the other hand, she had told them to drag to her. To drag him within an inch of his life if they needed to, but him she wanted to see. She wanted him to look into her eyes as he died and know that she had been the cause of it.
A bell rang at the door and Jezebel jumped at the piercing sound. She quickly recovered herself, and called out that whoever it was may enter. Jonathan came strolling into the room and took a seat before Jezebel could offer him one, spreading himself out over it.
“Won't you sit down,” she said sarcastically at the door where he should still be standing, and then rolled her eyes to turn towards him.
“And how are we doing after our little escapade the other day?” Jonathan asked Devon, who simply glowered at him. “Well,” admonished Jonathan, giving his eyebrows a quick raise. “He’s a talkative one isn't he? You'd think he'd show a little appre-shiation.” His words slurred slightly.
“He did just get stabbed twice you might remember,” Jezebel defended Devon. “Not to mention that it is only thanks to him and his work, despite his wounds, that we have something to report to you.”
Jonathan yawned. “Oh? And what is that?”
Devon finally spoke. “I had an informant report this morning that two men were caught just inside the border from Treymayne.”
“And what did they tell the informant?” Jonathan asked in a voice one might use when talking to a small child.
Devon's glaring eyes reduced themselves to slits and he continued, though his tone was barbed, “Only one of them would talk, the other killed himself before they could interrogate him. But the one who did indicated that there were more like them coming through and that they were aware that the King was planning something.”
Jonathan stared off into space, looking past Devon, and didn't say anything. Devon looked askance at Jezebel, but she simply shook her head and shrugged.
Jonathan seemed to come back to himself and he shook his head as if to clear it. “What was that?” he asked. Devon gave him a strange look, glancing again at Jezebel who nodded for him to repeat it. He did so, and this time it seemed to sink in for the man. What is going on with him? Jezebel wondered, annoyed at this change in his behavior.
“Devon, could you excuse us for a moment?” she asked Devon, her eyes never leaving Jonathan. Jonathan followed the other man with his eyes as Devon stood and walked out of the room. They had taken on a rather glazed quality, and Jezebel felt the urge to snap in front of his face.
“What is the mark, Jonathan?” she asked, acting on a hunch that perhaps Jonathan's faculties were not running at full capacity today, and prepared to take full advantage of that fact.
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Jonathan's mood swung around again, this time anger replacing the fascination with which he had watched Devon leave, and he sneered at her. “Why should I tell you? It's none of your concern. You know what we choose to tell you and nothing more.”
“But I know of someone else who has one too, and you didn't tell me that,” she goaded him. She was rewarded with another surge of anger and an outburst.
“If you mean yourself, my dear, think again. We've known about you for some time. In fact, if it wasn't for Master taking an interest in you, the gods only know why, you'd still just be Specimen 32, a number, nothing more. And not only that, but-” Jonathan seemed to suddenly come to reality once more and cut himself off mid-sentence, falling silent.
“What do you mean by that?” Jezebel demanded, infuriated that he would make such a strange and unflattering-sounding claim. He clamped his mouth tightly shut, however, and without another word rose and walked past her out of the room. He didn't pause in the hallway when she yelled after him either. She stood there watching him get farther and farther down the hall, and shouted obscenities at him all the way.
“That's hardly any way for a lady to act,” said a voice from behind her. She turned, and her father stepped out of the shadows towards her. She nodded to him and shrugged. She fought down the flush that annoyingly tried to overtake her face.
She asked him in and he acquiesced, saying that he had come to beg an audience with the new Council member and ask her how it was all going.
“It's all going wonderfully, Father,” she gushed to him, putting the little twerp, Jonathan, out of her mind. “The other Council members are completely in agreement with my plans.”
“I'm happy to hear that. And your rooms here, they are satisfactory?”
Jezebel tried to read his tone. Had he asked that because he too, knew that she deserved even better than these, or was this a snub at her, that her rise to power was only because she wanted more girlish things. She couldn't make up her mind so she answered simply, “They will be for the time being.”
Her father exchanged a few other pleasantries with her before departing; shaking her hand in an uncharacteristic parting gesture and leaving her wondering what his real reasons were for coming by. Perhaps he was jealous of her new status and had come in an attempt to discover something bad about it. Or maybe he hoped to use it somehow to gain himself something. Ah well, I've obtained my seat on the Council and now I intend to use it to my benefit, no one else's. She found herself losing interest in her father rapidly, not even bothering to hold onto the anger that she had first felt.
She picked up her wineglass and took a sip, noticing as she set it back down that a smudge of blood had appeared on its body. She looked down at her hand and saw that there was a tiny nick on her palm. Perhaps she had gotten a paper-cut. She grabbed a towel from next to the wash-bin, cleaning it off while sealing the cut with the power. Since using the hounds, she’d felt much more confident in the use of her talent and she reveled in the sense of satisfaction it gave her in its everyday use.
Now that she was officially seated and moved into the palace, she needed to formulate new plans. Being one of six on a Council where they had to agree on things simply was not going to cut it for her. She needed to find a way to be more influential to the King and the kingdom's happenings than by being just one of the members. Hmm, perhaps I should get the King to marry me and then he could have an unfortunate accident. She considered this possibility for a moment. No, he's far too handsome to just dispose of. I'd like to keep him around. He'd just need to be more agreeable. Her feminine charms may not do the trick, though she was quite good at using them, but there were always other methods of convincing people. Perhaps she'd have to set Devon to the task of finding out things about the King that he may not want shared. After all, he was from the outskirts of the country, and who knows what sort of uncivilized things they did out there. There was bound to be something she could uncover that would persuade him to join her.
Doing some more research on the other Councilors wouldn't hurt either, it may be a good way to sway them towards her cause if she could dangle a little tidbit of information that she knew about them in front of their noses. She’d also have to have Devon look into this ‘Specimen 32’ business. She hadn’t the faintest idea what Jonathan had meant by it, and it only further fueled her curiosity about the mark. Perhaps the two were connected. Her mind made up, Jezebel went to draft some possibilities for Devon.