Yuder sighed. “Ospar is the only one I know for certain was aware the order came from the Crown. He was bound to act under our authority and cannot be blamed. As for the rest, I’m not sure if Rajhir and the others knew who was ultimately behind the abductions. They have always sworn they didn’t.”
Clajak’s gaze was dark, his fury regaining strength. “I think it’s time we found out.”
Yuder wanted to warn Clajak from looking under every single stone for fear of what he might find. How many had been fully aware of who ordered the mass kidnappings? Had Zarl or Tidro confided in anyone beyond their clan and Ospar? Had Ospar spoken to anyone on the matter? There was no telling who would be dragged out into the light now that the matter had been discovered.
Yuder also had no doubt Councilman Maf would chase every lead down, determined to flush the conspirators out. The man presented himself as fair-minded, but he had long been quietly among those who voiced objections against interbreeding with Earthers. Maf had been among the first to insist those behind the abductions be brought forward.
Yuder thought,
Ancestors help us if it went beyond my clan and Ospar. There will be no end to the outrage. The Empire might well burn before it is over. I must find a way to keep that from happening, even if it means sacrificing myself.
He bowed his head. “My emperor, I will cooperate in every way possible for the good of the Empire and its continuance.”
Diltan was only too happy to get home at the end of the day. He knew nothing more of the drama unfolding now that he’d revealed Zarl’s secrets to Maf and the Imperial Clan. The Government House was rife with rumors what with Maf closing his chamber doors for most of the day and the Imperial Clan first dashing throughout the halls and then making themselves unavailable as well. When it became known that visits from Diltan to those people had preceded these strange goings-on, he’d been forced to close his doors and ignore coms. He’d even avoided Oiteil. He did not want to discuss the brewing trouble with anyone anymore.
He kept himself busy by continuing to peruse Zarl’s documents, hoping to find evidence that would keep the matter contained to the former Imperial Clan and show the Royal Council was untainted by the controversy. He ended his day disappointed even though he’d stayed an hour later than usual to avoid his fellow councilmen.
Entering his home at last, Diltan wasted no time in searching out his clanmates. He needed the friendly faces of those who cared about him.
He found them in the common room, with Wal snuggled against Rolat on the lounger. The pair were having small glasses of bohut and sharing a plate of bite-sized wisba-coated ronka. Apparently they’d been content with conversing since none of the entertainment, music, or gaming systems were running. They smiled at him as he entered.
Wal pulled free of Rolat’s encircling arm, sitting up. “Welcome home, my Dramok. Would you care for a drink?”
“Please. Thank you, Wal.” Diltan let his legs fold beneath him, collapsing rather than settling onto a seat cushion at Rolat’s feet. He leaned against his Nobek’s legs, closed his eyes, and made his mind go blank.
Diltan listened to the sound of the nearby fire crackling in the pit. He let it fill his ears, concentrating on that and not remembered snatches of conversation from earlier that day. He put the troubling events out of his mind, letting himself sink into the safety and security of home. Here, no one could trouble him. He could pretend the Empire was as strong as ever, that no rebellions waited in the wings, that nothing bad could ever happen.
Diltan was aware that Rolat and Wal spoke to each other, but he kept them in the background. He let his worries quiet until he felt a glass press into his hand, which lay curled on one thigh. Only then did the Dramok open his eyes to consider the small glass of bohut Wal had given him.
He stared at it for a few minutes, gazing into the liquor’s reddish-brown depths. When he raised it to his lips, he downed the smoky-sweet drink in one gulp.
Fire traced down Diltan’s throat and he winced. It brought him back to the here and now. He laid his head back on Rolat’s knee and looked up at his clanmates. Wal had curled at the Nobek’s side again. Both men watched him with affectionate concern.
“Someone had a rough day,” Rolat observed.
“And then some,” Diltan said.
Wal stood again, took Diltan’s glass, and refilled it from the bottle now sitting on the low table before them. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
I can’t. If Yuder and Tidro go on trial, you’ll likely hear the case.
Even if Diltan could have discussed Zarl’s records and how he’d mishandled their information, he didn’t have the heart for it. He told Wal, “By the ancestors, no. I fucked up, and I can’t even begin to comprehend the repercussions of it.”
Diltan took another swig of bohut, but he didn’t drain the glass this time. The anxieties of the day were back on him.
How bad is it going to be? It’s going to shake the Empire but will it be enough to make the very foundations crack?
In a careful tone, Wal said, “If you can’t talk about your work, would you appreciate distraction?”
“Immensely.”
Rolat grinned at him. “Good. Let’s discuss Tasha and Cissy.”
Diltan groaned. “Speaking of fuck ups I’ve committed. Damn it, I could have handled this morning better.”
“Perhaps. At any rate, Wal and I have agreed we’d like to switch our suit from one to the other.”
Diltan’s head began to pound. His headache was making a return. “You wish to pursue Cecilia? Not chalk last night up to drinking and mere physical attraction?”
Wal shook his head. “She’s more to our liking than Natasha. Tasha is sweet, but Cissy is...” He paused and then laughed loudly. “...astounding.”
Diltan finished his second drink. “She’s blunt and rude. She possesses little decorum. In short, the second Ms. Salter is all the things I would not wish in a Matara.”
“All the things you thought you didn’t wish in a Matara,” Rolat countered. “Yet, you are drawn to her. Don’t deny it, my Dramok. She fascinates you every bit as much as she entrances us.”
Diltan scowled at him before glancing at the bottle on the table wistfully. He knew better than to drink just to soothe his nerves, but the bohut was damned tempting. Still eyeing it, he said, “The last thing I need right now is a complicated dating situation, especially when it comes to those who are connected to the Imperial Clan.”
Wal’s light voice held an undercurrent of suspicion. “Speaking of which, don’t you think you should share the issue Cissy mentioned you having with Imperial Sister Lindsey?”
Pain stabbed Diltan’s temples. Fuck. He did not want to have this conversation. However, today was determined to be chock full of shit.
He griped, knowing it would do him no good. “Damn it. If you knew the day I had, you’d give me a break.”
“Let’s compromise,” Rolat offered. “I will pour you another drink to help loosen your tongue and settle your nerves. Then you will tell us what happened.”
He took Diltan’s glass and reached to pour the last of the bohut into it. As he did so, Diltan rose to his feet and took a step away. It would not do to be within easy grabbing distance of his Nobek in the next few minutes.
He told his companions, “Being the Dramok of a clan is nothing like what I expected it to be. Clanmates who refuse to obey orders, who order me around to boot, and insist on enticing the wrong Matara to join us. As Cissy might say, the whole package sucks lemons.”
Rolat smirked and offered Diltan his drink. “Your biggest problem is not us. It’s your ambition, my Dramok. You reach high, so you will inevitably fall from time to time.”
Diltan took his glass from the Nobek and retreated a couple of steps away. No, if he was going to confess his wrongdoings with Lindsey, he was not going to be within arm’s length of Rolat. Just being in the same room was too close for comfort.
Steeling himself for the censure of his Imdiko and Nobek, Diltan told them, “I reach too high, on occasion.”
“Can one do that?” Wal mused. “I think a man should go for whatever his dreams are, however impossible they may seem.”
“Including another clan’s Matara?”
“Well, I can’t countenance that.”
Diltan sighed. “Then you’ll be very disappointed in me.”
The Imdiko’s eyes widened. “Oh Diltan. No.”
Rolat glared, his anger already on the rise. “Not with Imperial Sister Lindsey. Diltan, I swear I will beat you black and blue if you laid a hand on her.”
Diltan held one hand and his glass up in surrender. “I promise I never touched her. I did try to get her to de-clan her mates in our favor, however.”
Rolat made a sound of disgust as Wal stared at him in horror. “My Dramok, how could you?”
Diltan slumped. Since it didn’t look as if Rolat was going to launch himself at him to administer sound punishment yet, he quaffed his third drink and set the glass down on the table. Once he recovered from the river of liquid fire burning its way down into his guts, he said, “Young Clan Bacoj had no rank, certainly not enough to warrant their clanning the sister of Empress Jessica.”
“Says you,” snarled Rolat. “That is absolutely inexcusable, Diltan. Even you shouldn’t be able to sink that low with your ambitions.”
Wal shook his head, looking more sad than angry. “I am so disappointed in you, Diltan.”
Somehow the letdown on his Imdiko’s face was worse than Rolat’s anger. It made Diltan feel sick to his stomach.
In a small voice, he said, “You can’t possibly be as disappointed in me as I am with myself. It was an awful mistake I made, a completely cracked-skull move. Maybe my worst.”
Or second worst
, he privately countered, thinking of the coming trouble over Zarl’s records.
“One of many horrific mistakes,” he amended. “I lost all honor when I did that.”
Rolat’s initial fury ebbed. “Is that why you financed the start of their businesses? I’d like to think the guilt made a better man of you.”
“I’m glad to say it was only a small part of why I invested in Bacoj, Vax, and Japohn’s futures.” Diltan had to smile a little, knowing how he’d given deserving men a chance to realize their dreams, even though the road leading to that had been rough. “Their proposals had real merit, as is evident from the success all three men have enjoyed.”
“You recovered your investments within two years, didn’t you?” Wal said. “And then you told them to keep the rest of their profits for themselves, if I remember correctly. No interest charged, no residual percentages taken. I thought that was generous of you.”
“I didn’t feel good about riding on their success after what I’d done,” Diltan admitted. “Unlike me, they are good, decent men. They deserve happiness with their Matara.”
“The Imperial Sister kept quiet about the matter. How kind of her.” Rolat’s tone oozed sarcasm. “I wish she would have had her sister announce what you did on the council floor in front of all of Kalquor.”
Diltan sighed. He needed to clear his conscience about the matter once and for all. That meant telling them the most humiliating part of the story.
“She wasn’t the only one who kept my shameful actions a secret. The mothers of Clan Bacoj found out about my proposal to Matara Lindsey. They shamed me for being such an ass. Giving Clan Bacoj my financial support was the price for their silence on the matter.”
“A bargain for you,” Rolat snorted derisively.
“I know I got away cheaply on that account. However, they verbally flayed my hide, and I still cringe to think of it. One of your beatings cannot come close to the tongue lashing they laid on me. I have never felt so small and worthless as I did that day.”
Diltan lowered his gaze, utterly humiliated. Being reproached like a naughty youngling by the Mataras had been the most embarrassing moment of his life. He would have taken a thousand punches from Rolat before enduring the scorn of the three mothers.
Wal huffed. “If I didn’t know that under these occasional bursts of arrogance lies a very good man, I’d whip you soundly myself.”
“I might still do so,” Rolat said. “Damn it, Diltan. What were you thinking?”
“About myself, of course. About my standing, about proving my rank. That’s what usually gets me into trouble, isn’t it?”
The silence stretched long and heavy. Diltan could feel their eyes on him, judging and finding him pathetic. Which he was. Along with vile, repugnant, horrible...
Wal’s chuckles broke into Diltan’s thoughts. The Dramok looked at his laughing Imdiko with surprise.
Wal’s merriment increased as their gazes met. “I would give anything for a vid recording of those men’s mothers letting you have it. To see proud Councilman Diltan chastised by a group of angry mommies! Tell me you looked as miserable as you do right now.”
Rolat joined him in the hilarity. “That must have been quite the sight. I think we should implement prisoners’ mothers’ wrath in the penal system. I can think of no worse punishment than having to listen to a mother’s rant.”
The two men laughed together as Diltan stood there and took it. He didn’t like being the butt of the joke, but he knew he deserved it. Nevertheless, his face burned furiously.
After a few minutes of being doubled over at the thought of Diltan being told off by elder Mataras, Rolat gasped, “My Dramok, life with you is never boring.”
“I’m glad to keep you entertained,” Diltan said in a flat voice. “Just beat my ass and let me off the hook.”
“Oh no.” Rolat’s grin turned evil. “Beating you would be far too easy. I have a better idea, at least a little something to start with.”
The Dramok felt a twinge of unease. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Now that we know how thoroughly you fucked things up with the Imperial Sister, let’s move on to someone else’s sister. Except this time, you’re going to do things in an ethical matter.”
Diltan saw where he was going and groaned. “Rolat, no.”
“Yes. You are going to court the woman Wal and I want to entice back into our bed. I’m not saying we have to clan Cissy, but we will make every effort to see if she is the woman for us.”