Chapter XXII

“Duke Jachai has returned!” Sahar called out from the battlements. He'd eagerly awaited his master's return, and as such had moved all of his practice equipment to the top of the battlements over the gates of Duke Jachai's castle. As soon as he saw the duke riding up he dropped his weighted practice sword and rushed down the stairs to greet him.

The men at the gate raised the portcullis for their lord, and once he was inside he handed the reins of his horse off to a servant. “Grand Duke Jachai, now,” Jachai said to Sahar. “I've inherited my father's title now.”

“A thousand pardons, Grand Duke Jachai,” Sahar said. “But...there's something I need to tell you about.”

“Where's Grigori?” Jachai interrupted.

“He's questioning some of the castle staff,” Sahar replied. “But there's another issue I think you should know about.”

Jachai looked past Sahar, trying to see if Liat was about to come out and greet him. When he did not see her he turned his attention to Sahar, “Fine, then, let us speak in private.”

Jachai took Sahar to his office and closed the door. He sat down at his desk, produced a small bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a glass. The alcohol burned as it went down his throat, but it was also soothing after such a long ride. “What's the matter, Sahar?”

“Your excellency,” Sahar began. “There's something I found...a slip of paper...a letter...I'm so sorry, my lord.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jachai asked.

“The bad news you are about to receive,” Sahar produced a rolled up slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Jachai.

Jachai looked the paper over once before he unrolled it and looked at its contents. He recognized the hand-writing in an instant; it was Liat's hand-writing. He noted the number “41” at the top, and then began to read what it said.

“My dear lover,

“No man has ever pleased me the way you have. The way you feel with your rod so deep inside of me is a feeling like that of paradise, better than anyone deserves. That night under the full moon, with the two of us making love in the grassy fields is a night I will always remember. How I long to feel your lips on my naked skin once again, to run my fingers through your hair, with your cheeks against my thighs.”

The letter went on to get more and more lewd, at times it even graphically described certain acts that even Jachai was unfamiliar with. Jachai couldn't even finish the letter, but rather crumpled it up in disgust. “Where did you find this, Sahar?”

“That's the worst part,” Jachai's squire said. He leaned in closer to Jachai and whispered, “I found it in Grigori's bedroom.”

Jachai clenched the crumpled letter tightly in his fist and quivered with rage. “Grigori is questioning members of the castle staff?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And where is Liat?”

“Your wife is taking a bath, last I heard.”

Jachai, his head starting to tremble and his face growing hot, pointed a finger at Sahar. “Stay exactly here.”

“My lord?”

Jachai left the room and thundered down the hall. Servants and castle guards scrambled out of his way, not knowing what had put him in such a terrible mood, but they knew they didn't want to be on the receiving end of it. The only comfort some of the servants took when they saw him approach was the fact that he hadn't made eye-contact with a single one of them, so none of them were the subject of his ire.

Jachai had never felt so betrayed. What was it about him that his wife hated so much that she sought passion in the arms of another man? Had he never been a great lover? Was it that his scars made him unattractive in her eyes? Or was it simply that she was a strumpet, with an insatiable appetite for the bodies of men? Yes, that sounded the most likely, given all of the depraved acts detailed in that letter. If she was engaging in such immoralities she must be little more than a harlot. No, harlots at least did it for the money, she was lower than that. How could he have been taken in by such a woman? How could he have been so blind to her unfaithfulness?

He came to the bathroom and threw open the door, slamming it shut again behind him once he was inside. Liat jumped at his sudden entrance, startled, and she covered her breasts with her arms. Then she saw that it was her husband and lowered her arms again and looked him over with confusion.

“You've returned,” she said, flatly. What was he so furious about? And what was that paper he clutched so tightly?

“Are you unhappy with me?” Jachai asked, his nostrils flared.

“Pardon?”

“Have I not been a good husband? Have I not provided you with everything you needed?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Answer me.”

Liat stared at him a moment, noted that he was trembling. Obviously he was angry, anyone could see that, but there was something more to it that only she would notice. His heart was broken. The anger in his voice and demeanor was a cover for the utter despair, the sadness that had overwhelmed him. His very sense of self-worth had come under attack. What had happened to him when he was away? What horrible news had he received in the letter he was clutching so tightly? Seeing this she couldn't help but feel compassion for him, even some affection. For the first time in years she felt she wanted to hold him, comfort him.

“I love you,” she said. She thought that would be the best way to start off the process of calming him down.

“You haven't answered my question. Am I a bad husband?”

“No!” she said.

Either it was the most blatant lie he'd ever heard, or even in her heart she must know she is a bad wife, and wasn't blaming him at all for her actions. He looked her over, his eyes once again examined every beautiful curve of her body, as if for the first time. He wondered how it was that he'd ever been so delusional as to think that a man like him could truly satisfy a woman like her. He was short, disfigured from his years in combat, unattractive. The only thing he had going for him, as far as he could tell, was his title, his wealth. She, on the other hand, well he'd never seen a woman more beautiful, more pleasing to the eye. A woman like her could have hundreds of lovers, each the most handsome in all the world, and they would beg for a night in her bed. His bed. The bed that they were supposed to only share with one another. How many men had she taken into that bed? How many men had enjoyed his wife? He found it inconceivable that it was just Grigori she'd slept with. She'd made a fool of him, married him for his title and wealth and used every time he'd been away to conduct her affairs. The more he thought about it the more enraged he became.

As Liat watched him, just staring at her, his lower lip shaking and his fists clenched, she knew she had to do something to make him feel better, about himself, about life. She gave him a sultry look, raising an eyebrow, “You seem troubled. Why don't you undress, join me in this tub, and let me help you forget all your worries?” He'd always responded well to such offers before. She'd long kept him happy with physical pleasures, whatever was bothering him would go away soon enough.

She'd said those exact words to him before, she often used intimacy to make him happy when he was upset about something or another. This time was different, though. All he could think about was the likelihood that she'd spoken such words to other men, used her body to please others. What man could resist her? Come to think of it, how many men knew about her unfaithfulness? How many laughed at him behind his back because he was so blind that he could not see her infidelity? He would not have it any more, and he walked toward the bathtub.

Liat saw his approach and thought he was about to take her up on her offer. He'd open up about his troubles once he felt better. He always opened up his heart to her after she'd opened her body to him. She crawled in the tub toward him, her sultry gaze not leaving his eyes.

But when he got close enough he did not undress as she was expecting. He roughly seized her by her hair and forced her head under the water. She gasped in shock at first and choked on the hot bathwater, which burned in her throat. Desperately she flailed and struggled. She needed to get loose of his hand, but the war veteran's grip was far too strong for her to break free. She clawed at his forearm and the back of his hand, cut his flesh with her nails, hoping that he would let go, or hoping to claw right through his hands and escape. He held her firmly as she thrashed around in the tub. Hot water splashed everywhere. Her legs kicked frantically. Her lungs burned as her body tried to take in air, only to bring in more water. Her body began to feel heavy, and she sank to the bottom of the tub. For one moment the feeling of panic went away, and she felt a strange feeling of total peacefulness overcome her. She didn't know why, but everything seemed alright again.

His wife had finally stopped flailing, and for a moment Jachai panicked. He yanked her up from under the water again, brought her face up to his, “Liat! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” Her face was already a light shade of purple, her lips a dark blue, and her eyes open and lifeless. Her whole body was limp. She was gone. Jachai held his wife's lifeless body close to him and sobbed, rocking her.

. . .

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Grigori told the servant he'd interrogated, before letting her leave the room. He'd interrogated half of the servants in the castle, and even a few of the guards, but he was still no closer to figuring out who made the blackstar talisman found in the cheese pantry. Perhaps he'd already overlooked something, or someone was a better liar than he was an inquisitor. He had been out of practice for the past several years.

He needed to return to his room, relax, and resume his investigations with a fresh mind. Just as he came to the hallway down from his room, though, he saw several of the castle's guards standing outside of it. Their weapons were drawn. One of them saw him and pointed, “There he is!” and immediately they all began to charge at him. He had no idea what had them so upset at him, but he had a feeling that neither did he want to simply wait for them to catch up to them and ask them politely what the problem was.

He had his short sword with him, but he was no warrior. It was unlikely he could defeat even one trained soldier, let alone a handful of them, so he turned and ran. As soon as he rounded the corner, however, he found himself face to face with Sahar, who struck him in the chest with his practice sword, knocked the wind out of him, and dropped him to the ground.

“Why?” Grigori gasped out, grasping his chest.

“I'm sorry, but the Duke gave orders,” Sahar replied. He shouldered his practice sword and gave Grigori an apologetic look just as Grigori blacked out.

“Good work, Sahar,” one of the guards said as they rounded the corner and picked up Grigori's unconscious body. Sahar shook his head as he saw them take away Grigori, his eyes downcast.

Later that night, Grand Duke Jachai called Sahar to meet with him in his office. “Please, have a seat.”

Sahar sat in the chair across from Jachai and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry to hear about the Duchess,” he said.

“Yes, drowned in the tub,” Jachai said, and he shook his head sadly.

“You just found her like that?” Sahar asked.

“I was storming in to confront her about her infidelities, and there she was, face all blue, head under the water,” Jachai said. “I was so furious when you showed me that love letter she wrote, but now...oh, God, I'd give anything to have her back!”

“Why did you order me to seize Grigori?” Sahar asked.

“I have reason to believe he had a hand in her drowning,” Jachai said. “It's unlikely that she would have drowned on her own, and if Grigori was her lover, as the letter you found indicated, he could have entered the bathroom with her without arousing her suspicions.”

“Good point,” Sahar said. “It's horrible, really, all of it. I'm so sorry, my lord.”

For a moment Jachai couldn't tell if Sahar actually believed his story or if Sahar was simply playing along. If he was just playing along Jachai was curious as to why. Was it because he was loyal? Or was there betrayal hidden behind his agreeable words? Looking at Sahar he felt he could trust him, in any case, whether because Sahar was too naive to catch that Jachai's story was a flimsy cover, or because Sahar was so loyal that he did not care.

“In any case, Sahar, I need to start planning for the future. I've become the Grand Duke now, I'm head of the largest army in all of Arx, my duties demand that I stay near the capital. Obviously, If I am to keep up with those duties then I cannot be here in Nihilus, so I need someone to take over this duchy for me.” Jachai licked his lips and then continued. “I knew this day would come, and for a long time I tried to conceive an heir with Liat. We never managed to conceive an heir. It's possible that with all of the injuries I've suffered in combat that I'm infertile. That being said, it is not uncommon for lords to adopt an heir under these circumstances.” Jachai stood and placed both of his hands on Sahar's shoulders. “If you accept, Sahar, I would name you my heir. You will be the Duke of Nihilus.”

“Me?” Sahar said. “I'm not worthy, Excellency!”

“No one ever is. Frankly, there's no one in all the world worthy of that kind of power, not even I. But you are the closest thing to a son I may ever know, Sahar. You're the only one I feel I can trust these days, and you've learned more from me than you might realize. And if you ever have trouble making some major decision you can always write to me and I'll give you advice on the subject. What do you say, Sahar? Will you accept this burden?”

Sahar considered for a moment. He bit his lip and scratched his beardless chin. “You have no one else you'd honor with this title?”

“Honor? Yes, it is an honor, but it's also a burden. Haven't you wondered why I never sleep at night?” Jachai chuckled. “Ruling Nihilus is no crown of gold, it's a crown of lead, likely to break your neck if you lean your head too far one way or the other. I chose you for this because you're the only one I know of who's strong enough to carry such a burden.”

Sahar smiled. “You have more faith in me than I have, but...I know you're wise. I accept your gift, father.” Sahar grasped Jachai's hand firmly, “But on the condition that you look on me as your son, as you said.”

“That I will, my boy, that I will.”

“What is to be done with Grigori?” Sahar asked.

“Well, he is a murder suspect, but he's in your jurisdiction, Duke Sahar. You will decide his fate.”