Page 56 of This Dark Descent
If she won the Illinir, this would never stop.
It was an aspect of their success she hadn’t considered before. Her family would be free of the Kelbras, and she would become more legendary a rider than even her father.
History would never forget the Rusel name.
“That,” Damien said in a low voice, “is not the smile of a ranch girl in leagues over her head.”
Mikira touched a finger to her lips. She hadn’t even realized she’d been smiling. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Indeed. I just didn’t expect it to come so naturally.”
Something about his words disquieted her, but then he was sweeping her into a small group of nobles who bowed and preened like jeweled peacocks. Mikira forced her expression into neutrality and offered her hand to each one. She kept her head high, interjected herself into the conversation, spoke of her family’s renowned lines and her intentions to win the Illinir, and they loved every moment of it.
The same performance carried her through the next conversation, and the next, but as the evening waned, she began to lag. By the time Damien promised the next group would be their last, she was exhausted.
“I hear the Enderlish forces have been forced to retreat in Celair,” said a pale man in a ruby-encrusted waistcoat. He had a strong Ranoen accent, likely one of the many merchants visiting in hopes of striking a trade deal with Enderlain’s wealthy houses. “The Eternal War won’t last much longer, mark my word.”
The Enderlish woman at his side rolled her eyes. “Please, like you know anything of military tactics. Our forces have been pushed back that far before, and we’ve rebounded every time. More importantly, the Council of Lords won’t let the endeavor fail. High Lord Vanadahl was just saying so himself.”
Mikira swallowed back her agreement. The more verillion Enderlain had, the more they could continue relying on magic instead of foreign technology, and the more valuable House Vanadahl’s stakes in the gem industry became. Like Houses Dramara and Kelbra, the continuation of the Eternal War meant the deepening of their pockets, no matter the impact on the people they were meant to serve.
The woman’s partner laughed. “Oh, and we’re to believe you an expert on such matters, then?” he teased, making her blush and look away.
“I don’t really care how far back we’re pressed so long as the army keeps buying canned goods by the truckload,” said a third Enderlish man with a drooping mustache. “My factories can’t keep up with the demand it’s sohigh, and I’m selling everything at a premium.” He released a deep-bellied laugh that curled Mikira’s hands into fists.
“You won’t be laughing when Enderlain loses,” the Ranoen man said. “If Izir is truly backing Celair, you haven’t the numbers to win.”
“Of course they are,” the woman cut in. “They don’t want to risk that they’re next, and Celair’s freedom means a buffer between our countries.”
The mustached man waived a dismissive hand. “So we conscript a few more soldiers.”
Something snapped in Mikira. “It’s that simple to you, is it?”
“Excuse me?” asked the mustache.
“Is this all a business venture to you?” she demanded, dismissing Damien’s cautionary look.
The man smiled patronizingly. “My dear, everything is a business venture. If there’s money to be made, this nose’ll find it.” He tapped a finger to his small nose.
The Ranoen man clapped him on the shoulder. “You miss her point, Mr. Barta. I think you’ve upset the girl.”
“Ah, yes, the thought of violence can do that to some,” Mr. Barta agreed. “Calm down, my dear, it’s nothing to worry your pretty little head over.” He laid a hand on Mikira’s back, his fingers uncomfortably warm.
She seized his wrist, twisting. He released a small noise of surprised pain. “How dare you talk about the war like that? It’s not your family fighting and dying. You think you can just take our loved ones and feed them to the war like cannon fodder?”
“Mikira,” Damien warned.
For an instant, Mikira met the gaze of the woman across from her, and she stared back with the intensity of a flightless bird trapped in a cage. Mikira’s nails dug into Mr. Barta’s jacket. Then she thrust his hand back at him. “Never touch me again.”
He clasped his hand to his chest, face red. “Lord Adair, get your jockey under control. She forgets her place.”
Damien’s gaze fell on him like a blade. “And what place is that, Mr. Barta? As one of Enderlain’s foremost enchanted horse breeders? As the sponsored Illinir racer of House Adair? Or as a woman whose worth outweighs your own, no matter how much blood money you make?”
Mr. Barta gaped at him, but Mikira’s satisfaction couldn’t outweigh her anger. Damien excused them and led her away to the nearest refreshment table. “I’ll leave you to wait for Rezek here,” he said. “I have one last matter to attend to and then we can go.”
Mikira nodded absently as he departed, her fingers fumbling for the note she’d tucked into her pocket. It was a list of betting patterns at the Adairs’ most lucrative track. Not the sort of thing that might be immediately damning to someone like Damien, whose connections with the Anthir would keep him safe from any claims of rigged races, but hopefully enough to buy her more time from Rezek.
She spotted him cutting toward her through the crowd and restrained the reflex to go the opposite way. He snatched up the note she’d left on the refreshment table, pausing alongside her. “This had best be something useful. My patience grows thin.”
