Page 12 of The Omega Slave

“Safety,”the man clarified. “But we have to be quick. The guards have left the palace and are starting to search.”

Tsaria didn’t need a second bidding. He stood and bent to pick up Jael, but Tam stopped him. “Let me, you get in the cart.”

“The cart?” Tsaria repeated as if half-witted, but then snapped his mouth closed. Why was he complaining? He doubted he could have stayed on a horse for much longer, and certainly not all the way to Cadmeera. So, he simply followed the man out and accepted his hand to climb up. The cart was typical. Nothing fancy. Something a farmer would use, but it had anoiled cloth over a rig. Typical for transporting things like flour and grain that needed to be kept dry. There were no formal seats, simply padded cushions, and Tsaria sank down gratefully, holding his arms out for Jael, then settling him carefully beside him, cocooning him in a blanket and wedging him between two more so he didn’t roll. Then Tam turned and sketched a bow at the figure in the cloak sitting opposite him who Tsaria hadn’t even noticed, then jumped out. The flap fell closed on the wagon and he heard Tam say something to another man and felt the movement as Tam climbed up with the driver. Then they were off, and Tsaria didn’t know what to say or where to look. Who was this person?

Then the figure moved before Tsaria could react, clutching the hood of their cloak and pushing it back to fall around their neck.

Words failed Tsaria, and he just stared at the beautiful man he thought he would never see again. The emir smiled and Tsaria felt the warmth radiating from him and the temptation to smile back. “We’d better not touch. I am told it won’t happen again unless I will it, but as you can see, we are in a confined space.”

Tsaria gaped. “I didn’t dream it?”

The emir’s smile widened. “No, but I can understand your disbelief. I share it. Let me explain what I found out on the way here.”

Chapter six

Earlier that day

Kamir opened his eyes so early the slaves hadn’t even come into his rooms to tend the fires. He walked to the windows that overlooked the courtyard and the fields beyond. The palace had been fitted with glass over a hundred summers ago, even if it was still ridiculously expensive. The poor used animal hide or shutters if they could afford them.

He’d spent hours looking through the glass walls of his prison. Not that he thought even with recent events that he had any power to change his life. He was as trapped as the slaves that lived here. Better food, safety, and clothes, to be sure. But he had as little choice in anything as the hearth boy that laid his fires. But pity-parties weren’t attractive. He’d never been hungry. Never cold. He had a thousand different reasons he was better off, and he bowed his head in shame that he’d thought to make that comparison.

Chilled, he pulled a heavy robe around him, began to tie the cord, then froze. He heard the tiny squeak, and last night’s promises from Draul came flooding back. He slipped a hand into his pocket and brought out a tiny mouse. Startled, he nearly dropped it and quickly lowered it to the floor, watching in amazement as it disappeared through a small space between the hearth bricks.

His door flew open so suddenly Kamir jumped, but in a flurry of excitement Veda rushed into the room. “Brother?”

He grinned, knowing she’d found the same. She took a breath then steadied herself, turned to close the door on the startled guard, then crossed the room.

“Now what?”

“Now we have somewhere to go,” Veda said, her determination both scary and awe-inspiring.

Kamir’s breath caught. “To—”

But Veda’s hand flew and covered his mouth, and he understood. Spies were everywhere, and the last thing they needed was for word to reach his uncle before they’d even left the palace. The only place spies couldn’t penetrate was his private prayer room, and they both should have been more careful yesterday.

He knew what they’d agreed last night, and their escape would come down to his ability to play a role he’d despised and often shied from. They couldn’t simply dress and leave without a reason. His uncle would claim he was detaining Kamir for his own safety. That the palace was locked up.

They were to follow the same plan that should have happened yesterday.

The only way he could get out of the fortress was to open the front gates. Traditionally in Rajpur, the dead were always returned to their houses. Usually after battle, the returning commander would visit the common prayer house and sayblessings for the dead. The common prayer house was in the center of the town square. It was entirely fitting for Kamir to visit, especially as he had added blessings to ask the goddess to help identify the unnamed.

And he needed to announce his intention in a public way, so his uncle dared not refuse. Unfortunately, this custom meant the relatives of the dead would return the blessing with food. Which meant to pull off this ruse off Kamir would be forced to take from people that already had barely enough to feed themselves, and often not even that. But to make it believable, he invited every elder, the head of his army, the head of his diplomatic core, the head of his house, and finally his uncle and his nephews to accompany him to attend a prayer gathering outside the common prayer house one hour before midday bell.

It would catch everyone out, but especially his uncle. More importantly, it meant the security detail would have to be so large, it left the palace half-empty so the boy could be freed. He didn’t know how Veda and Draul were going to make it happen, but Draul had promised if he played the part of an entitled arse—sorry, a prince—Draul could handle the rest.

Kamir didn’t even know the boy’s name, because his slave name and his name given at birth might not be the same. Some masters stripped their slaves of their birth name simply for laziness. His father had six bathing slaves in succession throughout his sixty-one summers because he liked them young, and every one of them was called Gisla. His father was too arrogant to even learn a slave’s name.

Kamil was dressed in his penitent—the equivalent of his mourning robes when his uncle practically stormed into his dressing room. Mansala made a final adjustment on his purple sash of office, bowed, and left the room.

“Nephew, I cannot allow this blatant disregard for your safety. We have no idea when Cadmeera will strike next, and you are too valuable to our people to risk—”

“My lord uncle,” Kamir interrupted. “The household heads and the military commanders of all three branches, plus yourself and my cousins will be present. I am aware my cousins have great skills in both personal combat and warfare, as do you. I fail to see how I could be any safer.”

Becauseflattery. Not that he liked Iskar or Damatrious, but they were necessary for this ruse to be effective. “There has been much unrest since yesterday, and I have heard rumors that certain factions are raising questions over the leadership of our family.”

His uncle pounced on that sentence like he would have expected one of the kitchen cats to dispatch his little visitor that morning. “What questions, Highness?”

“I have been told that rumors abound over the attack. That the gods are displeased with our blood line, and this was their demonstration. If we do not want to inspire a revolution in our own backyard, then we must be visible.”

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