Page 45 of Her Radiant Curse

Sitting next to Hokzuh.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“I see you got the new mask,” he slurs. “Like it?”

The dragon has had too much to drink. I count five empty cups stacked by his wine jug and a thicket of metal goblets behind them.

“Not feeling sociable, are we?” he says. A trail of milky palm wine dribbles down his chin, staining his vest, which is ripped and too small. His black hair has been tamed and braided, but his claws remain sharp, untrimmed. It takes him two tries before he can pick up a cup. “Well, cheers.”

He thrusts it at me, and my reflection glares back from the goblet.

I quickly look away. My new mask makes me look like a theater dancer: round doll eyes with thickly drawn brows and lashes, a fixed red grin. I despise it.

I tuck my legs beneath the table. Hokzuh and I are seated in a corner, and his wings take up six seats instead of one. I’m glad for it, since it spaces us out from the glittering crush of courtiers. Meguh’s court. I can smell the lacquer on their fans, the oil in their slick hair. This is my Ninth Hell.

I clench the edge of my silk-covered chair, trying to keep my emotions from betraying my hand. Here, I’m not Channi of the jungle or Channi of Adah’s house anymore. I’m a different Channi—an imprisoned, hostage Channi, wearing a mask that isn’t hers. I feel clumsy and out of place, and stupid—oh so stupid—for sitting still and playing Meguh’s game.

What can I do?

“Drink,” mumbles Hokzuh, thumping a metal goblet in front of me. “The wine’s good. Strong.”

I don’t want to drink. I want to scream and hold a knife to Meguh’s jowls until he tells me where Ukar is. But I can’t even do that. The king isn’t here. His chair is empty, as is the queen’s beside it. So I’ll start with Hokzuh.

“Are you aiming to pass out before the night begins?” I remark. “It won’t be half as fun for me to slit your throat if you’re unconscious.”

Hokzuh wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So violent, Channi. I can see we’re going to be good friends.”

“Do not call me Channi.”

There are no knives at our table, so I reach for the wooden spoon on my right. I wonder how much damage I can do with it before Hokzuh breaks my arm, like he broke the guard’s on the ship. He’s not wearing a collar. No chains, either.

He reaches for the jug of wine to pour himself yet a new cup, and I surreptitiously observe him make the slightest flinch when he extends his left shoulder. Maybe a strain from our fight, maybe from the guards.

“Hope you’re hungry,” says Hokzuh pleasantly. “Food’s almost here.”

“I’m not eating Meguh’s food.”

“Yes, you will. You’ll eat to get your strength.” He belches, and my glare turns deadly. “Snakes and dragons hate being hungry more than anything. And you smell hungry.”

“I don’t smell like anything.”

“You smell like poison,” Hokzuh says, which makes me go still. “Oh, you didn’t think I noticed? I might not have a long tongue like your friend to sense smells, but—”

I stab my spoon into the fleshy part of his forearm, digging into muscle, then bone. “Where is Ukar?” I growl.

Hokzuh makes a show of setting his cup down and, using his free hand, adjusting his sleeve so the spikes on his elbows don’t tear the cloth. You should’ve listened to me on the ship, he says silently. Now if you want your friend back, you’re going to have to play Meguh’s game.

Before I can ask what he means, a gong is struck. The air swims with its resonance, and under the veil of fading chatter, Hokzuh twists my hand off his arm. He catches the spoon before it falls, and places it squarely on his side of the table.

“This isn’t over,” I hiss at him. “If you ever get in my head aga—”

Look up.

King Meguh has arrived. His headdress, purple and gold and wide as a peacock’s tail, bobs across the room. I crane my neck for a better look, but Hokzuh grabs my chain, making me fall back onto my cushion.

Don’t do anything stupid, he says harshly.

I don’t have to. Meguh himself stops at my seat, and his guards pluck me up by my chain, raising their swords to my chin.

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