Like gunpowder and decay.
Guns, explosives, ammunition, Razgut translated for Jael. She says that she can get you anything you need, and everything you want, as long as you agree to her condition.
Condition! Jael hiss-spat. Who is she to name conditions?
Hed been like this since the first letter. Jael had no appreciation for a strong woman, except as something to break and keep breaking. The idea of a woman making demands? A woman whom he was in no position to humble? It infuriated him.
Shes your best option is who she is, replied Razgut. It was one of many possible answers, and the only one Jael needed to hear. Shes a vulture. Shes fetid meat. Shes black powder waiting to ignite. No one else has managed to bribe their way to you, so here is your choice, today: Keep courting these dour-mouthed heads of state and watch them mince through the minefield of public opinion, fearing their own people more than they fear you, or make this simple promise to a lady of means and have done with all of that. Your weapons are waiting for you, emperor. Whats one little condition next to that?
53
EYEBROW MASTER CLASS
When Mik and Zuzana stepped into the lobby of the St. Regis grand hotel in Rome, several conversations ceased, a bellhop did a double take, and an elegant matron with a silver bob and surgical cheekbones raised a hand to her pearls and scanned the lobby for security.
Backpackers did not stay at the St. Regis.
Ever.
And these backpackers, they looked well, it wasnt easy to put into words. Someone extremely insightful might say they looked as though they had been living in caves , and then been through a battle , perhaps even ridden here astride a monster .
In fact, they had flown by private jet from Marrakesh, but one could be excused for not guessing as much; leaving Tamnougalt in such a hurry, they hadnt had a chance to take advantage of the shower, and they had no clean clothes between them, and its likely that neither had ever been quite this unsightly in their entire lives.
It was presumed, by patrons and staff, that they were going to ask to use a restroomas, every once in a while, this did happen, the underclasses being ill-educated in the rules and then most likely filth it up by bathing themselves in the sink. Wasnt that what these people did?
The doorman who had admitted them kept his eyes fixed on the floor, aware that he had committed a cardinal sin in allowing hoi polloi to breach the perimeter. No doubt, in bygone days, guards had been put to death for just this offense. But what could he do? They claimed to be guests.
Behind the reception desk, the clerks exchanged gladiatorial glances. Do you want to take them, or shall I?
A champion stepped forth.
May I help you?
The words spoken may have been: May I help you, but the tone was something more along the lines of: It is my unbearable duty to interact with you, and I intend to punish you for it.
Zuzana turned to
meet her challenger. She saw before her a young Italian woman, mid-twenties, sleekly attractive and just as sleekly dressed. Unamused. Nay, unamusable . The womans eyes did a quick flick up and down, flaring with something like indignation when they arrived at Zuzanas dust-caked zebra platform sneakers, and her mouth puckered into a little knob of distaste. She looked rather as though she were preparing to remove a live slug from her arugula.
You know, observed Zuzana, in English, youd probably be a lot prettier if you didnt make that face.
The face in question froze in place. A nostril-flare suggested that offense was taken. And then, as though in slow motion, one of the womans fine, plucked eyebrows ascended toward her hairline.
Game. On.
Zuzana Nováková was a pretty girl. Shed often been compared to a doll, or to a fairy, not just because of her slight stature but also her fine, small facea happy blending of angles and arcs set under skin clear as porcelain. Delicate chin, rounded cheeks, wide glossy eyes, and, though she would annihilate anyone for suggesting it, somewhat of a Cupids bow mouth. All of this cuteness, it was one of natures great bait and switches, because that wasnt all there was to Zuzana Nováková. Not even a little bit.
Deciding to take her on was akin to a fish deciding idly to gobble up that pretty light bobbing in the shadows and then OH GOD THE TEETH THE HORROR! meeting the anglerfish on the other side.
Zuzana didnt eat people. She withered them. And there in the sparkling marble, crystal, and gilded lobby of one of Romes most exclusive luxury hotels, in just under two seconds, Zuzanas eyebrow taught a master class. Its rise was something to behold. The sweep of it, the arch. Contempt, amusement, amused contempt, confidence, judgment, mockery, even pity. It was all there, and more. Her eyebrow communicated directly with the Italian womans eyebrow, somehow telling it, We have not stumbled in here to bathe in your sink. You have miscalculated. Tread lightly.
And the eyebrow conveyed the message to its owner, whose mouth promptly lost its slug-in-the-arugula pucker, and even before Mik interceded to say, mildly, almost apologetically, Were staying in the Royal Suite? she was tasting the first sour hint of her mortification.