Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (ereader that reads to you txt) 📗

holding a piece of glass steadily beside the anthill. A line of soldiers marched back to their underground fortress before he redirected the first in line. One after the other, they continued marching behind the leader, straight into a smoldering death beneath the glass shard. He then corrected their route, allowing several to make it home. But soon redirected it again into a death march. He repeated his actions over and over. Burning a few, saving a few, burning a few, saving a few. The curiosity behind those eyes… Twisted or not, I have not seen such curiosity in this realm in a long while.” Often, a false power is sought after and not what truly matters. “That is beside the point. The ants. Leading by example is critical because subjects will emulate those who they wish they were. Knowledge is key here. What people do know and don’t know is important. Leading requires challenging decisions, but if your followers are not aware of those decisions, then they will only see what you want them to and will easily be manipulated into what you desire.”

I pause to allow the slower of the group to ponder my comment.

“Now, what are the facts of this matter?” I ask.

All four men remain silent, holding eye contact merely because they know my expectations.

“Taoiseach, sir, you have our dearest apologies for our ineloquent behavior. Please forgive us.” Nigel articulates cordially with his head low, fabricating as much sincerity as possible.

Fittingly, the deft public relations appointee breaks the silence with a simple apology, attempting to mend a crevasse-sized scar that has been gouged over several seasons of manipulation and deceit amongst the members of Parliament. And he does so with the smallest of bandages. He’s good with his tongue, but it’s meaningless when voiced toward an ear as aged as mine.

Nigel plays the role of a dimwit who sees only what’s directly in front of his face, and the others are neck-deep in his river of fraudulence. In truth, Nigel has a finger on every pawn, an ear in every room, a hand on every cock, and a cock in every pillow girl. If an esteemed murder occurs in Great Oak Forest, he knows about it; if the Carnal Islands have acquired new talent, he knows about it; if a flaming bag of tiger shit is left on the wrong doorstep, he’ll know about it because it will be his doorstep. Nigel fools all of them into believing he’s a mere chief of public relations. He has no friends and plenty of information, the perfect representative for the position.

“Irrelevant. Present the facts, not a superficial apology,” I chide.

“Yes, Taoiseach, sir, of course. Fact—there have been over one hundred reports of missing Dihkai this season alone in various townships across Vedora. And only the Dihkai race has been affected thus far. Fact—we have no hint of a trail to give us any direction as to who the culprit may be.”

“So, all we know is hundreds of men, women, and children are being murdered without any notion as to who, why, or how? It smells like the workings of a weasel to me.” Shambrock sends an indignant glance over to Kell, who refuses to take the bait.

Leonard speaks up. “What about the McLarins, sir?”

The McLarins were accosted and executed for conspiring to carry out this exact crime, but there is more to it. I stare ignorantly, with the intent to drive out his knowledge of the topic. It wouldn’t benefit me to share too much.

“It’s common knowledge,” Nigel adds, “Arden and Shae McLarin were put to death for this same crime only four seasons ago, but their children were never found, as you are aware. It is quite possible they are attempting to fulfill their parents’ desires of a Dihkai-less world.”

Leonard gives him an agreeing nod.

“It’s a stretch, considering their daughter is a Dihkai herself. But not out of reach.” I pause and put a hand up to avoid an interruption of my thoughts. I know the McLarins are not the responsible party, but I haven’t been successful with uncovering the authority behind this master plan. I also know Nigel has more knowledge of the topic but chooses not to share. I often wonder if he knows too much. And I know we all have our lists and take care of them quietly to maintain civility. But an entire race? None of these men have what it takes. The authority isn’t within this chamber. Someone is coming for my head, and they start with the entire Dihkai race. I will convert my suspicions into answers soon enough. “At this point, I’ve written them off as deceased with only the minimalist of resources to uncover their whereabouts. Just in case their bodies turn up.”

Another deceit amidst our broken council. The girl remains out there somewhere. But I require Parliament to believe chasing her down will only lead to dead ends. Her role is too great. It would be frivolous to subject her to the gauntlet of Parliament. If these men were to discover she is alive, they would force knowledge from her about other issues, such as what really happened the night of her parents’ deaths. Which, in turn, would generate a few more obstacles I’d rather avoid altogether.

“What of the other lad?” Kell adds. “General Greyson’s boy. The one who helped them escape. He is just as much a suspect as the other two.”

“Forget the boy! What happened to General Greyson?” Shambrock throws his hands in the air.

Damn. I knew this question must arise eventually, yet so soon? I have procrastinated on creating a cover story for his whereabouts. Am I becoming negligent, or do I truly find this council so incompetent I believed they wouldn’t notice his absence?

“What do you mean ‘What happened to General Greyson’?” Kell inquires.

“Exactly that. What happened to General Greyson? I’ve not seen