Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (classic reads .txt) 📖

An old man sat on a stool in the corner, plucking at the strings of his lute, the music quiet enough to allow the coexistence of easy conversation. Lyra resisted the urge to comment on his playing, finding it serviceable but uninspiring. Seated at the long dining table, she found herself wishing the meal to end, although it had barely begun.

Baron Clavelle sat beside her at one end of the table, opposite from Tallinor at the far end. The queen sat in the chair beside him, as far from Lyra as possible. Donte and Tiri sat between Lyra and Jessibel as an added buffer. Guildmaster Vernon, his wife, Ursula, Lady Gariella, and Tallinor’s advisor, Hamilton, occupied the chairs across from Lyra.

“You see, Your Majesty, despite the fact that our tax rate has remained steady, the cost of raw materials has increased,” Vernon droned. “Without responding with increased prices, the Artisans would yield lower profit margins, something that they cannot suffer due to already living on the edge of poverty.”

Tallinor finished his drink of wine and set his chalice down, the gems embossed within the gold cup gleaming in the flickering light. Lyra’s focus shifted from Tallinor to Vernon, noticing the man’s bushy eyebrows below a forehead that extended deep into his gray-peppered black hair. The eyebrows shimmied each time the man shifted his eyes, as if they were alive and had a mind of their own.

“So you say, Vernon. However, the other guilds have not complained, and many use the same materials.”

A server approached with a carafe and refilled the king’s cup before circling the table, doing the same for the queen and the king’s guests. Lyra took of a drink of her cider as she stared at Vernon, trying to read the man.

“It is but a matter of time before they, too, must raise their prices.”

Vernon appeared confident and at ease, despite his present company. Lyra had never seen the man before, making it at least three years since he had dined with the king, if ever.

Tallinor nodded. “If what you say is true, I expect that will, indeed, happen.”

Clavelle chuckled, drawing everyone’s attention. The man’s wavy brown hair was combed to the side, the ends of his thick mustache waxed and curled per the latest trend. Despite the pleasantly cool evening, his green doublet was half-unbuttoned, exposing his chest hair. Lyra frowned as she recalled catching the man in bed with Jessibel. He clearly thought highly of himself, likely more so after bedding his queen.

“I’ve often considered the Artisans underpaid for the work they perform.” Clavelle spread his arms wide. “Consider this palace, a work of art that has stood for nearly two centuries. Were those men paid for two centuries worth of work? I highly doubt it.”

Tallinor frowned. “Paying a man for how long their work might survive is ridiculous. You pay him for his time, effort, and skill, not for the duration of his creation.”

“Hmm…” Jessibel put her finger to her chin. “Perhaps Clavelle is on to something here.”

Vernon grinned, obviously sensing leverage.

Tallinor’s frown deepened and his gaze shifted to Lyra. Their eyes met and he gave a small nod. Lyra returned his nod and pulled her lute from beneath the table.

“Clavelle, Vernon, Lady Gariella, have you ever heard Lyra sing?”

The king gestured toward Lyra, her gaze shifting toward the guests as they turned toward her. She gave a shy smile and pulled her lute above the table for the others to see. The man in the corner stopped his strumming, and all fell quiet.

Tallinor nodded toward Lyra, more deliberate this time. “Lyra, could you please grace us with your gift?”

Lyra pushed her chair back and stood. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As she strummed, her gaze fell on Jessibel and found anger flashing in the queen’s green eyes. If looks could kill, Lyra would have been struck dead at that moment. The next moment, however, belonged solely to Lyra.

As she strummed, the eyes of everyone in the room began to glaze over, her audience falling beneath the spell of the magic lute.

Having performed in a similar capacity on a regular basis over the past three years, Lyra had grown accustomed to the results. She rarely even bothered singing any longer, knowing that the lute and a few suggestions would yield the same result.

“Vernon, please tell me the real reason why the Artisan Guild has raised their prices.”

The Guildmaster stared at Lyra blankly as he spoke. “We have struck a deal with the Artisan Guilds in Sol Polis, Sol Gier, and Yarth, all agreeing to raise our prices twenty percent so we can increase our profits.”

Lyra nodded, expecting that response. “Was the reason truly driven by increases in raw materials costs?”

Vernon shook his head. “No. The costs have remained steady. That was only a guise for the guild to use as an excuse.”

The man’s response was exactly what Tallinor had suspected, and it had come far too easily once Lyra began playing. Her gaze shifted to the man seated beside Vernon. She stuck her tongue out at Clavelle, knowing that he wouldn’t remember her doing so. Her brow furrowed in thought, deciding that she needed to leverage the opportunity before her.

“Clavelle, why did you sleep with the queen?”

“When the queen pursued me, how could I not capture the opportunity? Not many men can say they have had a Queen in their bed.”

Lyra laughed. “I believe that Queen Jessibel is on a mission to change that perception.” She continued strumming to the blank faces surrounding her. “Clavelle, if Jessibel approaches you again, you are to turn her down. In fact, you are to tell her that she disgusts you. Tell her that you now feel so unpure after your tryst, you find yourself bathing five times a day in an attempt to wash yourself of her.”

A smile spread across Lyra’s face at the satisfaction of the moment. She turned toward Jessibel, and the hatred she felt for the woman stirred inside.

“Jessibel, please push your chair out and get on your hands and knees.”

The queen did as commanded, pausing for the next instruction only once she was on the floor.

Lyra kicked her slippers off. “Now crawl over to me and lick the bottom of my feet.”

Much like a dog, Jessibel scooted across the floor and began lapping at the bottom of Lyra’s foot. The licking tickled, forcing Lyra to grit her teeth and bear it. The satisfaction of the moment made it worth the physical torture. She wished she had an artist on hand at that moment to capture the image on canvas as something to cherish.

When Jessibel finished licking Lyra’s other foot, Lyra commanded the woman to reclaim her seat. As the queen settled back into her place at the table, Lyra found herself in an internal battle to push further, to embarrass the woman beyond repair. However, she had promised Tallinor that she would play nice.

“When I stop playing, the only things you will recall are the amazing tenor and range of my voice and the immense skill I’ve displayed on the lute, but nothing more.”

With her final command in place, Lyra ceased her strumming, the final note lingering for a moment before it faded to silence.

The eyes of those seated in the room suddenly lit up, blinking as they arose from their waking dream. Clavelle clapped enthusiastically while the others joined him.

“Truly magnificent, Miss Lyra!” Clavelle exclaimed.

Vernon nodded. “You possess amazing skills, Milady. Surely, you have been blessed by Issal himself.”

“Wonderful, my dear!” Gariella exclaimed, the first words from her in twenty minutes.

“I told you she was talented.” Tallinor grinned and nodded as he continued to clap.

A sour look reflected on Jessibel’s face before she downed her glass of wine. Lyra bowed and smiled at the private joke she shared with herself, a joke at the expense of Queen Jessibel.

Elan’s fist flashed toward Lyra, and she dodged to the side as her own fist jabbed toward his midriff. He bent, absorbing the blow and threw one toward Lyra’s kidney. She twisted and got low as she spun, throwing her leg out to sweep Elan’s feet from beneath him. He leapt clear, much quicker than should be possible for a man his age.

Lyra rose and took on her ready stance, left hand in front of her right, both chest high. Twisting her upper body backward, her leg snapped out toward Elan. He shifted aside, and he lifted her extended leg. Rather than fight it, Lyra flipped her legs over her head until she landed in a ready stance two strides away.

Without hesitation, Elan came at her, slapping away her jab as he smashed into her. “Oof” Lyra grunted at the impact, slamming onto her back. The force of her landing drove the wind from her lungs.

As she fought to reclaim her breath, Elan grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the dirt. Lyra’s lungs regained their function, and she gasped for air.

“You cannot allow a larger opponent to use their weight as a weapon. For you, that includes pretty much anyone you might face.”

Lyra nodded. After years of Elan preaching the same rhetoric, she had learned that arguing would gain her nothing.

“Can you please get off me now?”