Change of Darkness (The Change Series Book 3) Jacinta Jade (best classic novels txt) 📖

realised that Chezran and the others must have been wondering if she was going to Change and attack Silver—or rather, Pyron.

Inwardly, Siraay smiled to herself. It was a tempting idea, to get revenge on the male who had caused her former self such physical pain, but Chezran would obviously not appreciate any warring between his inner circle.

Yet the fact that they were all still wary of her was also interesting, and it raised the obvious question. Who here, apart from Chezran, could really take her?

This time, her smile was genuine as she gazed around at her new allies spread along the table.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

AFTER GETTING OVER her initial shock of encountering Pyron face-to-face once more, the rest of the evening went more smoothly, although Siraay found it hard to acknowledge the mask-covered male by any other name than the one she had previously assigned to him.

Pyron … it sounded too normal. She hated the name almost as much as she hated the male himself, regardless of the fact that they were now supposed to be allies.

And that was another odd thing, or something that should have maybe felt odd—here she was, sitting down to a meal with the enemies of those she had once called friends. But really, what had she been fighting for before? To maintain the status quo? To put others in power who probably couldn’t run this world any better than those who had ruled before them?

Her old self hadn’t really understood what was important at the time—hadn’t understood the only thing that really mattered in life was progressing one’s own place within it. And now, Siraay would fight for a cause whose aspirations were the same as her own—power.

As she listened to the surrounding conversations, learning more about Chezran’s inner circle and answering questions put to her, she could see from the corner of her eye the lord watching her now and again. She was keen to have a discussion with him tonight about his plans—wanted to know more about what he was after, what drove him.

Because the more she knew, the more she could influence him. And that would give her power, something she had been lacking until this point.

But no more.

So she talked with Chezran’s captains and those that he had awarded with the title of archon, giving considered but concise answers to their questions. Enough to keep them happy but not so much that they weren’t curious for more.

At one point, one of the three captains, Merca, asked her, ‘So what do you think is the Resistance’s biggest weakness?’

Conversation slowed around the table as the others heard the question and faces turned carefully towards Siraay. Yet she knew they were less interested in her answer than in whether she would actually respond—a test, to see if she was actually on their side.

She smiled slightly at the female captain, a show of tolerance at the other’s curiosity. ‘They have many weaknesses—smaller numbers, less experience, a joint leadership system, camp locations that must constantly be moved.’ Her tone was steady and factual. ‘But I would have thought, captain,’ she purred, ‘that you would have been more interested in their strengths.’

Merca’s eyebrows rose, displaying the female’s interest and amusement at Siraay’s response. ‘Why bother with strengths when you can exploit a weakness?’

Siraay allowed a smile to curl the edges of her red lips, and she paused to take a sip of her drink, a sweet nectar that immediately brought other memories to mind—younger, less experienced faces laughing as they toasted each other with drinks in a meal tent—and which she just as quickly pushed away.

Other conversation at the table had died down by this point, and all eyes were now on her, waiting for her answer.

Siraay could feel two gazes in particular, like pressure against her skin—Pyron and Chezran, studying her.

She set her glass down gently and shifted to eye the captain again as candlelight played over her, setting the red depths of her dress alight as her smile became more feline.

‘Because it’s the last thing they will expect.’

***

When the meal was finished, the table was cleared rapidly by a number of swiftly moving but discreet servants, who also ensured that all glasses were full before Chezran stood up at the head of the table, offering an arm to Siraay as he did so.

Hiding her pleasure at this overt preferential treatment, she stood also, a servant assisting to slide her chair out for her. Lifting her glass chalice from the table, Siraay accepted the lord’s arm, and as they moved away from the table, the others all stood respectfully.

Yes, Siraay thought smugly to herself, I could get used to this.

Chezran guided her around the end of the table and past his seat to another pair of doors that were set into the wall. ‘This is our counsel room,’ he explained as the doors were swung open for them by a bowing pair of servants.

Siraay let herself be escorted inside, taking the room in with a few sweeping glances.

The key feature of the room was a long, low divan with two sides that formed an apex at one point. And placed before the V-shaped seat was a raised square of blank wall, about the size of a large window, set at a forty-five-degree angle to the floor.

As Chezran led Siraay around one end of the long seat, heading towards the point at which the two long arms of the divan intersected, she peered at its other side, trying to discern its purpose. Yet that side was also devoid of any features, and Siraay gave up on guessing its function. She wouldn’t ask either, as that would reveal a lack of knowledge—a weakness, of a sort—when she might very well be granted the answer in due course.

Settling himself down on the cushions at the point of the V, Chezran indicated with an elegant gesture that Siraay should be seated next to him.

As she sat, she noted that, due to the formation of the divan, no one