Tempt the Devil (The Devil of Ponong series #3) by Jill Braden

knees, looking as if she were
about to laugh. She appeared younger, more carefree than she had on the wharf.
The sketch was lovingly rendered. Intimate.
    At some point, QuiTai and Kyam had shared this moment; he’d
wanted to capture it. It meant something to him.
    It felt as if she’d peered into something too personal.
Grandfather would want to know about this. He’d badger her for details. Maybe
when she was a seasoned agent, such things would come easily to her, but for
now, she saw a line she would not cross.
    She closed the sketchpad and hurried out of the room.

 
    ~ ~ ~

 
    Nashruu found her suite across the landing from Kyam’s
room. Filtered light cast the sitting room before her in a soothing glow. A
little yellow and white striped settee and two delicate chairs were arranged
before an ornamental fireplace. Unlike the dark carpet covering Kyam’s floor,
the one in her room was cream with pastel yellow and pink flowers. No one could
have matched her taste so exactly without going to great effort.
    She would write Kyam a nice little note of thanks. And she
might even say it to him over dinner. The idea delighted her. They’d have
something to talk about.
    She set up her farwriter on a petite dressing table in her
bedroom. Even though she knew she was alone, she cast a glance over her
shoulder and at the veranda before pressing her fingertips against the biolock . She pried her frequency book out of the tight,
hidden compartment in the copper-bound leather case. She’d randomly selected
frequencies from the master list and diligently recorded them in two books
– one for her, the other to sit beside the farwriter assigned to her in Grandfather’s
ballroom.
    She hugged the book to her chest and tapped her toes in a
quick little dance of joy. Then she opened it to page one and hummed a jaunty
tune as she set the frequency on her farwriter to the numbers on line one of
page one.
    Now singing, she wound her field battery. It took about a
hundred churns of the handle above the copper wire coil to charge the battery,
but rather than count the spins, she wondered who consulted the books and
adjusted the frequencies on all Grandfather’s farwriters now. Surely not he
himself. But whom could he trust? Not his servants. Perhaps her mother-in-law
was Grandfather’s new assistant. The thought of Liragme Zul rising before noon
made her laugh. Only Grandfather would dare make the Grande Dame of Surrayyan society
do such a thing.
    The moment she secured the battery to her machine, the
incoming bell rang, and paper coiled out almost faster than she could read. The
gist was that Grandfather wanted her to report immediately, and where was she,
damn it? The message repeated. Only Grandfather’s scolding varied.
    Feeling bold, she spoke to the machine. “I’ve just
arrived. The voyage was pleasant enough, thank you very much. Cousin Hadre
sends his… not love, but his greetings.” She’d never type a message like that,
but it felt good to say to out loud. Now that she was almost free, she wanted
to try all those things she’d never dared do before – like talking back
to Grandfather.
    She let the paper scroll to the floor as she prepared to
send her reply. She scooted her chair over a bit, then a bit more. She cleared
her throat. Her fingers curved over the keys as if she were about to play a
concerto for a salon filled with the cream of Thampurian society.
    Have arrived at the
family compound. NaZ
    I have been kept
waiting. TtZ
    The machine couldn’t sense emotion, so it wasn’t possible
for it to pour out messages faster when Grandfather’s face grew red and he
jabbed his fingers at the keyboard, but it felt as if it did. She tore off the
long ribbon of paper and searched around the room for somewhere to burn it. There
was no fireplace in her room and nothing with a flame. She placed it beside the
machine as she reached for the incoming message.
    She read the paper with increasing panic. No wonder