"Nice," Losham murmured, taking in the elegant private apartment that looked like it belonged to a lady. There was none of the modern minimalism that Navuh had adopted as his style lately. Everything was soft and comfortable, in light earth tones and pinks.
He and Dave searched the apartment methodically, but it was empty. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Just understated luxury and elegance. A balcony opened to an interior courtyard a floor below, with a fountain, a manicured garden, and lighting that tried to emulate the morning sun, just without the heat and glare of the tropical island.
The air smelled of flowers and earth.
The harem was a slice of paradise that Navuh had built for his ladies, and it was even nicer than what Losham and his brothers had imagined.
He and the eight left the apartment and took the stairs down to the second level, which was larger than the first, with room suites surrounding the courtyard he had seen from above. Each room had a balcony overlooking the green space.
There were nine suites, some more luxurious than others. Gowns still hung in the closets, and personal items filled drawers. In two of the more modest rooms, he found men's clothing in the closet and wondered who had been residing there.
Navuh had never expressed interest in other men, but he was a very old immortal, and variety was the spice of life. He might have kept two males in his harem for more varied activities.
There were no ladies. No blood. No signs of struggle. No answers.
In the room of one of the males, Losham found a journal on the desk. He picked it up, flipping through pages filled with neat handwriting and botanical sketches.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Someone was studying plants."
He continued reading, finding entries about growing medicinal herbs, how to use them, and for what.
Then, near the end of the journal, he found something that made him stop cold.
Tula is pregnant. She told me this morning, and I don't know whether to be thrilled or terrified. Thrilled because I love her, because we created a life together despite all the precautions she has taken. Terrified because of what this means. Tula says that Navuh will take the child if it's a boy, and if it's a girl, she will be doomed to live out her life as a human in the harem because he will never allow her to get induced.
Other than Navuh, no one with fangs and venom is allowed inside this place.
Losham read the entry three times, pieces clicking into place.
"That's why Navuh succumbed to madness," he said aloud. "He discovered one of his concubines was having an affair and got pregnant. He was consumed with rage, killed everyone, and then threw himself off the cliff in his fury. They were probably trying to run away from him, and he chased them there."
It was the only explanation that made sense. Navuh's pride wouldn't have tolerated such betrayal. No wonder he flew into a fit of rage. The lord got violent with much less provocation than that.
"We need to thrall the servants," Dave said. "So they corroborate our story."
They also might know something that was only accessible through thralling.
If Navuh had compelled them to forget the carnage before he ended his own life, there would be no way to force the information out of them. Dave wasn't strong enough to break through Navuh's compulsion.
"The servants live on the bottom levels," Losham said. "There should be an elevator somewhere out here."
They found it, and when the elevator door opened on the lowest level, revealing who was inside, the effect of their presence on the human staff was immediate.
They scattered. Some screamed. Others froze in place, terror written across their faces.
"Stay calm," Losham said, projecting authority. "No one will be harmed. We just need information."
Several humans clustered together. Six maids and a cook, by the looks of them.
"Who works on the upper floors?" Losham asked. "Who cleaned the lord and ladies' rooms?"
Two maids stepped forward on shaky legs.
Losham scanned them, selecting the younger one, who couldn't be more than twenty. A large birthmark marred her otherwise pretty face, which was probably what had disqualified her from working in the brothel. Usually, the serving staff were older females who were no longer attractive enough to work there.
"Come with me," he motioned for her to follow him. "The rest of you can go back to work." He looked at the eight. "You know what to do."
Eight heads bobbed in perfect synchrony.
