Crucible of Fate

was also another man with such defined, grotesquely carved musculature that it seemed as though he’d been carved from stone, the heavy muscles in his chest, arms, and legs all taut and defined. If I had to hazard a guess, I would have suspected he was the sheseru.
    “Here is my father,” Hanif said proudly, stepping into the room. “May I present the semel of the tribe of Feran, Hakkan Tarek.”
    “Welcome to Ipis!” the man on the throne called out.
    He was sort of lounging on the throne, one leg draped over the arm of one side, reclining back into the corner of the ornate piece of furniture. He was dressed in a red silk galabya with a matching abaya over the top, and he could not have been any more at ease in my presence.
    “Thank you,” I called back.
    As I stood there, unsure how to proceed, I noticed the smell, a sweet almost citrusy scent with undertones of smoke and sandalwood.
    “What is the odor?” I posed the question to Hanif, something I would have normally never done, ignoring a semel to speak to someone else.
    “Semel-aten, please address any questions to me,” he said from his throne.
    I ignored him, kept my attention on his son. “Hanif.”
    “You should speak to my father,” he said, trying to redirect me.
    “Your father will not be semel after this day, Hanif Tarek; it will be you. So I am speaking to the man I should be.”
    I was not a stickler for the law. I allowed challenges, was making changes in it myself, but still, as I watched Hakkan Tarek rise when he heard my words to his son, I understood that there was no saving him. He had hurt too many, done too much damage. We would start again.
    I turned my head to Jin and found him surveying the room.
    “What?”
    “I think it’s a drug,” Jin said. He walked up the dais and everyone gasped, but he did it like it was not an enormous breach of law. He felt like I did—there were no rules in the home of Hakkan Tarek, so why even attempt to follow customs that were so engrained in both of us?
    Striding over to the woman, he pointed at her face and then returned his gaze to me. “There’s a stench in here, her pupils are huge, look at them, and everything feels coated,” he said, touching the throne the woman was on. “It’s like there’s oil on everything.”
    “Where’s it coming from?”
    He tipped his head at the open fire pit in the center of the room.
    “Smother it?”
    “Yes,” he agreed. “Pouring water over it will just create a huge gust of steam; just get people in here to fill it with sand.”
    “How dare you come into my home and—”
    “Silence!” Jin roared, and everyone froze because the sound could not have come from him, but it had.
    Hakkan Tarek rose fast and charged toward Logan Church’s mate.
    I had not seen Jin in six months, so I wasn’t prepared for the increase in his power.
    Vaguely I was aware of shouting, boots pounding across the floor, a wave of people coming into the throne room, all of it. I knew Taj was there, but my eyes were on Jin.
    It was physically painful, and because I was already weak, the pain was acute but only for a moment. I felt a scalding wave hit and then break around me, slip by, and move on. It only touched me for a moment, but it was enough to drive me to the marble floor on my knees. Hakkan Tarek was not so fortunate. The burning, devouring heat was all aimed at him.
    He was sucked instantly through his shift, and it was horrible to see. Bones cracked and muscles twisted, like turning something inside out, but not gently—viciously.
    The screaming was instant and deafening. Hanif Tarek fainted in Kabore’s arms. The woman who had been sitting beside Hakkan scurried behind her throne, screaming as she moved.
    “You will not attack my semel!”
    It was Deoles Aran, the sheseru, who roared out his warning before charging up the stairs toward Jin.
    I watched him slam into what appeared to be an invisible wall, freeze, and then, as though he were grabbed in a claw, get thrown back down off the platform to the floor below. His body spasmed, shuddered, and then began jerking violently, faster and faster. I wondered how his heart could take it before there was a final bending, an obscene contortion, and he was wrenched into his panther form.
    It was horrible, but he deserved every moment of excruciating agony. Jin was an avenging angel, and they were lucky he was not a sadist. If Jin ever learned to delight in the pain of others, holding someone in the limbo of the