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

theories? The Devil’s whore killed
him.”
    “Do you have proof?”
    “I don’t need proof. If I say she’s guilty, then she’s
guilty.”
    Kyam pointed to the law books lining the shelves. “Is that
what those say?”
    Cuulon’s wagging finger reminded Kyam of his least
favorite uncle. “You’ve been talking to that old fool Captain Voorus dragged up
from the harbor.”
    “Mityam Muul happens to be the finest legal mind of our
age. I suspect he knows a thing or two about the law.”
    “But you don’t, so leave the legal questions to me.”
Cuulon gave Kyam a nasty look. “Unless Theram Zul wants you to be the chief
justice too. Tell me, are any Zuls allowed to think for themselves, or are you
all puppets for him?” Cuulon raised his hands and jerked them in a pantomime of
a marionette.
    It was true, they were puppets. His cousin Hadre fought it
as much as he could, but even he eventually did what Grandfather wanted too.
    “Do you believe beyond all doubt that she killed Turyat,
or do you want to execute her for another reason? Come on. You can tell me.
Your answer won’t leave this room. I’m just curious.”
    Cuulon rolled his empty glass between his palms. “I have
no idea if she’s guilty of his death, but she still deserves to die.”
    Why was this man so determined to see QuiTai dead?
    Kyam went to Cuulon’s bar. He carried a decanter of
honeyed whiskey to Cuulon. Cuulon nodded and lifted his glass. Kyam poured a
generous serving and returned the crystal decanter to the bar.
    “Be that as it may, executing Lady QuiTai won’t fix your
problem,” Kyam said.
    “What problem?” Cuulon asked.
    “Your friend is dead.”
    “Damn it, Zul! I know that!”
    “His real murderer will still be out there after you hang
Lady QuiTai, and he will never pay for killing your friend. That, as I see it,
is a problem – the kind of problem that will make food taste like dust in
your mouth and whiskey like marsh water, the kind of problem that eats at your
soul.”
    Cuulon covered his face. Sobs shook his shoulders. When he
took his hand away, his face writhed with anger.
    Unexpected pangs of guilt and sympathy pricked Kyam’s
conscious. When your enemy was vulnerable, did you take advantage, or do the compassionate
thing and give them space to grieve?
    Of course you took advantage.
    Kyam was surprised how disgusted he was with himself. He’d
been much harsher with QuiTai after Jezereet died than he was with Cuulon now.
Turyat had only been Cuulon’s friend; Jezereet had been QuiTai’s spouse. At the
time, he hadn’t felt guilty about how he’d treated QuiTai because he’d felt it
was necessary. But afterward? Afterward, guilt had crept into his bed in the
middle of the night and propped open his eyes. It made it impossible to look in
the mirror some mornings. He didn’t look forward to losing sleep over Cuulon
too.
    “A witness saw you on the veranda of the Red Happiness
early this morning, with Turyat. He was alive then. Why were you there?” Kyam
asked.
    “Those snakes will say anything against their betters.”
    “The witness is Thampurian.” There was no reason to admit
he was the witness. It would sound as if he’d been lurking outside the Red
Happiness when nothing could be further from the truth.
    Cuulon shook his head. “There weren’t any Thampur–”
He slowly smiled and steepled his fingers together. “All right. I was there. Am
I to take it that you’re investigating Governor Turyat’s death? Are you playing
policeman?”
    That was a punch to the gut Kyam should have seen coming.
Police in Thampur were recruited from the lower castes on the theory that
brutes knew how other brutes thought. Calling Kyam a policeman was a deliberate
insult. But Cuulon had been in charge of a police force back in Thampur, so the
meaning might equally be ‘Now you’re no better than I am.’ Cuulon was no salon
wit, but even he could turn an insult into a stiletto through the ribs from
time to time.