Jacques sketched a half bow to Tyrez. “Mon Prince,” he greeted. The Satyr loved the human language of French and used it often. The Dragon shifter suspected Jacques was not even his real name.
Tyrez was a prince, but he was a long way from the throne, and the Satyr knew it. He was as sarcastic as he was ingratiating, and sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. “Quit, Jacques, or I’ll start calling you Goatman.”
Jacques accepted the rebuke with a twitch of his lips. While smooth as silk around females, he could be a twitchy guy around Dragons. His sarcasm sometimes annoyed, and annoying a Dragon was never an intelligent thing to do. So far, the Satyr had remained alive by being fleet of foot. Tyrez likened it to poking a hornet’s nest with a large stick, and then running away.
Only it wasn’t easy to outrun a Dragon.
Jacques and Tyrez had a long-standing rapport, but Tyrez often found dealing with the Satyr demanding. “You have news for me?”
The smaller creature snatched another muffin off the table as he moved to the other side—not an unconscious thing, he was putting the biggest piece of furniture between him and Tyrez.
The Dragon stifled his irritation. He’d done nothing to Jacques to deserve such treatment, but the same couldn’t be said for all his fellows. His elder brother and heir to the throne, Taran, had recently dropped the Satyr into a lake.
It had been more of a large pond, really. And Jacques had rather deserved it after offering an ill-timed, disparaging comment about the Dragon’s prowess in the bedroom...
Taran couldn’t have known the Satyr couldn’t swim. Razir had fished the creature out.
“Perhaps you should sit,mon ami.” The Satyr gestured to a chair.
“I’ll stand.” Tyrez crossed his arms and riveted his gaze on Jacques. “What have you discovered? Did you find Rindek?”
Jacques shook his head. “No. I have not found thebâtard. He has hidden his tracks too well.”
Tyrez’s brows lowered. If the Satyr hadn’t found Rindek, then why was he here?
Jacques glanced up at him and his fingers trembled on the muffin before he put it down. “While working for another client, I have stumbled upon information that may be of interest to you.”
Tyrez’s gaze narrowed. The fake French accent had vanished, a sure sign of stress. What was up? The Satyr often took on investigative work to supplement his income. “Go on.”
Jacques cleared his throat. “My client had his daughter go missing five months ago, and he believed she had been sold into the slave trade. I was digging into the issue in an effort to locate her.”
Tyrez’s people took a dim view of the slave trade. Dragons had spread to several realms generations ago, bringing those regions beneath the Emperor’s umbrella. Without a centralized justice system across the realms, the Legion, who were the Emperor’s elite warriors, were often dispatched to control the slave problem.
That Jacques had agreed to look into this surprised Tyrez. Slave traders tended to be particularly ruthless and were not people to mess with.
Jacques took a deep breath before continuing. “I haven’t found her, but I have discovered something disturbing.” His fingers tapped at the table. “I have a contact in the Riyanic realm that was doing some digging for me. He has his fingers deep into the black market there and discovered the Dragon gang from the city of Nazanta is trading more than their usual merchandise, and that they have been for some time.”
Tyrez’s gut twisted. The Dragon empire spread across the realms, but its hold on its citizens was no longer absolute. Over the last thousand years, some colonies had gone rogue. At first, the Legion had been dispatched to ensure they return to the fold. But after much debate, it was agreed that they could leave the empire and attempt self-governance, so long as they forfeited their claim to the empire’s support.
In short, they were on their own, so long as they didn’t cause trouble. And for a few hundred years, the system worked well.
But it didn’t last. Dragons relied on crystal dust to survive. Each colony that left the empire was granted a seed stock of crystals. Some independent colonies cultured them and thrived to become self-sufficient. Some couldn’t manage that balance, and returned to the empire. The third group became a major thorn in the Emperor’s side as control over their crystal stocks fell into the hands of relatively few, and they held the remainder of their colonies essentially hostage to its supply.
Several independent Dragon colonies also engaged in trade, but many immersed themselves in the black market. Much of the Legion’s time and effort went into tracking, and eliminating, this illegal activity.
Tyrez stared at Jacques. “The Nazantian gang deals mostly in narcotics. We staged a raid on them only last month.”
The Satyr shook his head. “According to my source, they have been moving slaves. Not high numbers, they are specializing in quality, not quantity. He said they’ve been doing it for a while. The network is well hidden, but established in the Riyanic realm.”
“No Dragon would be involved in the slave trade.” But even as he protested, Tyrez’s gut twisted into knots. Because the Nazantian gang had the connections to be very good at moving slaves, if they dared cross that line.
And why wouldn’t they? It was a lucrative market, and they hadn’t exactly shied away from the darker end of trading.
“That’s not all.” Jacques straightened and glanced toward the exit to the living room, as if ensuring he had an escape route handy. When he looked back up at Tyrez, his long ears were twitching with nerves. “My source says they are selling Dragons.”
Tyrez hissed, and the Satyr flinched. Dragons were far too powerful to be enslaved in the usual manner. And surely no Dragon would enslave one of their own. “How reputable is this informant?” he thundered.
When he answered, Jacques’s voice trembled, but his gaze remained firm. “I wouldn’t bring this to you if I didn’t think it had merit.”
