Chapter 15

Sandals slapped against tiled floors as the sound of running footsteps disturbed the ordered tranquility of the collegium. Brother Nikos looked up from his journal as he heard the footfalls approaching. It was far too late an hour for the noises to be the sounds of a heedless novice at play, and he wondered what crisis had provoked such haste.

He rose to his feet as there was a sharp knock, then the door to his private rooms was flung open.

“Brother Nikos, beg your pardon, but we need you,” Jeno gasped out, in between panting breaths. A young novice in his first year of service, he had never before shown signs of an excitable disposition. “There is a madman at the postern gate who demands to speak with you.”

Nikos stilled. The room was colder than it had been moments ago, and the shadows seemed even darker, as if reminding him of the lateness of the hour. “A madman, you say?”

Jeno nodded vigorously. “And a noble. He claimed to be one of us and insisted on being admitted. I summoned Brother Basil, but when Brother Basil did not recognize him either, the man grew upset and began insisting on seeing you. I thought to summon the watch, but Brother Basil said I should consult you first.”

“No,” Nikos said swiftly. The time he had long feared had finally come; his renegade monk had returned. Inviting Josan in was dangerous, but involving the watch would expose too many of Nikos’s own secrets. It was unlikely that Empress Nerissa would believe that his actions six years ago had been driven by a desire to preserve order and ensure peace. And far better that the danger Josan represented be contained within the walls of the collegium rather than wandering the streets of Karystos, ready to tell his tale to whoever would listen.

“Run back, as quick as you can, and have Brother Basil bring the man to me.”

“But—” Jeno protested, his confusion evident.

Nikos laid his hand on the novice’s arm to reassure him. “I cannot turn away a troubled soul. It is our duty to help him, or to see that he is brought to those who can. Now go, swiftly, before the watch finds him on their own.”

Nikos watched him disappear. Jeno posed a problem, but he could be dealt with later. The novice on postern duty served at his post until dawn, so there were several hours during which he would have no chance to tell his tale to another. By the time dawn came, Nikos would know what was to be done with him.

But first he had an old student to confront.

He carefully marshaled his arguments, hoping that they would be more persuasive in person, since clearly his letters had been ignored. Josan had always followed the path of intellect, of cool reason over emotion. If Nikos was lucky, some trace of that logic would still remain.

The sight of his visitor destroyed his carefully ordered arguments. Curtly he dismissed Brother Basil, knowing the elderly monk would know better than to speculate on the identity of Nikos’s late-night visitor. As the door swung shut behind Basil, he gave voice to his anger.

“Prince of Fools, what have you done now? Are you trying to destroy us all?” He told himself it was anger that lent the sharp edge to his words, but in his belly he felt the cold knot of fear. His visitor’s eyes were wild, and his face flushed from anger or perhaps the force of his argument with the hapless Jeno. In a monk’s robes he might have gone unnoticed, but the silk-banded tunic he wore was nearly as obvious as if he had waved a flag proclaiming his lineage.

“The time has come for you to tell me what you have done.” Josan’s voice was calm, in eerie contrast to the emotions that flashed across his face.

“I told you not to return. You bring danger to us all by being here. And if the empress discovers you—”

“If I have to turn to her for answers, so be it. But I would rather hear them from you.”

Nikos searched his visitor’s face. Six years ago, when he had left the collegium, he had been a shell of a man, barely capable of following the simplest of instructions. From his frequent letters Nikos knew he had changed but assumed that his memories remained lost beyond recall. Now he wondered if that were true, or if the lighthouse keeper had been playing a game with him, pretending obedience and ignorance while secretly plotting his return.

“Who am I speaking to? Josan? Or Lucius?” Was this body ruled by Josan, one of the finest minds of his generation? Or by the spoiled princeling who saw no further than his own petty desires?

His visitor’s face stilled with the careful blankness of one practiced in meditation, or in the art of courtly deception. “Both. Neither. Does it matter?”

It mattered. It might well prove the difference between life and death.

Turning away, his visitor made his way to Nikos’s desk, sitting down in his chair as if these were his quarters and Nikos a mere supplicant. Such arrogance was well within Lucius’s character, but the words that came out of his mouth had the cool reason that Josan had once possessed.

“Tell me how it is that two souls came to share this body,” he commanded.

Nikos hesitated, then took a seat on the bench that was used by the rare visitors to his private room.

“What do you remember?” he began. It seemed wise to treat his visitor as if he were indeed Lucius, but his questions indicated that there were still gaps in his memory. It might be possible to minimize the role Nikos had played in the events past. And the less Lucius learned, the better, for anything he knew he would confess once Nerissa’s torturers got their hands on him.

That is, if Nikos let Lucius leave the collegium alive. There was still time to undo the choices he had made six years before.

“Assume that I know everything, but that I want to hear it from your lips.”

Nikos hesitated.

“You owe me the truth.”

“I owe you nothing. I gave you life. Both of you would have died were it not for me.”

Lucius nodded. “The breakbone fever,” he said, showing that he did indeed remember something of the past.

“And your reckless folly.” Nikos rose to his feet and, crossing to the shelves on the far wall, poured out a cup of wine. While ordinarily he despised those who turned to wine to steady their nerves, surely he could be forgiven for making an exception on this night. After a moment of hesitation he poured a second cup and offered it to Lucius.

Lucius waved it away. “I know better than to take a drink from someone who calls himself my friend as he hands me the poisoned cup.” There was a bitter edge to his voice.

Nikos flushed, remembering that it had been his hand that had held the cup six years before, promising Lucius that the drugged wine would provide a painless passing.

“It was your choice,” he reminded him. “You chose to die, knowing that Nerissa would be far less merciful once she got her hands on you.”

“But you had something else in mind. Lucius was an embarrassment to you. A former pupil who learned so little from your lessons that he fell into the hands of those who used him for their own ends. When the scales fell from his eyes he turned to you for help, only you betrayed him.”

“I did not betray you.”

“You did not turn me over to Nerissa, true. But you had plans of your own. Who was it that thought of using soul magic?”

“Brother Giles.”

“So you decided that all his years of studying ought to be put to use, and who better to practice on than a man you despised?”

“We did what we thought best. It was not just a matter of hiding from the empress. You swore that you could not live with yourself, nor with the blood that had been shed in your name.”

“And then there was Josan. Your perfect student. Yet even his obedience would surely have been strained had he known what you were going to do. Did he ask to be saved?”

“He was too ill to make a choice, so I made it for him. Letting both of you die seemed a senseless waste.”

His words painted a picture of altruism, but Nikos’s motives had been far less pure. Saving Josan’s knowledge was a worthy goal, but if the supplicant had been anyone other than Prince Lucius, then both men would have been allowed to die. The risks of practicing the forbidden soul magic would have far outweighed any possible gain. But the chance to put his own man on the throne, even if it was only a slim one, had been too great an opportunity for Nikos to ignore.

There had been great dissatisfaction with Empress Nerissa, but Prince Lucius had lacked both the charisma and wisdom to unite the disparate factions into a cohesive whole. Lucius’s own character had doomed the rebellion, but if he had been a different man, it might have succeeded.

Nikos had the power to make him a different man, and the temptation to reshape history had proven irresistible. He had gambled, but Brother Giles’s efforts had produced only a gibbering half-wit, unfit for any purpose.

“Pity for you that your efforts yielded a drooling simpleton who could not further your plans. No wonder you sent me away, so you would not have to look at your failure,” Lucius said, showing far more insight than he had in his youth.

“I sent you away so you would be safe. And now you have ruined that by returning.”

“Safe? Then it was not you who sent an assassin to kill me?”

The thought had crossed Nikos’s mind, but he had believed himself safe as long as the man in the lighthouse still obeyed his orders and continued to sign his missives as “Your Obedient Servant, Josan.” And there was still a chance that circumstances would change, and Nikos would have a use for him.

“It was not I,” he said. But clearly someone else had seen through Lucius’s disguise and tried to kill the exiled prince, thus prompting his flight. He had known all along that the body found at Txomin’s Lighthouse was no mere thief, but the question of who had sent the assassin still lingered.

“My enemies continue to hunt me, but I have also found friends who wish to help. They brought me here to finish what I started six years ago.”

“The empress will crush you.”

“I know. But I was not consulted as to my wishes.”

Perhaps it was Josan’s knowledge tempering Lucius’s arrogance, for he seemed genuinely distressed at the prospect of another uprising.

It seemed that Nikos’s scheme to create a worthy prince had indeed worked, but the opportunity for him to be of use had passed. The empress had used the past six years to tighten her grasp on power. Any rebellion would be swiftly put down, and there would be no mercy for those involved.

Nikos could not afford to have Lucius fall into the empress’s hands. He was no match for him physically, so he would have to persuade Lucius that he would be safe in the collegium. Then, surely the brethren’s stock of herbs and potions would contain one that would destroy Lucius’s mind, so they could deliver a witless, gibbering husk to the empress’s dungeons. Killing him outright was too much of a risk since it would imply that Nikos had something to fear from what Lucius might say. But if Lucius’s arrival at the postern gate had been observed, the witnesses would confirm that he had behaved as an incoherent madman, thus avoiding any need to explain where Lucius had been for six years, or why he had chosen to come to the collegium of all places for sanctuary.

Brother Basil could be trusted, but Jeno would have to be dealt with. Novices were often sent to other countries to study, and he would accept such a posting without question. But if he were to return one day, it might be awkward. Instead, Jeno would have to be sacrificed, a tragic victim of the mad prince. And his death would explain the violence of Lucius’s capture and any damage the prince might suffer as a result of his apprehension. A skull fracture would be more convenient than relying on herb lore.

“You cannot keep me here,” Lucius said, as if he had read Nikos’s thoughts.

“But we can protect you. If you venture out into the city, you will be recognized and arrested.”

“I have already been recognized,” Lucius said. “My friends know that I have come here. If I do not return, they will begin asking questions that you cannot afford to answer.”

“What do you propose?”

“Let me return to them and persuade them that the time is not ripe for rebellion. Convince them to disband, then disappear once I am certain they will not commit further folly.”

And if Prince Lucius were indeed the leader of the rebels, his plan might work. But six years ago he had been a mere figurehead with no true authority. It was unlikely that anything had changed in the intervening years.

“At least stay long enough that we may consult with my advisors. They may see a different path.” If he summoned reinforcements, among them they could overpower Lucius.

Lucius shook his head. “No. It is too dangerous for me to stay here.”

Despite the peril that he faced, a part of Nikos was fascinated. More and more he was convinced that though Lucius’s mouth gave voice to the words, it was Josan’s intellect that shaped them. He had thought the soul transfer spell an utter failure, but it seemed he had been wrong.

If only he could be certain how much of the man before him was ruled by Josan and how much was the remaining traces of the foolish and impetuous prince. If Josan were in control, then Nikos might well gamble on letting him leave alive, but if it were Lucius’s personality in ascendance…

“You will give me a robe to hide this tunic and let me leave,” Lucius said. “The rebels are more highly placed than anyone dreams, and they have Nerissa’s ear. You will not survive if she turns her gaze upon your activities.”

Lucius had been a fool, but he had been an honest one. He had never lied to Nikos, not even when a lie would have served his purposes far better than the truth. And Josan had been a scholar who valued truth above all. If this man said that the rebels knew enough to endanger Nikos, then he would have to assume that was indeed the case.

He considered calling out, summoning monks to restrain Lucius to prevent his leaving, but concluded that he could not afford the spectacle that would result. Such an uproar would be witnessed by dozens of monks, and it was too much to hope that they would all remain silent at his command. A few words whispered to one of the imperial guard, and Nikos would find himself on trial for his life.

Instead he heaved a sigh, giving the air of a man persuaded against his will. Let Lucius think himself victor, and perhaps he would not think too closely about Nikos’s own plans.

“You may go, but first you will swear to me that you have no intention of trying to take the throne and that you will do everything in your power to disband the rebellion,” he said.

“This I swear. I have no interest in power and no taste for killings.”

It was little enough, but it would have to do. Nikos rose and retreated to his sleeping chamber, where he pulled out a dark wool robe from his wardrobe. It was plain, in keeping with his position, but unlike the light-colored robes that the brethren wore as their uniform. There would be nothing to tie its wearer to the collegium.

Lucius accepted the robe and donned it in silence.

“Should I summon an escort?”

“I know my way out,” Lucius said. “And I know what I have to do.”

“As do I,” Nikos said.

He waited until Lucius had left before summoning the boy assigned to tend his quarters. “Fetch me Brother Gregor, and Brother Thanatos. Wake them if they are sleeping,” he said.

Lucius might believe that he could stop the rebellion, but Nikos was not as sanguine. He had his own plans to put in place. By the time Lucius was captured, Nikos would ensure that there was nothing to link him to the prince. And if he handled the situation just right, he might even be able to turn Lucius’s appearance to his advantage. A few words here and there would point the finger of suspicion firmly away from Nikos and the collegium. Anything Lucius might say would be seen as desperately lashing out against one who had helped to bring him to justice.

Nikos would do whatever it took to survive.

 

As soon as the walls of the collegium were out of sight, Josan fell to his knees and vomited. He and the Other had managed to cooperate long enough to fool Nikos into giving them the answers they both sought, but now his head pounded with the strain caused by his warring selves, even as his stomach churned. A pack of youths returning home from their revels mocked his seeming inability to hold his drink, but they contented themselves with mere jeers. The dark robe hid both his features and the damning tunic with its bands of crimson silk, the color of royalty.

Fool that he was, it had taken Nikos’s sharp tongue to reveal the obvious. On another man, such a tunic would be a sign of his close connection to the imperial household, and it would be fitting for a magistrate to wear such to an official function of the court. But worn by one who styled himself a prince…

Yet was that who he was? he wondered, even as a voice inside of him whispered Yes. The Other was growing stronger, refusing to be silent now that he had been given a name. Prince Lucius, whose great-grandmother had been Princess Callista, full sister to Empress Constanza, the last of the old blood to sit on the imperial throne. Constanza had married the newcomer Aitor, elevating him to the rank of Prince Consort, then Aitor had needed only his own ambition to win the title of emperor for himself.

Lucius, who owed his very existence to Aitor’s seeming charity in sparing the lives of Princess Callista and her daughter, and to his heirs who had allowed Callista’s descendants to live quiet lives of obscurity until a vain and reckless youth let himself be used in an attempt to topple the empire.

It was beyond comprehension. He was Josan, a dedicated scholar who knew the secret harmonies of numbers and the histories of the civilized peoples. He was a man of peace. Violence was no part of him.

And yet it was. From his blood-soaked dreams to the arcane skills that he had used against his attacker, it seemed violence was very much a part of this Other. The rebellion of six years ago had not been an orderly affair of two armies meeting upon a field of battle. It had been a time of assassinations, of rape and pillage done in the name of ancient hatreds. Entire families had been executed from the oldest down to the babes in arms, as each side seemed determined to outdo the other in sheer horror. Prince Lucius might not have wielded the sword personally, but that did not make him any less responsible for the atrocities that had been done in his name.

I agree.

He shivered, as he realized that the prince was able to speak directly with him. If this had been happening to anyone else, he would have been fascinated. But faced with the twisted horror that he had become, he felt not curiosity but revulsion. His greatest fear had been that he was afflicted with madness, but now such fear seemed laughable. Josan had been made party to an abomination—and he was not alone in his torment.

It was strange to conduct a conversation in his own head, and he wondered if his lips were moving, even as his voice remained silent. So what do we do now? Do we run?

All of his possessions had been left behind in his hasty flight from the magistrate’s. Still, he could survive without them if he had to. Fleeing would mean breaking his promise to Brother Nikos, but that did not trouble him. Nikos had been the first one to break faith, when he had allowed Brother Giles to perform the obscene magics that had chained two men’s souls within a single body.

We can’t leave. Remember what Renato said? He said “The killings have already started.”

Josan swallowed hard, tasting the bile from his earlier sickness.

Renato had known that they were coming, and it was unlikely that he had kept the news of Prince Lucius’s return to himself. At the very least, he would have informed the most trusted members of the alliance, to prepare them for whatever scheme they had in mind. And it seemed that at least some of them had not waited for their prince to return before acting.

He did not know if they would heed his words, but he had no other choice. He owed it to his people to try and put right what his unheeding return had provoked.

If only he had obeyed Brother Nikos and remained in the distant north, the rebels would never have known of his existence. Not that this made him inclined to follow Brother Nikos’s advice. Josan had once trusted him utterly, but the blended man he had become did not. His instincts told him that Nikos was willing to murder to gain his own ends. The wonder was that he had not seen this before.

What would you do? he asked, but there was only silence. He could feel the Other’s impatience as if it were his own. It seemed he had no use for careful deliberations, nor the weighing of potential courses of actions. The pressure in his skull grew, and he stumbled as spots appeared in front of his eyes. He could not think, he could not reason; there was room for nothing except the overwhelming sense of pain, until even that was taken from him and he vanished.

At last, Lucius thought. Finally, after endless torment, he was aware of who he was, and in control of his own body. A body that felt strangely uncomfortable, like an old tunic that no longer quite fit. He ran one hand over his face and longed for a mirror.

Are you there? he asked, and was pleased when he heard no response.

So the demon was gone. At least for the moment.

He had been too busy struggling for ascendancy to pay attention to where the demon had taken them, but as he glanced around he realized that he had traveled only a short distance from the collegium and was far too close to the imperial grounds for comfort. He set off downhill, toward the sector that served as the unofficial pleasure district, where taverns and brothels stayed open until the dawn’s light. There he could lose himself in the crowds as he pondered a course of action. He patted his robe and the tunic beneath it, but it seemed that the demon had been so foolish that he had fled the magistrate’s house without bringing with him a single coin.

Pity. He could have used a glass of wine. Or a bottle for that matter.

Even as he walked, his eyes cataloged the changes in the city that he had once known well—a new fountain at the entrance to the fourth tier and the iron grilles that protected even smaller shops. The cobblestones along the streets of the pleasure district were no longer merely uneven, now numerous cracked stones posed a threat to unwary pedestrians.

His fists clenched in rage at this further proof of the years that had been stolen from him. He wondered how much time had passed since he had trusted Brother Nikos to give him a painless death. He thought as hard as he could, searching his memories, but the answer would not come to him.

He snorted in disgust as he realized that the demon’s knowledge was beyond his reach. The interloper had no such restrictions. Not only had he stolen Josan’s body, but he had made free with his skills—rummaging through the storerooms of mind and looting the riches that he found within.

Years must have gone by, while he slept, a prisoner in his own flesh. He could remember dreamlike fragments—walking on a muddy road, a tiny cabin, laughing as a grizzled peasant refilled his wine cup from a chipped jug. The weight of a sword in his hand as he stood over a fallen enemy.

A painted whore smiled and beckoned, until he drew near enough so she could see the expression on his face. Abruptly her smile fell as she turned aside to seek easier custom. He brushed by a group of drinkers who had overflowed from a wine shop, wincing at their raucous laughter. His belly rumbled as he passed a vendor selling skewers of grilled meat wrapped in bread, but he had far weightier concerns on his mind than mere hunger.

He must have woken before, but it had not been true consciousness. He had been a shadow of himself—nameless and unable to remain in control. At last he knew who he was, and what had happened to him. Brother Nikos had thought to use him, to replace Lucius with a demon puppet obedient to his control. But something must have gone wrong with his plan, for, rather than using him, he had exiled the one who wore Lucius’s body.

Years might have passed for his body, but Lucius’s clearest memories were of the last days when his soul had been his own. When he had attempted to pay for his mistakes with his life. The blood-soaked horrors were as fresh to him as if they had occurred only yesterday.

Though apparently time had blunted the memories of others, for the magistrate had spoken of a new uprising and a new cycle of violence. Lucius had meant what he said when he told the demon that they could not flee. He had to stay and find some way to convince the rebels to disarm before any more murders were done in his name.

It would not be easy. He did not know how much longer he could stay in control of his body before the demon pushed him aside. It was no comfort to know that the demon shared his goal of confounding the rebels. Lucius was a royal prince, while the demon was a mere peasant. Leadership was his by birthright, to accept or reject as he chose. But how could he command the rebellion when he could not command his own body to obey him? Even now he felt the demon’s presence, as he sought once more to take control.

Lucius knew this was a fight he would lose. The demon was stronger than he was, at least thus far. And he needed his cooperation in order to put down the rebellion.

But he also knew that he had been growing stronger in the past months, awakening more and more often. The day would come when he was strong enough to take control permanently, and when that happened he would see that the demon was banished forever. Then he would set about punishing those who had betrayed him.

As Josan came to himself, he realized that he was standing in the alleyway that ran behind Magistrate Renato’s residence. He was drained, his mind sluggish as if he had spent all day and night trying to unlock the mysteries of an ancient manuscript.

He wasn’t sure what had happened. Had he somehow wrested control of this body away from Lucius? Had Lucius surrendered to the darkness voluntarily, or had his spirit been too weak to remain awake?

He called, but there was no answer. Still, his being there meant that he and Lucius shared the same goal, and both agreed that Renato was the key to their plans. When Josan saw the magistrate again, it must be in the guise of Prince Lucius. He would start with the magistrate, then bend the rest of the rebels to his will.

There would be danger for him in this, and if he were captured by the empress, he could not expect any mercy. Prince Lucius’s body bore the guilt for his crimes, no matter that another man now inhabited it.

Though for how much longer that would be true was a question he did not want to face. Lucius’s spirit must have been dormant for years, existing only in the strange dreams that haunted Josan from time to time. But gradually Lucius had grown in power. Lucius had taken control of this body before, banishing Josan to a strange unknowingness. Now he could even speak directly with Lucius, two spirits in an uneasy cohabitation. Josan sensed that the revelations of this night had shocked Lucius as much as they had himself, but that did not mean that the prince would be content to remain a mere ghost inside his own flesh.

Lucius would rise again, and Josan would once more disappear into oblivion. And perhaps, if the prince grew strong enough, eventually that oblivion would be permanent. He wondered when that day came if he would see it as a blessing or a curse.

He pushed such thoughts aside and focused himself on the immediate task at hand. Renato must have left instructions for his servants to be on the lookout for his wandering guest, for the boy on watch at the rear door admitted Josan at once. This time he was led to a morning room, where the newly risen sun revealed two anxious men, empty crystal glasses of tea showing signs of a sleepless night.

“Where have you been? Are you well?” Myles asked. He made as if to embrace Josan, but the expression on Josan’s face must have warned him off, for he merely squeezed Josan’s forearm as if to ensure that he was indeed real and not a phantom.

“Were you followed?” Magistrate Renato asked, showing a commendable concern for what truly mattered.

“I was not followed,” Josan said. It was easier to answer Renato’s question. Myles’s betrayal still cut like a knife. He had trusted Myles as a friend, but all these weeks Myles must have known his true identity and not said a word. He had not consulted with Josan to ask his wishes, but instead had decided for himself how best to help the lost prince.

“I don’t know what you heard, or what you think you heard,” Myles began. His features were as easy to read as ever. He was worried, anxious, as any man might be who had quarreled with a friend.

Josan’s instincts still told him that Myles intended him no harm. But his instincts could not be trusted. Myles intended Prince Lucius no harm, and that distinction made all the difference.

“It does not matter,” Josan said, cutting off whatever explanation Myles had been about to make. There was nothing that Myles could say that would change what had passed between them, and no explanations that would change what Josan must do.

“You took a great risk leaving here,” Renato said.

“I had my reasons.”

“And did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes. I know who my friends are. But I do not recall your being one of their number six years ago,” Josan said, prompted with the sure knowledge of the Other. Lucius’s spirit might be resting, but it seemed his memories were still there for Josan to draw upon. “Prince Lucius finds it strange that you would have chosen his cause.”

Myles drew in a quick breath as the forbidden name was uttered.

“Does he?” Renato asked.

“Yes, I do.”

Renato considered Josan as if he were on trial in his court. Then, after a long moment, he bent down on one knee, in the genuflection owed to the heir to the throne.

Myles, trained as soldier, not courtier, dropped to both his knees and bowed his head.

Such seeming devotion sickened him, for he knew how little Lucius deserved it. And while Myles might be sincere in his faith, he doubted that Renato cared for anyone’s interests except his own.

“Rise, and be done with such displays unless you are anxious to see our heads decorating the walls of Nerissa’s great palace.”

“How did your memory come back to you? Or did you have it all along?” Myles asked.

“I had my secrets, as you clearly had yours.” It was all the explanation he was willing to give. “For now, call me Josan, since that name has served me well enough in my exile.”

“Six years ago, I was among those selected as spies in Nerissa’s court. We met only with the inner circle of your supporters, lest a traitor reveal our names. I was fortunate enough to escape arrest, but many of the others were not. I never wavered in my contempt for the empress, but I had given up all hope of defeating her until Myles’s letter reached me,” Renato explained.

“And naturally you have told others of my pending return.”

Renato looked away. “A few, perhaps.”

“I want to meet them. As soon as possible.”

“I am not sure that is wise—”

“I am,” Josan interrupted, trying for an imperious tone. “They will want to see me, to know for themselves that I am not some impostor.”

“It is not safe,” Myles said.

“I must agree with the sergeant. We dare not risk you. Let me meet with the others to lay our plans, then you can meet with a chosen few, who can bring word to the others.”

Leaving Renato as the de facto leader of the rebellion, since he would control all communication between the prince and his so-called followers. He wondered what Renato expected in return for his service. Would he be satisfied as magistrate or was the title of proconsul more to his liking?

“The time for caution is over. We must act swiftly, while surprise is still on our side. You will arrange for me to meet with those who have remained faithful, or I will leave here and meet with them on my own. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my prince,” Renato said.

“I will give you three days to prove your worth.”

“And what can I do to serve?” Myles asked.

Go and never speak to me again, Josan thought, but he did not say the words aloud. Josan might have lost a friend, but a prince would always have a use for a man who was quick with a sword and not afraid to use it.

“Leave me in peace,” Josan said.

Myles appeared shocked, so he clarified. “It has been a long night for all of us. Leave me in peace while I take my rest, and we will talk again after I have slept.”

“Of course,” Myles said. But the hurt look did not leave his face, and his eyes followed Josan as he left the morning room.

He would have to be careful. Myles had apparently accepted his apparent transformation from diffident monk to commanding prince, but such a role was hard to sustain. Others would see what they wanted to see, but Myles knew him well enough to see the cracks that would inevitably appear in his mask. It would be hard enough to take control of the rebellion as Prince Lucius, but if Myles were to hint that the prince was not in full command of his faculties, then his task would be nigh unto impossible.

He could not predict what Myles would do in such a case. He had already misjudged him badly, mistaking loyalty for friendship and worship for affection. Myles had not offered him the devotion of a lover but rather that of a follower. Renato was predictable in his greed, but Myles was not. By all appearances Myles truly wished to serve his prince and was willing to take any risk to place the man he had called a friend upon the imperial throne.

Such devotion was frightening in its mindless intensity. Yet he could not afford to push Myles away. He needed Myles’s loyalty, and thus he needed to maintain the pretense of friendship, which was the only lever he had to control Myles.

It was madness, but he could see no other course. His only hope was that he could end this new rebellion swiftly, before madness engulfed them all.