Chapter 21
When Josan woke the next morning, he was alone. He had not been able to find true sleep, but just as his body had gone numb from discomfort, so, too, his mind had finally fallen into a trancelike state that was neither sleep nor true wakefulness. He searched within himself but found no trace of Prince Lucius. Despite the promises the prince had made, it seemed Josan would face whatever the day brought alone.
He did not blame the prince. If he had been able to, Josan’s own spirit would have fled as well, leaving an insensate husk behind for whatever tortures Nerissa had planned.
He heard footsteps, and a faint glow revealed the direction of his cell door. Two guards stopped in front of the cell. One held a set of keys, which jangled as he unlocked the door, while his comrade held a torch. After hours of staring into the darkness, Josan’s eyes could not bear the light, and as the two guards approached he turned his head, blinking his watering eyes.
“What—” he tried to say, but his voice was a mere rasp. He coughed to clear his throat and tried again. “What has Nerissa planned for me?”
They gave no sign of having heard him. The torchbearer stood by, as the second guard reached for Josan’s right hand. He braced himself for the pain that would come from being unshackled, but such was not their intent. Instead the guard merely checked both manacles to make certain that they were secure. Only then did the guard reach down to his belt and unfasten a waterskin. Bringing it to Josan’s lips, he poured in a mouthful, then another. Josan swallowed eagerly, but all too soon it was withdrawn.
It took all his will not to beg for more.
Then, as silently as they had entered, they left, and he was once more alone in the darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps this was the punishment that the empress intended for him. Leaving him to starve to death in the darkness, giving him sips of water to prolong his suffering.
A cruel death, but he was confident that other prisoners had died far more agonizing ones at her command.
At some point she would surely want to witness his suffering, before his wits had gone begging and he was no longer able to recognize the author of his torments.
Hours passed. He heard screams from the rooms of pain, this time a woman’s voice, and he wondered if it was Dama Akantha or Lady Ysobel. Twice the darkness was briefly illuminated as guards passed his cell door. The second time he heard the sound of something or someone being dragged, but he could not see into the corridor to confirm his suspicions.
His mouth was parched, and his belly ached with hunger, though it had been only a day, or perhaps two since he had last eaten. Time had no meaning for him. Finally, he heard steps and the welcome sound of a key being inserted into the lock of his cell. He raised his head and peered at the door. This time he would beg, if it would gain him even a single more mouthful of precious water.
Four guards entered his cell this time, followed by Empress Nerissa.
Josan opened his mouth, but all that came out was a harsh croak.
At the empress’s gesture, one of the guards approached him, and offered a waterskin. He gulped eagerly, sputtering as he realized that the water was mixed with wine. The guard was patient, allowing Josan to drink his fill before he withdrew the skin. Two others approached, and as they unlocked the manacles that held him upright, it was only their grip on his arms that kept him from falling to the floor.
They dragged him to the center of the cell, where he stood swaying under Nerissa’s cool gaze. He did not doubt that she saw everything—from his piss-stained tunic to the agony of limbs wrenched out of shape.
“Does this please you?” he asked.
He waited for a blow for his impertinence, but to his surprise it did not come.
“This was not my wish,” she said.
“On the contrary, I think that nothing happens here that you do not command. Are you satisfied with my humiliation, or is this just a taste of what you have planned?”
“I did not intend to leave you here so long.” It was not quite an apology.
He noticed that she showed no signs of distress at her surroundings. She might have been at a party in the imperial gardens, rather than in a dank cell that reeked of human suffering.
“I kept my oath,” he reminded her.
“So you did.” She walked around him, but he was too tired to crane his head to follow her movements. When she spoke next, her voice came from behind him. “In a way, your honor is to blame for your present trials. When I saw the list of those arrested, I was convinced that it was a trick on your part, implicating those I knew to be loyal.”
He wondered that she spoke so freely in front of the guards, then realized that the men wore dark uniforms without insignia of any sort. They must be part of Nizam’s interrogators, and as such had heard far more damning secrets.
“Surely Farris was able to convince you otherwise.”
She circled around to face him again. “Farris had much to say. So, too, did Renato, Akantha, and even Salvador, who was dragged from his supposed sickbed to explain his role. I have no doubt the others will confirm their guilt, once we have had time to question them all.”
“What of Lady Ysobel?”
Nerissa frowned. “She evaded those sent to arrest her and made her escape before we were able to close the harbor.”
He wondered why he felt relieved. Perhaps it was simply that Lady Ysobel was both young and female, and thus he felt pity for her, even if she did not deserve it. After all, she was inadvertently responsible for his fate, for it had been their meeting that had revealed his presence on Txomin’s Island, prompting the chain of events that had led him to this place. Federation gold had supported the rebels, while her counsel had inspired their acts of violence.
“Many of those questioned have also mentioned Brother Nikos, though he was not among their number,” she said. “Would you care to explain his role?”
The wine he had drunk had gone straight to his head, as she must have intended. Fortunately, he had expected the question and already prepared his answer.
“I sought out Brother Nikos and convinced him to bring me to you, as you already know. Then I used his presumed aid to convince the conspirators to assemble, telling them that Nikos had revealed the key to your destruction,” he said. “As for Nikos’s true loyalties, I leave you to determine where they lie.”
He made no mention of soul magic, nor of the role that Nikos had played in the events of the first uprising. It was not pity that stayed him, nor remnants of whatever loyalty Josan had once felt for the head of his order. Rather it was out of friendship for those members of the brethren who were true scholars and would inevitably be tainted by the actions of their leader. Nikos deserved whatever punishment the empress could devise, but the others did not.
“What do you intend for me?” he asked. He was tired of fencing words with her.
“I had intended death,” she said. “A clean death by the sword, far better than a traitor deserves.”
“And now?”
“Now I find myself in your debt.”
His breath froze, as he felt the first stirrings of hope. “I will swear any oath you ask. If you spare me, I will leave Ikaria and never return. You will never hear of me again.”
Josan would happily bury himself in the library of Xandropol for the rest of his life, safe in the anonymity of a scholar’s life. Or, if she would not allow that, he could live quietly anywhere she named. His years in exile had taught him to be content with the most humble of circumstances. He did not need to live the life of either prince or scholar, just as long as he was allowed to live.
“I cannot allow you to go free.” She sounded genuinely regretful as she dashed the hope that had sprung up within him.
“I understand,” he said, then wondered at what had prompted him to offer her forgiveness for what she must do.
She tilted her head to one side. “Yes, I believe that you do. Wisdom has come late, but it becomes you, Prince Lucius.”
He blinked at the unexpected praise.
“I still have a use for you, if you are minded to swear another oath. I cannot let you walk free, but a dead martyr serves me no purpose. Instead I have a mind to follow in the footsteps of Aitor the Great.”
“And you have cast me in the part of Callista?”
She smiled in approval of his quick wits. “Yes. I will pardon you for your crimes, in return for your public pledge of fealty. You will stand at my side as your followers are executed, and you will praise me for my justice.”
“And then what? After a few months I quietly disappear into an unmarked grave?”
“You will live here, in the palace, under constant supervision. Give me no reason to suspect you, and you will live to a ripe old age.”
He hesitated. Moments ago he had been willing to beg for his life, but it was no easy bargain that she was offering. It was not just a life sentence of humiliation, a prisoner in all but name, as his every deed, every word was watched and weighed. He was also agreeing to a lifetime in the role of Prince Lucius. If he swore this oath, he would be forced to live his days as the prince.
And as the days turned into months, the pretense would become reality. Josan the scholar would be lost, subsumed by the part he was forced to play. It would not be a painful death, but it would be a death all the same.
It was a harder decision than even Nerissa knew, but in the end he did not have any choice. He could not condemn this body to death, not knowing that such an act would kill not one soul but two.
“I accept your mercy,” he said. “My empress.”
The guards were surprisingly gentle as they helped him kneel, and he began to recite the formal words of submission.