Chapter 18
Josan rose before dawn, dressing himself in a sleeveless tunic over loose cotton pants in expectation of another scorchingly hot day. A yawning servant fetched barley cakes and sweet tea, which he ate while standing at the bedroom window, watching the buildings change color as the sun’s rays broke over the city.
Passing Myles’s room, he glanced through the open door and saw that the room was empty. Josan was not the only one to have arisen early, and he wondered what had driven Myles from his bed at that hour.
As he reached the foot of the stairs, he encountered Myles, who was about to head up. One glimpse of Myles’s face was enough to tell him that something was wrong.
“Good, you’re awake,” Myles said. “I was on my way up to wake you.”
“What has happened?”
Myles glanced around the open hallway and shook his head. Renato was convinced of his servants’ complete loyalty, but neither Myles nor Josan was inclined to take risks.
“Come,” he said.
It was telling that he had fallen back into their old ways. He had not called Josan “my lord,” nor had he bothered disguising his order as a polite request. Whatever had driven Myles from his bed had disturbed him.
They went into Renato’s study, and Myles barred the door behind them.
“There’s a bundle by the gate in the back with your things. If trouble comes, if you hear any noise, don’t wait to find what it is. Slip out the back and head for the docks. There’s an inn at the southern end called The Sailor’s Ease. Stay there, and if I do not come for you within a day, you are to take passage on any ship you can, understood?”
“What happened?”
“Lady Zenia was murdered last night.”
The name meant nothing to Josan, but it meant something to the Other, who stirred within him. “The empress’s cousin?” he heard himself ask.
“The very same.” Myles sank down heavily on the nearest chair, and after a moment Josan followed suit.
He recalled the mischievous smile on the face of a young woman who had taken pity on a young boy bored by a formal court event. She had taken him aside and shown him where the guards hid their dice, teaching him how to cast them and reckon his score. Then they’d raided the elaborate refreshments table, snatching sugar cakes and devouring their stolen treasures while hiding behind the commoners’ screen.
He remembered her laughter as if he could hear her still, and recalled the devotion of a young boy who had fallen in love with her. He had thrown a tantrum on the day that she was married, for all he knew himself a beardless boy still far too young for her. Though their paths had seldom crossed except on the most formal of court occasions when all would be invited, she had always held a special place in his heart.
In Lucius’s heart. Josan had never met her, never known the woman, yet he felt Lucius’s grief as if it was his own.
“Was she alone?” he forced himself to ask, though in his heart he already knew the answer. Myles’s face was too grim. There was more bad news to come.
“No. The assassins killed Zenia, her three children, and her husband. Plus the servants in the house. They said there was blood everywhere. The screams alerted the neighbors, who summoned the watch.”
“Whoever did this will pay for what he has done. I want him brought to me by sunset, or so help me—”
“You are too late. He is already dead.”
“Who? How?” He felt robbed, thwarted of his chance to inflict pain upon the one who had caused him this grief.
“Flavian. The young fool was arrested by the watch, along with those he had paid to do his foul work.” Myles’s disgust was palpable, as he contemplated the folly of the youngest member of the inner circle of conspirators. Not only had Flavian been stupid enough to be caught, he had been caught in an act so horrific that it would alienate those who might have otherwise have been sympathetic to Lucius’s cause. If Flavian had been intending to destroy the revolution, he could not have chosen a better way.
But Flavian, it seemed, was already beyond whatever retribution anyone could mete out.
“How did he die? Was it Benedict?”
“No, but Benedict sent a messenger to us with the word of what had happened. Flavian took poison and died before he reached the prison. Still, at least two of his thugs are still alive and in the empress’s custody, and if he told them anything, then we are all at risk.”
“Where is the magistrate?”
“Gone, to talk with the others. He suggested that we wait here for word.”
Josan shook his head at such folly. “And if the empress’s spies are watching any one of the conspirators, they will be able to follow them right to the gathering and arrest them all.”
Myles nodded in agreement, though still he forbore to criticize Renato aloud.
“What will you do?” he asked.
What would he do? Josan was disgusted by the slaughter of innocents, while Lucius grieved for the death of one he had counted a friend. But both souls were united in their understanding that events had passed beyond their control. He could no longer pretend that there was any chance of steering the revolution, nor of his convincing his followers to lay down their arms.
But there was still time to flee. To remain any longer was an act of utter folly, for surely it was only a matter of time before they would all be arrested. Already the conspirators had begun to panic, and such men would be swift to turn on each other. For all they knew, Renato’s early-morning errand had taken him not to meet with the conspirators, but rather to the palace where he was making arrangements to trade Prince Lucius for his own safety.
“What should we do?” Myles asked, after the silence had stretched on.
Josan hesitated, and in that moment the prince struck. Propelled by the strength of his anger and grief he rose up within, seizing control of what was his by birthright. For a brief moment Josan felt the prince’s rage, then he was bludgeoned into insensibility.
Lucius tasted the demon’s terror, and it pleased him. Now the invader knew what it was like to be brushed aside, unable to control what would happen next. But there was no time to savor his victory, for his lackey was gazing at him expectantly.
“You will go to the collegium. Tell Brother Nikos that Magistrate Renato has urgent need of his counsel and fetch him here.”
“The brethren?”
“Brother Nikos,” he repeated. “If Renato’s name does not move him to haste, then tell him that his old pupil Josan wishes to speak with him before he summons the imperial guard.”
“But Nikos will tell the empress—”
“Brother Nikos will do as he is told. He knows I hold his life in my hands.”
The soldier made no move to obey, and Lucius realized that he had been too abrupt. The monk, for all that he played at being a royal prince, was more used to reasoning than commanding. “Go, now, there is no time to be lost. I promise I will explain everything to you later,” he said, imitating the monk’s earnestness.
“As you command, my lord,” Myles said. With one last searching look, he took his leave.
And now it was a race against time. The invader trusted Myles, but Lucius knew that the lackey’s loyalties were divided between the man he called prince and Magistrate Renato. If Renato were to return too soon, he might convince Myles to disobey his orders. All in the name of protecting the prince, of course, but any delay would be fatal.
The invader was too weak to do what must be done. Caught between his guilt and urge to flee, knowing that the empress had the power to turn the city into a trap from which no escape would be possible. If he were to act, Lucius had to do so immediately, before his choices were taken away from him.
And before he lost control of this body. He did not fool himself into thinking that he had won anything but a mere skirmish. The invader was not vanquished; he was merely banished for a time. It was inevitable that he would surface again, once more reducing Lucius to the status of a prisoner within his own flesh.
The invader might be willing to live a half-life, but Lucius was not. He would end the killings—but not before he had made those responsible pay. The passage of years, or perhaps the dispassionate wisdom of the monk, had made him realize how much a fool he had been in his youth. He despised his youthful self and how he had gloried in the destruction wrought in his name. But he reserved his full hatred for those who had taken advantage of an arrogant youth, and who sought to use him again. He would see them punished for their crimes.
All of them bore the responsibility for Zenia’s death, and for the other innocents who had been killed in the name of restoring the old blood to the throne. Their debt would not be repaid until their own blood had been shed in return.
He glanced down in disgust at his bare arms. If he was to meet his fate, he would not do so dressed like a clerk. Returning to his room, he shaved his face and anointed his hair. Then, searching through the wardrobe till he found a suitable silk robe, he dressed himself as befit a prince.
He had never been good at waiting, and fearing that the invader would use his distraction to attack, Lucius kept the image of Zenia in his mind, stoking the flames of his anger. When Myles returned with Brother Nikos, he was ready.
Brother Nikos froze on the threshold of the library as he caught sight of Lucius. It was only for a moment, but his cheeks were flushed with anger or perhaps fear as he came toward Lucius.
“You should not have summoned me. It is too dangerous for us both, especially after the savagery of last night,” Brother Nikos said.
“Do you already feel the lash upon your back? Is that why you came, so you would know where to send Nerissa’s troops now that you have decided to betray me? How many followed you here?”
“No one followed us, this I swear,” Myles said.
He would have to trust the ex-soldier’s competence in this. But simply because they had not been followed did not mean that they were safe.
“Did you use the name Josan to fetch him?”
Myles shook his head. “No, he came when I told him that Magistrate Renato needed to speak with him about Lady Zenia’s murder.”
“Good,” Lucius said. So he still had time. No doubt Nikos had come to find out how much Renato knew.
“I would not betray you,” Brother Nikos said.
“You already have,” Lucius replied. Then, with a glance at Myles, he switched to the scholar’s tongue. “You betrayed us both when you cast this spell.”
“Prince Lucius?”
“Yes,” he answered, still keeping to the scholar’s tongue. He wondered if it was his accent or perhaps his harsh condemnation that had given his identity away. Not that it mattered. Both monk and prince had their own reasons to distrust Nikos. And both shared the burning desire to stop the violence before it claimed another victim.
“I can help you,” Nikos said. “There is a ship in the harbor that will leave for Xandropol tomorrow. One of the novices has already booked passage. You could take his place and none would be the wiser.”
The scholar would like that. He would enjoy being confined amidst musty books and rotting scrolls, spending the rest of his life deciphering the writings of long-vanished civilizations. But the monk’s pleasure would be Lucius’s torment, and as long as their two souls were bound together, neither could truly be content.
“Xandropol,” he repeated. From the corner of his eye he saw Myles’s sudden interest, as he recognized the name of the foreign city. Myles was shrewd enough to realize that Nikos must be offering safe passage, and no doubt he would urge his prince to accept.
But Myles did not know what he knew.
“Would they wait till I was at sea to dispose of my body? Or would you have me killed aboard ship, my body left in the harbor for the empress’s men to discover?”
“Why did you summon me if you do not want my help?”
“But I do want your help. I want you to take me to the empress. Now.”
“You are mad,” Nikos said.
“If I am, we know who is to blame.”
“The empress will kill you.”
Quite probably. But even death was better than this twisted half-life. “The empress will hear what I have to say first.”
“I will not help you,” Nikos declared. He turned on his heel as if to leave.
Lucius caught Myles’s eye, and Myles moved to block the door, his sword drawn. The ex-soldier might not understand what they were saying, but from the tones of their voices it was clear that they were arguing.
Nikos turned back. “You cannot force me to help you.”
“You are mistaken.”
As Lucius advanced, Nikos retreated. At last Nikos was forced to stop, lest he impale himself on Myles’s sword. Lucius stepped in close enough that he could smell Nikos’s fear, see the beads of sweat on his brow. He was a small man, really, for all his posturing, and Lucius wondered that he had ever been afraid of him.
“You have two choices. First, you take me to the palace and use your status as chief counselor to demand a private meeting with the empress. When she arrives you will tell her that you persuaded me to surrender and accept her gratitude.”
“What is my second choice?”
“My friend summons the watch. They arrest us both, and I will tell anyone who will listen of your treason. They will not believe me, not at first. But they will be forced to investigate. I doubt Brother Giles will take much persuasion before he tells all, and soul magic is such an ugly thing, is it not? A man who would dabble in soul magic might well be guilty of any crime.”
“Brother Giles is dead, and there are none who carry on his work,” Nikos avowed.
“But surely his notes survive. The monk knows your ways—he knows you would never throw anything of value away. You kept me alive when you thought me a witless shell. The proof of your deeds is in the collegium and, once they know the stakes, the brethren will be all too eager to help Nerissa’s men find it.”
Nikos was trapped, and from the defeated look in his eye, he knew it.
“This is how you repay me for my help? For all I have done for you?”
“You, at least, may come out of this alive and relatively unscathed. Which is more than you would offer me,” Lucius said. He held Nikos’s gaze until the monk finally nodded.
Lucius stepped back. “Summon a litter for two,” he told Myles. “Brother Nikos and I are going to call on an old friend.”
The excitement of finally taking action, and of being in control of his own fate, carried him through the delay as they waited first for the litter, and on the long, jostling trip through the streets of Karystos. Myles had been ordered to stay behind, to wait for Magistrate Renato to return. But even if he had disobeyed his orders, it was unlikely that he would realize the litter’s destination until it was too late.
As they reached the first gate into the palace, Lucius placed one hand on the dagger that he wore at his side, but Nikos needed no persuasion. No doubt he had spent the journey weaving an elaborate web of lies and truths that would cast his actions in the noblest of lights, and ensure that whatever Lucius said would be seen as an attempt to discredit one who had proven unshakably loyal to the imperial house.
Nikos’s name and face were enough to gain them entrance onto the palace grounds. As they left the litter, several glanced at Lucius, who was once more wearing a hood to conceal his face, but no one questioned him.
The guards at the entrance to the palace were not as accepting. They refused to let Lucius pass unchallenged, until Nikos assured them that the stranger’s presence was a matter of the utmost discretion, and that he would take full responsibility. Even with these assurances the guards still searched Lucius as if he were a commoner, finding and confiscating his dagger.
They were led to a small antechamber off the imperial receiving room. On his own, Brother Nikos could have been expected to be taken directly to the empress, but the presence of a second man meant that they would have to wait for the empress to deign to receive them.
Servants offered water and fruit juices, in deference to Brother Nikos’s reputation for moderation. Nikos accepted a glass of melon fruit juice, but Lucius simply shook his head. He glared at Nikos, who sat lounging on a couch as if he were at ease in his own quarters. He could tell that the balance of power had shifted. In the magistrate’s house it had been Nikos who was afraid, while Lucius held the power.
Now, having been given time to scheme, Nikos showed every sign of being in control of the situation, while Lucius paced restlessly, trying to hide the trembling of his limbs. He knew that he had to see the empress. It must be done. And yet the anger that had sustained him earlier was no match for the knowledge that directly under his feet lay the infamous dungeons where the empress’s torturers held sway.
He heard the clicking of bootheels in the corridor and knew that Empress Nerissa and her bodyguards approached. Fear welled up within him as he felt the faint stirrings of the invader. He struggled to remain in control, but the harder he exerted his will, the more he felt himself slipping away. To his horror he realized that he could no longer feel his own limbs.
There was no time. With his remaining strength he brought the details of his plan to the forefront of his thoughts, and then pushed them toward the invader, hoping against hope that it would be enough.
I’m sorry, he thought, and Lucius surrendered. He had one moment to feel the horrified shock of the invader as he realized where they were, then he let himself fall into the blackness of unknowing.
Empress Nerissa listened impassively as Benedict, second-in-command of the city watch, finished making his report.
“My men searched the traitor Flavian’s residence, but have found no signs that he had any accomplices. His servants claim to know nothing, but of course they will be questioned under the severest forms to see if they are telling the truth.”
The severest forms were a polite euphemism for torture. Given the magnitude of their master’s crimes, it was likely that some of the servants would die before the imperial questioners were satisfied as to their veracity. Others would be crippled by the lash or hot irons. Still, their fates could have been worse. It was within Nerissa’s rights to order the entire household put to death for what Flavian had done. For all that Lady Zenia had been related to her noble mother rather than her imperial father, Zenia was still kin to the empress, thus to shed her blood was an offense against the imperial house.
“You think this the act of a madman rather than a conspiracy?”
Benedict hesitated. His nervousness was understandable, for it was rare that he spoke directly with her. For ordinary matters she gave instructions to Proconsul Zuberi, who then passed on her orders to Petrelis, who commanded the city watch. But Petrelis was personally supervising the questioning of Flavian’s household, and had thus delegated his subordinate to make the report.
“In these past weeks we have searched the city but found no signs of conspiracy; only a handful of malcontents. If I may offer my humble opinion, I believe that when Petrelis has finished his investigation he will find no signs that Flavian conspired with others in this deed.”
She did not know if Benedict was allowing his hopes to overcome his good sense, or perhaps he merely feared being the bearer of bad news to his sovereign. It was more than mere unrest that had plagued the city in these past weeks. Just as a poisoned well revealed its presence through the dead animals that surrounded it, the conspiracy revealed itself through the ripples of violence that had spread out across the city, touching first commoners and now the noblest blood.
But there was nothing more to be gained from interrogating one who was himself no more than a lackey, so she dismissed Benedict with the instructions that he or Petrelis was to report to her the moment they had any information.
Even deep within the marble walls of the palace, the heat of the city penetrated, and she felt the sweat beading on her brow. A terse order summoned slaves to tend the massive fans that blew fresh breezes through her living quarters, but even their efforts were barely able to make things tolerable.
Karystos in the summer was an uncivilized place, where the blazing sun drove the residents inside during the heat of the day, and periodic fevers swept through the poorer quarters. Anyone who could afford to do so retired to a country estate in the summer months, to avoid the heat and the disease. Nerissa herself possessed a half dozen estates, ranging from the imposing palace that Aitor had built on the island of Eluktiri to the modest estate near Sarna, which could house a mere fifty of her household. And their retainers, of course. But the unrest in the city had forced her to remain in Karystos—and when the empress stayed, her courtiers also remained behind.
She had urged Lady Zenia to leave, to travel to Sarna for the health of her children; but Zenia had chosen to stay, and that loyalty had cost her her life.
This time, her enemies had gone too far. So far Nerissa had held her hand, but from here on she would be merciless in her quest to hunt down those who opposed her. Benedict and his master Petrelis might hesitate to use the word conspiracy, knowing that it would reflect badly on them to discover that such had flourished under their very noses, but Nerissa would not hesitate. Nor would she wait for absolute proof.
Those who were currently under observation by the imperial spies would be brought in for questioning. The basic forms to start, though she would not hesitate to invoke the harsher disciplines. And Lady Ysobel would be brought in as well. There was no proof against her, but she had had one too many accidental encounters with those who were under suspicion. Lady Ysobel would have to be treated with caution, for she was still the official trade liaison. But she was also a pragmatic woman, used to reckoning the odds. A quick tour of the torture chambers ought to be enough to convince her of the wisdom of sharing whatever information she might have.
Nerissa’s musings were interrupted by the news that Brother Nikos had arrived and requested an audience with her. Her interest was piqued when the messenger informed her that Nikos was not alone. She knew it was no coincidence that Nikos had arrived unbidden on this of all days, and as she made her way to the receiving room, she wondered what information he had brought her.
Opening the door to the antechamber, her bodyguards took up their positions on either side of the door.
As she entered the room, Nikos rose to his feet, then dropped to one knee.
“Most Gracious Imperial Majesty, forgive me for intruding on your grief,” he said.
“Rise,” she ordered. “I trust you would not do so lightly.”
Her words were for Nikos, but her gaze was fixed on the second man in the room. In defiance of custom he made no obeisance. Instead he gave a slight bow, then lifted his hands and drew back his hood.
Her breath froze as his blue eyes stared directly into hers.
“Empress,” he said.
“What is the meaning of this? You swore to me he was dead!”
Nikos dipped his head low, in a gesture of contrition. “It seems we were both deceived.”
This was more than a simple mistake. Nikos had assured her that Prince Lucius was dead, that he had personally witnessed the prince’s death and subsequent hasty burial.
She opened her mouth to summon the guards, but Lucius spoke swiftly, recognizing her intent.
“Don’t you wish to hear what I have to say?”
“You will tell me all I wish to know, once Nizam is done with you.”
He swallowed once, but that was the only outward sign of his fear. And indeed, he must be feeling terror, though his face was still, betraying no hint of his emotions. She studied him for a long moment, noting the changes the years had wrought. Memory recalled a man whose features still held the roundness of youth and who wore petulance as if it were a cloak, while this man held himself with dignity, his level gaze and sharp features conveying the impression of intelligence and resolution.
“How long has Nikos been your ally, conspiring behind my back?”
Prince Lucius shook his head. “The learned brother agreed to bring me here this morning, nothing more. I persuaded him that you and I needed to talk.”
“And what do we have to discuss? All was said between us years ago, when you raised yourself in opposition to me.”
“I have come to beg for your help.”
“My help?” She laughed. So much for thinking that he had grown wits over the years. “The only help you may expect from me is a swift death.”
And that would be more mercy than she was inclined to grant. Lucius had earned himself the slow death of a traitor for his actions years ago, and the latest violence had done nothing to soften her temper toward him.
“I come to you as one who loved Lady Zenia and is sickened by the violence being done in my name. I have come to ask for your help in ending this, before anyone else is killed.”
She remembered the summer he had taken to following Zenia around the court and how Zenia had been endlessly patient with the youngest of her admirers. But that had been over fifteen years ago, and calf-love was hardly a motive for him to seek out the one person who had most cause to wish him dead.
Especially here, in the stronghold of her power. She had but to raise her voice and he would be captured, bound over for torture. It made no sense and she was not a woman who liked puzzles.
“Was Flavian one of yours?” she asked.
He grimaced. “Flavian was one of those who conspire against your rule, but he was not acting under my orders.”
“I persuaded Prince Lucius to come here, to tell you the names of the conspirators in return for your mercy,” Brother Nikos said.
Perhaps Lucius had been foolish enough to believe that she would be merciful though surely Nikos knew better. And by placing Lucius within her grasp, the monk had done much to redeem himself for his earlier mistake.
“I can tell you what I know freely, or you can summon Nizam and have him drag the information from me along with my lifeblood. But that alone will not break the conspiracy; nor will it end the violence.”
“Maybe not. But seeing your body hanging from the palace walls will certainly dissuade your followers,” she said, wanting to see his reaction.
To his credit Lucius did not flinch, and she felt a flicker of admiration for his poise. “Do not make the mistakes of six years ago, when your enemies were allowed to disappear back into the shadows, brooding and waiting until they could strike again.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I can only tell you the names of those whom I have met, but there are others behind the scenes who guide their actions. I will summon them to a meeting, then your men will swoop down and arrest us. There will be no chance for any to escape.”
“And you expect me to let you leave here? To walk free?” Such presumption was absurd, though the prospect of being able to crush the conspiracy with a single blow was indeed tempting.
“Send one of your own with me. A bodyguard, to ensure my behavior. The others can follow, discreetly, and await his signal.”
“And what do you gain from this?”
“The rebellion is doomed to failure. The only question is how many people will die on both sides before you are triumphant. I choose to stop the killings now.”
“A noble motive, but hardly in keeping with your character. You forget that I have known you since you were a babe at your mother’s breast.”
“Men change,” he said.
He waited patiently as she pondered her course of action. He did not beg or plead, and she was struck by the truth of his words. Lucius had indeed changed. His mannerisms, even the cadence of his speech had altered, perhaps a sign that he had spent at least some of the past years among foreigners. If it were not for his features, she would not have recognized him.
The spoiled prince she had known would never have risked his own skin to save someone else, not even someone he loved. This man, if he was to be believed, was prepared to sacrifice himself to save his enemies. And, in so doing, he would condemn to their own deaths those friends who had supported him.
It was a noble sacrifice or an act of utter desperation, or possibly both. But in the end his motives did not matter. She would use him as she saw fit; and then, when he could be of no further use to her, she would mete out the justice that had been delayed for too long.
“You swear that you will do as you have said?”
“I swear that I will do my best to bring the conspirators together, to face your justice. And as for myself, I will trust in your mercy.”
The last was said with an ironic glance in the direction of Brother Nikos, and in that instant she knew that he clearly understood that the mercy the monk had promised him was a mere illusion. If he did indeed hand over the conspirators to her, then her mercy might stretch to a painless death versus the protracted agonies dictated by the law for traitors; but that was the most he could hope for, and it was clear that he knew it as well as she did.
She felt herself warming to him. She had detested the young man he had been, but under different circumstances she might have liked the man he had grown to become.
“Agreed,” she said.
Lucius nodded. “I will give you this in token of my good faith. Benedict, of the city watch, is not to be trusted. He is one of the inner circle, so make certain that he knows nothing of your plans.”
She hoped her face showed nothing of the shock that she felt. Could it be true that Benedict was a traitor? Was that why his investigations had yielded no proof of conspiracy, because he himself had destroyed any evidence before it could fall into her hands?
“Is there anyone else I should be wary of?”
“Trust no one. Remember, I do not know all their names, and some have hair as dark and skin as pale as your own. Select only those guards whose loyalty is absolutely certain for the arrests, and once you have them in hand you can question the traitors at your leisure.”
“I do not need you to lecture me on how to run my empire,” she snapped.
“Of course,” Lucius said, and he bowed his head in a sign of respect.
It took some time, and a few suggestions from Brother Nikos, to smooth the way, but at last they were agreed upon the arrangements. Prince Lucius had the span of the next day and night to complete his task—when dawn rose on the following morning her guards would arrest him, whether or not he had been able to keep his promise of handing over the rest of the rebels. The prospect of breaking the back of the rebellion with a single blow was tempting, but she would not let him slip through her fingers again. Prince Lucius had escaped justice once, but this time she would see that he paid for his crimes. His death would be a lesson to all who had flouted her authority.
When she was finished there would be no doubt who ruled in Ikaria—and none left alive who would dare challenge her in the future.