by Rachel Ford
She didn’t know. But however he’d done it, she could not help but admire him for the feat.
The senate, meanwhile, was erupting with objections. Some were reminding the emperor that these were weighty charges indeed. “And even an Emperor may be sued for defamation.” Others – those rivals and enemies of the accused – were demanding to hear him out.
Faustus let them shout for a few moments, until the voices rose in a kind of crescendo. Then, his own voice high and commanding, he shouted to be heard. “Do you think I have come without evidence, my august conspirators?”
Cassia could hear the breaths of those around her. Hell, she thought she might have heard a pin drop, if someone had a mind to test the theory. He’d silenced them. Well, he always had been a master of manipulating spectacle. He’d always known how to play the crowds, her Faustus. She could not admire him for it. Once she might have. Now, she saw only artifice and manipulation.
But she could not deny that he was good at what he did.
“Tell me, Gallus,” Faustus continued, his voice still booming though the noise had settled, “and tell me Albus: did you think I would know where to look for Caius’s secretary? Or did you think your emperor was a fool to be played, as you’ve played the prefect?”
Now, he turned to the far end of the chamber. Cassia noted his guard stood there, a respectful distance from the rest of the body. “Bring the dog,” Faustus commanded, and the other man bowed.
A moment later, the guard returned. But this time, he was not alone. This time, he escorted an older man. The newcomer’s face had been bruised, his lip was bloodied. But underneath these superficial wounds and the trembling manners, Cassia saw a slight frame and a scholarly aspect.
“This,” Faustus continued, “is Appius Drusus. He is the private secretary of Governor Caius.
“When Caius fled Blackstone, it seems there was not room on his ship for a man of letters. And Drusus was left behind, to fend for himself.
“But Drusus was Caius’s righthand in all his schemes. He wrote his letters, he read his letters. Drusus knew his business better than he did himself. How many times did I hear him say that?” Faustus shook his head, a harsh smile across his lips.
“Well, tell us, Drusus, how did Governor Caius manage to outwit our senate, and disappear before we could get troops to Blackstone?”
The thin man shook violently and made some response in a trembling voice.
“Louder,” Faustus shouted. “So they can hear you.”
“We…we had a message, my lord. A message by carrier pigeon.”
“A message from whom?”
The thin man swallowed hard and glanced up at the senators in front of him. His gaze came to rest on Gallus. “Sen-Senator Gallus, my lord.”
It was every bit the miracle Trygve had hinted at. Drusus condemned all the senators Faustus named, and a few more besides, as Caius’s close confidantes. Gallus knew about the plot to assassinate her. So did Albus and the others. They’d hatched it when they started to hear rumors of Cassia’s scheme to shift the senate in her favor.
And Drusus could produce dates and times, and details that were too easily verified to be dismissed. The accused protested at first but sat in ashen faced silence as the evidence against them grew.
All of this was disrupted by Senator Thracius. Quite suddenly, he moved to bring something to his mouth. And it was too late when people realized what had happened. He wore a ring with a false front. Under this stone sat a little well of poison – poison that he swallowed before anyone could stop him.
A few moments later, he lay thrashing and foaming at the mouth on the senate floor.
If there had been any lingering doubt as to the innocence of those accused, if anyone had thought Drusus’s testimony might have been more a product of the welts and bruises he sported than the truth, this laid it rather decisively to rest.
Corenus tried to sprint out of the chamber during the commotion. Faustus’s guard tackled him before he’d taken half a dozen steps, though. Albus drew a blade, apparently intent on fighting his way out. Five of his peers subdued him, wresting the knife from his grasp.
It was a quick vote after that to arrest all those implicated in the conspiracy – quick, and with no dissenters.
The guard was called, and the conspirators taken away. The talk turned now to what would be done with them.
And it was here that Cassia felt herself unable to continue. She’d gotten what she wanted. The men who tried to kill her, who had killed her fetus, were caught. They would be committing no more crimes. Justice would be served.
And yet…somehow, it did not bring the satisfaction she thought it would. It brought only a new wave of grief, a new deluge of sorrow.
So she stood, and at her rising the chamber fell silent. They were all watching her, all wondering what she was going to do. Tryg had reached her side now and offered her a steadying arm. She found that she needed it. The day had worn long indeed on her. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I find my strength unequal to the task of continuing today.”
“Then we will adjourn for you, my wife,” Faustus declared resolutely.
She shook her head. “No. No, husband: let the business of justice continue. I must rest.”
“You need a doctor,” he said, coming toward her. So far today, he’d kept his distance. He’d maintained control of the crowd. Now, his concentration broke, and shifted to her.
This time, she didn’t argue. “I shall call him.” She reached out a hand to her husband, squeezing his arm. “Thank you, Faustus.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Frigg was laughing at him. In his heart, Trygve felt it must be so. Every effort, every endeavor of his on Cassia’s behalf seemed only to drive her back to the arms of the rat she called ‘husband.’
Oh, he did not wonder at the reason the gods made such sport of him. He knew it well enough. He’d tried to murder his father, and with far less justification, his sisters. It hadn’t started that way, but before he’d left the Northlands, he would have struck Ingie and Lucia and Karina all down to save his own skin.
He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t deserve love, especially not the love of this woman, this Southern empress who could turn him into a fool with but a glance.
No, as far as the gods were concerned, it seemed his torment would never end. He would never redeem himself from his sins.
So it was that he’d done the one thing Cassia had wanted most: he’d brought those who would have murdered her to justice and shattered the strength of her political opponents in one move.
And in doing that, he’d driven her back to Faustus’s arms.
Not literally, perhaps. Not yet, anyway. But he’d seen the way she’d squeezed his arm. There was gratitude in the gesture, real gratitude. And he’d seen the way Faustus looked at her. He’d lost the hatred of the previous days. He’d focused it, he’d focused his rage at losing his son and heir, onto the men responsible for the loss. And now he expected to pick up in Cassia’s life as if nothing had ever happened.
Trygve wished he could believe she wouldn’t allow it. He wished he could believe that she’d finally glimpsed what he saw: that Faustus was a man of volatile and inconstant emotions. That he was a man whose love could be given and taken away on a whim, a man who would trade affection for cruelty without warning.
But he knew better than to trust to a lover’s reason. Lovers were blind. He knew that well enough, didn’t he? He – who had determined to lay low and make a new life for himself – waded through the mire of politics once again. He played in a world of emperors and empresses and assassins.
And why, if not for the love of a woman who would never love him in return? No, lovers were fools. Cassia was a fool for Faustus, and he was a fool for her.
But like any other fool, even if he could see it, Trygve knew well enough there was nothing he could do about it. A fool would be content with nothing less than suffering the agonies of their foolishness. And Trygve Bjarneson s
uspected he was as great a fool as had ever lived.
The doctor came and went. The diagnosis did not surprise her. She was overtired and overwrought. She needed rest and hydration. “And if you can, avoid the Forum for a few days, Empress. It will be better to hear of what happens by reports than to endure it day in and day out.”
Yesterday, she would have argued. But today? Today she felt she would heed his advice.
She’d been lost to quiet reflection when Trygve returned to her room, after the doctor took his leave. But she glanced up at his entrance and smiled. “Well, that was certainly not the seed I thought you’d planted.”
He smiled too, although she thought she saw something like sadness in the expression. “Oh? What did you think I had in mind, Cass?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure. But Faustus? I never would have guessed it was him. Those were his allies in the senate, his bloc.”
Tryg nodded slowly. “Yes. But they killed his son. And that transcends political considerations.”
She snorted, reminding him, “They almost killed me too. I was the target.”
“Yes, but…” He trailed off, cleared his throat, and added in a subdued fashion, “Of course. So the emperor has many reasons to want them ruined.”
She snorted again. “Say what you mean, Tryg. You mean that my death counts for very little in his calculation. Certainly, much less than the son he wanted.”
“I did not say that, Empress.”
“No. But it’s what you thought.”
He didn’t deny it. On the contrary, he remained silent and unmoving for a long moment. Then, he shook his head. “Any man who would calculate in such a fashion is worse than a fool, Cass.”
She blinked, as much from the feeling in his words as the contents of his speech.
He smiled, a bit sheepishly. “But, of course, Emperor Faustus is no fool. So you must have misinterpreted my meaning.”
Now, she laughed. “You really have not gotten to be a better liar than you began, you know. Or, if you have, I’ve gotten to know you better, so I can still see through you when you lie to me.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to up my game.”
He was joking, but her tone was entirely serious when she responded. “No. No, Tryg. I’m surrounded by liars. There is only one person I can rely on for truth, and that’s you. So don’t ‘up your game.’ Please.”
He came and knelt opposite her now, in the way he used to do when she was ill. His brow creased with the same concern, and his eyes studied her with the same tender regard. “If you would allow it, Cass, I will never lie to you again about anything.”
She considered for a long moment. There was an edge to his tone, an implication in his words, that she could not ignore. As much as she trusted him, as much as she relied on and regarded him, he was still her bodyguard. He was still a hired hand, a kind of servant. In her mind, he might be venerated; treasured, even.
But he didn’t forget that distinction. She’d seem him silence himself before. She’d felt the distance that would settle between them when he would maintain that distinction.
This would be a new dynamic. This would remove the last of the barriers between, the final checks that kept him silent when he would otherwise speak, that compelled him to offer platitudes when he feared his opinion might be unwelcome. But that is what she wanted, wasn’t it?
So she nodded. “I would like that.”
He smiled again. “Then, you shall have it.”
Their afternoon passed relatively quietly after that. Twice, she fell to dozing. Each time, she woke to find him there, glancing over with a smile as she returned to wakefulness.
She’d made up her mind to send for a dinner tray when Faustus arrived. This was a moment she had rather been dreading.
She could not refuse her husband admittance or send him away as she’d done the day before. He had found her would be killers and ensured they would be brought to justice.
Certainly, it had been Tryg’s doing, his work in arranging it – in planting the seed, as he’d called it. Still, she could not deny the part Faustus had played. His rhetorical ability, his investigative prowess in tracking down the abandoned secretary…without it, not even the Northman could have affected the miracle she’d witnessed today.
Some part of her wished it had been otherwise. She wished they could have brought Gallus and the rest of the conspirators down without involving her husband. She wished she didn’t have to be grateful to him.
Because the truth was, she did. She owed him some measure of whatever justice came of the day. And she was grateful for that. But gratitude could not undo the past or clear her mind of what she already knew about him. He’d gotten his vengeance on Gallus and the others. But he’d done it for his own reasons. Their purposes might have intersected, but she was not fool enough to believe they were the same, nor to delude herself that he’d done any of it for her. He’d shown her clearly enough what he thought of her.
And, though it might have taken longer than it should have, even I learn eventually.
She heard his step before he entered, and she said in low tones, “Tryg, whatever happens, don’t leave me.”
He turned concerned eyes her way but had only time to nod before the other man entered. Then, understanding crossed his face.
Faustus glanced first at Trygve, then at her. “Cassia, there you are. I thought you would be at dinner, but when you weren’t, I guessed you’d still be here.
“How are you, wife?”
She tried to smile, though she cringed at that word passing from his lips. She remembered his hand raised to strike her. She remembered the anger and hatred she’d seen in his eyes as he raged at her supposed selfishness in not also sacrificing herself. “I am well. Just tired, and, according to the physician, overwrought. He advises that I rest these next few days and stay away from the Forum until I am feeling better anyway.”
Faustus nodded. “A sensible precaution. Do not fear, my Cassia: I will ensure that justice is done.”
She flinched at that too. She was, she supposed, his. They were married after all. But the thought rather turned her stomach. “I was about to go down to dinner, actually.” That was a lie, but at least in company, she would have less to fear from conversation with him.
“Surely it would be better to have a tray brought?” he wondered. “You look very weak, Cass. Your color is not good.”
She hesitated. It was true enough, and she did not feel quite up to company. “Perhaps I will.”
He nodded and turned to Trygve. “Tell them to bring the empress’s food to her room. And a tray for me as well.” Now, he turned to her and smiled. “I’ll supper with you.”
She tried to smile too. Trygve, meanwhile, turned questioning eyes to her. She’d asked him not to leave, she realized; and now Faustus had ordered him to call for food. She nodded. She would be safe enough, she supposed, for that little while. Surely, the pair of them could sit together for a few minutes without arguing.
Faustus waited until Trygve had left to speak again. “You know, Cass, I’ve been thinking. Everything makes sense, now: your illness, how suddenly it all happened, why we lost our boy.”
She nodded. “Yes. I seem to have made some vengeful enemies.”
He nodded too. “They betrayed us both. They’ll pay for that, I promise you. But Minerva’s been good to us.”
“Has she?”
If he caught the edge in her tone, he didn’t remark it. “We’ve got a second chance, my wife.”
She almost laughed but managed to repress the sound. “I believe we already tried our second chance, Faustus.”
He considered her words, then nodded. “Well, I suppose a third chance, or another chance. Whatever you want to call it. But the way I see it, our problems – all of them – get back to them. You and I? We were getting on just fine, weren’t we, until that all happened?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But I think our problems run deeper than them.”
&nb
sp; “I made mistakes. I won’t deny it. I was angry, heartbroken. I lashed out. And I’m sorry for that. I did not act like a man, as I aught to have done.” Now, he stretched out a hand to hers, and she flinched at his touch. “Oh Cass. Don’t do that.” He lifted her hand to his mouth.
Cassia froze as he kissed first the back of her hand, and then, flipping it over, her palm. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to scream at the mere touch of him. But somehow, a kind of numb terror seized her.
It was now, mercifully, that Trygve returned. “Dinner will be up momentarily…oh.” He stopped short, halfway into the room. “Do you…shall I go, my lady?”
“No,” she said, finding her voice at last. “No, stay Trygve.” Faustus’s expression darkened, and she hastened to add, “I…will need help with the tray, when it comes.”
“I can help you, my love,” her husband said.
“Of course. Still, in case I feel poorly again, I’d like to have Trygve around, in case we need to call someone.”
Faustus didn’t argue with her reasoning, though she doubted he accepted it, and the Northman took up his station at the far end of the room.
She didn’t know what exactly he’d seen, but she supposed it had been enough to draw the wrong conclusions. And somehow, she wished he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t sure why it mattered. Faustus was her husband, after all. What of it if Trygve did believe they were involved when they weren’t?
But then, what would he think of her, to return to a man who had treated her as poorly as her husband had? He’d think her mad, or worse, a fool. No, she decided, Trygve’s respect mattered too much to her to lose it over a misunderstanding.
“Cass?” Faustus’s voice cut into her thoughts, and she realized that she hadn’t heard anything he’d been saying.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you wanted a glass of wine.”
“No. No, not tonight. Just water.”