The Gods of Vice

by Devin Madson

  A man’s head appeared through the tent entrance. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “Send for Master Kenji. Tell him to bring his box.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  I took up the cloth and dunked it into the warm water. Wringing it out, I scrubbed the ink from my forehead, then dragged it down my cheek, letting its heat melt the aches from my skin. Long after it cooled, I held it there, like a child with a favourite doll.

  “It would seem you have angered the great Katashi Otako,” Kin said, placing the arrow upon his lap table. It was strewn with maps and papers, a brush drying upon his ink stone.

  “You could say that,” I agreed, swapping the cloth to the other cheek, then running it down my neck. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep and never wake.

  “No doubt he does not like that your claim to the throne is greater than his.” Kin spoke quietly, his eyes never leaving my face. “And has sent you to me because your claim is also greater than mine.”

  “And because you swore an oath to protect me and uphold my name.”

  For the first time, he looked down at his hands rather than at me, and I yearned to feel what he felt and hear what he thought, and my head spun as I forced myself not to look, not to yield.

  “I did,” he said. “Might I ask where you have been all these years, Takehiko?”

  “Travelling. The orphan ward of a priest. I—”

  Emperor Kin held up his hand as the tent flap shifted once again and a middle-aged man walked in, a lacquered box hanging at his side. He bowed, light wisps of hair like soft down dancing on his head. “You sent for me, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes, Master Kenji, my guest requires your attention.”

  Guest. Emperor Kin’s expression told me nothing.

  Master Kenji came forward with his box, its painted blossoms shining beneath clear lacquer. “He looks awfully ill, Your Majesty,” he said, kneeling before me and peering into my face. “Shaking. Feverish. His eyes are dilated and he’s very undernourished. You look to be suffering a great deal, child. What can I do for you?”

  I pointed to my arm. He smiled a sad little smile. “Ah, well I guess that is the thing that might kill you fastest, but when I am done with that, I will have to do a full examination. Can’t have you dying on His Majesty, can we?”

  There was cheeriness in his tone, but it was so forced that I wished I had a mirror so I could see what he saw.

  “Just tend the wound for now, Kenji,” Emperor Kin said. “The rest can wait until morning.”

  “As you say, Your Majesty. Let me see this arm of yours.” The physician spoke in the gentle way one might address a child. I turned, every movement painful, and kneeling at my side, he peeled away the torn sleeve. “This does not look pretty,” he said, his gaze lingering on the Traitor’s Mark. “Might I ask what happened?”

  “He fell foul of an Otako,” Kin said, indicating the arrow on the table.

  Master Kenji gave a little snort. “A gift from the Great Fish, eh? I have been seeing more of these wounds than I like. He uses barbed arrows, and they are not good for the flesh.”

  “Clearly,” Kin said.

  Attempting no further conversation, Master Kenji helped me to remove my soiled robe. He did so with the practicality of a man to whom there was no shame, making no mention of the smell nor appearing to even notice it. Once the robe had been disposed of by the simple expedient of throwing it outside the tent, Master Kenji opened his box. Neatly organised glass vials and silken pouches filled much of the space, the rest taken up by a collection of strange metal tools I did not want to think about.

  Taking the cloth, Master Kenji began to clean the wound. I gritted my teeth, holding my other arm across my naked torso, the watchful eyes of the Usurper unblinking.

  “You have a second branding on your arm,” Kin said after a time. “Can a man be a traitor twice over?”

  Master Kenji, who had pinched a dry piece of linen between his teeth, let it drop to say, “It might have escaped your notice, Your Majesty, but the boy has one on the back of his head here too.”

  Eyebrows rose. “Three times a traitor. You were branded in Shimai, I think you said.”

  “Yes.” I felt Kenji’s eyes on me and added, “Your Majesty.”

  “Only a few weeks ago, by the look of the scarring.”

  Again, Master Kenji glanced up from his work. “If you wish my professional opinion, Your Majesty, I would say they were not administered by a trained man. These wounds are deeper and angrier than we commonly see. This scabbing too–”

  “Three brands administered by angry men,” Kin interrupted. “In Shimai a few weeks ago.” His gaze slipped to my left wrist, to where the origin of the Traitor’s Mark had been born upon my skin. He knew. He knew what I had done.

  Master Kenji went on with his work while Kin and I sat in silence, staring at each other.

  Little fragments of memory dribbled in like dreams. My mother in her furs. Her sad smile and the touch of her hand. And General Kin. Stark. Silent. Ever-present. Every single guard in the palace loyal to him.

  Those dark eyes stared back.

  Perhaps feeling some awkwardness, Master Kenji paused in the act of grinding herbs and glanced at his emperor. Kin did not meet his gaze, but whatever the physician saw in that face made him work with greater speed. Hardly aware of the pain now, I let Master Kenji apply a cold poultice, pressing it into the wound with skilled fingers.

  “It is not as bad as it first appeared,” he said, taking a length of linen from his box and lifting my arm. “Assuming you are staying with us, I will check it again in the morning. Keep the bandage on for at least a week. Take it off for a few hours every afternoon to let it dry in the sun. Sunlight is very good for wounds, though not, of course, as good as avoiding them in the first place.”

  He finished tying the bandage and looked again toward his emperor. No words passed between them, but Master Kenji quickly packed his things back into the box without their former neatness, and when he had finished, he bowed himself out, murmuring, “Good night, Your Majesty.”

  Kin made no reply, just glanced down at the folded robe. “You may dress now,” he said and waited in silence while I did so.

  When I had finished, I sat back on my heels in imitation of his own restful state. But even without my Sight, there was nothing restful about the mind that moved beyond those dark eyes. Trouble leached from the deep furrows of his brow, a whisper at the edge of hearing. Katashi had sent me to force Emperor Kin’s hand, to force him to make a decision everyone would speak of.

  “I wish you would tell me a story, Takehiko,” the emperor said, shifting his weight as though his foot had gone to sleep. “I wish you would tell me how you come to be here and what you plan to do now that you are.”

  “I don’t want your throne.” The room spun sickeningly as I kept forcing my Sight in, and I propped myself up with shaking arms.

  “Even if it is your throne? There are papers—”

  “I’ve seen them.”

  His brows lifted. “Have you indeed? So you are not the latest Otako assassin sent to end my life?”

  “No.”

  In the silence that followed, I caught the sound of voices outside. “Your Majesty?” The same guard as before stepped in through the open slit.

  “Yes? What is it, Captain?”

  “There is a man here to see you, and a woman,” the captain said. “The man says he is Lady Hana Otako’s guard, and the woman is her maid. They bring a message.”

  Kin’s expression told me nothing, and I clenched my fists tighter still. Relief? Anger? Fear?

  “Tell them to wait,” Kin said. “I’ll hear what they have to say when I am finished here.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The man retreated. “It seems I am to be inundated with Otakos tonight,” Kin said, turning back to me. “Your sister.”

  “Half-sister,” I corrected. “But she doesn’t know who I am.”

  Emperor Kin
sighed, seeming suddenly older. “What am I to do with you?” he said. “You’re a Laroth, and yet your great cousin is right. I took an oath to protect you, as your father’s blood, an oath I am honour-bound to uphold.”

  “But I am not his blood.”

  “What do you want? You say you do not want my throne, but why then did Katashi put an arrow through you? Why, in fact, are you here at all?”

  Why was I? All I had ever wanted was to know who I was, to know where I belonged, to know the mother I dreamed of every night in the hope of finding my family. I had wanted truth and Father Kokoro had condemned me for it. Jian had been tortured for it, and I had been broken and was still breaking, every suppression of my Empathy bringing me closer to death as every use of it had brought me closer to madness.

  “I… I don’t know,” I said, my thoughts tangling together. “I just want what is right. I want the gods to judge every man for what they are and what they have done.”

  Justice.

  “And what is right? Sometimes the difference between right and wrong is merely a matter of opinion, entirely dependent upon whose side you are on.”

  The silken tent flap rustled again. “Majesty?”

  Kin closed his eyes, seeming to draw strength. “Yes, Captain?”

  The captain’s eyes darted from his emperor to me and back again. “Sorry, Your Majesty. It’s this man with the message from Lady Hana Otako. He says it’s urgent.”

  Kin rose from his place, the folds of his simple robe settling about his feet. Only the crimson colour gave away his position; for the rest, he might have been anyone.

  “I will see this messenger now, and we will talk again when this business is concluded.”

  He strode out, slapping the silk out of the way. Every part of me ached and I just wanted to sleep, but curiosity took me to the tent opening in his wake. There I sat and leant my head on one of the outer poles, while Emperor Kin stepped onto the dark grass. He didn’t seem to notice me, but both his guards gave me strange looks, their eyes focussing upon the cheek where my brand stood proud.

  The open space before Kin’s tent was dotted with watching soldiers, mere spectators in the darkness. Two shrouded lanterns filled the circle with shadows, while in its centre, Kin’s two guests stood alone. They bowed low, respectfully, but the taste of something else hung on the air.

  No, don’t listen. Don’t feel. Don’t taste. I clenched my fists and turned it in upon itself, cutting death a little nearer.

  The woman’s face was red and swollen from tears, her hands shaking. All eyes were upon her, the man just one of Katashi’s soldiers, a Pike by the look of his clothing.

  “Your name is Tili,” Emperor Kin said, speaking to the woman. “You are Lady Hana Otako’s maid.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The woman bowed again.

  “You were once in my service and I will trust your word. You look distressed. Has something happened to Lady Hana?”

  The woman shook her head. “No, Your Majesty.” She glanced at her companion and added, “When we left her, she was in good health.”

  “You bring a message then?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. One I feel would be… best imparted in… in private. Your Majesty.”

  While she stammered her words, my gaze slipped to the Pike beside her. He stood with perfect predatory stillness, his wiry arms hanging at his sides, taut and ready. No one had eyes for him, yet from his broken face, a familiar man stared back.

  Old memories reared, slipping into my mind as though they had never left. A man standing over me. This man. Blood splattered his torso and stained his hands, like a dye maker who had dipped too deep into his vat. But the face had been younger, unscarred, nothing like the terrifying mask the years had given him. Blood had dripped onto the floor. Hana had cried, the call of a helpless baby breaking the silence. And all the man did was stare.

  “You,” I said, and unable to hold it, my Empathy rushed out. Emotions clogged each breath: tension, fear, anger, heartache; and this man with the lidless eye flicked his gaze my way.

  Patience. You’ve waited sixteen years. A dead tiger strikes too soon.

  The words hung in my head, and I could not unhear them, could not stop the feeling that I was leaking from a thousand holes.

  His soul flared, the whispers scrabbling over one another to be heard. Sixteen years. I couldn’t do it. But his blood will be sweet. I’ll take her his head. I’ll tell her the story. Even if she hates me for it, she has to hear it now.

  Every eye was upon me.

  “I’ve seen you before,” I said as the memory faded into the warm night air. “You were there.”

  The scarred man’s fingers quivered. Shock. Fear. And I knew all of a sudden we were in that moment together—man and child, with the smell of blood thickening between us.

  He pulled a knife and lunged toward Kin, but I was not ready to see either man die yet. I needed the truth.

  Justice.

  My blast hit the Pike mid-air, and shocked into a tangle of loose limbs, he plunged into Kin, knocking both men to the ground. Like predators at a kill, Kin’s guards leapt upon him. For a moment, the world became a mess of shapes and moving figures in the shadows, a scuffle of limbs and grunts as fatigue blurred my vision and the scarred man was yanked to his feet.

  Kin held out his hand for a lantern, his fingers beckoning impatiently. One was offered, and he snatched at the handle, ripping off the shroud and swinging the bright light into his assailant’s face. The man did not fight, just calmly gave Kin back glare for glare, two of the emperor’s guards holding him pinioned.

  The emperor moved the lantern closer still.

  “Shin Metai,” he said. “Time has not been kind to you.”

  The man spat. “Nor you, Usurper.”

  “You were right to say you know this man,” Kin said, turning to me as he lifted his voice for all to hear. “His name is Lord Shin Metai. Make sure you all get a good look at him, because there won’t be anything left of him come sunrise. This is the man who killed Emperor Lan. This is the man who murdered Empress Li and butchered all her sons.” He lowered the lantern. “You have escaped justice too long. Tonight you die.”

  A whistle cut across his words, a high whine on the edge of hearing. Lord Metai smiled, his expression demonic in the half-light. “No. Tonight you die.”

  Hana’s maid screamed. She covered her head with her hands, her cry rising like the call of a harbinger owl. I looked up. The night sky was dotted with dozens of pale flecks, like raining stars. Someone shouted, the call taken up by others until it ran through the camp like fire, rousing men from their tents.

  And then the arrows fell.

  Chapter 23

  Hana

  The world seemed to end in the moment Darius’s lips met Katashi’s, time halting with the beat of my heart. Everyone held their breath. Wide eyes watched from fearful faces, every guard’s advance halted mid-step, weapons quivering. In a touch, he ought to have been dead, could have been, but I knew Empaths were capable of so much more.

  I threw myself toward them, all motion and fury and desperation. “No! Darius, don’t do this, please!”

  Malice caught me. “Hush, little lamb, hush.” He laughed by my ear. “He won’t be hurt, yes?”

  “Let me go! Stop them!”

  The words came hoarse from my lips, but no one seemed to hear me. Katashi’s soldiers weren’t just shocked, they were caught in the perfect silence of incomprehension, confusion sticking them to the floor like glue. I could feel it scratching at my mind, trying to grip me as it gripped them, but I thrust it aside, knowing it for what it was—Darius was stronger than I had known, stronger than I had ever thought possible.

  I tried to duck free of Malice, but he only tightened his hold. “It’ll be over soon, yes?”

  “No! Katashi! Fight it, please, don’t let them do this, don’t let him make you one of them.”

  Tears poured down my cheeks, and for a moment, Katashi seemed to look right
at me, to see me through the haze. And it was my Katashi, all warmth and love and laughter, and for the merest second, I thought he would fight, that maybe, just maybe, I would be enough. But then his scowl grew heavy, and it was too late. They had made a new Vice.

  Darius stepped back. The confusion with which he had held everyone began to drain, but I had eyes for no one but Katashi. He had not moved, not even blinked. But the close air in the tent grew hot. He flexed his fingers. Rolled his shoulders. Passed his gaze over everyone, even me, and seemed to see nothing. And then he roared—not the shout of a man but the furious, guttural rage of an animal. Fire licked from his fingers, from his palms, from his whole being, rising to set the tent aflame. It seared overhead as Malice threw me onto the matting, his weight pinning me while tiny pieces of charred cloth rained around us. Screams rent the air. Running steps thundering. Across the other side of the tent, Kimiko lay silent where she had dropped, and I tried to wriggle free of Malice to reach her.

  An ember fell upon the reeds and started to smoulder, followed by another, and I kicked until Malice loosened his hold enough for me to crawl toward Kimiko across the blood-soaked reeds. Gripping her hand, I dragged her toward the tent wall, dodging stomping sandals. “Kimiko.” I shook her fiercely, tears all but blinding me, though whether they were from grief or smoke now I couldn’t tell. “Kimiko?” Her scalp was speckled with blood from patches of missing hair. “We have to get out of here. Please wake up.”

  “It hurts,” she moaned softly, curled upon herself like a sick child.

  “I know it does,” I said, coughing a lungful of smoke. “But this whole floor is about to be on fire, we have to get out of here!”

  “Through the wall,” she whispered. “Just walk through the wall. I’ll do the rest.” She gripped my hand, and having no time to question her, no time to think, I dragged her forward.

  I shivered, hairs rising along my arms and down my legs, as we passed through the silk and into the night. Smoke poured toward the sky, and the small portion of Katashi’s army that had been waiting on him was milling around, shouting.