Gabriel shook his head, chuckling bitterly. “He always did say I would make a terrible emperor. I should have known he was scheming some way to keep me off the throne.”
“And you want the throne for yourself?” said Darius.
“I think I’d be better for the empire than Simon would be,” said Gabriel. “I have plans. I have dreams. I want to change everything.”
They were all watching him now, and Leah and Michal were both staring at him in disbelief, as if they didn’t think him capable of changing anything.
Gabriel drew in a breath. “Well, at the very least, I’d be a better emperor than Simon. He’s sacrificed so many people in his bid of power. He doesn’t care about the people.”
“And you do?” said Darius, appraising him.
“I do,” said Gabriel.
Darius nodded slowly. “I believe you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nathaniel saw the passing carriage before any of the others did, so he rallied the rest of the company, and they all rode out to intercept it.
He and the others—a group of revolutionaries disguised as traveling players and performers—hadn’t been able to do their regular shows for money lately. They were lying low because they’d been captured by the emperor, and now they were wanted fugitives.
That meant that they needed provisions to continue to survive, and the best way to get them was to raid any carriages that went through the area. They went out with swords and crossbows, and they took everything they could under threat of violence.
Generally, the noblemen who they robbed were terrified of them. Everyone in the empire was raised on stories about the roaming groups of gypsies. They were all murderers and bastards, according to the tales, and the noblemen were generally happy to get away with their lives and a horse to gallop off in the distance.
But this carriage was different, and the nobleman inside was different too.
For one thing, the man didn’t seem frightened. He seemed angry. He demanded to know if they’d seen the traveling gypsies who had escaped from the emperor’s dungeon. When the others gleefully told him that the nobleman was face-to-face with the same men, the nobleman had gone crazy, charging the others even though he didn’t have a weapon. He screamed that he’d kill them all, that they’d killed his sister, and that they’d pay. They had to restrain him. Usually, noblemen just quaked in fear while they took what they wanted.
For another thing, the man didn’t have much in the way of provisions and that was disappointing. Only a bit of dried meat and fruit, enough to last one man for a few days. Some clothing. And a letter. Nathaniel had taken the letter. He could read. His mother had taught him. Before birthing a bastard, she’d been a noblewoman and allowed to learn such things. None of the others could, at least not well. Zachariah had attempted to learn but gotten frustrated fairly early on. He only knew a few words by sight. He could sound out the others, but it was a tedious process, and Zachariah often gave up and had Nathaniel read aloud instead.
This nobleman’s letter, well, Nathaniel hadn’t read it yet.
They’d all been too busy trying to decide what to do with him. No one wanted to let him go, which was the typical practice when they raided a carriage. They were too frightened that he’d come and kill them all in their sleep. There was talk about simply killing him. After all, if they let him go, he’d try to do violence against them, and they’d be forced to kill him anyway. Perhaps it was better to simply be done with it now than to wait.
They all sat around the fire in the middle of their camp, and threw out ideas, one after the other.
Zachariah, the leader, stood over them, the firelight reflecting on his face, and he listened.
Finally, Nathaniel spoke up. “Don’t you think we should find out why he thinks we killed his sister?”
Everyone turned to look at him, but none of them said anything.
“Why should that matter?” said Zachariah, when it became clear no one else was going to speak.
“Well, I don’t remember murdering any girls. Any of you remember doing it?” Nathaniel looked around the circle.
The men were shaking their heads.
“So,” said Nathaniel, “maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Maybe we can clear it up, and all will be well.”
“Well?” Zachariah snorted. “We robbed his carriage. I doubt he’s going to want to be our bosom friend.”
“Even so, he might be less ready to kill us all,” said Nathaniel. “Let me talk to him.”
The others didn’t have any objections, so Nathaniel left the bright warmth of the fire and went to the place where they were keeping the man. He was tied to a tree on the outskirts of the camp. His feet were bound as well.
When he saw Nathaniel approach, his nostrils flared.
Nathaniel had a torch. He lowered it so that he could see the man’s face better.
The man shied away from the light.
“Hello. My name is Nathaniel. What’s yours?”
The man laughed harshly. “Are we being polite now? After you steal all my possessions and tie me to a tree, you want to have introductions?”
“Yes.” Nathaniel settled down on the ground so they were eye level. There was no point in apologizing for what they’d done to the other man. It was over now. That didn’t mean that all semblance of civility had to be abandoned, however. “So, what’s your name? Who are you?”
At first the man was quiet, but finally, he spit out, “Ezekiel, son of the regent of Caroly.”
Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. “Caroly? Well, that’s a bit south of here, isn’t it? You’ve been riding for some time.”
“I didn’t come from Caroly. I came from the capital. Where your people killed my sister.”
“You keep saying that,” said Nathaniel. “But the others and I have talked, and none of us seem to have any memory of that. If your sister is from Caroly, what was she doing in the capital anyway?”
“She was to marry the emperor’s son,” said Ezekiel.
Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. “Gabriel?”
“You know him.”
“He was the one who brought us to the capital city in the first place. He told me things about electricity.”
Ezekiel groaned. “He was babbling about that to me. The man doesn’t have his head on straight. He has these blasphemous ideas. He thinks he can change people, but God will show him the truth of it.”
“Then you know him too. Better than I know him.”
Ezekiel smirked. “Oh, I know him very well.” He leaned forward, straining against the ropes. “Speaking of which, do you think I could have his letter back? It’s not as if you lot can read it.”
Nathaniel drew out the letter. “This is from him?”
“You don’t need it,” said Ezekiel.
Nathaniel opened the letter now, curious. He moved the torch so that he could better see the words.
Ezekiel, I do not write to you because I want to change your mind or shake your faith. I only wish to present another point of view to you, one that I wish you would consider.
Nathaniel skipped further down the page.
Before the Scourge, even going back to very ancient times, we are told stories of men who loved other men. Heroes like Achilles and Patroclus in the story of the Trojan War, thousands of years ago. Stories like these make me feel as if people like you and me are actually quite natural. Maybe we are rare, and there are more people who prefer opposite-sex couplings. But we are not an abomination. I can’t believe that.
Nathaniel raised his gaze slowly to meet Ezekiel’s. “What he says here? Why does he say it?”
Ezekiel was agitated. “Give me the letter. You have no right—”
“Is there something between you and the emperor’s son?”
“No,” said Ezekiel. “He wishes there was, but there isn’t.”
“But you’re important to him.”
Ezekiel tugged at the ropes.
Nathaniel got to his feet. He was thinking. He never would hav
e suspected such a thing of Gabriel. The man hadn’t seemed overly, er, demonstrative towards Nathaniel. His initial feeling was one of disgust, but—strangely—it didn’t entirely extinguish his conflict of interest between the revolution and Gabriel. He still wondered if Gabriel might not be a good emperor. Even if he did like to bugger men. Before, everything had seemed so clear, but now he wasn’t sure about anything.
“Give me the letter,” growled Ezekiel.
Nathaniel folded it back up. He would read it the whole way through later. But he was getting distracted. “This isn’t why I came here. I want to know why you think we killed your sister.”
“Maybe you didn’t do it directly,” said Ezekiel, “but there were revenants loosed in your escape, and you distracted them, you sent them after my sister and her women. She was bitten.”
Nathaniel nodded slowly, feeling sick. He had thrown that little bauble, something he used in his magic tricks, just a bundle of sparks, and then he’d seen Leah, seen her through the bodies, seen her running. And the revenants had gone after her. And he’d never wanted Leah to be hurt. She was too brave, too bold, too pretty.
“Do you deny it?” said Ezekiel.
Nathaniel bowed his head. He didn’t know what to say. He searched for words, and then he heard a loud cheer coming from the fire.
He turned back in the direction of the others.
Someone was running across the field towards him. “Nathaniel! We just got word. Revenants overtook the capital city and killed the emperor. The emperor is dead!”
* * *
Gabriel was down at the marina. Even though very few people went out on boats these days (pleasure sailing was considered sinful), the area had still retained its name from before the Scourge. People still gathered here, though, but mostly to fish. There was also a fish market, and so there were often bustling villagers moving through the area.
It was the day after his father’s funeral, and he was to be named the emperor officially the next day. There was a council meeting beforehand. That was undoubtedly when Simon would make his move.
The funeral had been a huge affair. Everyone in Sarrasarra was invited to the emperor’s funeral, so there had been quite a throng of visitors. The funeral had to be held outside to accommodate everyone. And this was with the city’s population depleted from the revenants and with many other funerals going on for the dead.
The emperor’s three wives had sat up at the front, all sobbing into handkerchiefs. Gabriel couldn’t be sure, but he felt like the only one who was genuinely sad about the emperor’s death was his mother. She’d always cared about his father, and it was his father’s affection for her that had afforded Gabriel such freedom to study and learn. Still, he couldn’t be quite sure what his mother had seen in the man, if he was honest with himself. It was perhaps poor form to think badly of the dead, but he didn’t suppose anyone had to know he was doing it.
He could understand why the wives wouldn’t be so upset about the death of their husband, because Michal had explained all of this to him many times. Gabriel had to admit that he spent little time thinking about the perspective of noblewomen. He wasn’t attracted to them, and most of them seemed silly and simpering. He didn’t have a lot of patience for them. But Michal couldn’t shut up about how unfair it was that women were forced to share their husbands, and he was the only person who really listened to her instead of tuning her out.
According to Michal, when married, a woman’s life was not her own. She had to do what her husband commanded of her. But once a woman was a widow, she was free. No one much cared what she did then, so she could travel to see her grown children who’d married and lived in far off regencies. She could visit friends and attend balls—whether her husband was going or not. No longer a young maiden, she could go where she pleased unchaperoned. Being a widow was the best thing that could happen to a noblewoman, at least that was how Michal saw it.
Gabriel could see her point, and it made him realize all that he took for granted, simply because he was a man. He was fairly sure that Michal was right, and that the nobility didn’t need to continue to force women to share their husbands if they didn’t want that. When he was emperor, he wanted to change that.
After the funeral, his mother had hugged him, telling him how proud she was of him, what an amazing emperor he would be. He hoped she was right. He wanted to do radical things, and he wasn’t sure that the empire was ready for them.
Still, he had to try. If anything, he had to keep the empire from Simon.
He made his way through the crowd at the marina, keeping his eyes peeled for the man he was looking for. He went past big bosomed women with children tied to their backs and skinny men holding fishing poles.
Finally, he saw the man he’d come to speak to. At least, he matched the description, anyway. Lighter skinned than most people, with a shock of lighter hair as well. His hair was as straight as his nose. The man looked a bit odd, and the other villagers gave him a wide berth.
But Gabriel strode right up to him. “Philip?”
The man looked away from his fishing pole, eyes wide. He wasn’t used to being spoken to. “Yes?”
“I have the right man, then?” said Gabriel. “You work for the butcher in the north part of the city?”
“That’s me,” said Philip. He looked wary. “Can I help you?”
“I want to ask you a few questions is all,” said Gabriel. “You take coin from the emperor’s guards to help them out on occasion?”
“Who are you?”
“Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. But I need an honest answer.”
Philip hesitated. He reeled in a bit of his fishing line nervously. “Well, what if I did?”
“Did you help them out the night before the revenant attack?”
Philip reeled in the rest of his line and began to back away. “Look, I ain’t got anything—”
Gabriel grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped both his words and his movement. “I told you that you weren’t in trouble, didn’t I?”
Philip wouldn’t meet the other man’s eye.
“Tell me the truth. Were you the one guarding the gate that night? The only one guarding it, because the actual guards had gone off to get drunk, and they were sleeping it off elsewhere.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve been asking around.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Is it true?”
Philip sighed. “It’s true, sir. It’s all true.”
“You know how the revenants got through the gate that night, don’t you?”
Philip cringed, but he didn’t say anything.
“If you know something, you must tell me.”
The common man shook his head, turning away. “I never knew it would be so bad. You have to believe me. I didn’t think they’d kill so many people, or I never would have let him do it.”
“So you did see?”
He covered his face. “I can’t. He threatened me. And my mother needs me. I can’t risk it.”
“He paid you, didn’t he? He paid you a lot of money.”
Philip swallowed. “So much money. I couldn’t say no.” His lower lip trembled. “But then I saw all those people dead the next day. I can’t sleep at night, thinking about them screaming.” He looked down at his feet, and his shoulders shook.
“It’s okay,” said Gabriel. “You just need to tell me who paid you. Who let them loose.”
Philip looked up and shook his head. “Oh, no, he said he’d kill me—”
“I’ll keep you safe,” said Gabriel. “I promise you that. You see, I’m the new emperor.”
* * *
The council met in a room off the receiving room. It was small, containing only a table, and it was decorated with hand carved wooden panels on the walls. The panels depicted the famous battle of Sarrasarra, only ten years after the Scourge, in which the newly formed empire had driven out the revenants and taken back the city.
T
he council members sat at a long rectangular table, and some of them faced the first phase of the battle, while the others faced the other direction.
But right now, all of them had their eyes on Simon, who was standing at the head of the table, his head held high, addressing the council in a formal voice that resembled the way his father had always spoken to a crowd of people.
Gabriel thought it sounded ludicrous, but that might only be because he’d heard his father speak in a normal tone. He supposed all the members of the council and the other nobles—the ones who only heard his father give formal addresses—might think that deep, heavily enunciated voice had been his father’s normal voice.
“I mean no disrespect to my brother, of course,” said Simon. “But it is obvious that his character is less suited to the office of emperor than my own character. And let us not forget that I control the necromancer.”
Gabriel had to stifle a smirk. Simon was going to be quite surprised when Gabriel’s own presentation began.
“I can protect our empire,” said Simon. “I can give this office the gravity it deserves. And I believe that my father, bless his departed soul, would agree with me. That is all. Thank you.”
The council members were all beaming. They liked Simon. In their minds, he’d done everything that he claimed to have done. And there were no nasty rumors circulating about Simon’s tastes in bedfellows.
The head of the council spoke up. “Well, it’s not common to break the rules of succession in the empire, but there is a precedent for it in Peter III’s case. Before we make a decision, however, gentleman, we must give the first-in-line a chance for rebuttal.” He turned to look to Gabriel. “I don’t imagine you have anything to say, though, do you, boy?”
Gabriel stood up. “Actually, I have something prepared. I’ll be calling a few witnesses as well.”
“Witnesses?” The head of the council furrowed his brow.
“Absolutely,” said Gabriel. “If you’ll look to the example of Paul the Equalizer, you’ll see there’s a precedent for such tactics in a battle for succession.”
“I’d hardly call this a battle, boy,” said the head. “And, after all, what do you want with the empire? Wouldn’t you be happier with your carousing?”
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