Quintus went to her and led her away from the scene of slaughter, leaving his knife behind. The trackers and servants collected the carcasses and carried them to the chariots. Quintus helped Danae mount her mare and escorted her back down the hill before she could witness what became of the helpless cubs. He gave her into the care of her maid and waited in his tent for Nikodemos’s return.
But Nikodemos did not come for him. The night’s festivities went on without Quintus, and he listened to drunken laughter and wild music well into the night. He had almost surrendered to sleep when the flap of his tent opened and Danae crept inside.
She stood proudly erect and motionless, her face averted. Quintus rose hastily.
“Are you well?” he asked.
The corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “I am alive, thanks to you,” she said. “Would that I had died today.”
He took her arm and compelled her to sit on his pallet of furs. “You are not well,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand. “Why are you here, Danae? You should be resting. Nikodemos—”
“Nikodemos sent me,” she said. A hot flush suffused her cheeks. “Tonight I am to be yours, my lord Alexandros…the ‘prize’ for your great courage.”
Quintus pulled back, hearing but not believing. “What is this foolishness?”
She stared down at her interlaced fingers. “Is it foolish that your brother should wish to reward you, as he did Gulbanu? Even now that lady shares his bed.”
Quintus rose and paced across the small space, kicking aside an empty wine jar. “Nikodemos…he would never give you away.”
Danae followed his motions with hollow eyes. “He is displeased with me for interfering in his hunt.”
“Displeased? Because you upset his aim?”
“Oh, Quintus.” She shook her head wearily. “Have you seen nothing? Learned nothing?”
“I have seen you at the emperor’s side every day—”
“I am the emperor’s servant,” she said in a flat voice.
Quintus knew he still didn’t understand, and helplessness fed his anger. “Who is this Gulbanu? Does she threaten you?”
“She is a most accomplished woman, said to be expert in the amorous arts of the East,” Danae said. “And she desires Nikodemos.”
“Is he such a fool as to look at her when he has you?” Quintus snapped. “You…who loves him above all…”
She twisted her hands in a bloodless knot. “The empire is not ruled by love, my friend. Least of all by a woman’s. The simple fact is that I am only the daughter of a merchant already loyal to Nikodemos. Gulbanu comes from the royal line of Persis, where the satrapies have always simmered with rebellion. She was sent as a hostage—”
“Then why does she not hate him?”
“That would be foolish indeed, and Gulbanu is no fool.”
Quintus ran his hand through his hair. “Even if all you suggest is true,” he said, “why should Nikodemos send you to me? He doesn’t know—” He broke off, the heat in his face matching hers. “We were careful, Danae. If he had ever seen us together…”
“The emperor does you great honor by giving you the use of his favorite, even for a single night. Any man would consider it a sign of unsurpassed approval.”
Quintus strode to her and dropped to his knees. “And you think I would accept such a gift?” he demanded. “His honor is your dishonor…your pain….”
“And you think I cannot bear it?” She gasped out a laugh. “Do you still believe all women are so weak?”
“Not you, Danae. Never you.”
“Then do not pity me.” She gave him a brave, defiant smile. “Do you not desire me?”
He looked away, not trusting his eyes to hide his feelings. “If you came to me willingly,” he said, “and not by the emperor’s command…”
If you came out of love, he thought, and silenced that treacherous conceit. He moved away before the urge to touch her became too powerful. “It’s impossible.”
“Why?” She rose to stand behind him. “You do desire me, Quintus. And I have desired you almost from the moment we met.”
“You would take revenge on Nikodemos,” he said harshly.
“He is my emperor. If he gives you a gift, then it is my duty to see that you accept.”
“Danae…”
She pressed against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his waist. “Quintus.”
He felt her tears through the linen of his chiton and turned to take her in his arms. For a moment he simply held her, cherishing the soft warmth of her body cradled safe within his keeping. And then she lifted her head and kissed him, a brush of her lips on his.
The fire she ignited was beyond his control. He returned her kiss hungrily and led her back to the pallet.
Quintus had never had a woman before, but his body was Danae’s eager student. She was patient with his occasional clumsiness, and he pretended that she had taken no man but him. They lay entangled in each other’s arms through the rest of the night, stroking and kissing with no thought of the dawn.
But morning came, and Danae slipped out of Quintus’s drowsy hold. He watched her fasten her chiton, each movement one of surpassing grace, and the anger built in his chest until his heart was seized in a vise of rage.
“Don’t go,” he commanded.
“It is time.”
“No.” He sat up, shoving the furs aside. “If the emperor no longer values you, let him surrender you to one who does.”
“Ah, Quintus—”
“I’ll ask him to give you to me.”
She froze, the seams of her chiton falling open. “You cannot, Quintus.”
“Why not?”
“Nikodemos acted on a whim last night. Do not mistake a moment’s anger for more than what it is. He will never give up what belongs to him.”
“And do you belong to him, Danae?” Quintus sprang to his feet, disregarding his nakedness. “Do you love him so much that you will suffer any indignity to accept whatever scraps of affection he deigns to throw you?”
She finished fastening the shoulder of her chiton, her fingers trembling. “For your own sake, Quintus, forget this madness. Forget this night ever happened.” She stumbled toward the tent flap, evading Quintus’s hand. Then she was gone.
They returned to Karchedon well after the blood and savagery of Festival had been cleared from the streets and the Stonebound populace had returned to their sheeplike lives of dull contentment. The next day Nikodemos was called away with Baalshillek to inspect newly conscripted troops drilling on the training ground outside the city.
Quintus saw nothing more of Danae, and he was glad. He spent the days of the emperor’s absence exploring the citadel, unfettered to come and go as he pleased with no attendants assigned for his supposed “protection.” He studied the walls for weaknesses, observed the palace guards in their daily rounds and stalked the perimeter of the Temple temenos, daring the priests and their faceless soldiers to remember when he had breached the sacred precincts to free the Karchedonian rebel leader Geleon.
He was still walking a blade’s-edge of anger and memory when he saw the column of priests marching from the palace to the Temple, escorting a cowled figure that lurched and trembled as the servants of the Stone prodded it along. Quintus paused to watch, his neck prickling with alarm, and the cowled head turned toward him.
Without hesitation, he strode toward the priests on a path that would intersect theirs before they reached the Temple. He stepped in front of the two lead priests, who came to a halt with expressions of disbelief on their pale, pockmarked faces.
“That girl is the property of the emperor,” Quintus said. “You will give her to me.”
The priests exchanged glances. One of them fingered his red stone pendant. “We take her to the High Priest,” he said, his voice hoarse and thin. “Stand aside.”
Quintus smiled. “Do you know who I am?”
“Lord Alexandros,” the speaker acknowledged. “This
is none of your concern.”
“What belongs to my brother concerns me,” Quintus said. “Let her go.”
The next few moments passed in a blur. The priests began to move again, crowding the girl between them. Quintus focused on the pendant swinging against the lead priest’s chest. He turned deep inside himself, seeking the source of the power that he alone possessed. He raised his right hand. And he struck.
The priest howled. Quintus ignored the man’s cries and refined the flow of his power, reducing it to a trickle. It splashed over the pendant’s red stone, kindling sparks from the crystal and driving the priest to his knees. The other priests shrank back. The girl dashed from among them, dodging black robes like a mouse surrounded by cats, and hid behind Quintus.
When it was finished, nothing remained of the priest’s pendant but a chunk of slag suspended from a half-melted chain.
The servants of the Stone were stunned into silent immobility. None dared to touch their own crystals. Quintus continued to smile even as a quartet of Temple soldiers arrived on the scene, spears leveled for attack.
“Stay where you are,” Quintus said pleasantly, “or I’ll kill these vermin.”
“Do as he says,” the stoneless priest croaked. He glared at Quintus. “You have made a fatal error, Lord Alexandros. The High Priest—”
“—will not be amused to learn how you lost both your stone and your prey,” Quintus finished. “But by all means report this shameful incident, as I will tell the emperor how you took advantage of his absence.” He clamped his hand around Briga’s arm. “Come with me—quietly,” he whispered to her, and started toward the palace.
No one moved to follow. Quintus hurried Briga through the palace gates, barely pausing to acknowledge the curious guards, and half-carried her to his quarters. Once inside, he sat Briga on a chair and poured her a cup of watered wine. She took it from him and drained it in one gulp. Her hands shook so badly that she nearly dropped the cup before he set it back on the table.
“Now,” Quintus said, kneeling before her, “tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t remember. I was in the dormitory with the other girls, and…” She shook her head. “I was so scared, Quintus.”
He put his arms around her and stroked her hair, murmuring little idiocies while she held on to him with frantic strength. She didn’t weep, and gradually her terror subsided. Quintus set her back on the chair.
“The priests made a dangerous mistake,” he said, tucking loose red hair behind her ear. “When the emperor hears of this—”
“Won’t the High Priest try to punish you for saving me?” Briga asked anxiously.
“I am the emperor’s brother. Baalshillek isn’t such a fool as to come to blows with Nikodemos over one little girl.”
Briga’s lower lip thrust out. “I’m not a…” She frowned and took his hand, examining his fingers. “You did something to the priest, to his stone. How did you do that?”
“I don’t know. It’s a gift I have, like you can make fire.”
Briga’s eyes widened. “Could you destroy all the stones?”
He got up and poured himself a cup of wine. “That is what the High Priest fears.”
“Good.” Briga grinned, and just as suddenly grew serious again. “You won’t send me back to the dormitory?”
“Not as long as the emperor is absent from the city.” Quintus considered sending for Danae and quickly decided against it. “You’ll stay here with me for the time being.”
Briga’s thin shoulders slumped, and her eyelids grew heavy. She allowed Quintus to put her to bed, sleepily objecting that she wasn’t a child. Quintus summoned a servant, ordered that all his meals be brought to him in his chambers and prepared himself to wait.
Nikodemos returned the next day, his arrival heralded by a flurry of activity around the palace. Within a few hours he appeared at Quintus’s door, his face thunderous enough to shatter the heavy stone walls. Briga made herself very small in a corner of the room.
“What have you done?” Nikodemos demanded, slamming the door closed behind him. “I’m gone a few days, and you attack Baalshillek’s priests and destroy their stones—”
Quintus bowed. “My lord Emperor,” he said. “It was only one stone.”
Nikodemos stared, open-mouthed, and turned red. “Baalshillek is insisting on your immediate punishment. He says this is proof that you cannot be permitted to run free in the citadel, and I’m almost inclined to agree with him.”
Quintus humbly averted his gaze and offered his brother a chair. “I am ill-prepared to offer hospitality worthy of an emperor,” he said, “but if my lord will have wine…”
Nikodemos growled and fell into the chair. “You knew cursed well I’d be coming,” he said. His gaze found Briga. “And this is the cause of so much trouble?”
“You yourself took her under your protection,” Quintus said. “It was the priests who breached your agreement with Baalshillek by entering the palace precincts and stealing the girl. I did not believe you would permit such a theft if you were present.”
“Ha.” Nikodemos scowled at the wine jar. “You should have called the Palace Guard, or at the very least acted with more discretion.”
“There was no time, my lord. The priests were very near the Temple, and once they had her inside…”
Nikodemos grabbed a cup and filled it to overflowing. “You reminded Baalshillek all too well why you are a threat to him.”
“And is that a bad thing, brother?”
The emperor drank, grimaced and banged down the cup. “You have such a fondness for this child?”
“I have a fondness for reminding Baalshillek that he is not invulnerable.”
“By the gods, you are beyond all—” Nikodemos snorted, and the dark color retreated from his face. “I should have you punished, and I will…if Baalshillek agrees to punish the priests who tried to steal my property.” He grinned. “Perhaps you deserve a reward after all, brother.”
Quintus felt the blood racing hot in his veins, driven by the memory of Danae lying in his arms. “I seek only to serve my emperor,” he said.
“Do you?” Nikodemos studied him, grin fading. “Did you enjoy my gift at the lion hunt?”
“I was honored by the emperor’s favor.”
“I’ll wager you did.” Nikodemos rose abruptly and slapped Quintus’s shoulder. “You have not disappointed me, brother. Give no more thought to the girl…. I’ll see that she’s properly protected from now on. And you…” He curled his hand around the back of Quintus’s neck and gave him a shake. “You’ll have no cause to regret your loyalty. When Baalshillek and his minions are no more, I’ll have need of new governors for all my provinces, including Tiberia. Learn the ways of kingship, Alexandros, and by the gods, I’ll give you all of Italia.”
Nikodemos swept from the room on a wind of triumph, leaving Quintus without the breath to speak. In that moment he believed that his brother could achieve everything he claimed: the complete downfall of the Stone God and all its evil works.
And he, Quintus Horatius Corvinus, would be at the emperor’s side.
Orkos brought Talos to Baalshillek’s chamber two days after the incident with Quintus and the girl. The old man was wan and hollow-eyed; Baalshillek’s agents had told him that the inventor seldom slept but spent all his time poring over his secret work for Nikodemos. It was a wonder he had made so little progress.
That was about to change.
Baalshillek dismissed the Children and offered Talos a chair. “Will you have wine?” he offered. “Or perhaps you have not yet eaten today?”
Talos continued to stand. “I have nothing to say to you, lord priest.”
Baalshillek seated himself and clasped his hands on the table before him. “You have grown very bold, philosopher. It seems the emperor has indeed come to value your services.”
The old man’s face showed no expression. “He will not be pleased that I have been brought here a
gainst my will.”
“Surely an hour away from your work will not inconvenience him too greatly.” He sighed. “Perhaps you’ve heard that his bastard brother attacked my priests outside the Temple.”
“I heard,” Talos said. “I am surprised you are willing to admit such a failure.”
Baalshillek fingered his pendant, letting his rage drain away like blood from an open wound. “You are wise enough to know that it is all a game,” he said. “A game with complex rules and many surprises. The emperor feints, and I step aside. This time it is my move.”
“How does this concern me?”
“You are no fool, philosopher. We have spoken of these things before.”
Talos’s laugh was as brief as it was startling. “I would not agree to serve you or your gods when we first met,” he said. “I have not changed my mind.”
“Indeed.” Baalshillek steepled his fingers. “You may recall I gave you fair warning that I would learn everything there is to know about your past, even before your years serving Arrhidaeos. Your origins, it seems, are far more fascinating than even I had guessed.”
“Indeed.”
“You once made the error of confiding in a slave, a member of the Horatius household in Tiberia. Shall I remind you of what you told him?”
Talos sank into the chair, his legs trembling. “You killed him?”
“A mere slave, but useful in his final days. With a little persuasion, he gave up his memories of you…how you spoke of your youth in fabled Hyperborea, building the great machines that keep the ice of the North at bay. How you rebelled against the rulers of your land and fled to the South, where you continued to build for one who would rule the earth.”
The old man, already pale, went white. “Of what use is this knowledge to you, priest?”
Baalshillek touched his stone and then waved his hand. The wall opened up behind him. A woman stepped through…a beautiful woman by the standards of the civilized world, her simple chiton only drawing more attention to the elegant lines of her body. She paused in the doorway, her gaze flickering from Baalshillek to Talos.
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