A weak smile passed across the Governor's lips. "Oh son, no."
"What?"
"A marriage to one of these barbarians is what I'm trying to save you from."
"Father–"
"You said Captain Marcus interrogated her?"
"Yes."
"And she confessed?"
"Well, yes but–"
"Then there's no need for a trial, we can skip straight to the execution. Seize her."
Britta screamed. For a moment, she'd thought what Dux Lucius was playing at would work. She'd dared have hope. It was a mistake, one that cost her her dignity as her sisters pulled her away from the scene. She kicked and fought them as she tried to struggle forward. She'd been so close to having Weboshi back – to have her ripped away again was an unbearable pain that could only be expressed as a wail.
Lucius looked over his shoulder at her, his expression filled with that maddening emptiness. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword. "Father, please," he said as the Governor's guard muscled by him to get to Weboshi.
The Governor's mouth fell into an "o," his eyelids heavy as he glanced down at Lucius's hand. "What are you doing, son?" he asked. "Are you going to pull a sword on your own father for doing his job as the rightful voice of the Emperor's law? Where's your filial piety? Where's your loyalty to the empire?"
Lucius's hand fell away from his sword. "I'm sorry," he said.
Britta screamed again as her sisters dragged her away.
***
Dux Lucius restrained himself, barely. He'd never been so angry in his life, but he didn't let it show. Now, of all times, he needed to keep calm. It was the only way he'd outwit the Governor. If Lucius were to win, he'd have to do it by the books. Otherwise, should the time come, he'd be as guilty of treason as his father appeared to be. Lucius needed proof.
"Let her go," he said to the guards trying to take Weboshi out from the crowd of soldiers.
"Excuse me?" said the Governor.
"I said let her go."
"I'm the Emperor's authority in this city, son. I pass judgment."
"And I'm the Emperor's law enforcement arm. Your civilian mercenaries have already proven incompetent at keeping her locked up. She's coming with us to the garrison."
"Oh? And you'll execute here there? Why not do it here? Now? It'd save a lot of trouble."
Lucius wanted to knock the smirk off the Governor's face, but kept his cool. He always knew his father was sneaky – a quality that made for a good politician – but this depth of duplicity Lucius had never expected.
"No," said Lucius. "We can execute her after the inquest."
"Inquest? She's guilty. You even admit she confessed to Captain Marcus–"
"I know what I said. I also said 'inquest,' not 'trial.' If you'll forgive me father, this prisoner represents a threat to the Emperor's peace. There are a lot of questions that I, as the military commander responsible for the safety of Ankshara, need answered."
The Governor waved a hand. "Oh, posh."
"Not 'posh.' She couldn't have kidnapped Ava or escaped without assistance. She might have even been involved with the assassination attempt against me. It's my duty to investigate any possible conspiracy in this city to subvert the will of the Emperor."
"Son–"
"Will you release her to my custody for interrogation, or will I have to declare a state of emergency and put this city under military dictatorship until the Emperor can send someone to sort the whole mess out?"
The Governor visibly swallowed. A visit from the Emperor's own magistrate under such circumstances would ruin his career. Even if he were found innocent of any wrong doing, the mere implication would destroy his reputation; especially if it were his own son who called the magistrate. "Captain Marcus," he said, his voice wobbly and weak. "I deputize you Dux of the Anksharan Imperial Garrison and demand you arrest my son."
Captain Marcus squawked more than laughed – a high-throated belch. "Me? Arrest him? When our troops were down on those docks last night fighting for our lives, where was your household guard? No, sir. I think I'll just keep my rank until my commanding officer, Dux Lucius, sees fit to promote me."
The Governor turned pale. There was a tremor to him that Lucius thought was anger until he realized it was fear. Was it fear of being called out? Fear of discovery? Guilt? When he was alone with Weboshi, Lucius intended to find out.
The Governor waved a trembling hand. "Fine," he said, "take her. But these Anksharans are tricky. She'll lie to your face, and then lie some more. You'll never get to the bottom of what happened." Who was the Governor trying to convince, Lucius thought, Lucius or himself? The Governor's household guard released Weboshi and the soldiers took her by the arms and led her away from the manse to the garrison.
***
Alone in the dark, Britta brooded. She'd hoped that, with the right amount of prayer, she might commune with the Goddess. Her reward for her effort was a flood of her own, angry thoughts. She'd made a terrible mistake thinking there might be hope for Weboshi, for her city, and for herself. That's not how the real world worked. She'd always suspected it on some level intellectually; now she knew it in her heart.
Dux Lucius's betrayal helped hammer the lesson home. Britta had thought there was something special growing between them, something more than a political arrangement. She'd felt it when they kissed, and she'd felt it on the docks. She'd thought maybe – just maybe – they could be something more than two leaders married out of necessity. She'd thought they'd be husband and wife in the truest sense. She loved him, but Lucius's inability to stand up to his father was another in a string of betrayals by those closest to her. It tore at her. All the hope, all the expectation, all the heart-twittering giddiness of new love, stolen. That's what Regnals do, she thought: take what was most precious and dear.
Soon they'd take this abbey, and crush what remained of Ankshara's uniqueness. They'd make the city one more bland imperial outpost, exactly like all the others. They wouldn't just drain Ankshara's blood, they'd drain its spirit. And there was nothing she could do. Nothing.
Britta slumped in her chair and stared into the darkness expecting to see. . . She didn't know. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do," she whispered.
"Excuse me?"
Britta sat up in her chair and glanced over her shoulder at the girl who'd entered. The orphan who'd helped her through the city. She carried a tray of food in her hand.
"Nothing," said Britta, doing her best to muster a reassuring smile as the girl sat the tray down on a table in the center of the room. "Thank you. You brought this to me?"
"I made it. The other sisters – well. . ."
Britta sighed. "They've already lost all faith in me. Barely had the job a day and I've already–"
The girl's eyes went wide. "Oh no! No ma'am! Not at all! The abbey runs itself, they told me. The night to night stuff at least. They said there was no stewardess though, no handmaid to the Twin Moons. So they put me to work."
"Awfully presumptuous of them. Kind, but presumptuous." A cold, hollow laugh erupted from her. It stung. "There are no 'Twin Moons' anyway. Only me, the last Abbess of Night it would seem."
The girl's gaze fell to ground, and her cheeks broke out in hot blush.
"What girl? Out with it."
"They elected me New Moon."
Britta sat up in her chair. "What?"
"They uh – well, a lot of them remember your election. They thought, I mean with my parents–"
"They thought it was a sign."
"Yes, ma'am."
Britta relaxed in her chair again. "Presumptuous," she said under her breath.
The girl – what was her name? – pulled the lid off the tray, revealing a steaming pile of seafood beneath. "I don't know what you like," she said. "I'm afraid I'm not a very good cook. My mother tried to teach me but. . ."
The girl's voice trailed off and her eyes unfocused. Britta grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled her close, until the child, too big really, was
in her lap. The girl sobbed quietly, jerking a little with each hiccuped tear.
"I want to tell you it's going to be okay," said Britta. "I want to tell you it will all work out in the end, that your heart will mend. I can't, New Moon. I can't promise to give you back the life – the people – you've lost. All I can do is offer you comfort in the arms of a new family. It won't be the same. You'll always miss your parents, your brothers and sisters. But when you're lost and hurting, know you'll always have us."
"Promise?" said the girl, her face buried in Britta's robes.
"I promise. I promise to teach you to lead too. I promise to prepare your for your role as leader of this abbey. No one ever taught me, and I've only had the job a little while, so I can't promise to be a good teacher, but I'll do my best."
The girl looked up at Britta, eyes blurry and cheeks tear streaked. "Some of the other sisters say this is the end for the abbey. They say the last Abbess set you up to fail."
Britta brushed a tear away from the girl's cheek with her thumb. "As long as there is a New Moon, there is an abbey. Now, let's eat. And after, we'll make plans about how we're going to handle the Regnals."
"Do you plan to fight them?"
"No," said Britta. "I plan to show them how much they need us."
Chapter 19
Dux Lucius pulled the chair out from the table across from Weboshi and sat. Her dark hair unkempt and her dark eyes ringed with exhaustion, she looked old before her years. What had happened to the fierce woman who'd kicked him out of the abbey not so long ago? "Have you eaten?" he asked.
"No," she said in a dry croak.
"I told the men to bring you something. If they didn't, I'll–"
"No need to punish them, Dux Lucius. They brought me food. I'm not in the mood to eat, you understand."
Dux Lucius sighed. "I understand."
"When is the execution?"
"I'm going to try and avoid that if at all possible."
"Even after what I did to your daughter?"
"Yes, but I can't help you if you don't help me."
Weboshi smirked as she leaned back in her chair. "That's how it is, eh? Promise me freedom if I start ratting people out for helping me? What are you going to do after I tell you had I no accomplices? Torture me?"
"I'm not going to torture you – and I think we both know you had accomplices."
"I did, but I'll never tell you who. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. It doesn't make up for the assassination attempt, or kidnapping your girl, and I'm not saying it to weasel out of trouble, but I am."
"I know," said Dux Lucius. "I'm sorry too."
Weboshi jerked, lips pursed. "'Sorry?' Why are you sorry?"
"For what my people did to your daughter. I know what they took from you during The Siege. Had I lost my child in the same way, I can't promise I wouldn't have reacted the same as you. Only. . . Only I might not have seen sense before I took my revenge on some innocent."
They sat, staring at each other.
"You're a good man, Dux Lucius."
Lucius caught himself before he shifted in his chair. Compliments always made him uncomfortable, especially when delivered from near strangers. "The people who took you. . ."
"I had a hood on before they even arrived. I didn't see them. I heard their voices, but all I can say is they had Regnal accents."
"That's not a lot to go on."
"I'm sorry."
Lucius rubbed his eyes. "Is there anything else – anything at all – you can tell me?"
Weboshi bit her lip, brow furrowed in concentration. "There were three of them. I know that. I can't explain how I know exactly, just a sense you get when other people are around. Know what I mean?"
"Sure. Did you hear any names?"
"No. But. Hm. Oh! I think one of them was deaf."
"Deaf?"
"Yes. At first I thought he was just being careful not to speak around me just in case. Then I started to think he was mute. Then I was left alone with him for a little while. I was so thirsty I kept asking for water. The others gave me water when I asked for it, but not him. I didn't get the sense he was especially cruel so I just put it all together and. . . Does any of this make sense?"
"Yes."
"Does it help?"
"I'm not sure."
"Why do you think they kept me alive?"
Lucius had been wondering the same thing. "I was hoping you could tell me."
"Sorry."
"It's fine." Lucius pushed away from the table and stood. "Thank you, Weboshi."
"Can you tell me something, Dux Lucius?"
"If I can."
"How is Britta? I've been worried about her."
"I've been worried about her too," he said. "I don't know how she is, though. I've been here with you."
"With me?" Weboshi said. "You men are all fools, especially soldiers. You should go see her."
"I'm not so sure I should. You heard how she screamed when the Governor pronounced your sentence."
"Britta has a quick temper, but she's not one to hold a grudge. I'd thought you would know her better than that by now. You do, though, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. You're trying to hide it, but you can't. There's another reason you haven't gone to see her."
Lucius shifted in his chair, trying to find a position he found comfortable under Weboshi's withering gaze.
"What is it, Dux Lucius? Your philosophy teaches internal self-reliance, I know, but that's only half the lesson. Sometimes you have to say something aloud, let another person hear it, before you can come to terms with what troubles you. Tell me what it is. I might die soon. I'll take your secrets to the grave."
Lucius sighed. Weboshi had a way about her, and her words rung true. He had to talk to someone about Britta, how he felt, and all the mixed up emotions boiling inside him. "Fine," he said. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he contemplated his words. "When Britta became the Abbess of Night, she saw inside me. She saw that I couldn't let anyone get close, couldn't love again, because it felt like a betrayal of my first wife, Shavana. She told me Shavana would want me to move on."
"First wife?"
"She passed."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
Weboshi pursed her lips. "Was Britta right? Do you love her?"
"Yes."
"But you can't admit it because of your first wife?"
"Yes – No. If I admit Britta was right, that Shavana would want me to move on, it means I've spent a lot of time being miserable for nothing. That, in my attempt to honor Shavana's memory, I dishonored it. That I became a Disciple of the Sun Triumphant for nothing."
"Not 'for nothing.' Tell me, Dux Lucius, before your wife died, how much were you like your father?"
"I'm not sure. I've never thought about it. A lot, I suppose. I was certainly ambitious. I could have become like him quite easily."
"And after she passed away, you became a Disciple of the Sun Triumphant. Those experiences made you the man you are today. They made you a man your first, and future, wife can both be proud of. They made you into a man I'd be proud to call my son if Britta were my own flesh and blood. No, that time wasn't wasted, Dux Lucius. No time spent bettering oneself is."
Lucius swallowed, unsure what to say. How could someone so clear and rational have done the things Weboshi did?
"I might not make it out of this alive," she said, "and maybe I don't deserve to. So before you go – before I go – I want you to know you have my blessing. I don't have the right to say it, I know. I wasn't kidding, Dux Lucius, you're a fine man. You'll make my Britta a fine husband."
Dux Lucius took a deep, audible breath to keep whatever emotion welling up buried inside. "Thank you," he said.
"Don't thank me. Go to her."
***
The city streets were barren in a way he'd never seen before. Even in the empire's safest, backwater cities, there was always something going on. People had business to attend to, and despite the potential
danger, some brave souls attended to it. Lucius shuddered – the sort of involuntary emotional response that, like blushing, couldn't be prevented by any amount of meditation. The stillness on the afternoon streets was eerie. For the first time since he'd arrived in the city, he heard the high pitched whistles and honks of the sea birds that circled the city in search of free meals. Doors to stores were shut; no children played in the street. This wasn't like the night of the riot, it lacked the same sense of immanent danger. There was something more foreboding about this. Lucius couldn't put his finger on it.
It reminded him of an incident a few years ago, when he was still a captain. His cohort had been ordered to hold a tower-fort near a fork in the road where bandits frequently struck travelers. It should have been an easy fight, except these weren't the everyday peasant bandits young Captain Lucius had expected. They were deserters from the military, mutineers. And they were pissed that Lucius had occupied their fort. So the bandits laid siege. It took about a month before someone in the chain of commanded noticed Lucius's cohort missing from its rolls and sent help, but Lucius and his men hadn't prepared. They occupied the fort with only a few days of food and water. Food they could live without for a little while, but not water. They recycled urine, caught dew and rain, rationed what they had. By the time relief arrived, Lucius and his men were nearly dead – so dehydrated a pinch and pull of arm skin stayed pinched and pulled. They were listless, still, unable to speak. He felt the same sense of foreboding during that small siege that he felt now.
When he arrived at the abbey, Lucius found a large piece of fine parchment nailed to the door.
"We cannot fight the Regnals," it read. "We have no army, no navy. If we stand against them in open revolt, they will crush us beneath their heels as they did before, over and over until we are pebbles between the flagstones of their empire's famed roads. Even should we resort to the tactics of old, of back-alley knifings and poisoned stews, they will come down on us. Even should we not fight, citizens of Ankshara, they will crush us despite.
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