by Morgan Rice
She saw Queen Athena’s tight smile. “No doubt with my head.”
Ceres ignored her, starting to walk away.
“Still,” Queen Athena said, “I won’t be alone. It’s too late for Thanos, dear.”
“Thanos?” Ceres said, and the word was enough to stop her. She turned back to where the queen still sat on the throne. “What have you done? Where is he?”
She saw Queen Athena’s smile widen. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Ceres could feel her anger and impatience building. Not at the way the queen was taunting her, but at what it might mean if Thanos were truly in danger.
The queen laughed again. This time, no one joined in. “You came all the way here, and you don’t even know that your favorite prince is about to die for the murder of his king.”
“Thanos wouldn’t murder anyone!” Ceres insisted.
She wasn’t sure why she even had to say it. Surely no one truly believed that Thanos could ever do anything like that!
“He’s still going to die for it,” Queen Athena replied, with a note of calmness that made Ceres rush over to grab her, putting a blade to her throat.
In that moment, all thoughts of stopping the violence fell forgotten from her mind.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Where is he?”
She saw the queen pale, and there was a part of Ceres that was happy about that. Queen Athena deserved to be frightened.
“The south courtyard, waiting for his execution. You see, you’re no different from us.”
Ceres threw her from the throne to the floor. “Someone take her before I do something I’ll regret.”
Ceres ran from the hall, pushing her way past the last dregs of the fight around her. Behind her, she heard Queen Athena laughing.
“You’re too late! You’ll never get there in time to save him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stephania sat watching the horizon, doing her best to ignore the bouncing of the ship and trying to judge the moment when she would have to murder the boat’s captain.
That she would have to do it was without doubt. Felene had been like a gift from the gods when Stephania and her handmaiden had met the captain in Delos. Felene had been a way out of the city, and a way to get to Felldust. All sent by Thanos’s own hand.
But because she was Thanos’s, she had to die. The very fact that she was loyal enough to convey them this far meant that she was too loyal to trust with everything Stephania intended to do next. The only question now was the timing.
That was a balancing act. Stephania looked up, seeing the sea birds flying overhead.
“They’re a sign we’re getting closer to shore, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Very good, princess,” Felene said, moving around from where she was trying to teach Elethe to fish off the bow rail, standing slightly closer than she needed to. The familiarity of her tone made Stephania’s hackles rise, but she did her best to disguise it.
“So we’ll be there soon?”
“A little while, and we’ll sight land,” Felene said. “Another after that, and we’ll reach the fishing village where Elethe says we’ll find her uncle’s people. Why? Eager to stop throwing up?”
“Eager to do a lot of things,” Stephania replied. Although putting her feet back on dry land was one of them. Morning sickness did not mix well with seasickness.
It was just one of the reasons she needed to kill Felene sooner rather than later. Sooner or later, she would realize that Stephania was pregnant, and that didn’t fit with the story she’d told about Lucious forcing her to drink his potion.
When would she guess? It couldn’t have been more obvious to Stephania that she was pregnant now, her dress feeling stretched tight across her expanding belly, her body seeming to change in so many ways as the life grew inside her. She put a hand on her abdomen automatically, wanting to protect the life inside her, wanting it to grow and become strong. Yet Felene continued to spend her time with Elethe, so easily distracted by a pretty face.
That was another thing to consider when judging when to act. Yes, Stephania needed to leave it long enough for them to close in on land, but the longer she left it, the greater the danger was that her handmaiden’s loyalties might be tested. As useful as Felene might be, Elethe would be far more useful when it came to finding the sorcerer. More than that, the handmaiden was hers.
For now though, Stephania waited, because she didn’t want to have to pilot this tub when there was no land in sight. She waited and she watched while Felene helped her handmaiden land a struggling fish, beheading it with a wickedly sharp-looking knife. That she looked over while she did it only told Stephania that she was running out of time.
Thoughts of what she was there to do drove Stephania on, hardening her resolve. Felldust held the sorcerer who had killed Ancient Ones. Felldust would provide her with a way to bring down Ceres. After that… after that, she could deal with Thanos, forging her child into the weapon she needed.
“It didn’t need to come to this,” Stephania said, standing so that she could look out over the rail.
“What’s that, princess?” Felene asked.
“I said, is that land over there?” Stephania asked.
It was, the black dust of the coast rising up on the edge of the horizon. At first, it was just a faint line above the waves, rising up like some rocky sun until it started to fill Stephania’s view.
“Aye,” Felene said, moving to the rail and looking out. “We’ll soon have you safe and sound on land, princess.”
Stephania’s hand dipped into her cloak. With the infinite care only known to those who worked with poisons, she palmed a dart. “Felene, there’s something I’ve wanted to say to you since we set off.”
“What’s that, princess?” Felene said with a mocking smile.
“It’s simple,” Stephania said with a smile of her own. “Do not call me princess!”
Her hand flashed around, the dart glinting in the sun as she went for the exposed skin of Felene’s face.
Pain flared in her wrist and it took Stephania a moment to realize that Felene had brought her elbow up, letting Stephania’s arm collide with it. Stephania’s hand spasmed open, and she saw the dart tumble over the side.
By then, pain was already flaring in her cheek as Felene slapped her, hard enough that Stephania reeled. This wasn’t the delicate, ladylike slap of some noble girl. It was a sailor’s blow, and it had weight behind it that sat Stephania down hard on the planks of the deck.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Felene demanded. “Do you think I don’t know you’ve been working up to this since we left?”
“I—” Stephania began, but the ringing in her ears wouldn’t let her keep going.
“You’re lucky you’re carrying Thanos’s child, or I’d feed you to the sharks right now!” Felene snapped. “Oh yes, I’ve spotted the signs! And now I’m debating whether to sell you on to a slaver, kill you outright as soon as Thanos’s child is born, or just call the whole thing a bad deal and set off back for Delos!”
Stephania started to stand, and Felene pushed her back down. “Oh no, princess, you can stay where you’re put. It’s safer for all of us that way, until I find enough rope to lash you to the mast.”
Stephania looked past her then, to Elethe. She gave just the barest of nods, hoping that it would be enough.
It was. Her handmaiden drew a short, curved blade and leapt forward. It seemed that Felene was ready for that too, though, because she spun and parried the first stroke, her own knife in her hand again.
“Pity,” Felene said. “We could have had a lot of fun. I survived the Isle of Prisoners. You think I can’t handle you?”
Stephania had to sit and admire the fight that followed for a moment, and not just because her head was still ringing from Felene’s slap. Normally, she had no time for the play of blades, or the carefully honed skills of warriors. These two, however, made their knives dance in the sun as they fought, hands trapping one anot
her’s arms, looking for angles. Stephania saw Felene go for a low kick, then dodge back from a swipe. She moved close to Elethe, grappling with her as they both sought to thrust their blades home.
That was when Stephania stood, drawing a knife of her own and thrusting it into Felene’s back.
Stephania saw her fall to her knees, her face a picture of surprise as she put her hand to the wound. Her knife clattered to the deck as her fingers opened.
“I wasn’t on the Isle of Prisoners at all,” Stephania said. “Which of us does that make the cleverest?”
Felene turned toward her, but Stephania could see even that was an effort for her. Stephania smiled over to Elethe.
“Well done. Your loyalty will be rewarded. Now, we should cut her throat and throw her over the side. We can’t show up in Felldust dragging a body with us, and after all she’s done, I’m sure you’ll want revenge.”
Stephania saw Elethe hesitate before she nodded, but that was only to be expected. Not everyone could be as practical about these things as she was. Stephania could understand that, and Elethe had already more than proved her loyalty. Perhaps she would do it herself. After all, Felene wasn’t armed anymore.
Stephania took a step forward.
“Until you hit me, this wasn’t personal,” she said. “It was simply necessary. Now… do you know there’s a poison they use in some of the southlands, that kills by stopping all the muscles? In the right dose, it doesn’t kill at all, merely leaves someone immobile. Should I give you that before I throw you in?”
She took another step and saw Felene struggling to her feet. That didn’t matter; with Elethe’s help, she would be easy to overpower again.
“No, I owe you more than that for bringing us all this way. A cut throat it is.”
She saw Felene tense, as if ready to throw herself forward in one last burst of violence. Stephania readied herself, flinching back as she prepared for the onslaught of violence.
In that moment, the sailor did the one thing Stephania hadn’t been prepared for. She flung herself sideways, over the boat’s railing. Stephania heard the splash as she hit the water, and saw the foam of the waves rise up high enough to slop over the deck.
Stephania rushed to the railing, and Elethe was there beside her, looking down with an expression of worry that made Stephania glad it hadn’t come to throat cutting after all, because that might have pushed her handmaiden a little too far.
“I know it’s hard,” Stephania said, putting a hand on Elethe’s shoulder. “But sometimes, these things must be done. And you did well. I’m proud of you.”
“What about Felene?” her handmaiden asked. “Do you think we should wait and see if she survives?”
There was a note of hope there that Stephania needed to quash quickly. “You heard her say that there were sharks. The wound was deep, and it’s a long way to land. It’s done.”
She saw her handmaiden nod.
“Well done, Elethe,” Stephania repeated. “You have been the most loyal of all of my handmaidens.”
She needed to remind her handmaiden whose she was, but for now, there were more pressing concerns.
“We still need to find a way to get this boat to shore,” Stephania said. “And then we have to find the sorcerer.”
“I’ve learned a lot about piloting the boat from our time at sea,” Elethe assured her. “Felene was eager to show me.”
That probably hadn’t been all of it, but it was over now. The sailor was dead. They were almost to Felldust, and after that, it was only a matter of time before they found the sorcerer.
Things were going well at last, especially since her handmaiden really did seem to know how to pilot the boat now, guiding it unerringly in the direction of the mainland. All Stephania had to do was sit at the stern of the boat, letting Elethe do the work.
Stephania smiled as she watched the blood float on the water behind them, and imagined the sharks starting to gather.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A king should have been greeted by trumpeters, heralds, and pageantry. Instead, there was only the thud of Port Leeward’s dock as the sailors threw him onto it.
Lucious groaned, caught between pain and anger as he struck the wood.
“I am a king!” Lucious whimpered. “A king!”
They didn’t seem to be listening, any more than they had been on the ship. Maybe that was just as well.
Lucious forced his way to his feet, ignoring the pain it sent through him.
He managed to look round at Felldust’s capital, Port Leeward. It barely seemed worth the effort. He’d heard once that Felldust had started as a green, pleasant, even glorious land, lush with vegetation and rich with delicate flowers.
That had changed during the wars involving the Ancient Ones. Now, while pockets of beauty and fertile ground remained, far more of the kingdom was a place of shifting dust and burning sand, black ash and desolation. Its current kingdom had grown up amongst the wreckage, built up the way someone might have built a shelter in the wake of a shipwreck.
It had grown into one of the Empire’s most important allies and trading partners. Lucious was relying on that. It was in everyone’s interest for Felldust’s king to help him take back what was his.
Not a king, the First Stone.
“I know that,” Lucious muttered to himself. He’d thought he would be able to silence his father’s endless quibbling and picking at him by killing him. His memories, or his imagination, or possibly the gods, seemed to have other ideas, though.
He could remember the endless lessons his father had made him sit through with Cosmas in the hall of learning. All those hours he’d been forced to spend learning the customs and political structures of other lands, as though anywhere but the Empire truly mattered. Now there was the irony that some of it might actually pay off.
Lucious looked up at the city and tried to remember his lessons. The First Stone, Irrien, was the nominal head of a council of ministers put in place to rule Felldust as it had grown out of the fall of the Ancient Ones. In practice, the First Stone was a king in all but name, even if the other stones of the council plotted around him and exercised their powers as they saw fit. The exact power of the First Stone came down to his ability to navigate the twists and turns of Felldust’s politics through power, violence, and charisma.
From what Lucious had heard, Irrien was highly charismatic, carrying along the people of the kingdom with speeches and symbolic gestures, ruling the rest of the council easily. If Lucious could get his aid, the rest would fall into place. From what Lucious had heard, Felldust’s nobles had lives filled with the rarest luxuries, fueled by diamonds dug up from the depths of the black ash, and artifacts recovered from the land’s ancient ruins, sold by the merchants who ran caravans to them or the forgers who worked out of foundries in the towns.
He would get his Empire back. The spots where he’d been kicked hurt with a fire that would take strong drink to dull, but there were other hurts too. It still hurt that he’d been forced to run, watching as the rebellion somehow beat back the soldiers he’d sent to kill them in the Stade. It hurt that he’d been forced to steal some peasant’s clothes, fitting them over his own so that he could sneak from the city unseen.
And if you hadn’t been busy killing me, you’d have been there too.
The truth of that bit at Lucious almost more than the rest of it. He’d wanted to be there to watch the combatlords’ destruction, but if his father hadn’t called him away, Lucious would probably have been dead by now. His father had saved him by accident, while Lucious had been busy staving in his skull. Lucious supposed he should have been grateful, but right then, all he could think was how much he wanted back what had been taken from him.
He’d get it back though, just as soon as he found his way through this pitiful excuse for a city. Lucious tried to make sense of it, then decided that there was no sense to be made of somewhere like Port Leeward. It hunched in the lee of a cliff face as though huddled there against the d
ust. There were parts of it where that seemed to have worked, but far more of the city looked sand stained and blackened, eroded in patches so that the stones of the buildings seemed pitted by it. The white marble of richer buildings looked like the bones of some beached leviathan, sticking up through the rotting meat of the rest of it.
There should have been a carriage waiting for him. He shouldn’t have had to find his way through all this mess. The First Stone himself should have been there waiting by the docks for Lucious to arrive.
“He would have been if he’d known,” Lucious said.
Really? You know more about Irrien than that.
It seemed he hadn’t been able to leave his father’s voice behind on the ship. Lucious did his best to ignore it. He would march to the castle, demand to see the First Stone, and he would have all that was due to him.
Better hope not, because that includes a headsman’s axe.
Lucious strode off into the city, not caring that he didn’t have directions, or a guide, or anything else. The palace of the five stones was obvious enough, standing as a five-sided tower at the heart of the city. So long as he kept it in sight, it would be easy enough to find.
Ten minutes later, he had to admit that it hadn’t been the best of strategies.
You always were inclined to rush in without thinking.
“It’s not me!” Lucious snapped. “It’s this gods-forsaken city!”
He’d thought Delos was tangled and complex. Compared to Felldust’s capital, though, it was practically a tiny hamlet. Port Leeward was a maze, filled with babbling people who seemed determined to conduct their grubby lives out on the streets. As for the name… what sort of city named itself purely after its capacity to keep out the wind and dust?
One with a lot of dust.
“I’ll find a way to banish you from my head,” Lucious promised. “I killed you. I’ll not drag you round with me like some specter.”