“I assure you I’ve not poisoned it.” He sipped his own to demonstrate.
“It is not diluted.”
“Tastes better that way.”
“I do not drink.”
“It will help you sleep.”
“I sleep fine.” Her expression had a hard edge. “Are you going to force me to drink it as you did Seraphime, or are you going to tell me what you want to talk about?”
“Ah.” He settled further into the chair. “I wondered if you had heard about that yet.”
“I heard.” She leaned toward him. “Please do not do that again.”
“Seraphime is adorable when drunk. And so honest.” He was baiting her, but honesty was what he wanted from Persephone and she only seemed to be so when angry. Interestingly enough, the same seemed to be true of Seraphime.
“She is honest without drink.” Persephone maintained her outward calm. Her accusation dwelt in her eyes alone. “And I do not feel comfortable with the idea of her inebriated and unable to defend herself should the need arise.”
“Why should the need arise?”
“She seems to be quite the temptation to your soldiers.”
“Are you suggesting I do not have control over my men?” He spoke quietly.
“Of course not.” Her honey-sweet tone left a bitter aftertaste. “They have obviously demonstrated such venerable impulse control thus far.”
Irate, mostly because she was right, he seethed silently. He seriously doubted anyone would be foolish enough to try anything with Seraphime again, but he could not argue with Persephone’s concern. She had cause to be distrustful.
“I will take your request under advisement.” It was the same thing he had told her mother when the queen had suggested he demonstrate more courtesy toward Seraphime. It was a way of acknowledging he’d heard the request, but wasn’t agreeing to it; he had no more intention of agreeing to the appeal now than he had when Adonia had broached the same subject.
“Gratitude.” She said the word, but she didn’t believe him.
The queen had been exceedingly clear that he would never gain a measure of respect or trust from Persephone if he continued to treat things – people, he corrected himself – that she cared about with indifference. He might actually have to consider acceding, as much as it vexed him to forego such a useful tactic. But it was Persephone – not Seraphime – whose cooperation he needed.
Not ready to commit to the decision yet, he changed the subject. “Your mother admitted to me that Seraphime is your half-sister.”
“Yes, she mentioned that to me as well.”
“Why did you continue to lie about it?”
“Why do you continue to ask questions you already know the answer to?”
“Fine, I have a new one for you.”
“Pray tell.”
“Why did you seek combat and politic training?”
“I thought those skills would prove more useful than sewing and dancing. Clearly I was correct in my assumption.”
He didn’t believe her, even though she delivered the lie smoothly. “There has to be more to the story than that?”
“Is that so?” She slouched down into the chair, unconcerned by the line of questioning.
“Your mother mentioned an injustice.”
Persephone’s eyes narrowed. “So she said.”
“You are angry with her for admitting such?”
“I honor my mother, General. It is not my place to question her judgment.”
“Why so adamantly against the telling, Persephone? What is the true story?”
She looked at him disinterestedly. “You assume that all stories are worth telling, or worth hearing. Do not lose sleep over things that matter not at all, General.”
Augustine debated whether or not he wanted to continue to question her. Feeling surly, he wasn’t exactly in a mood for civil conversation and fighting with her wasn’t productive. Even knowing it had likely been her intent – the queen was too like her daughter for it not to have been calculated – Augustine found himself supremely invested in hearing from Persephone’s own lips the story behind her combat training. As they’d continued to talk, the queen had informed him that Persephone’s reasons were highly personal and she would not consider it fair for him to obtain the information from a third party. She’d gone on to say that fairness was incredibly important to Persephone. When he’d demanded to know how her lying fit into her sense of fair play, the queen had surprised him yet again by saying, Lying is an equalizer. It balances the scales.
He wanted to know the story, the true story. The problem was knowing how to talk to her. When he was angry, she matched it, which obviously got him nowhere with her. She clearly preferred fighting with him over anything else. When he was tender, she tolerated it for only so long before rejecting the affection and lashing out. It would seem that she did the same when she admitted more than intended. He didn’t know how to win with her. Stop trying to manipulate her, and let her know you. More advice from the queen. He wasn’t thrilled at the notion of opening himself to someone so calculating and ruthless. Then, she likely felt the same and one of them had to go first.
Tonight had already gone to shit, so, resolving that he would try again tomorrow, Augustine waved toward the door. “Go.” She didn’t hesitate, immediately rising to do so. “But, Persephone” – he motioned for her to come to him. She did and when he crooked his finger for her to come closer, she leaned over him with one hand braced on the back of his chair. Holding her chin with thumb and forefinger, he pulled her face to his. “I’ll not use drink against Seraphime again. Sweet dreams, Princess.” With a peck on her lips, he released her.
Chapter 8:
Skin Deep
A person cannot be judged by his appearance in the same token as the sea cannot be measured with a bowl.
– Proverb
Hours turned into days, which stretched into weeks, and after a fortnight things had fallen into a predictable, if not comfortable, rhythm. Persephone woke. Ate with her family. Then her father and brother would be taken away for the daily Council meetings. At this point Persephone and Seraphime were given their promised hour of stochasmos. Persephone continued to make daily tours of the palace. She was never given long for this, so she made as much of her time as she could, offering comfort and kind words. Sincere gestures that felt hollow to her given how she still felt she had abandoned these people. After that, she bathed and was returned to her room for the interminable waiting back in their quarters. Finally, at some point in the night she would be summoned to the king’s chamber.
Persephone had no idea what it was Augustine did during the day. Sometimes he watched her and Seraphime during stochasmos, or shadowed Persephone during her tour of the palace, but typically it was just the captain, Seneca, and Lucius. The only time she consistently saw Augustine was in the evenings. Over the past weeks he’d taken her on top of or bent over nearly every flat surface in the room. Persephone had come to know what to expect based on his mood when she first arrived.
Their time together was always shortest if he was already brooding. It was on these nights that he was most likely to bend her over something and fuck them both breathless before sending her away without a word. She always wondered what it was that left him so agitated before her arrival, but he never would say. When he was in his darkest moods and, therefore, his most aggressive and dominating, she experienced her most powerful and satisfying releases. Still confused and appalled by her body’s reaction, she hated herself most on those nights.
When he was in one of his playful moods, which were growing ever more frequent, he was likely to use his fingers and tongue on her before plunging himself into her depths. She noticed that he never let her use her mouth on him, though. Hoping to loosen his tongue, she had tried on several occasions, but he had always put a halt to it. Probably he didn’t trust her enough to allow her teeth around such a sensitive part of his anatomy. The thought made her smile, a thing she did far too freq
uently when he was in a lighter mood. During those times he was often charming and funny. He had a quick wit and an easy laugh and though she never really relaxed, she begrudgingly enjoyed his company. She hated him most on those nights.
If he was in a more sensual mood, he tended to be at his most relaxed and willing to follow her lead. These were the rarest, but were also the nights he was most talkative after they were finished. He never shared anything about his plans in Galilae, but would answer questions about himself, the Finctus, what his life had been like there. She rarely asked him personal questions. Persephone did not want to know or understand him. To humanize him. More importantly, she did not want to lend him the notion that she was inviting reciprocating questions in return.
Sometimes he asked questions about Galilae. She answered those questions cautiously and vaguely, though always honestly. Her hope was that she could glean information about their timeline, plans, and resources by listening to his questions about the kingdom. Were she not already certain what their ultimate goal was, his questions would have offered no insight. Even knowing what was likely coming, they provided her very little. Unfortunately, even without her encouragement, more often than not, his questions were of a personal nature. If she was cautious about answering questions about Galilae, then she was adamant about not answering questions about herself.
Inevitably, as his questions probed deeper, she either refused to speak at all or she picked a fight. She didn’t know much about him, but she’d quickly learned the places she needed to prod when she wanted to escape to the sanctuary that was her quarters. She knew she might be able to gain more information if she was more forthcoming herself. In the beginning she’d attempted to feed him the lies everyone else so easily swallowed, but he always managed to spot them – no matter how well disguised. And there were some secrets she would never share, leaving them at an impasse. If he’d not continued to protect Kolimpri, her mother, and Seraphime, she would have considered it a total waste.
This day started as any other. The general was absent during her morning stochasmos with Seraphime. This was sacred time to Persephone. It was the only point in the day that her thoughts weren’t clouded with worry. She could empty her mind by pouring her attention into their synchronized movements, losing herself in the familiar poses and flows. No one ever bothered them during this time, so the hand on her shoulder surprised her. Recognizing the touch only as not Augustine’s, she reacted purely on instinct. She spun, grabbing the man by the wrist and twisting. Stopping the leveraged position just shy of the point of causing pain, she met the captain’s gray eyes.
He held his free hand up in appeasement, so she dropped her hold and stepped away from him without an apology. “Do not touch me.”
“You did not hear me when I called.”
“Then you should have waited.”
He smiled slightly. “I thought maybe you would want to actually fight for a change rather than just pretending.”
“What we are doing has nothing to do with fighting.”
“So you claim. Would you like the opportunity to actually fight or not?” He inclined his head and she followed his gaze.
Possibly, with the exception of the captain himself, the two men that she would have liked to kill more than any others walked into the courtyard, both wearing only their leather sparring briefs. Excitement stirred in her belly. The one on the right was the one who would have raped Seraphime in the middle of the Grand Hall the first night, and the one on the left was the one that had grabbed her during the knife-throwing exhibition. The two men eyed her and Seraphime predatorily. She would be given permission to actually spar with them? Even if she couldn’t kill them, she would be allowed to strike them. To hurt them. The thought was too compelling to resist.
“Persephone, Seraphime.” The captain inclined his head at each of them. “Meet Falco” – the one from the Grand Hall – “and Tricas,” the one from the courtyard.
It was a trap. There was no other explanation. Augustine had been exceedingly clear about consequences, and she had no doubt he would follow through. He was also conveniently absent. Persephone allowed her face to convey the outright suspicion she felt when she returned her gaze to the captain.
“You must think me very foolish indeed.”
“Hardly.”
“The general’s orders to me have been very clear, and was it not you yourself who told me I would not be granted another reprieve?” Words he’d spoken to her right before relinquishing the throwing daggers to her during the exhibition of her skill.
“It was.”
“Then what game do you play?”
“What the general does not know will not hurt him.” The captain’s gaze was earnest. “I can keep a secret if you can.”
“So you admit he does not know about this?” He nodded. “Then why? What do you get out of it?”
He took a deep breath. “Your style of fighting is unique and you were highly effective, even outsized as you were. It would be to our benefit to learn more, though I doubt you would be willing to teach us.” She said nothing, just continued to stare at him through narrowed eyes. “By allowing you to spar we still have the opportunity to learn through observation. I have discussed this with Augustine at length and we disagree on a practical level. He does not believe that the potential benefits of allowing this will outweigh the risks. I do.”
“And you chose these men to tempt me? How very manipulative of you.” The desire to beat the life out of the two men behind her was tantalizing indeed.
“That is only half of the reason these men were chosen; they feel just as bitter toward you as you them. They will not hold back because you are a woman.”
Persephone smiled at the idea taking root. “As much as I would enjoy embarrassing your men, Captain, tragically, I must decline. I am not so convinced that the general will not find out through one channel or another and it is a risk I am unwilling to take. I will not fight them.” He opened his mouth to argue further. “Seraphime will.”
A cruel smile curved her sister’s pretty mouth.
* * * *
Adrenaline slammed into Seraphime’s system. She was eager for this and itched to begin.
The initial surprise the captain wore at Persephone’s suggestion quickly faded. “Done,” he agreed without objection. “Here are the rules.” He made eye contact with each of the three participants. “Two contestants at a time. Hand-to-hand. No weapons. No maiming or killing blows. The match ends when I call it, or when the loser yields or loses consciousness. Questions?”
Seraphime shook her head in time with her two adversaries. She would follow the rules, even if she wasn’t convinced they would. It didn’t matter; one-on-one they would not have the opportunity to get ahold of her. Of that, she was sure. “Who goes first?”
The man identified as Falco stepped forward. The same one who grabbed her in the Grand Hall. The same man who had raped Paraskeve continuously these past weeks. And the one who continuously taunted her at every opportunity, reminding her how tenuous her safety was.
“You will sorely regret this, little girl,” he told her with an ugly leer.
She regretted only that she could not kill him. Her smile never wavered, and uncharacteristically, she maintained eye contact. She was not afraid of him.
Everyone else stepped away from them, forming a semblance of a circle. Adopting a defensive stance, Seraphime watched him to see how he would open. What his weaknesses would be. Brazen overconfidence, it would seem; he opened strong, swinging a hard right hook toward her face. She ducked, stepping under his arm and driving the heel of her palm upward into his nose. His head snapped back at the impact and when he looked back at her, blood streamed from both nostrils. She was already dancing back out of his reach and moving around him. The action forced him to chase her if he wanted to keep her in his line of sight.
“At what point will I regret this?”
His pupils dilated at her gibe and he charged her recklessly.
“Match!” The captain’s voice echoed through the courtyard.
She stood slowly, watching his face as he attempted to suck air into his lungs. Seraphime had the sudden and unexpected thought that he would take his frustration toward her out on Para. Tricas had not been nearly so brutal with any of the other slaves, and she doubted – though she had no way of knowing for sure – that he would react similarly.
“I would like to make an amendment to our agreement,” Seraphime said suddenly.
The satisfaction and approval quickly fell from Persephone’s face when she tipped her head inquisitively.
“These men, you chose them because they hold a personal vendetta. I understand that I am protected by another arrangement, but I’ve now beaten your man, and should I continue, I will beat the other as well.”
“You’ve no way of knowing that,” the captain said without addressing her actual concern; she could see by the look on his face that he was considering it, though.
“We will see. My concern, sir, is what guarantee are you to give me that they will not take out their ire on others?”
“Is there someone of particular concern to you?”
“All of them.” Seraphime was concerned about Para in particular, but Seraphime could hardly offer her additional protections and forsake the others.
For the first time since the siege, she held his gaze unwaveringly. She was not supposed to, and she had been very mindful to avoid doing so thus far, but these were unusual circumstances. Overly excited about the prospect of exacting her own revenge, Seraphime had not considered the potential consequences of the fight when she’d agreed. By the sick look on Persephone’s face, she hadn’t either.
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