by A K Fedeau
•••
Livia hurried through the second floor with a nervous skip in her step, her feet echoing off the arched pillars of the open corridor.
A chill crept up her bare shoulders, so she shivered and rubbed her arms. Have to tell Marcus about the letter. I hope he’s shaken Camilla off by now. She picked up her skirt and kept going, her eyes fixed on the path ahead - until a shadow bumped into her, and she gasped and drew away.
“Livia!” Marcus raised his hands. “It’s me.”
“Oh.” Livia clutched her chest. “Mira’s blood, you scared me to death.”
Marcus fanned himself with his collar. “You too.”
Livia smoothed her hair back. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you get in?”
“Of course. Now what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Camilla was drunk. She told me everything.”
Livia furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”
“I think she’s on the brink of leaving Hector.”
Livia let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, gods.”
“Why? What did you find?”
“A letter to Demetrio. She is leaving Hector for him.”
“Mira’s grace,” Marcus murmured. “She could do it soon. Maybe tonight.”
Livia held her head. “I know.”
“What’s the matter?”
“This is that slim chance I told you about.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” Marcus gave Livia a shifty look. “The way she was talking, I think it might’ve been building up for a while.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.” Marcus rolled his tongue along the inside of his mouth. “I don’t think we started this. I think we stumbled onto it.”
“Maybe so.” Livia fidgeted with her neckline. “Either way, we’re losing control of it. We need to pull back for now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lay low. No more until this cools off.”
“Are you serious?”
“The Beauregards? Now Camilla leaving Hector for Demetrio?” Livia peeked over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear. “Right now, it’s starting to look like someone’s meddling. Which we are. The more suspicious people get, the harder this’ll become.”
“Livia, I’m running out of excuses for why I’m still here. ‘I haven’t heard back’ won’t hold forever, and you and I both know that.” Marcus angrily pointed at the space behind Livia’s back. “Now, if we…”
“No ‘buts.’ I’m serious.” Livia whispered through her teeth. “If Hector gets paranoid, it’s over. We’ll…”
A blood-curdling scream cut her off.
Marcus froze in his tracks and glanced at Livia with frightened eyes. Livia gazed at the royal chambers on the top floor across the courtyard. A door slammed. Wood crashed. The shrieks continued as glass shattered on stone - and with one last smash and a strangled cry, the air went deathly still.
Marcus gulped.
Livia covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, gods.”
Marcus just stared, thunderstruck.
Livia whispered, “What have we done?”
The silence lingered - and lingered - as neither of them spoke or moved - and soon, it rang in their ears and sat on their chests like lead. Livia took one step back, then two…
Marcus stepped forward. “Livia?”
But Livia kept backing away until she whirled around and ran.
•••
Livia ran past the fluted columns in the next hallway, down the staircase that wound around the side of the palace wall.
She ran by bushes and braziers and archways and bedroom doors, her slippers clattering underneath her and her blood pounding in her head. She ran by the sculpture garden and the stairs to the underground bath, over stepping stones, past bushes and the fireflies on the garden paths. She ran until she came to a wide, round fountain in a dark, empty courtyard, and threw herself down by the edge, her skirts billowing around her chest.
“Livia?!” Marcus yelled, and sprinted after her.
Livia leaned over the water’s edge as she caught her breath.
“Livia?” Marcus knelt beside her and held her hand. “You’re safe. You’re all right.”
“No. I’m not.” Livia pulled away from him. “This is not.”
Livia’s shoulders sank. Marcus chewed his lip. For a moment, neither of them spoke - and the fountain babbled beside them, and sprayed a fine mist onto their arms.
“This is not the way we work, Marcus,” Livia said, in a shaky voice.
“Of course not. You wouldn’t plan something like that.”
“But it’s what we got.”
“But…”
Livia stiffened her lip. “We don’t even know if she’s still alive.”
“Livia, you couldn’t have known…”
“And she could still be dead.”
Marcus didn’t respond.
“She was unkind, Marcus. She bullied me and recruited people for Hector’s cause. We needed to separate them.” Livia clenched her teeth. “That doesn’t mean she deserved to die.”
Marcus studied the grass beneath him without saying a word, and the trees rustled around them as their leaves drifted to the ground.
“Marcus?”
Marcus hesitated before he answered, “What?”
Livia gazed deep into her reflection. “Are we doing the right thing anymore?”
Marcus glanced at the top of the fountain, and still had no answer for her.
“It was so easy when we started with Pontifex Florian. Remember that? All we had to do was make people angry.” Livia watched her reflection sway back and forth. “Look at the Beauregards. We stole one necklace, and Hector’s been reeling ever since. It was clean. It worked.” Her reflection broke as she turned away. “And now look what I’ve done.”
Marcus ruefully eyed the stone fish that spewed water from their mouths.
“I’ve never had something I’ve set in motion go this badly before. Never.” Livia swallowed the lump in her throat. “I never meant for it to come to this.”
Marcus frowned in thought.
Livia averted her head. “Delphinia would be ashamed of me.”
“No,” Marcus answered, in a low, sinister voice. “Delphinia would be sick.”
Livia’s eyes widened, and her ears pricked up at his change in tone.
“This man killed the royal family and plunged our province into war. What he’s done? In eight years? This could take us a century to recover from.” Marcus raised himself off his knees and sat at Livia’s side. “You set his mistress up to leave him. The smallest betrayal I can think of. And how did he react? He may have killed her. In the room where Prince Janus was born.”
Livia kept listening with the same rapt expression on her face.
“While you’re sitting here berating yourself for doing something wrong, Hector’s probably upset that she put a sour note on his night.” Marcus’ frown dove deeper and deeper and darkened the shadow over his eyes. “He’s probably wiping the blood off his hands and straightening his crown. And tomorrow, he’ll go down to breakfast, and find another one.”
The chill that Livia had felt in the hallway crawled back up her spine.
“And you have the gall to ask me whether we’re doing the right thing,” Marcus growled. “I thought I knew before. I’ve never been more sure than I am now.”
“Marcus - that night in the chapel, you asked who was keeping us accountable,” Livia said. “I… I was confused. I didn’t know why you’d worry about something like that. But now I see what you mean.”
“Don’t look me in the eye and tell me we’re as bad as him.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying,” Livia implored him, “how do we know where to stop?”
“Livia, listen.” Marcus reached out and took Livia’s hand again. “You’re a spy. I’m a general. We’ve both done our share of dirty work.”
“But we…”
“Anyone
can follow orders or keep their end of a contract. It takes a true bastard to raise his hand to someone who raised him up.”
Livia tensed her wrist, and her fingers fidgeted against Marcus’ palm.
“I’m not going to hold myself accountable to a man who sinks that low. Not when even his allies aren’t safe from him.” Marcus squeezed Livia’s hand too hard. “I’ve heard of ‘no honor among thieves,’ but Hector’s gone to depths I’ve never seen before. This is chaos, pure and simple. And it won’t end until he’s been put down.”
Livia drew back, and something stirred in her gut - something too much like fear.
“You know what I will hold myself accountable for? Not doing enough. I can’t stop now. I won’t.” Marcus’ knuckles turned white. “Not until he’s paid for what he’s done.”
CHAPTER 15
A few days later, Marcus awoke to a cool, lavender dawn, and caught a fading whiff of sandalwood on Livia’s pillow.
He shaved at Livia’s dresser with a copper razor blade, with short, fastidious strokes around the dimple in his chin. He rinsed the blade in his washbowl and dried it on the towel around his neck, then patted his cheeks and rubbed the leftover olive oil into his hands. When he’d finished, he combed his damp hair, but left the unruly tuft on his crown - the way Livia liked it, an imperfection on his military-square head.
As soon as he was satisfied, he took his towel and rubbed down his neck, and left it on the seat of Livia’s chair as he opened her wardrobe. He slid out the drawers beneath her dresses and thumbed through his folded clothes, then pulled an outfit out of the color-sorted stacks and slipped it on. A pair of socks. His leggings. His gold signet ring, then his turtleneck. A dark blue, silver-trimmed tunic, and a silver belt he fastened at his waist - and finally, the matching short cape that he pinned at the ends of his collarbone.
All right. Marcus knelt on the floor and tugged his left boot on. Better go find Ligari. See if she heard anything about Ciacco coming back.
But when he raised his right boot, he saw a scuff on the black leather toe - like someone had dropped something on it, or scratched it with a fingernail.
Marcus squinted and held the leg of the boot up to the light. He found nothing, so he turned it over. Nothing on the sole. He checked the heel - also nothing - and with a deep, suspicious frown, he marched over to the door, opened it, and stuck his head through the doorway.
“Livia?”
Livia answered from the bathroom down the hall. “What?”
“Have you been handling my boots lately?”
“No. Why?”
Marcus hesitated - then backed away.
“Never mind.”
•••
Marcus walked down the palace halls at an even, route-step pace, past columns and sheer, rustling drapes and potted myrtle plants.
Every time he heard footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder - but when he found no one following him, he shook his head and pressed on. In the small garden beside him, two maids beat rugs and talked, in rural Histrian accents with dropped Carpathian Rs.
“Have you seen Lady Camilla lately?” One asked.
The other shook her head. “No.”
“That’s strange,” the first said. “I haven’t seen her since the end of the Moonlight Festival.”
“That was the night of that horrible screaming.”
“Mira’s blood.” The first maid shook her rug out. “Was that her?”
“I hope not. Whoever it was, it sounded like they were really being hurt.”
Marcus’ ears pricked up, and he slowed down to listen to them.
“Anyway, forget the screaming,” The first maid said. “D’you smell that fire this morning?”
“By the Vincula? I did.”
“You’ve got family down there, don’t you?”
The second maid rolled her rug up. “I do.”
“I heard it was from a riot. Was that true?”
“It was.” The second maid propped the rug against a pillar. “That whole neighborhood is getting scary. I don’t like to go out by myself.”
“Next time, I’ll go with you.”
“I wish you would.” The second maid stepped back into the sun. “They’re just so tense. One look from a prefect, and the whole street could go off.”
Marcus tilted his head to hear better and braced his hand on the wall, and the second maid batted her brush, sending clouds of dust into the breeze.
“And then I come back to the palace, and they’re still having pheasant hunts.”
“I don’t think they know,” the first maid said.
“They certainly don’t act like they do.” The second maid picked up her apron skirt and wiped her palms. “Honestly, it’s starting to get eerie how quiet it is here. It’s like nothing’s wrong. You can’t see or hear it. Puts my nerves on edge.”
A chill crept up Marcus’ spine, and for a moment, he stared into space - and he sniffed the air, but sure enough, he smelled no trace of smoke. So he walked on as the uneasy feeling spread into his shoulders and neck, and he stopped dead when he heard a voice from the open armory doorway.
“Glad to see you home,” Hector said.
“Glad to be here,” another voice answered him.
High General Ciacco! Marcus thought, and ducked around the corner to watch.
“How’s the arm?” Hector asked.
“Shitty.” Ciacco patted the side of his sling. “Saw the royal physician today. She tells me the shoulder’s freezing up.”
“From a stab wound?”
Ciacco shrugged. “Field hospital didn’t make me move it enough.”
“Argh.” Hector buried his hand in his curls. “Fucking incompetents.”
Marcus frowned and scooted forward so he could see more of the doorway.
“Anyway.” Hector smoothed his hair back. “What did you want to tell me?”
Ciacco stood up straighter. “I came to give you my report.”
“All right.” Hector settled next to a suit of armor. “How’s the front?”
“I can’t lie to you. It’s not looking good.”
Hector recoiled. “What does that mean?”
“We haven’t found any new silver mines since the ones in Orchard Month. That’s eight months with no new resources.” Ciacco propped his good arm against his sling. “We’ve had the Severin capital for six years, and got nothing to show for it. This attrition thing, it’s not working. We’re just pissing the locals off.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.” Ciacco stepped close to Hector to intimidate him. “‘Cause what we’re doing up there? There’s no profit anymore.”
Hector took a defiant step back and stood up as tall as he could.
“Look.” Ciacco followed him, his boots clicking on the marble floor. “I’m your friend. I wouldn’t say this if I weren’t looking out for you.”
“You sound like Incipio.”
“I know,” Ciacco grumbled, and looked askance. “But I’m saying. You think it’s bad now? It’s only going to get worse.”
The tips of Marcus’ ears prickled at the mention of his name.
“There’s no way up from what we dug ourselves into.” Ciacco tightened his mouth. “You want to invade Juba next? Fine. But if we don’t bail now, we’ll have nothing left.”
A long, heavy silence fell - and finally, Hector turned away.
“You’re right. There’s only one way out with our dignity intact.”
“Operation Nightfall,” Ciacco mumbled.
“Are we ready?”
Ciacco nodded.
“Then it’s time.”
Marcus’ eyes flew open, and he pressed his cheek to the wall.
“Where are the fifteen thousand?” Hector asked.
“A day’s march from the Jormund capital.”
“Have the other divisions caught up?”
Ciacco answered, “They will by the time the order arrives.”
“All right.” Hector tapped
his ear as his eyes darted back and forth. “Listen carefully.”
“I’m listening.”
Marcus held his breath.
“As soon as the other divisions arrive, send them into the capital. Once they can see you, break formation. Make it chaos. Like an angry mob.” Hector walked back to Ciacco’s side and folded his hands behind his back. “When they’re all in, block the gates, so nobody can get in or out. Burn everything you can’t carry. Kill everything not wearing our uniform.”
“King Torvald?”
“Queen Sigrun. The children.” Hector swiped at the air in front of him. “Cut them into pieces. Burn them. Whatever you need to do to get results.”
Marcus’ stomach lurched, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Next, I want every building in that city leveled to the ground. Fuck it, burn the farms on the way out if you want to.” Hector waved over his shoulder. “I don’t care if you have to take the palace walls down stone by stone. I want that shit gone. Eradicated.”
Marcus turned up his eyebrows.
“You do this, we cripple the enemy morale on the Northern Front. They’ll be too shocked to retaliate. We call it a victory. Pull out.” Hector paced around Ciacco with slow, swaggering steps. “You understand? I want them to feel it in every province that we won. I want them to hear it loud and clear.” He poked Ciacco’s chest. “Don’t. Fuck. With Histria.”
Marcus raised his hand to his mouth as nausea rose in his throat, and he bit the back of his finger as he shuffled away from the wall. He retreated further and further as Hector and Ciacco headed for the doorway - and he ran off to find Livia, his pulse pounding in his chest.
•••
Up in the dovecote, Livia searched for the pigeon that went to the convent, but found another in its place, cooing and strutting in its cage.
She read its label twice, then three times as alarm bells rang in her head. Border Post 39, Severin. Oh, gods. What did they do with it? She scoured the rows until she saw the unlabeled cage on the floor - the pigeon quiet and unharmed, but not where it should have been.
“Livia?” Marcus’ voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs.
Who moved this? Livia picked the cage up. The better question is, why?
“Livia?!” Marcus yelled again.
Livia set it down in its proper spot. Am I missing something here?