Dangerous Crowns

by A K Fedeau

  Marcus gulped. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Then come on.” Hamid grabbed his black hood and put it over his head. “Let’s go.”

  •••

  Hamid led Marcus to the gate, where it rose with a groan - and the prefects threatened the crowd with their swords as the two of them stepped out.

  The wind whistled between the turrets and sent a shiver down Marcus’ spine, and the eyes of the people followed him as he walked across the scaffold. One of the onlookers shuffled their feet. Another cleared their throat. They didn’t bay. They didn’t holler. No one cried out for his blood. They just stood there, cramped and quiet, too transfixed to look away - but they bubbled under the surface, like the slightest spark would set them off.

  And finally, a frail old priest climbed the other end of the scaffold, and opened a massive leather tome and turned to a bookmarked page.

  “Marcus Incipio…”

  Marcus raised his chin and rolled his shoulders back.

  “You are found guilty of high treason, conspiracy to commit regicide, and desertion of your military duties at the Northern Front.”

  Marcus listened as the priest read the charges, and Hamid shot him a sidelong glance.

  “Your crimes are an atrocity in the sight of Titus and Mira, so you have forfeited your celestial right for your body to remain whole. You are therefore brought before witnesses to be beheaded with a single stroke, as ruled by His Glorious Majesty, King Hector I.”

  Marcus’ heart throbbed in his ribs, and he took deep breaths through his nose.

  “Your birth and military service will be struck from public record, and your body will be cremated, so no trace of you remains in this world.” The priest’s forearm trembled as he struggled to hold the heavy book. “Do you understand the sentence handed down to you?”

  Marcus said, “I do.”

  “And do you have any final words?”

  Marcus stared straight at Hector. “Not yet.”

  A few of Hector’s guards gave each other puzzled looks, and one of them leaned over and whispered something in Hector’s ear.

  The priest hesitated, then closed the book. “Very well. Approach the block.”

  Marcus took a step toward the block and dropped to his left knee, then his right, and slowly lowered his head and let the key out of his fist. Hamid turned Marcus’ collar down, then unsheathed his sword, and Marcus screwed his eyes shut as his stomach lurched at the sound.

  “Why is the crowd so quiet?” Hector grumbled to his bodyguard.

  “I don’t know.” The guard kept watching the scaffold. “Something’s not right.”

  Marcus’ hands shook as he gripped the key in his finger and thumb, and he jammed it in the left cuff and wiggled it back and forth. A second passed… then another… and Marcus felt the cuff hinge spring…

  Hamid raised the sword, and in the window, Livia drew her bowstring back…

  And an arrow whistled over the crowd and struck one of the guards, and he grunted, held his chest, and crumpled across the scaffold.

  Someone in the crowd gasped. Someone else let out a blood-curdling shriek. Another arrow whistled down - thwack! - and took out the guard on Hamid’s right. The prefects drew their swords, but the arrows kept coming - thwack, thwack, thwack - and soon they began dropping too, thwack, thwack, thwack, six, seven, eight, nine.

  Marcus sprang to his feet. Hector scrambled out of his chair. The crowd scattered like rats, screaming, clawing, crying for help. Someone hit a merchant. The merchant hit a worker. The worker reeled back and hit a maid - another volley of arrows rained down, and another group of prefects fell - and the 38th Phalanx charged in as the square descended into chaos, bones breaking, feet pounding, blood staining the cobblestones.

  Hamid pointed to the scaffold steps, littered with the guards’ bodies. “Go!”

  Marcus leaped over the corpses and snatched one of their swords as he went, and the few remaining royal guards dragged Hector out of his box. Tenants burst out of the buildings. Rioters poured into the square. More prefects thundered up the scaffold, and Hamid cut them down one by one. Marcus dove into the sea of bodies as a few tried to clear a path, and he shoved in as fast as he could, through the sweat and noise and flailing limbs.

  “Sir!” Xenia shouted to him over the chaos. “This way!”

  “Where are you?!” Marcus hollered.

  “Keep going,” she answered. “You’re almost there!”

  Marcus elbowed two men aside and stumbled out of the crowd, where a team of royal horses snorted and stomped at a hitching post. Xenia ducked under a flying arrow, then slashed the reins and broke one free. Marcus glanced over his shoulder and saw a pack of prefects headed his way. A devious idea struck him - and without thinking twice, he ran toward Hector’s white stallion, tied up by itself.

  Marcus tightened his grip on his sword, and with frantic, sawing strokes, he cut through the knot in the golden rope tethering it to its post. He seized the reins and stuck his foot into the gilded stirrup, and before the horse knew what hit it, he swung his leg and leaped on.

  And with a panicked whinny, the horse reared above the crowd - and Marcus reeled with it, hugging the saddle to keep from falling off.

  As soon as the horse dropped down, Marcus dug in his left heel, and he steered the horse in a circle to put it off rearing again. He brandished his sword and twirled it to keep the guards out of his way, then rode back to the first post, where the rest of the phalanx mounted up.

  “Head out and meet with Ligari,” Xenia yelled. “We’ll follow you from here!”

  Marcus nodded. “Got it!”

  And with that, he galloped off.

  •••

  Up in the abandoned storeroom, Livia shouldered her bow, and she stormed all the way down to the basement, the floorboards creaking as she went.

  She fumbled for a hatch by the light of the lantern on the wall, and when she found it, she threw it open, climbed in, and shut it over her head. She shimmied down the long ladder and landed in the cisterns, and her boots splashed as she took off down the narrow walkway.

  Livia sprinted through the maze of dark tunnels and passageways, and she heard the riots echo through the thick stone above her head. She turned left. Right. Right again, and around a winding curve, then over a short iron bridge and through a long, dripping corridor. Then suddenly, a Syndicate scout appeared in front of her, and Livia tripped over her own toes as she skidded to a halt.

  “What’s going on up there?” She asked.

  “We cleared a path in the western halls. Go up through the boiler room passage. You shouldn’t find any guards.” The scout answered as fast as he could without stopping to catch his breath. “I don’t know how far that’ll get you.”

  “Where’s Hamid?”

  “He’s all right. He made it back underground.”

  “And Marcus?”

  “He’s got Hector’s horse. Hurry!”

  Livia nodded, then took off. “Right!”

  •••

  As Livia ran through the sewers, Marcus rode down the smoldering streets, under archways and clotheslines through the narrow, winding slums.

  The horse raced through an alley and emerged in the market square, and Marcus skidded through the rows of overturned crates and looted stalls. All around him, people hollered at the prefects, at each other, at him. There! He’s over there! He heard someone shout from his right - or maybe his left. The air and the screaming grew thicker until it congealed into a wall of noise - loud, but unintelligible, worming into his ears like mud.

  Marcus blinked. He tensed his feet in the stirrups. He took a shallow breath. He felt his blood throb in his throat, and his stomach turned to lead. He became acutely aware of his heartbeat, like he was sitting beside himself - and in the fiery pandemonium it trickled back to him, entrails, twitching horses, blood steaming in the Severin snow.

  Marcus’ ribs grew tighter and tighter as he tried to regain himself, and he squeez
ed the reins so hard, the tendons stuck out of his hands. He set his jaw, screwed his eyes shut, and took a deep, long gulp of air - and he shuddered, grit his teeth, puffed his chest out, and rode on.

  Finally, he took a sharp turn and steered the horse through the palace arch, and he ploughed through a group of rioters that gathered around the gate. And when he rode up to the main entrance and leaped off the horse, he found Ligari with a group of soldiers, their faces streaked with ash.

  “Marcus!” Ligari ran over and hugged him. “You’re alive!”

  “I don’t know how, but I am.” Marcus hugged her back. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve garrisoned the gardens and most of the first floor. I sent a squad upstairs and another one out to the grounds.” Ligari walked a step behind Marcus as he strode up the gravel path. “We captured most of the guards. A few of them have joined our side.”

  “What about the courtiers?”

  “They’re angry, but hiding. It’s like a hornet’s nest in there.”

  Marcus frowned. “And where’s Hector?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t seen him yet.”

  Marcus wiped his brow. “Damn! He must’ve gone in through the back.”

  Marcus and Ligari climbed the dusty palace steps, and a pair of soldiers dragged another guard out of a doorway. When they reached the top, the squad lined up, awaiting their next command - and Marcus took one more glance at the city as the breeze blew Ligari’s stray strands of hair.

  “As soon as the grounds squad gets back, put them on crowd control. Don’t hurt them. Just keep them outside the gate,” Marcus told her. “You understand?”

  Ligari nodded. “I will.”

  “If you see Livia, let her through. Otherwise, stay here. Stay armed. I want this place locked down.” Marcus’ voice darkened. “No one gets in. No one gets out.”

  •••

  Livia heaved herself through a hatch into the palace boiler room, where fires burned in brick furnaces under giant water tanks.

  She followed the winding pipes through the fog of stifling air, and ignored her trail of dirty footprints as she raced by the pool and up the stairs. She stumbled over a torn curtain, a spilled plant, a shattered vase. She heard someone overturn a table, then someone break down a door. But she found no sign of Marcus, no matter where she looked - not in any nook or cranny of the still-too-quiet palace halls.

  Damn! Livia thought. I can’t call out to him. Everyone else will hear me, too!

  But when she ran through an empty courtyard, someone called out to her.

  “Livia!”

  Livia’s stomach dropped as she recognized the voice, and she whirled around to find Camilla leaning over the second-floor rail. She stood above her in a plain blue dress, her face bare and her hair coming loose, and Livia noticed splints on her forearms and swelling around her eyes.

  “I know what you’re here to do.” Camilla gulped. “You’re going the wrong way.”

  Livia stood rooted to the ground and whispered, “Mira’s blood.”

  “He’s in the throne room with Marcus. I don’t know how long they’ve been in there.” Camilla pulled her black traveling cloak tighter around herself. “You can go through the servants’ hallways. That’s how I got in. I’m not sure how many guards are left, but they shouldn’t bother you.”

  As soon as the shock wore off, Livia squinted. “Why are you helping me?”

  “I…” Camilla hesitated, then bit her lip. “Just go!”

  •••

  Livia burst into the throne room and threw down her bow, and she gasped as she found Marcus and Hector at each other’s throats.

  Hector kneed Marcus in the gut and yanked the sword out of his hand, and it chipped the marble tile as it clanged across the floor. Marcus dove for it, but Hector wrenched his arm away. Marcus reached out again, but Hector bashed his head into the nearby pillar. Livia ripped Hector off of Marcus and slammed him against the steps, and Hector scrambled backward, taking shallow, panicked breaths.

  Livia snarled. “Get him!”

  Marcus threw himself toward Hector with all his strength.

  Hector let out a frustrated grunt and shoved Marcus away. “Augh!”

  “What’s the matter?” Marcus wiped his bloodied lip. “Can’t handle a fair fight?”

  Hector crawled faster and faster until his back bumped against the throne.

  Marcus swooped down on Hector like a vulture and seized him by his tunic, and they grappled back and forth as Livia brandished a dagger from her belt. And as Marcus beat Hector’s head against the gold armrest, Hector spat out a mouthful of blood and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  “What do you want?!”

  Marcus and Livia froze.

  Hector wheezed as blood ran down his cheek. “What do you want, you righteous fuck?”

  Livia blinked, but still didn’t move.

  Marcus recoiled. “What?”

  “Everyone has a price. Even you.” Hector rambled so fast that he tripped over his words. “What is it? Coin? You want me to make you the wealthiest man in Histria? You want to be high general?”

  Marcus cringed in disbelief.

  “You want to pick the next pontifex? You want to- you want to- what?” Hector gnashed his teeth. “Just tell me. Tell me now, and all of this goes away.”

  “I knew it.” Marcus shook his head and curled his lip with disgust. “You’re the toughest man in Histria until it’s turned on you.”

  Hector glanced back and forth between them, his eyes darting like rats.

  Livia barged up the steps. “Hold him down.”

  Hector clawed at Marcus’ wrists. “No!”

  Marcus pinned Hector to the floor.

  Hector thrashed beneath him. “No!”

  The three of them wrestled back and forth as Hector kicked and flailed his arms, but Marcus overpowered him as Livia raised the dagger to his chest. Livia gripped it in her left hand, and Marcus gripped it in his right - and they swung it over her heads together to deliver the killing blow.

  But before they could plunge the dagger into Hector’s heart, a young, desperate voice rang out through the empty throne room.

  “Stop!”

  Marcus flinched and let go of the dagger. Livia lowered her arm. Even Hector craned his neck up to see what was going on. Artemisia ran through the throne room with her cheeks flushed and her forehead damp, her long, starry blue cloak trailing behind her as she went.

  “Stop! You…” Artemisia skidded to a halt. “Mira’s blood.”

  Hector put two and two together, and the color drained from his face.

  “Artemisia?” Livia gaped at her. “How did you get here?”

  “Livia?” Artemisia responded without answering. “That was you?”

  Livia shot Marcus an uncomfortable look, and Marcus shot it back.

  “Lady X? All the letters you sent?” Artemisia took a cautious step forward. “That was you?”

  “Artemisia - a few months ago, your grandmother reached out to me. She knew she was on borrowed time, and she didn’t want your secret to die with her.” Livia kept a firm hand on Hector’s tunic as she explained. “Delphinia told me to find you. She gave us both a second chance. I knew if I could get you on the throne, I could finally make things right.”

  “So you…” Artemisia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Oh, gods.” She held her temple. “This is exactly what I didn’t want you to do.”

  Hector seized on the distraction and tried to grab Marcus’ throat.

  “Keep him down!” Livia ordered.

  Marcus tightened his grip.

  “Artemisia.” Livia began again, in a low voice with measured words. “I know where you’re going with this, and I’m warning you. Don’t.”

  “I can speak my mind if I want to.” Artemisia stiffened her lip. “And I don’t want you to sink to this.”

  Marcus cut in. “Artemisia, there’s only one way this can end.”

  “No!” Artemisia burst
out. “This is a cycle. And if anyone can break it, it’s us.”

  Marcus and Livia fell silent, but kept their hands on Hector just to be sure.

  “If you kill him without a trial, what does that say about us? That anyone can be king or queen here if they’re willing to slit someone’s throat?” Artemisia paced toward the throne with firm, indignant steps. “How is anyone going to believe us when we say Histria deserves respect? What’ll we have left?”

  “Mira’s blood,” Marcus mumbled. “She’s a natural.”

  “Hector tore my family apart because he thought he was above the rules.” Artemisia came closer and closer, crushing her cloak in her fists. “I didn’t know much back then, but I knew I never wanted to be like him.”

  “That was murder,” Livia spat. “This is justice!”

  “It’s not the kind of justice I want!”

  Hector writhed in protest, and Marcus restrained him again.

  “Artemisia…” Livia set her jaw - “don’t make me insult your intelligence.”

  “Then don’t tell me I’m naive because I don’t agree with you.”

  Livia stumbled over her words. “I…”

  “And don’t tell me what kind of man Hector is.” Artemisia’s voice trembled. “I know who I’m dealing with.”

  Hector eyed the three of them, and in lieu of fighting back, his fingers slid along the floor toward the dagger in Livia’s hand.

  “We’ll have a tribunal,” Artemisia said.

  Marcus scowled. “He’ll buy the jury off.”

  “We’ll execute him.”

  Livia’s face soured, too. “His friends will break him out before you can.”

  “We’ll give him the punishment he deserves. But we have to do it right.” Artemisia turned up her eyebrows as she began to beg. “It’s the least we can give my parents. It’s what they would’ve done.”

  Livia tried to argue one more time. “Artemisia…”

  “Shut up!” Artemisia shouted. “Who is this for? Me, or you?”

  And before any of them could react, Hector bolted upright, grabbed the dagger, and buried it in Marcus’ shoulder blade.

  Livia screamed, “No!”

  Marcus buckled. Artemisia reeled back. Hector drove the blade in deeper and threw his arm around Marcus’ neck. Marcus made an anguished noise and scrambled to his feet - Livia leaped on him, Hector growled, Marcus tore at Hector’s hair - and as all three of them staggered toward the edge of the steps, the sole of Hector’s boot slipped on the over-polished floor.