Vespera

by Anselm Audley

  It would a thousand times more bearable had Anthemia not been there.

  It had been Anthemia who saved her and Iolani when the wave hit, pushing them into a run and then, unbelievably, managing to stay in control of herself behind them, and pull Leonata away from a building seconds before an impact which would have killed her. After the water had gone, Iolani had barely had time to look round for her forces before the tribesmen had descended, then Iolani and Anthemia had turned to fight, and the nightmare had truly begun.

  She heard a murmur of voices and looked up, to see Aesonia sweep into the square a moment later, triumph overlying exhaustion on her face. The usual crowd of acolytes seemed different tonight – there were more of the dark green and dark blue robes, fewer mages. The mages had probably been worked to exhaustion . . . Leonata caught her breath as she saw the figure beside Aesonia. Tall where Aesonia was stately, harsh where Aesonia was regal, but equally splendid in her dark blue robes and silver tiara, smiling coldly over the assembled prisoners.

  Hesphaere, Abbess of Sarthes.

  Hesphaere met Leonata’s eyes a moment later, and the smile grew a little broader, then widened still further as she caught sight of Iolani bound to the pillar.

  It seemed as if Iolani’s sanity, never strong had the best of times, had cracked under the pressure. There was murder in her eyes, and rage, and fear, and something else, beyond reason or explanation.

  She was helpless. They all were.

  The tribesmen moved to let the Exiles through, bowing with genuine respect, and Hesphaere and Aesonia walked over to Iolani.

  ‘Mine,’ Aesonia whispered, and then her hand flashed out to deliver a vicious slap to Iolani’s cheek. Blood welled where a sharp-edged ring had dug into flesh. ‘You fool. Did you ever think you could stand against me? I brought Ruthelo to destroy himself, and he was a bigger prize than you’ll ever be.’

  Iolani strained in her ropes, but there was nothing she could do, and Aesonia smiled.

  ‘But Ruthelo escaped me,’ she went on, still so quietly that almost no-one else could hear. ‘Whereas you haven’t. You killed my husband, you tried to kill me and my son, and you arranged the destruction of Carmonde. So when your people are executed or given to the tribes, as they undoubtedly will be, you won’t share their fate. I know what you’re afraid of, Iolani, and you can’t imagine how much worse it is than you fear.’

  Iolani’s eyes went wide, and for a second Leonata saw stark, primal terror in the younger woman’s face. Aesonia’s smile of triumph was a terrible thing to behold.

  ‘Your crimes deserve nothing less,’ the Empress said, loudly now, and to the assembled tribesmen. ‘The Empire will have justice!’

  What do you know of justice?

  ‘You’ll need to make her human again first, Aesonia,’ said Hesphaere, almost conversationally, running one finger down Iolani’s chest. ‘She’s no better than an animal now, she even needed to be muzzled.’

  ‘She’ll know what we’re doing to her,’ Aesonia said. ‘She tried to start a civil war, and she’ll pay the price in full.’

  Another murmur, and they both turned towards another knot of tribesmen coming down with a familiar figure in their midst, and Leonata muttered a desperate prayer for her daughter as Valentine strode into the square.

  The Emperor had grown, Raphael saw in a second. Whatever had been there before – the naval commander, the gifted admiral, the apprentice Emperor – had blossomed into full glory, and the Valentine who surveyed his prisoners could have been Aetius IV reborn, in presence as well as ability.

  And Raphael was kneeling bound before him, a prisoner like all the rest, and knew that to speak too soon would be fatal. So he endured a little longer as Valentine strode over to where Leonata and Iolani waited. The Empress and the Abbess moved gracefully aside, with low bows, and the tribesmen formed a half-circle behind Valentine, shielding his back. There were others on the roofs, watching, and still others combing the villages for more survivors, herding them down towards the shore.

  Thais! He caught sight of her on the far side of Aesonia’s acolytes, looking round as discreetly as he dared, and their eyes met even as Valentine spoke.

  ‘High Thalassarchs,’ Valentine said bluntly to the two Vesperans, ‘Your presence here is proof of your treachery against the Empire.’

  ‘And your presence here,’ Leonata shot back, instantly, ‘is proof that you’re a tyrant. We’re not citizens of the Empire.’

  ‘Don’t waste my time, High Thalassarch,’ Valentine said curtly.

  Thais whispered something to a fellow acolyte and slipped away, making her way through the captive Ice Runners towards Raphael, ignoring the utter loathing in their stares.

  ‘Raphael,’ she whispered. ‘Why are you here?’

  Valentine swung round. ‘Acolyte Thais?’

  Thais bowed. ‘Lord Emperor, one of your own men is prisoner.’

  Valentine’s eyes rested on Raphael for a long moment, and Raphael realised he could no longer read the Emperor, as he’d been able to since their first meeting. Too much in Valentine had changed.

  ‘My tribesmen are efficient,’ Valentine said. ‘I believe you’re right, but we must be sure. Bring him up. Remove the ropes, though.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Thais whispered, as her hair hid her face from Valentine’s view for a second. She took Raphael’s arm as the blood flowed back into it and led him over, pale and composed. The Ice Runners were looking at Raphael now, hating him just as bitterly for his freedom.

  Raphael felt his colour rise, but from being brought before Valentine so publicly, and suddenly realised this would not, after all, be so easy.

  It would be easier for him, though, than for all those Valentine had condemned to death and slavery simply because they dared to oppose him – no, worse, because they had attempted to avenge the terrible wrong done them and their parents forty years ago.

  ‘Raphael Quiridion,’ Valentine said coldly. ‘You failed in your mission, but I can accept that in a man who’s loyal. Are you loyal to the Empire?’

  Raphael saw Hesphaere’s hand move, and two of Hesphaere’s Sarthes acolytes, in dark blue robes, moved out. He saw the elaborately worked circle brooches they wore, and shivered.

  Mind-mages.

  Which meant, if they didn’t believe he was loyal, Valentine would condemn him to the Ice Runners’ fate.

  It had been Silvanos who taught Raphael how to deal with mind-mages, but he’d never had to use the skill. Now, here, suddenly, on Saphir Island, it wasn’t a matter of protecting himself, but of convincing them.

  ‘I am loyal, Lord Emperor,’ Raphael said, and formed in his mind a vision he knew they’d believe, one they’d have to fight to break through, a vision of him riding in Silvanos’s place beside the Emperor in a parade like the one in Vespera, Valentine in white, standing, cheering, Raphael beside him, the Emperor’s shadow.

  He had to believe it, had to see himself there, the glory and the ambition and the honour that came in the Empire’s service. He summoned up an image of Vespera, as it had been for Valentine’s welcome so short a time ago, and added Imperial banners floating above the Palace of the Seas, the Imperial Palace rebuilt on the other side of Star Deep. Saw himself watching from a gallery of the Palace, surrounded by the secretaries and agents of his own intelligence service.

  And the chance to shape things he genuinely wanted, the ambition he’d never bothered to hide. That would make it believable, because Valentine would never see in Raphael a meek and loyal servant, content to toil at the level he occupied now. And Raphael could win such a chance in Imperial service, could gain enormous influence for himself. The spider at the centre of the web, just as Silvanos was.

  Please, Lord Emperor, forgive me, he made himself think.

  And a touch of anger, at himself, and even more at Leonata and Iolani who had trapped him.

  ‘It occurs to me I never swore you to my service,’ Valentine said, after a moment as if amused, looking him in
the eyes. Raphael kept that image in his mind, the power and wealth he stood to gain, the necessity of doing this, because it was the price he paid for service to the Empire, and felt it becoming just a little easier. ‘Will you swear now?’

  ‘I will, Lord Emperor.’

  Valentine drew a dagger and levelled it at Raphael’s chest, the tip resting exactly where a trained warrior would put it, just between the ribs where it could be thrust up into the heart.

  Raphael knew the oath.

  ‘I, Raphael Quiridion, bind myself to serve the Thetian Empire and the true Emperor, Valentine the Fifth, with heart and body and soul, to defend and aid him, to act for his causes and against those of his enemies, to obey all such commands as I am given, and to forfeit my life if I prove false, in the name of Thetis, Mother of the Waters, Defender of Thetia.’

  It was the gateway to the Emperor’s trust.

  Valentine kept the blade there for a long moment, and Raphael heard the rustle of robes. One of the mind-mages move to where the Emperor could see her and nodded. She believed Raphael.

  Of course Raphael was loyal. Had they ever thought otherwise?

  The Emperor flipped the blade over and back into its sheath.

  ‘I accept your service,’ he said a moment later, and Raphael, with a surge of relief, forced himself to keep his thoughts in place. He was glad because he’d be able to continue in Imperial service.

  ‘Thank you, Lord Emperor,’ Raphael said, still keeping his mind firmly on the rewards of ambition in Valentine’s service. The Emperor would want Raphael’s loyalty more deeply seated, but ambition would do, for now.

  ‘This man,’ said Valentine, eyes sweeping the tribesmen and the prisoners, ‘is a sworn agent of the Empire in my service. As with all of my servants, any insult to him is an insult to me.’

  The hatred in the Ice Runners’ eyes was fathomless, but Raphael could see fear rising, even in their faces. The men and women in the square were full Ice Runners, for the most part, along with Corsina and her senior officers. Some of them must have been old enough to have fought for Azrian and their allies, and now their ordeal was about to begin again. It would be all the worse for seeing someone else rescued, even an Imperial agent.

  No. He couldn’t afford pity or anger now; the mind-mages might still be watching him, and he had to escape from this with his liberty.

  Valentine snapped his fingers. ‘Zhubodai, a cloak for this man.’

  One of the junior legionary officers swung his blue cloak off his shoulders and laid it over Raphael’s soaked robes, fastening the bronze clasp at the front. Symbol of Imperial service, and a way to set Raphael apart from the equally sodden, black-clad prisoners.

  ‘Stay with me,’ Valentine said, more quietly. ‘I’ll need you tonight.’

  So Raphael had chosen his course, had he? Leonata had thought he was better than that, thought he would have come to his senses, but he’d passed the mind-mages’ scrutiny. Which meant they couldn’t find a trace of disloyalty.

  It had been a terrible choice, the one Valentine had offered, but Raphael had still had a chance to choose not to be part of this, to accept the degradation and humiliation of captivity and slavery as a price for his soul. Not an easy choice, but of course his pride and his instinct for self-preservation had won out.

  I wish you a speedy rise and a swifter fall, Raphael Quiridion. He would rise, of that there was no doubt, but Leonata knew he would fall, because he’d shine too brightly. And the fall, when it came, would be all the more shattering from the position of power and authority he’d have achieved by then. The journey from the Emperor’s right hand to a tiny cell and the scaffold was a common one.

  The Emperor turned back to Leonata and Iolani, flanked by Raphael and the tribal leader named Zhubodai, incongruously wearing the blue-plumed helmet of a Thetian tribune. At another wave of his hand, the five surviving clan representatives were hauled out of the ranks of the prisoners to stand beside Leonata. Portly Hycano Seithen was purple with rage; the others were apprehensive. Where was Petroz’s envoy? Dead? She’d seen no trace of him.

  ‘High Thalassarchs, representatives,’ he said. ‘You have conspired against the Empire, and you have given aid to agents of a power bent on our destruction. For this, your lives, and those of your Thalassarchs are forfeit, and your clans will be proscribed. Those of your clanspeople who were simply following orders will be treated as the Empire sees fit.’

  Proscribed. Proscription was the tool of tyrants, the decree that life and property both were forfeit, and reverted to the state. It was a word she had hoped never to hear spoken. Leonata stared at him as if the wind had been knocked out of her, but it was Hycano who spoke, before she could stop him.

  ‘Proscription? You are a tyrant, Valentine, and you’ll die as one!’

  Valentine betrayed not the slightest response for a second, then turned to Raphael. ‘Take two of my tribesmen and execute this man. He has threatened my life.’

  ‘Lord Emperor!’ Leonata shouted, before anyone could move. ‘Would you prove him right?’

  Two of the tribesmen and stepped forward to grab Hycano even before he finished speaking, and his eyes met hers for a moment, and she realised with a shock that this was what he wanted. She couldn’t believe he had such courage, or such dedication, and it shamed her beyond measure.

  Leonata hadn’t been this afraid since she was five years old and the Dream Twisters had been loose in the City. She had lost, and now she was at the mercy of a man who could kill with a word.

  ‘Lord Emperor, you have won.’ The words were ashes in her mouth. ‘But this is terror, not justice.’

  ‘He threatened my life, and my reign,’ Valentine said, his face unchanged, like the silver mask he’d worn to the ball.

  ‘You want Thetia to be strong again. You even want, I think, to be known as an Emperor who created a better world. In this, and this alone, we’re similar. Would you rule a court, an Empire, where your word is death? Not even the Domain were so barbarous. A land where a word out of place can cost a life? How long before your agents start to imitate you, to gain favour?’

  Leonata stood straighter, ignoring the terrible edge of fear in her stomach, but this was for her clan, and her daughter, and all those who would come after her even if she died here, tonight. She wanted to sound more measured, but the words seemed to be pouring out too fast.

  ‘Your court and your Empire will become a place of fear and shadows, your islands will be blighted, your name a curse. Will scholars and poets flock to your court, do you think? You will make a Hell of Heaven, and when a man can die on the slightest pretext without the slightest guilt, what will terrify him? Killing his family as well? His clan, or his city? Where does the terror end? It ends, Lord Emperor, when someone realises he’s no more damned if he kills you than if he lives a blameless life.

  ‘And that, Emperor Valentine, is why so many of your predecessors died, and why in the end they were overthrown. You have won. Will you be a ruler or a despot?’

  He hadn’t interrupted her. She suddenly realised that. The tribesmen had gagged Hycano, and Raphael stood ready to move, his dark eyes as fathomless as the Emperor’s.

  ‘Sophistry,’ Hesphaere said. ‘Kill him.’

  ‘Valentine, you must,’ Aesonia added. ‘To do otherwise would be weakness.’

  Valentine paused, and for a moment Leonata thought she had convinced him, but when he spoke, his voice was colder than ever.

  ‘This,’ Valentine said, waving his hand, ‘is a battlefield. The laws are different here. Kill him.’

  The tribesmen dragged Hycano out into the centre of the square and forced him to his knees. Valentine said something to Zhubodai, and the tribal chief handed Raphael a knife.

  The young Quiridion’s face was ashen.

  Raphael took the knife, knowing the Emperor’s eyes were on him, and felt sick. He could see the fear in Hycano’s expression, but also the determination, the resolution he had made to sacrifice his life fo
r this. Hycano would rather he died as a martyr tonight than live in the Emperor’s new order.

  And Valentine wanted Raphael to kill him, in cold blood. A bound, helpless prisoner, and that he wanted to be a martyr was no consolation, no recompense for taking a life in such a fashion.

  They were watching him, all of them. Prisoners and priestesses, Emperor and Empress, tribesman and Thalassarchs, all waiting for him to commit murder because the Emperor had ordered it.

  Of such things were tyrannies made. Leonata was right: if Valentine went down this road, he would drench Thetia in blood. This wasn’t a battlefield, and Hycano had sworn no oaths to the Navy or to Valentine’s service. Valentine wanted to bind Raphael to his service in blood, but surely, surely a man such as this wouldn’t order a cold-blooded execution? Or was he waiting for Raphael to obey the order, and condemn him? No. In such a situation, no Emperor of Valentine’s calibre would give an order and expect his inferior to question him.

  He couldn’t read the Emperor any more. Couldn’t tell if the honourable naval officer he might have been was utterly gone, sacrificed to Imperial power and necessity.

  Zhubodai was standing by him, watching, as every moment slipped away and Raphael’s time ran out. If he refused, no matter what excuse he gave, he was forsworn, and the Emperor would condemn him to the Ice Runners’ fate in a heartbeat. Whatever was in store for them, it would be terrible, and it would mean death, or a best a life enslaved, and Raphael couldn’t bear that.

  Or he could kill a man in cold blood.

  Or he could give himself this chance, gamble that the Emperor was simply testing his loyalty. If he was right, Zhubodai would grab his hand before he could kill. If he lost the gamble, Hycano would die.

  Shivering under the cloak, Raphael positioned the knife over Hycano’s heart, but didn’t look the man in the eyes.

  He drew back the knife, and stabbed.

  Zhubodai’s arm moved like lightning, catching Raphael’s wrist in an iron grip with the point a finger’s breadth from Hycano’s chest.