Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones

by Vox Day

  “Don’t sell yourself so short, Valerius Corvinus,” he heard an educated voice behind him say. For a moment, he felt relief, thinking it might be one of his friends. But when he turned around, he saw a tall young man with deepset eyes and a bony face that, in the dancing torchlight, made him look rather like a dark angel. A Severan, unless he missed his guess. And he too was holding a staff, although his was more of a walking stick, painted black with iron bands on either end. “Value is entirely subjective.”

  “Who are you, sir?” Corvinus asked him, a little nervously. “And why do you know my name?”

  “I know a Valerian when I see one.” The young man grinned humorlessly. “I’m afraid you had the misfortune to be born into the wrong House. But for what it’s worth, I do apologize.”

  “For what?”

  The Severan, if he indeed was a Severan, grimaced. “For this.”

  Pain exploded under Corvinus’s chin as the lower end of the black stick flicked up and snapped his head back. He could taste blood in his mouth and felt the rough brick surface of the nearby building smash against his back.

  Corvinus tried to spin away from his attacker, but a second blow from the stick in his stomach doubled him over. He could hear the sounds of the two slaves struggling nearby, but it seemed they were as helpless to defend themselves as he was.

  “No, please!” he cried out, barely managing to hold up one of his hands in desperate supplication. It was a futile gesture, as a third strike, this one to the left side of his head, dropped him to his knees. A moment later, the fourth one sent him into the merciful darkness.

  SEVERA

  He was handsome, Severa had to admit as she watched her prospective husband walk down the stone steps and into the garden. Sextus Valerius carried himself with confidence as he approached her, and he didn’t so much as glance at the armed guards who stood on either side of the staircase. His tunic was the maroon and light grey of his House, over which he wore a light blue cloak with a gold clasp in the shape of the crossed swords that indicated his was one of the Houses Martial. The cloak was perhaps a little much, especially given the easily recognizable colors, but the light blue went beautifully well with them, and the overall effect was both striking and effortlessly aristocratic. The only question was whether the deft touch was his own or someone else’s?

  She wished she had thought to wear Severan colors instead of the dark red gown her mother had selected for her the night before. It suited her well, but not half so well as his sartorial statement suited him. She felt at an unexpected disadvantage.

  “My lady,” he bowed gracefully once he had come within a few steps of her. His eyes were a very light brown, she saw as they met her own.

  “Valerian,” she replied, a little coldly.

  “Ah,” he said, raising his head, and a faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. It was, she noted with some annoyance, a rather charming smile. “Am I correct in understanding that I need not recite the various homages to your charms I had prepared?”

  “As it suits you. You need not state the obvious. I am young, beautiful, and the daughter of the first man in the City. Otherwise you would not be here.”

  “Are you so certain, my lady?” he asked with a rueful snort. “Given the last, I suspect my father would have sought you for my bride even if you were old, ugly, and repellent. How fortunate for me that is not the case. We need not be at daggers simply because our Houses have long been enemies.”

  “Rivals, not enemies,” she corrected him, just as her father had corrected her. “I concur, but there is a great distance between sheathed daggers and a marital alliance.”

  “A marital alliance? Say rather, a marriage, my lady. Houses and nations ally. Men and women marry.”

  She examined his face closely. His features were good and his bones were strong, but she could see the weakness of character beneath them. He was more horse than lion, wolf, or bear, with a slight skittishness that belied his apparent self-possession. He had the broad shoulders and slender waist of an athlete, but he had neither the rounded muscles of the gladiators nor the lean, wiry power of Aulan and other men of the legions she knew. His was the athleticism of the baths, not the battlefield. It gave him the soft appearance of a boyish innocence she had not expected from a son of the most warlike of the Houses Martial.

  “You are not what I expected,” she told him, a little more honestly than she’d intended.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to hear my homages?” Sextus smiled more openly now. “My father has some excellent poets who wrote some truly compelling verse. I swear, I very nearly fell in love with old Lucipor when he was reciting me my lines.” He punctuated the self-deprecating remark by raising his eyebrows.

  And suddenly she felt he had given her the key she required to understand him. He was the youngest son of a great man whose approval he could never hope to gain. That was why he had not embarked upon the cursus honorum and why he was so willing to portray himself as a clown. For all his seeming confidence and relaxed demeanor, he was an empty vessel of self-doubt. Most likely, he had figured out early in his youth that the only way he could avoid losing was to refuse to play the game. He was quick to diminish himself—so that his father, or perhaps his older brothers, could not do it for him. It was a habit she had long observed in Tertius, who, despite his keen intelligence, was never able to live up to the example set by their father or even the lesser examples of their dashing brothers.

  And, it was something to which she could relate. No daughter, however ambitious, could hope to sit in her father’s chair.

  She nodded slowly, taking in his good looks and the tall, powerful frame he would impart to their children. His mind was not a dull one either, not with his easy wit and the vaguely mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He was something with which she could work, someone with whom she could work, that much was clear. His potential was unlimited, raw and ignored though it might be.

  But would the clay be amenable to the potter’s shaping? Did he harbor any ambitions of his own, or had they been crushed out of him under the considerable weight of his House and family?

  “You are a gambler,” she stated. It was not a question.

  “Aren’t we all? If I have heard correctly, even my lady has been occasionally known to place a wager or two at the games.”

  She caught her breath, taken aback by his unexpectedly cutting retort. How much did he know? Was his reference to her wagers the innocent and obvious response of one who had seen her at the games, or was it or an oblique reference to her near-affair with Clusius? Could it even be that he was somehow connected to those behind the machinations against House Severus?

  No, she realized as she looked closely at him. He was here to win her, not to prosecute her, and there was no expression of satisfaction on his face, instead, he looked almost comically wounded, as if a trusted hound had nipped him in the backside without warning. He was not counter-attacking—he was only lashing out in self-defense.

  “I fear you mistake me, Valerian. I have no objection to a sporting wager. I find it adds somewhat to the spice of the event, don’t you? What interests me is the extent of your gambling habits. Does it only extend so far as the plebian games of bones and stones, or do you wish to play for nobler stakes? I am the daughter of the princeps senatus, the grand-daughter of consuls, and the great-grandaughter of consuls. I have no regard for men, however noble their birth, however grand their House, who content themselves with children’s games and end up as bankrupt clients dependent upon the largesse of their kin.”

  The Valerian folded his arms and frowned at her. But for the first time since he’d entered the garden, he was truly paying attention to her now, not to her face or her body, but to the woman inside.

  “I may play what you call children’s games, my lady. But I would not say I am content with them. Still, what would you have me say? Shall I tread the path of my fathers on the cursus honorum? Shall I join the legions, only to butcher men who have done no
thing to me and want only to live their lives without Amorr’s heel on their necks? One of my brothers died a tribune this summer, and for what? To teach a few wretched goblins not to harass a few miserable farmers? You have two brothers in the legions, my lady. Would you sacrifice them for such a gallant cause? Would you sacrifice your husband for it?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I would not. But, my lord, I think you mistake the path for the destination.”

  “Do I?” Sextus asked. She could hear barely concealed pain in his voice. “Let us say I declared this fall and won election as tribunus militum, though I am well past my year. No doubt my father can arrange it. And then, I take my oath, and I join one of the House legions. My brother lived for the glory of battle and the honor of the legions, and my duty-mad uncle had his head for it. How long would someone like me survive? A week? A month? I’m no coward, Lady Severus, but neither am I a fool. I would risk the swords of the provincials, the clubs of the orcs, and the axes of the dwarves without flinching, but I have no desire to find myself under the executioner’s axe of my own officers, of my own relations!”

  She smiled to herself, more than satisfied with his answer. He wasn’t merely intelligent, he was sensible, which her father had always told her was the rarer trait of the two. And who could fault him for lacking ambition when it seemed likely to lead him to an early grave? Better yet, he had an instinctive understanding for the inherent weakness of his House, their rigid pride in their outdated traditions.

  “House Valerius is not the only House Martial, my lord. Have you forgotten that house Severus fields two legions of its own?”

  “I had, actually. Or rather, I had never considered that I might serve with another legion besides our three.”

  “It is hardly unheard of, at least for those who are weighed down by Valerian pride. It may be your House tradition, but it does not hold the force of law.”

  “Tell my uncle that,” he laughed, a little bitterly, but his demeanor brightened with unexpected hope. ” Fulgetra, and what is the other, the third legion? Do you think your father would find a place for me in one of them?”

  “For his son-in-law? I have no doubt of it. My brother Regulus was with Legio III when he was a tribune, and Aulan now commands Fulgetra’s knights.”

  “My brother did the same in XVII,” he said. “That’s what got him killed. He defeated the enemy’s captain of cavalry in a duel and led his horse in a charge that scattered the goblin army, and my uncle had him executed. For that, they made him consul suffectus!”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” she told him, and she found that she was almost sincere even though she had laughed when she’d first heard the news. “But I think you need not fear a general of House Severus doing the same. We revere courage. We do not sacrifice it to our pride or to cruel and stupid customs.”

  “Virtus et civitas,” he cited her House’s motto. Courage and citizenship.

  “You see, you already know what it means to be a Severan, my lord Valerius.”

  Sextus tilted his head. “I had thought that, were we to marry, you should become Valerius, not I Severus.”

  She placed a hand on his chest and smiled up at him. “My name is Severa, is it not? And it will be Severa still, should I marry you. As yours will be Valerius, in any case. The question at hand, my lord, is whether you intend your name to one day be Sextus Valerius Illustris or something more akin to Sextus Valerius Pusillus. Do you wish to always be known as the wastrel son of Valerius Magnus, or do you want to become your own man?”

  He grinned again, in that skeptical manner she was beginning to find increasingly appealing. “My own man, or your own?”

  “If we two are to become one, is there a difference?” She stepped back from him and folded her arms. “I will be perfectly frank with you, Sextus Valerius: The man I marry will walk the cursus honorum, and one day, he will take his rightful place on a chair at the front of the Senate. His sons and grandsons will be soldiers, senators, and consuls in their year. If that is not the manner of man you intend yourself to be, if that is not a future to which you are willing to commit yourself, then you may walk freely from this place with your conscience clear and tell your father that you found me to be wholly unsuitable as a prospective bride.”

  He blinked at her, mutely. “Um, you come with an unusual dowry, Lady Severa.”

  “It’s not a dowry, Sextus Valerius. It’s a price. You are handsome, you are said to be charming, you have considerable promise, and my father has his own reasons for seeking this alliance between our Houses. So I have no objection to your suit so long as you promise me one thing. Just one thing.”

  “The handsome and charming young suitor quails before asking the obvious, until a phrase springs unbidden to his mind. Virtus et fortunus….”

  “Don’t play the clown, Valerian,” she snapped.

  “Very well, my lady of the notoriously sweet Severan temper, do tell me the price I must pay for your fair hand and a place in your father’s legions.”

  She glared at him but found that it was hard to maintain her annoyance in the face of his insouciance.

  “Promise me that you’ll declare for tribune this year. Next year, if it’s already too late. That you’ll run for quastor when you’re of age, and that you’ll aim for consul when the time comes.”

  “I can promise that I’ll run,” Sextus said slowly. “But you know I can’t promise that I’ll win. Tribune and quastor, that’s no problem. But a lot will happen before I turn forty. The giants of today’s Senate will not rule tomorrow’s. Magnus will not be there. Patronus may not be there. I won’t have the benefit of having the support of the first and second men in Amorr and all their hundreds of clients.”

  “Don’t you understand, Sextus Valerius? You won’t need them, because I intend for you to be the first man in Amorr. When the time comes for you to run for consul, you won’t have Magnus and Patronus behind you, but you will have me…. That is, if you still want me as your wife.”

  He regarded her coolly for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he smiled again. “Now that I’ve met you,” he said in an unexpectedly husky voice, “I can’t imagine wanting anyone else, my lady Severa.”

  To her surprise and more than a little alarm, he stepped forward without warning and pulled her to his chest, crushing her lips against his. The enthusiasm and practiced ease with which he kissed her sent the blood rushing to her ears. She felt as if the world had suddenly been reduced to nothing but heat and pure physical sensation. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, or even what she was supposed to do, but she was entirely sure that she did not mind it.

  When he broke off the kiss and stepped back, she found herself tottering, off-balance and confused. She was further surprised when, instead of kissing her again, he abruptly cleared his throat and bowed formally to her.

  “My lady, I do thank you for your courtesy in granting me this audience. By your leave, I shall inform my father that I have no objections to the proposed marital alliance between our Houses.”

  She straightened out her gown and somehow managed to respond in an equally dignified manner. “Please do so, my lord Valerius. For my part, I shall inform my father of the need for House Severus to be prepared to provide its full support for a candidate in the tribunal elections this winter. However, I should be ever so grateful if you would first do one more thing for me.”

  “Anything, my lady.”

  She smiled demurely up at him. “Do that again, my lord.”

  CORVUS

  The walk from the forum to the splendid manor of Gaius Cassianus Longinus, the head of House Cassianus, was not a long one, but it was made longer by the respectful silence maintained by Caius Vecellius and his men as they marched alongside him and to his fore and aft. Their grim faces warned off senators and commoners alike, and they brusquely dismissed the few brave souls who dared to try to approach Corvus despite the silent warning.

  Corvus barely even saw them.

  His son was dea
d. Everything paled into nothing before that harsh, cold, unthinkable reality. His mind leaped from one image to the next. A red-faced squalling infant triumphantly presented to him by his wife’s slave. A boy, confessing shamefacedly to stealing a pair of honey cakes and accepting his punishment without a murmur of protest. A military tribune, standing tall in his legionary armor. A man, standing proudly next to a pretty young woman, his left hand lashed to her right. What distressed him most was that in all the images his memory recalled to him, he could not clearly picture his son’s face.

  He wanted to fall to the ground, to tear his clothes from his body, to beat at the ground, to roll in filth and shriek curses at the heavens. Instead, he marched on, his head unbowed, his emotions controlled, and howling rage in his heart tightly suppressed.

  When they reached the gate, he parted company with Vecellius and the others and was escorted inside by Longinus himself.

  The manor was splendid, both within and without, but its expensive statuary and intricately painted tiles barely registered with him. When they reached the triclinium, he saw that he was the last to arrive, and that the other four potential conspirators, including his fellow consul, Titus Manlius, were already there.

  Aside from himself and Longinus, three other Houses Martial were represented. Andronicus Aquila and Lucretius Caecilius were the recognized heads of their houses, whereas Gaerus Tillius, like Corvus himself, was the military commander of House Gaerus. His father, Gaerus Albinus, was well into his dotage and would soon relinquish what little authority he still held. Titus Manlius was there as a representative of the Lesser Houses, but despite their greater numbers they were of little significance because they represented only Senate votes, not legions. Three of them, Longinus, Caecilius, and Aquila, were ex-consuls, while Gaerus was only thirty-eight and still two years shy of being eligible. At fifty-five, Longinus was the eldest of the group, but he was still hale and hearty, and a force to be reckoned with in the Senate.