by John Marco
‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last. ‘I wasn’t prepared for this. It’s all such a shock.’
‘It’s the way it must be,’ said Arkus. ‘But I don’t ask this for myself alone. Think of what this could mean to you. You’re one of us now. I’ve told you things today I’ve never shared with anyone, because I want you to join me. Together we can make Nar invincible. Aramoor can be the power your father always wanted it to be, stronger than Talistan or any other nation of the Empire. And you will be its king. Think of it!’
Richius did. For less than a moment he considered Arkus’ proposition and knew it was insanity. Join him? He hated him. In that instant he hated Arkus more than Blackwood Gayle or Voris or even Tharn himself. Yet something kept him from flatly refusing the emperor, something more than the sheer absurdity of saying no to this man. Very clearly, very suddenly, he remembered Dyana, and that he had never actually seen her die. He knew it was irrational, that it was a hope born of pure desperation, but he couldn’t stop the idea from taking shape. She might yet be alive, in the clutches of the very Drol bastard Arkus wanted so desperately to destroy. He might yet be able to save her.
Thoughtfully he bit his lower lip, rolling the preposterous idea over in his mind. There were a hundred problems to consider, any number of ways for the plan to fail. There were supply lines that needed to be opened, horses and men to train. Worst of all, there was the matter of Arkus’ current war.
‘What about Liss?’ asked Richius pointedly. ‘Won’t they interfere? They’ve kept you from Lucel-Lor before. What about now?’
‘Liss won’t be a problem very much longer,’ said Arkus coolly. ‘By the time we attack Lucel-Lor, Liss will be finished. Then we can use our dreadnoughts against the Drol.’
‘And when do you intend for us to strike? I’ll need time if I’m to arrange this, Your Grace. Aramoor is poorly conditioned. We lost most of our soldiers in the last war, and have almost no horses left.’
‘You’ll have the time you need, Richius. For you see, I need time, too. First we must defeat Liss, and that is still months away. I want you to remain in Nar for a while and rest. Then you will return to Aramoor and begin preparing your troops. By then Liss will be crumbling and the dreadnoughts will be ready to sail for the coasts of Lucel-Lor.’
‘All right,’ said Richius. A knot of nausea tied itself in his stomach. This nightmare was really happening, and he was powerless to stop it. Listlessly he drained the remaining brandy from his goblet. Arkus was watching him sharply, his face twisting into a look of sour disapproval.
‘You don’t really understand what I’m saying, do you?’ asked the emperor. ‘This means as much for you as it does for me. I’m offering you the chance to share our potion, Richius, to be a part of my Circle.’
‘I understand what you’re offering, Your Grace. But why me? There are others who would be more eager to help you. Why not ask the Gayles to do this thing for you?’
‘Because they are fools and I don’t trust them.’
‘And because Aramoor borders Lucel-Lor and Talistan doesn’t.’
‘Of course,’ said Arkus. ‘I won’t lie to you, Richius. You’ve already figured out why I’ve chosen you to do this. I need you. If this is to be done quickly, it must be done by someone with experience fighting the Drol, someone who knows his way around Lucel-Lor. But I also want you to be one of us. The House of Gayle could never be trusted with the Drol magic. But you . . .’
Are young and stupid, thought Richius bitterly. But Arkus said no such thing. The old emperor sat back and gave Richius a long, languid smile.
‘You can be trusted. I know how loyally you served me in Lucel-Lor, Richius. You alone did not betray me. You won’t do it now.’
Richius said nothing. He had been proud of his service in LucelLor, proud that he hadn’t dishonored himself by running from the fight. But he had done it for the sake of Aramoor, not to please this greedy old devil. Arkus’ approval sickened him.
‘I won’t betray you,’ he said softly.
‘I know you won’t. And don’t worry. You’ll be well rewarded for your loyalty. You’ll be able to live forever in that beautiful body.’
‘No,’ said Richius firmly. ‘I’ll fight your war because I must to save Aramoor. But I have no wish to live forever.’
Arkus stared at him crossly, the thin, white brows knitting above his eyes. ‘That would be a foolish decision. Don’t refuse this. I won’t offer it to you again.’
‘You’ve been too kind with your gifts already, Lord Emperor. This one I must refuse.’
‘But this potion really works! And for someone as young and strong as you, there’s no telling how long you might live. You must think before you make this choice.’
‘There’s no need. I know what I’m saying. I don’t want to live any longer than my fate has decided. Being king will be difficult enough for me.’
Arkus gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I won’t force it on you. But I am disappointed. I had hoped we might have a better relationship than your father and I endured.’
‘It still could happen, Your Grace,’ said Richius. ‘If you keep your promise to support me in Lucel-Lor. I have no love for these Drol. They killed my father and my friends. Nothing would satisfy me more than to have my vengeance on them. But we have no chance at all if you’re not fully committed to this.’
‘My word will be kept,’ said Arkus. ‘When this finally happens, you’ll have all the might of Nar at your disposal.’
‘Believe me, Your Grace, we’ll need it. I’m sure the Drol have secured Lucel-Lor by now. We’ll have to strike hard and quickly just to gain a foothold.’
‘Yes, quickly. Time is precious to me now, Richius. This must be done as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Richius rose from his seat and smiled bleakly at Arkus. ‘I’m probably being missed downstairs, and you look tired. Shall I leave you now?’
‘Not yet,’ said Arkus, also getting to his feet. ‘I have one more thing to give you.’
‘Oh, no, Your Grace,’ Richius protested. ‘Please . . .’
Arkus interrupted with a wave of his bony hand. ‘This is something very special, something I’m sure you will like.’ He placed his frigid hands on Richius’ shoulders, his eyes shining with delight. ‘I have found a woman for you.’
Richius was thunderstruck. He blinked twice, wondering what he had heard.
‘A woman, Your Grace?’ he asked. ‘What sort of woman?’
‘A wife, Richius,’ said Arkus. ‘A beautiful, young wife.’
Again Richius was silent for a long moment. He stared blankly at Arkus, watching the old man’s face twitch with glee. Clearly he thought his news would be welcome, yet Richius could hardly stammer a response.
‘You’ve chosen a wife for me? But I have no wish to be married.’ He paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘I’m sorry, but this gift is impossible.’
Arkus dropped his hands away and stared hard at Richius. ‘Why?’ he asked sharply. ‘Have you already chosen a woman for yourself?’
‘No, but –’
‘Good. Because Lady Sabrina has come a long way to marry you, and I had to make her father certain promises I wish to honor.’
‘Sabrina? Of Gorkney? You’ve chosen her for me?’
‘Don’t be so alarmed. She’s a beautiful girl and I’m told she’s quite charming. You should consider yourself fortunate. There are others in Nar who have designs on her.’
‘I know, Your Grace, but I don’t want to get married. Perhaps someday, but not now.’
‘You must have a wife, Richius,’ said Arkus. ‘You’re a king now, and the last Vantran alive. You must marry and have sons.’
Richius was speechless. It was all coming too fast, the plans for war, the possibility of rescuing Dyana, and now this. Marriage was unthinkable. If by some miracle he did find Dyana alive . . .
He shook his head, unable to reason anymore. Arkus was walking away from him, repl
acing the crystal goblets in the dusty cabinet.
‘Please,’ Richius implored, sounding like a pauper begging coins. ‘I don’t want this. Find some other husband for her. Perhaps one of my own men would accept her.’
‘Your men? She’s the daughter of a duke. She must marry into royal blood. I chose her for you because I was told she’s the most beautiful girl in the Empire. I want you to have someone special. If you have your eye on some kitchen wench, forget her. You will marry Lady Sabrina.’
‘Your Grace –’
‘Not another word,’ snapped Arkus. ‘You’ve already refused the potion. I won’t let you refuse this gift as well.’
There was a terrible, echoing silence as Arkus turned away. Slowly Richius moved toward the door. Yet before he could reach it, Arkus called back to him.
‘Richius,’ said the emperor. ‘Come here.’
Arkus was standing by the cloudy window, looking out over the metal metropolis of Nar. Richius moved to stand beside the emperor. A light snow was falling, dropping lazily into the filthy streets and the smokestacks of the laboratories.
‘I can give her to Blackwood Gayle,’ said Arkus quietly, his eyes never moving from the window. ‘But only if that’s what you truly wish. He would probably beat her, of course, and she would have you to thank for it.’
‘But why not somebody else? Surely there’s another you can give her to. Must it be Gayle or me?’
Arkus nodded. ‘That’s the choice. Either you agree to marry her and save me from looking like a fool with Duke Wallach, or I will give her to Blackwood Gayle. Make your decision now. I must know what to tell the baron.’
Silently Richius considered his options. Sabrina was indeed beautiful, one of the loveliest creatures he had ever seen. It was true what Arkus had said. Any man would be fortunate to share his bed with her. Yet could he love her? Could he truly be a husband to her? And what of Dyana? Dead or alive, she still haunted his nights. Yet how could he condemn Sabrina to a life of degradation in Talistan? She would be little more than a slave there, another harlot between Gayle’s filthy sheets. He would breed her like a horse, owning her womb until it expired or split open and killed her. And if she were barren or he were not man enough to seed her, he would beat her.
Richius stared mutely out the window. He could see the giant Cathedral of the Martyrs scratching the gray sky, and wondered if God truly had abandoned him. It seemed so.
‘You won’t reconsider this?’ asked Richius.
Arkus shook his head. ‘No. I brought her here for you. If you don’t want her, I shall give her to Gayle. Perhaps it will help mend his wounded pride. He won’t be pleased when he learns that I’ve asked you to return to Lucel-Lor without him.’
‘Very well, then,’ said Richius. ‘If there’s no other choice but that murderous rogue, I will take her.’
Arkus turned back to Richius, his blue eyes once more sparkling with excitement. ‘Excellent. You’ve made me very happy, Richius. And you’ll see. You’re frightened now, but you’ll thank me for this someday. She will make you a fine wife.’
‘Yes,’ said Richius dully. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ ‘And we shall do great things together, Richius. Great things!’
Richius tried to smile. ‘Yes,’ he managed. ‘Great things.’
Twenty
Richius approached the garden like a stalking cat, careful not to let the Lady Sabrina notice him. As had been arranged she was waiting there for him, amusing herself with a bold little bird that had alighted on her finger. Quietly he stopped behind a statue and watched her. He hadn’t seen her for three days, not since the coronation, and he wanted to be sure about her, to look at her undisturbed and reassure himself that she was indeed as lovely as he’d remembered. Sabrina did not disappoint him. She was as striking as ever amid the blooms of winter lilies, her cheeks lightly flushed, her long sapphire dress swaying gently in the evening breeze. Her painted lips were pursed in a merry whistle that made the canary on her finger cock its head inquisitively.
Dusk was wrapping its dark mantle about the city. Behind her, a thousand candled windows blinked against the encroaching shadows, and the garden’s braziers bathed the balcony in orange light.
Like everything in Nar, the garden of Arkus was immense. It hung out over the palace like a giant, multicolored wing, a veritable forest against a backdrop of unyielding granite. Richius was awed by it. It was so very different from the garden back home where his father had proudly grown roses. That was a simple garden where nothing exotic grew. Not so with this place. Arkus’ garden was a masterpiece of flowers, a meticulous canvas where artists worked with living colors. It was just as Biagio had promised: the perfect romantic venue for their meeting.
Richius smoothed down the wave in his hair and squared his shoulders. The bouquet of scarlet dahlias in his fist looked meager amid the bounty. It had been a long time since he’d romanced a girl, and he wondered if the token would be appreciated. She was, after all, a princess, and doubtless accustomed to suitors. He fought to still his nervousness. If only Dinadin could see him now.
Finally, his courage cresting, he stepped out from behind the statue. At once the tiny bird in Sabrina’s hand took flight. She turned abruptly to face him.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Richius softly. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, or your friend.’
‘You didn’t startle me, my lord,’ she answered. ‘I was waiting for you.’
Richius moved forward, her smile encouraging him closer. He offered the small bouquet for her inspection.
‘Count Biagio told me you were fond of flowers,’ he said. ‘I thought you might like some of your own.’
She cooed appreciatively and took the bouquet, dropping her nose into the blossoms. ‘Ooohh, thank you, my lord. They’re beautiful.’
‘I’m glad you like them. I was worried you might have a room full of them by now. You made quite a stir at my coronation, you know. I think more people were looking at you than me!’
‘Oh, no, my lord, I’m sure you’re wrong. Most people know by now that I’m to be yours.’
She stopped, catching herself, and an awkward silence rose up between them. Dutifully she looked away, casting her eyes back to the flowers. Richius was relieved she had said it first. Perhaps she was already comfortable with the idea, and he would be spared the horrible ordeal of explaining it to her. In the matter of their marriage, neither of them had a choice.
‘You look cold,’ he said gently. ‘We can go inside if you like.’
She shook her head. ‘I enjoy the winter, my lord.’
Richius moved in a little closer, so that only a hairbreadth separated them, and waited for Sabrina to pull away. She did not.
‘This weather reminds me of Aramoor,’ he said. ‘I miss it. Do you miss Gorkney?’
Sabrina wrinkled her forehead pensively, then shrugged. ‘A bit,’ she said. ‘But it’s also good to be away. There are some things about Gorkney I shall not miss at all. And I’ve heard that Aramoor is much like my home.’ She paused, looking back down at the bouquet. Her smile vanished as she said, ‘I want to apologize for my rudeness at your coronation, my lord. I behaved badly, and I’m ashamed.’
‘Ashamed?’ asked Richius. ‘Of what?’
‘Please. There’s no need to spare my feelings. I don’t deserve it. The way I slighted you was deplorable, and I’m afraid I don’t have a very good explanation for you. But we weren’t supposed to meet until after you had heard about our marriage, and I was startled. I didn’t know what to do, so I ignored you. I’m very sorry.’
‘I understand. I was able to guess why you acted that way. You knew when we met in the forest that you were coming here to marry me, didn’t you?’
Sabrina nodded. ‘I’ve known about it for months,’ she said. ‘Since my sixteenth birthday. An emissary came to Gorkney with the news. He told my father that the emperor had chosen me to be your wife, and that I was to be in Nar for your coronation.’
‘And I thought
my trip here was only for my king-making,’ said Richius. ‘I’m sorry this has happened to you, my lady. It must have been quite a surprise for you and your father.’
‘My father?’ said Sabrina bitterly. ‘You needn’t worry about his feelings, my lord. A daughter’s not much use to a man with acres of land to tend. He’d been waiting years for that messenger.’
Richius said nothing. She turned away from him again, the long stems of the flowers slackening in her grip. Awkwardly he took her hand.
‘I’m not sure what type of husband I’ll make,’ he said. ‘Living with me might be no better than living with your father.’
‘Forgive me, my lord. I seem to be doing nothing but offending you, don’t I? Truly I mean no insult. I talk too much. Perhaps that’s why my father wanted to be rid of me.’
‘Is that why he sent you here without a proper escort? Because he cares so little for you? Maybe I shouldn’t say so, my lady, but your father sounds like a scoundrel. I can’t imagine any man not being pleased with so beautiful and gracious a daughter.’
Sabrina brightened a little at the compliment. ‘You’re kind to say so, my lord. But I was escorted here safely.’
‘By one driver,’ said Richius, recalling the brooding giant he had met in the forest. ‘It was foolish of your father to send you all this way without enough men to guard you. You could have been robbed, even killed.’
Sabrina shrugged. ‘But I wasn’t, so you can stop worrying about me now, my lord. You’ll soon find that I’m quite good at looking after myself.’
‘Indeed? Well then, I’m surprised you let your father send anyone at all with you.’