Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue (The First Sword Chronicles Book 2)

by Frances Smith

  Octavia caught her before she could go flying. "You have to calm down, Miranda. You won't do Michael any good like this."

  "My brother is in prison facing a death sentence, how am I supposed to calm down?" Miranda snapped. She sighed. "I'm sorry, it isn't your fault; far from it. It's just...ugh, why does he have to be so stupid?"

  "Michael thinks he's doing the right thing, 'Randa," Felix murmured, stepping around the litter to join his sister and Octavia. "When I...last time we met, he told me I had to protect you. I think he really believes that you're in danger."

  "Yes, but he's wrong, isn't he?" Miranda said. "Good intentions won't save his life. Where do we go now?"

  "I'm not sure," Felix admitted. "I don't know if they'll let you see him at all."

  "They'll have a job stopping me," Miranda growled. She was about to start marching towards the palace, when she heard the crunch of hooves on gravel. She turned, in time to see a silver unicorn trotting up out of the gardens, shimmering under the light of the sun, its white mane rippling like seafoam upon an ocean wave. Calm and serenity spread from the beast and, as she looked into to it's sapphire orbs, Miranda felt her fears and her frustrations ebbing.

  Take heart, Child of the White. Tears will fade. Hardships will end. All will be well.

  "How?" Miranda asked in a voice as gentle as a breeze. "How can it be well? My family is split, turned against each other. My brother wants to kill my friends. How can it be well?"

  There are magics in this world stronger than yours. Stronger than the powers your brother wields in battle. Though they be fickle and elusive, their power is greater than an angry ocean. Trust in them.

  The ethereal creature tossed its head, seeming to nod to Miranda, before it turned away and trotted back into the cover of the gardens.

  "I've never been so close to one before," Felix murmured.

  The doors to the palace opened, and an officer in the uniform of the Household Foot strode out, accompanied by four men. He bowed to Miranda. "Filia Miranda? Lieutenant Acilius Glaborus at your service. Princess Romana is expecting you, if you'll please follow me."

  Miranda shook her head. "I am sorry; I am here to see my brother, not the princess."

  "That is where the princess is expecting you." Lieutenant Glaborus smiled. "Please, follow."

  "Um, perhaps I should wait here," Felix muttered, scuffing his feet. "I don't think Michael will want to see me."

  "He'll probably be more glad to see you than me," Miranda said darkly. "You're coming with us, move."

  The three of them followed the lieutenant and his guardsman through the familiar palace corridors, decorated with diamonds and topaz, guarded by the soldiers of the Palace Guard, abuzz with servants in the garb of the Imperial freedmen, awash with slaves, and then into a darker, less familiar wing. Here there was no decoration on the walls, neither jewels nor friezes. Here the stone was cold and dull. Here even the lamps seemed cold. The guards were of a different unit, their facings black instead of the golden facings of the Palace Guard, and there were both fewer of them and fewer slaves, and those that Miranda saw seemed more haggard and beaten down.

  "Are these the dungeons?" Miranda asked.

  "Indeed," Glaborus said. "Though these cells are rarely used. Common criminals are housed in the Villa Punita, these cells are only used for prisoners of special interest."

  "Don't tell Michael that, he'll be flattered," Miranda muttered.

  They turned into a long, dark corridor, with Princess Romana and a small host of guards waiting about halfway down it. Romana began to advance as soon as she saw Miranda coming, her white slippers squeaking a little on the floor.

  "Filia Miranda," the princess said warmly. "I've been expecting you."

  "Have you now?"

  "I've just been talking to your brother," Romana continued. "I see now why you hid him away in Corona province: he's a charming young man."

  "He's an idiot."

  "He has stood in the presence of the Empress Aegea and received her grace," Romana said, her tone becoming stern. "You should accord him more respect. We should all be so fortunate. For myself, I find him rather a breath of fresh air. I find myself wanting to keep him."

  "Just so long as you don't want to keep him in a cell," Miranda growled. "Can I see him now?"

  Romana smiled. "Well of course. He is in there."

  "Thank you," Miranda practically grunted as she stomped across the corridor towards the indicated room. Felix and Octavia followed her.

  "Do you want us to wait outside?" Octavia asked. "Or, me anyway?"

  "No, I'd like you both to come in," Miranda said quietly. "You can stop me doing anything I might regret." She pushed open the heavy wooden door, and stepped inside.

  Inside look more like a storeroom than a cell, with empty shelves and a lot of dust. They had chained Michael's ankles to the floor and shackled his hands, but they had also left him a chair which, with typical affectation, he had declined to sit in.

  As Octavia closed the door behind them all, Miranda was struck by how different her brother seemed. Not physically, not really, but in a more intangible way. There was no sense of nervousness from him. She didn't feel as though he was about to break at any moment. And he met her gaze, levelly, staring right back at her even as she stared at him. He had never done that before, not in years. Not since he had become a slave. Those eyes...he did not fear her, as he had.

  His stillness, his certainty, they put her own confusion to shame. In the end, it was she who looked away.

  "Our Miranda," Michael said softly.

  "Michael," Miranda replied, her voice cold. There was a silence between them, and not a companionable one. “You look well.”

  The corners of Michael's lips twitched upwards. "I think you have put a little weight on, our Miranda, they must be making sure you eat properly. It suits you too; I always thought you were too skinny to be healthy."

  Miranda growled wordlessly, half wishing she hadn't let Octavia into the room with her.

  "I'm sorry, Miranda," Michael said.

  It was so unexpected that for a moment Miranda didn't believe she'd heard right. Michael never apologised to her. Never. She blinked. "Sorry for what?"

  "For selling myself as a slave," Michael said. "For abandoning you. For all the times I tried to get myself killed in the arena. For never thinking about how much I was hurting you. It was selfish of me. I was selfish, and cruel. If you hate me for it, it would be less than I deserve."

  He said it all so calmly that Miranda was very tempted to smack him. She slammed her stick down into the ground. "That is what you apologise for? That?"

  Michael frowned. "Do you not think it warrants an apology?"

  "I think it warrants much, much more than that!" Miranda yelled. "You were cruel. You were selfish. You were a wretched, vile person and there were times when I hated you. And you stand there and apologise and you haven't learnt a thing! You're still in a cage, just in a different place."

  "I did not put myself in here," Michael pointed out calmly.

  "No, you just carved your way across the Empire to rescue me, when I didn't even need rescuing!" Miranda fumed. "God, how can you be so infuriating?" She turned away from him to calm down, walking over to the far wall and leaning against it while she took deep breaths.

  Michael said, "Filia Octavia, it is a pleasure to see you again. I hear that, when you described yourself as Miranda's friend, you rather undersold your status."

  Miranda turned round to glare at him as Octavia squeaked with embarrassment. Miranda growled, "If you say one word-"

  "I would never deny you your happiness, our Miranda," Michael said. "Truth to tell I always thought that love might sweeten your disposition."

  "Oh, did you? Did you indeed?"

  "I only wish to ask why you have not married her yet," Michael continued, blind to the anger in Miranda's tone.

  "We've only known each other a few months!"

  "Long enough to lie with her and boa
st of it before the princess," Michael said. "Shame on you, our Miranda, what would mother say?"

  "I will not be bound by the petty morals of the Turonim," Miranda snapped. "This is Eternal Pantheia, we are not in Lover's Rock any more."

  "I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

  "Do you really want to row about this?" Miranda demanded. "Honestly?"

  A quick smile flashed across Michael's face. "I think it would be nice for us to have a quarrel where I am in the right. Although I can understand that you might not agree."

  Miranda snorted at him like an angry bull.

  Michael smirked. "Clearly not. Filia Octavia, may I ask that you take good care of my sister. She is a rare treasure."

  Octavia slipped her arm into Miranda's own. "I know."

  Michael smiled, genuinely this time. "When all of this is over we must have dinner together. The traditional meeting of families, you understand. I am a fair cook, with the right ingredients."

  Octavia laughed. "That sounds fun."

  Michael turned his gaze to Felix, who bowed his head and shuffled his feet.

  "I'm sorry, little Felix," Michael said.

  "What for?"

  "I wanted you to kill me," Michael said. "I goaded and manipulated you to get what I wanted it. It was wrong of me. I hope you can forgive me, but I would understand if you cannot."

  "But I killed you!" Felix protested.

  "You could never have killed me if I had not wanted to die."

  Felix looked affronted. "Really?"

  Michael shook his head. "Never."

  Felix scowled. "Yes I could. Lord Quirian has taught me a lot about how to fight."

  "Not enough," Michael said confidently.

  "I could beat you with-"

  "Really?" Miranda demanded. "Are the pair of you serious?"

  They looked at each other, and at her.

  "Sorry, 'Randa," Felix said, scratching the back of his head.

  "I apologise," Michael said.

  "Idiots," Miranda muttered, rolling her eyes. "What I want to know is...actually there are a fair few things I'd like to know, but let's start with what are you doing here and, as important, why do you keep talking as though all your flaws are behind you despite the fact that you're making exactly the same mistakes? You're still fighting, still risking your life, why is this any different from when you were a gladiator?"

  "I've found a cause," Michael said. "The Empress has shown me the way and filled me with great purpose."

  "A cause," Miranda stated flatly. "The Empire, is that your cause?"

  "The Empire and Lord Gideon," Michael replied. "There is a world of difference between fighting for the joy of violence and pain and fighting for the honour of a great nation and the safety of dear friends well-loved."

  "The Empire doesn't love you any more than the crowds in the arena did," Miranda said. "Gideon is using you! You said that if I came to you in person and told you that I was not a prisoner, that if I asked you to stop then you would stop. Well here I am! Stop what you're doing before it gets you killed."

  "I am a warrior," Michael declared. "As God gave you magic, so he gave me speed and strength and an instinct on the battlefield. This is what I was meant to do. I have found my place in the world, found a reason to use the skills I have been given for a higher purpose, for something greater than myself and my own selfish desires. Is that so terrible? Would you begrudge me a place to belong?"

  Miranda stared at him. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with frost. "I have no need of a rescue. You cannot deny that now, surely."

  Michael hesitated for a moment. "What are golems? Princess Romana mentioned the word."

  "Stone statues, brought to life by my power to serve as warriors," Miranda said. "So that men like you no longer have to risk their lives for the...glory of the Empire."

  "And you have made an army of them for Quirian?" Michael asked. "It appears you need a different kind of rescue than I expected."

  "Why do you think so ill of him?" Miranda demanded. "What lies has this Lord Gideon told you? If you knew the truth-"

  "I know the truth, I was there when he told you everything," Michael said sharply. "I was in spirit world, concealed from your sight. I know all about Quirian's past."

  "Then how can you deny his right to vengeance?"

  Michael laughed. "Vengeance is a duty, not a right. Quirian's family were killed, so he seeks vengeance on the Empire. I seek to defend the Empire and take vengeance on Quirian for the deaths of Tullia Athenaeum and Princess Fiannuala of the Forest Realm, dear friends of mine. We shall clash our blades, and fate will decide which of us is more deserving."

  "Do you really believe that the Empire is worth fighting for?" Miranda demanded.

  "I believe that the dream of what the Empire could be, Aegea's dream, is worth defending," Michael replied. "Do you really believe that the people of the Empire deserve death?"

  "They deserve liberation," Miranda said.

  "Whatever the cost?"

  "Conscientiousness, from you?" Miranda asked.

  "I will stab a man through the gut and end his life, true," Michael said. "But I have never slaughtered wholesale, nor will I. And I always do my foes the courtesy of looking them in the eye first."

  Miranda shook her head. "I am sorry about your friends. I will do what I can to have you released. Then I will have you transported back to Corona province. There is no place for you here."

  "And where is your place?" Michael demanded.

  "Wherever I chose," Miranda declared proudly. "The whole world lies at my feet."

  "Is that all?" Michael asked. "Is your cause nothing more than your own ambition?"

  "No, my... I don't explain myself to you," Miranda spat. "What are you fighting for that gives you the right to look down on me like this?"

  "To see the greatness of the Empire restored," Michael replied.

  "The greatness of the...you're being manipulated!"

  "I think that could very easily apply to both of us," Michael said.

  Miranda exhaled angrily. "You're insufferable."

  Michael chuckled. "So His Highness tells me. It was lovely to see you, our Miranda."

  "Really?" Miranda murmured. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this." She turned around and stormed out of the room.

  "How did it go?" Romana asked once she was outside.

  "As terribly as usual," Miranda replied shortly.

  "Ah, my dear sister and the energetic Filia Miranda, how good my fortune is to find you both here." Prince Antiochus advanced upon them, a phalanx of guards following in his wake. Judging by a rough count of their numbers, Miranda guessed that His Highness was accompanied by his entire company of Household Foot. She wondered what he needed them for, and whether she ought to be worried.

  Princess Romana smiled. "Brother. Are you in some kind of danger? Or am I?"

  Antiochus' smile was cruel. "You were warned, little sister. You cannot say you were not warned."

  "Yes, I am a very disobedient little minx, aren't I?" Romana said idly. "Perhaps I should have let the Lord Commenae cut off the head of the First Sword of the Empire, or let you hand our brother over to the Novar temple to be burned alive."

  "He is not our brother!" Antiochus snapped. "He's a bastard, he is nothing!"

  "He is the blood of Aegea," Romana whispered. "He is of the line of Panthus going back to Ausonia before its fall. That matters more than who his mother was."

  Antiochus scowled. "You never valued mother, did you?"

  "I never had the opportunity," Romana said softly.

  Prince Antiochus clenched his fists, and for a moment Miranda feared what he might do. But he unclenched them, and put on a noticeably insincere smile as he said, "You are both of you to come with me. The Emperor has summoned you."

  "What for, your highness?" Miranda asked.

  "To decide the fate of all traitors," Antiochus said.

  He whirled around and began to march away, leaving Mirand
a with no choice but to follow after him. As she followed, with Princess Romana by her side, the prince's guards fell in around them, as though they were prisoners themselves, the very traitors whose fate was about to be decided.

  They were very heavily outnumbered. Princess Romana had nine men with her, including Captain Thrakes and Lieutenant Glaborus. Miranda had only Octavia and Felix; although Ascanius, Julian, Aelia and Danaus were waiting outside the palace with the palanquin, they were too far away to be of any assistance. And still too few, in any case.

  Miranda shook her head. Such fears were ridiculous. She was the Empress' friend, the Emperor's appointment as Commander of the Army. Might the Imperial summons be a lie? Was this an excuse to lure her somewhere to be murdered? No, that would gain Prince Antiochus nothing. He would more likely try to convince her to back his cause wholeheartedly, as he had attempted before. But why did he need so many guards for that?

  She felt a touch upon her hand, and for a moment she thought it was Octavia trying to reassure her, but when Miranda looked round she saw that it was Princess Romana who had taken her hand.

  "I suspect the guards are for me, Filia," Romana said, a sad smile upon her face. "I have annoyed my brothers once too often, it seems. I did warn Michael that my power to protect him might run out; it appears to have run out very quickly."

  Miranda's mouth suddenly felt very dry. "Will they-"

  "Kill me?" Romana laughed. "No. Not yet, at least. But a spell in the cells is not out of the question. Discreetly, of course."

  Prince Antiochus led the two young ladies and their escorts to a set of golden doors, with a decorative frieze embossed upon them displaying men, orcs, minotaurs, centaurs and aestivals all kneeling before an Emperor in flowing robes, holding a sword in one hand and an orb in the other.

  "The throne room," Romana murmured. "My, this is serious."

  Miranda swallowed. She had never been in the throne room before and, now that she thought about it that seemed like rather a good thing. Always before her interactions with the Emperor had taken place through the mediation of Portia, who wished very much to be seen as a woman rather than an Empress, and her moderating influence had done much to strip her husband of his authority and make him seem merely a man. Miranda had the distinct impression that she was about to be confronted with an Emperor, with all the authority and power that he had hitherto permitted her to ignore.