All of his possessions had been left behind in his hasty flight from the magistrate’s. Still, he could survive without them if he had to. Fleeing would mean breaking his promise to Brother Nikos, but that did not trouble him. Nikos had been the first one to break faith, when he had allowed Brother Giles to perform the obscene magics that had chained two men’s souls within a single body.
We can’t leave. Remember what Renato said? He said “The killings have already started.”
Josan swallowed hard, tasting the bile from his earlier sickness.
Renato had known that they were coming, and it was unlikely that he had kept the news of Prince Lucius’s return to himself. At the very least, he would have informed the most trusted members of the alliance, to prepare them for whatever scheme they had in mind. And it seemed that at least some of them had not waited for their prince to return before acting.
He did not know if they would heed his words, but he had no other choice. He owed it to his people to try and put right what his unheeding return had provoked.
If only he had obeyed Brother Nikos and remained in the distant north, the rebels would never have known of his existence. Not that this made him inclined to follow Brother Nikos’s advice. Josan had once trusted him utterly, but the blended man he had become did not. His instincts told him that Nikos was willing to murder to gain his own ends. The wonder was that he had not seen this before.
What would you do? he asked, but there was only silence. He could feel the Other’s impatience as if it were his own. It seemed he had no use for careful deliberations, nor the weighing of potential courses of actions. The pressure in his skull grew, and he stumbled as spots appeared in front of his eyes. He could not think, he could not reason; there was room for nothing except the overwhelming sense of pain, until even that was taken from him and he vanished.
At last, Lucius thought. Finally, after endless torment, he was aware of who he was, and in control of his own body. A body that felt strangely uncomfortable, like an old tunic that no longer quite fit. He ran one hand over his face and longed for a mirror.
Are you there? he asked, and was pleased when he heard no response.
So the demon was gone. At least for the moment.
He had been too busy struggling for ascendancy to pay attention to where the demon had taken them, but as he glanced around he realized that he had traveled only a short distance from the collegium and was far too close to the imperial grounds for comfort. He set off downhill, toward the sector that served as the unofficial pleasure district, where taverns and brothels stayed open until the dawn’s light. There he could lose himself in the crowds as he pondered a course of action. He patted his robe and the tunic beneath it, but it seemed that the demon had been so foolish that he had fled the magistrate’s house without bringing with him a single coin.
Pity. He could have used a glass of wine. Or a bottle for that matter.
Even as he walked, his eyes cataloged the changes in the city that he had once known well—a new fountain at the entrance to the fourth tier and the iron grilles that protected even smaller shops. The cobblestones along the streets of the pleasure district were no longer merely uneven, now numerous cracked stones posed a threat to unwary pedestrians.
His fists clenched in rage at this further proof of the years that had been stolen from him. He wondered how much time had passed since he had trusted Brother Nikos to give him a painless death. He thought as hard as he could, searching his memories, but the answer would not come to him.
He snorted in disgust as he realized that the demon’s knowledge was beyond his reach. The interloper had no such restrictions. Not only had he stolen Josan’s body, but he had made free with his skills—rummaging through the storerooms of mind and looting the riches that he found within.
Years must have gone by, while he slept, a prisoner in his own flesh. He could remember dreamlike fragments—walking on a muddy road, a tiny cabin, laughing as a grizzled peasant refilled his wine cup from a chipped jug. The weight of a sword in his hand as he stood over a fallen enemy.
A painted whore smiled and beckoned, until he drew near enough so she could see the expression on his face. Abruptly her smile fell as she turned aside to seek easier custom. He brushed by a group of drinkers who had overflowed from a wine shop, wincing at their raucous laughter. His belly rumbled as he passed a vendor selling skewers of grilled meat wrapped in bread, but he had far weightier concerns on his mind than mere hunger.
He must have woken before, but it had not been true consciousness. He had been a shadow of himself—nameless and unable to remain in control. At last he knew who he was, and what had happened to him. Brother Nikos had thought to use him, to replace Lucius with a demon puppet obedient to his control. But something must have gone wrong with his plan, for, rather than using him, he had exiled the one who wore Lucius’s body.
Years might have passed for his body, but Lucius’s clearest memories were of the last days when his soul had been his own. When he had attempted to pay for his mistakes with his life. The blood-soaked horrors were as fresh to him as if they had occurred only yesterday.
Though apparently time had blunted the memories of others, for the magistrate had spoken of a new uprising and a new cycle of violence. Lucius had meant what he said when he told the demon that they could not flee. He had to stay and find some way to convince the rebels to disarm before any more murders were done in his name.
It would not be easy. He did not know how much longer he could stay in control of his body before the demon pushed him aside. It was no comfort to know that the demon shared his goal of confounding the rebels. Lucius was a royal prince, while the demon was a mere peasant. Leadership was his by birthright, to accept or reject as he chose. But how could he command the rebellion when he could not command his own body to obey him? Even now he felt the demon’s presence, as he sought once more to take control.
Lucius knew this was a fight he would lose. The demon was stronger than he was, at least thus far. And he needed his cooperation in order to put down the rebellion.
But he also knew that he had been growing stronger in the past months, awakening more and more often. The day would come when he was strong enough to take control permanently, and when that happened he would see that the demon was banished forever. Then he would set about punishing those who had betrayed him.
As Josan came to himself, he realized that he was standing in the alleyway that ran behind Magistrate Renato’s residence. He was drained, his mind sluggish as if he had spent all day and night trying to unlock the mysteries of an ancient manuscript.
He wasn’t sure what had happened. Had he somehow wrested control of this body away from Lucius? Had Lucius surrendered to the darkness voluntarily, or had his spirit been too weak to remain awake?
He called, but there was no answer. Still, his being there meant that he and Lucius shared the same goal, and both agreed that Renato was the key to their plans. When Josan saw the magistrate again, it must be in the guise of Prince Lucius. He would start with the magistrate, then bend the rest of the rebels to his will.
There would be danger for him in this, and if he were captured by the empress, he could not expect any mercy. Prince Lucius’s body bore the guilt for his crimes, no matter that another man now inhabited it.
Though for how much longer that would be true was a question he did not want to face. Lucius’s spirit must have been dormant for years, existing only in the strange dreams that haunted Josan from time to time. But gradually Lucius had grown in power. Lucius had taken control of this body before, banishing Josan to a strange unknowingness. Now he could even speak directly with Lucius, two spirits in an uneasy cohabitation. Josan sensed that the revelations of this night had shocked Lucius as much as they had himself, but that did not mean that the prince would be content to remain a mere ghost inside his own flesh.
Lucius would rise again, and Josan would once more disappear into oblivion. And perhaps, if the prince grew strong e
nough, eventually that oblivion would be permanent. He wondered when that day came if he would see it as a blessing or a curse.
He pushed such thoughts aside and focused himself on the immediate task at hand. Renato must have left instructions for his servants to be on the lookout for his wandering guest, for the boy on watch at the rear door admitted Josan at once. This time he was led to a morning room, where the newly risen sun revealed two anxious men, empty crystal glasses of tea showing signs of a sleepless night.
“Where have you been? Are you well?” Myles asked. He made as if to embrace Josan, but the expression on Josan’s face must have warned him off, for he merely squeezed Josan’s forearm as if to ensure that he was indeed real and not a phantom.
“Were you followed?” Magistrate Renato asked, showing a commendable concern for what truly mattered.
“I was not followed,” Josan said. It was easier to answer Renato’s question. Myles’s betrayal still cut like a knife. He had trusted Myles as a friend, but all these weeks Myles must have known his true identity and not said a word. He had not consulted with Josan to ask his wishes, but instead had decided for himself how best to help the lost prince.
“I don’t know what you heard, or what you think you heard,” Myles began. His features were as easy to read as ever. He was worried, anxious, as any man might be who had quarreled with a friend.
Josan’s instincts still told him that Myles intended him no harm. But his instincts could not be trusted. Myles intended Prince Lucius no harm, and that distinction made all the difference.
“It does not matter,” Josan said, cutting off whatever explanation Myles had been about to make. There was nothing that Myles could say that would change what had passed between them, and no explanations that would change what Josan must do.
“You took a great risk leaving here,” Renato said.
“I had my reasons.”
“And did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes. I know who my friends are. But I do not recall your being one of their number six years ago,” Josan said, prompted with the sure knowledge of the Other. Lucius’s spirit might be resting, but it seemed his memories were still there for Josan to draw upon. “Prince Lucius finds it strange that you would have chosen his cause.”
Myles drew in a quick breath as the forbidden name was uttered.
“Does he?” Renato asked.
“Yes, I do.”
Renato considered Josan as if he were on trial in his court. Then, after a long moment, he bent down on one knee, in the genuflection owed to the heir to the throne.
Myles, trained as soldier, not courtier, dropped to both his knees and bowed his head.
Such seeming devotion sickened him, for he knew how little Lucius deserved it. And while Myles might be sincere in his faith, he doubted that Renato cared for anyone’s interests except his own.
“Rise, and be done with such displays unless you are anxious to see our heads decorating the walls of Nerissa’s great palace.”
“How did your memory come back to you? Or did you have it all along?” Myles asked.
“I had my secrets, as you clearly had yours.” It was all the explanation he was willing to give. “For now, call me Josan, since that name has served me well enough in my exile.”
“Six years ago, I was among those selected as spies in Nerissa’s court. We met only with the inner circle of your supporters, lest a traitor reveal our names. I was fortunate enough to escape arrest, but many of the others were not. I never wavered in my contempt for the empress, but I had given up all hope of defeating her until Myles’s letter reached me,” Renato explained.
“And naturally you have told others of my pending return.”
Renato looked away. “A few, perhaps.”
“I want to meet them. As soon as possible.”
“I am not sure that is wise—”
“I am,” Josan interrupted, trying for an imperious tone. “They will want to see me, to know for themselves that I am not some impostor.”
“It is not safe,” Myles said.
“I must agree with the sergeant. We dare not risk you. Let me meet with the others to lay our plans, then you can meet with a chosen few, who can bring word to the others.”
Leaving Renato as the de facto leader of the rebellion, since he would control all communication between the prince and his so-called followers. He wondered what Renato expected in return for his service. Would he be satisfied as magistrate or was the title of proconsul more to his liking?
“The time for caution is over. We must act swiftly, while surprise is still on our side. You will arrange for me to meet with those who have remained faithful, or I will leave here and meet with them on my own. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my prince,” Renato said.
“I will give you three days to prove your worth.”
“And what can I do to serve?” Myles asked.
Go and never speak to me again, Josan thought, but he did not say the words aloud. Josan might have lost a friend, but a prince would always have a use for a man who was quick with a sword and not afraid to use it.
“Leave me in peace,” Josan said.
Myles appeared shocked, so he clarified. “It has been a long night for all of us. Leave me in peace while I take my rest, and we will talk again after I have slept.”
“Of course,” Myles said. But the hurt look did not leave his face, and his eyes followed Josan as he left the morning room.
He would have to be careful. Myles had apparently accepted his apparent transformation from diffident monk to commanding prince, but such a role was hard to sustain. Others would see what they wanted to see, but Myles knew him well enough to see the cracks that would inevitably appear in his mask. It would be hard enough to take control of the rebellion as Prince Lucius, but if Myles were to hint that the prince was not in full command of his faculties, then his task would be nigh unto impossible.
He could not predict what Myles would do in such a case. He had already misjudged him badly, mistaking loyalty for friendship and worship for affection. Myles had not offered him the devotion of a lover but rather that of a follower. Renato was predictable in his greed, but Myles was not. By all appearances Myles truly wished to serve his prince and was willing to take any risk to place the man he had called a friend upon the imperial throne.
Such devotion was frightening in its mindless intensity. Yet he could not afford to push Myles away. He needed Myles’s loyalty, and thus he needed to maintain the pretense of friendship, which was the only lever he had to control Myles.
It was madness, but he could see no other course. His only hope was that he could end this new rebellion swiftly, before madness engulfed them all.
Chapter 16
Tell me, Lady Ysobel, what manner of fish these are? Flavian here thinks them painted carp but I say the fins are all wrong,” Octavio declared.
Lady Ysobel paused beside the rock pool where two of her guests were admiring the brightly colored fish that swam within. Formal gardens in Ikaria often included small ponds filled with tame carp. Gold was the most common variety and sometimes served at table by serious gourmands, while carp mottled in shades of red, white, and the rare green were prized strictly for their decorative qualities.
Ysobel had kept the usual fishpond in her walled garden, but twisted the custom to make it uniquely her own.
“You are correct. These are not carp but rather a breed called winged darters, which inhabit coral reefs. One of my captains brought them as a gift, and so far they seem to be thriving.”
“Are they difficult to keep? I might want to try some for myself,” asked Flavian.
“Not that difficult. A boy keeps the seawater fresh and feeds them every second day with live minnows bought at market. If you are still interested, when these breed I will make you a gift of a pair.”
“You are graciousness,” Flavian said. Then, in a hissing whisper that served only to draw attention to his question, he as
ked, “Is he here yet?”
Lady Ysobel simply shook her head. “If you will excuse me, I must see to my other guests.”
“Of course,” he answered, not bothering to conceal his disappointment. She wondered yet again at Dama Akantha’s decision to invite Flavian to join this select gathering. Not only was he the youngest by far, but he had no talent for dissembling. It was fortunate that he had his family’s wealth to fall back upon, for he would never be able to make a living as an actor or a trader.
The heat of the warm spring afternoon filled the walled garden, and the harbor breezes that normally rose each afternoon were unaccountably still on that day. She had ordered canopies erected over the mosaic patio so her guests would be shielded from the sun, but at present they chose to wander the paths, as she did. A young lizard darted across the path ahead of her and she grimaced at the sign that her gardens were once again home to the troublesome pests. Though she supposed that there were some who might be foolish enough to take their presence as a good omen.
By all appearances it was one of her typical entertainments, a dozen guests gathered to sip chilled wines and discuss the latest in literature and politics. Couches had been arranged in a semicircle on the patio, around tables where suitable delicacies had been set out. Raw fish pickled in vinegar, baked dough balls filled with sweetmeats, and sliced fruits arranged in colorful patterns were just a few of her cook’s creations. Yet for once the offerings were untouched, the guests preferring to wander as they spoke with one another rather than sitting and taking their ease.
Such nervousness was understandable, considering their identities. In the far corner by the roses, Dama Akantha spoke to Septimus the Elder, while Magistrate Renato looked on. She wondered if Septimus the Younger knew that his father dabbled in treason. Shaded by the blossoming fruit trees, young Flavian, heir to his ducal father, was speaking intently with Benedict, who had overcome his common birth to become second-in-command of the city watch. Octavio, a wealthy trader with aspirations to a noble title was listening intently to the elderly Salvador, formerly minister in charge of the imperial treasury and still a force to be reckoned with.
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