The First Betrayal

by Patricia Bray

  “Gone, to talk with the others. He suggested that we wait here for word.”

  Josan shook his head at such folly. “And if the empress’s spies are watching any one of the conspirators, they will be able to follow them right to the gathering and arrest them all.”

  Myles nodded in agreement, though still he forbore to criticize Renato aloud.

  “What will you do?” he asked.

  What would he do? Josan was disgusted by the slaughter of innocents, while Lucius grieved for the death of one he had counted a friend. But both souls were united in their understanding that events had passed beyond their control. He could no longer pretend that there was any chance of steering the revolution, nor of his convincing his followers to lay down their arms.

  But there was still time to flee. To remain any longer was an act of utter folly, for surely it was only a matter of time before they would all be arrested. Already the conspirators had begun to panic, and such men would be swift to turn on each other. For all they knew, Renato’s early-morning errand had taken him not to meet with the conspirators, but rather to the palace where he was making arrangements to trade Prince Lucius for his own safety.

  “What should we do?” Myles asked, after the silence had stretched on.

  Josan hesitated, and in that moment the prince struck. Propelled by the strength of his anger and grief he rose up within, seizing control of what was his by birthright. For a brief moment Josan felt the prince’s rage, then he was bludgeoned into insensibility.

  Lucius tasted the demon’s terror, and it pleased him. Now the invader knew what it was like to be brushed aside, unable to control what would happen next. But there was no time to savor his victory, for his lackey was gazing at him expectantly.

  “You will go to the collegium. Tell Brother Nikos that Magistrate Renato has urgent need of his counsel and fetch him here.”

  “The brethren?”

  “Brother Nikos,” he repeated. “If Renato’s name does not move him to haste, then tell him that his old pupil Josan wishes to speak with him before he summons the imperial guard.”

  “But Nikos will tell the empress—”

  “Brother Nikos will do as he is told. He knows I hold his life in my hands.”

  The soldier made no move to obey, and Lucius realized that he had been too abrupt. The monk, for all that he played at being a royal prince, was more used to reasoning than commanding. “Go, now, there is no time to be lost. I promise I will explain everything to you later,” he said, imitating the monk’s earnestness.

  “As you command, my lord,” Myles said. With one last searching look, he took his leave.

  And now it was a race against time. The invader trusted Myles, but Lucius knew that the lackey’s loyalties were divided between the man he called prince and Magistrate Renato. If Renato were to return too soon, he might convince Myles to disobey his orders. All in the name of protecting the prince, of course, but any delay would be fatal.

  The invader was too weak to do what must be done. Caught between his guilt and urge to flee, knowing that the empress had the power to turn the city into a trap from which no escape would be possible. If he were to act, Lucius had to do so immediately, before his choices were taken away from him.

  And before he lost control of this body. He did not fool himself into thinking that he had won anything but a mere skirmish. The invader was not vanquished; he was merely banished for a time. It was inevitable that he would surface again, once more reducing Lucius to the status of a prisoner within his own flesh.

  The invader might be willing to live a half-life, but Lucius was not. He would end the killings—but not before he had made those responsible pay. The passage of years, or perhaps the dispassionate wisdom of the monk, had made him realize how much a fool he had been in his youth. He despised his youthful self and how he had gloried in the destruction wrought in his name. But he reserved his full hatred for those who had taken advantage of an arrogant youth, and who sought to use him again. He would see them punished for their crimes.

  All of them bore the responsibility for Zenia’s death, and for the other innocents who had been killed in the name of restoring the old blood to the throne. Their debt would not be repaid until their own blood had been shed in return.

  He glanced down in disgust at his bare arms. If he was to meet his fate, he would not do so dressed like a clerk. Returning to his room, he shaved his face and anointed his hair. Then, searching through the wardrobe till he found a suitable silk robe, he dressed himself as befit a prince.

  He had never been good at waiting, and fearing that the invader would use his distraction to attack, Lucius kept the image of Zenia in his mind, stoking the flames of his anger. When Myles returned with Brother Nikos, he was ready.

  Brother Nikos froze on the threshold of the library as he caught sight of Lucius. It was only for a moment, but his cheeks were flushed with anger or perhaps fear as he came toward Lucius.

  “You should not have summoned me. It is too dangerous for us both, especially after the savagery of last night,” Brother Nikos said.

  “Do you already feel the lash upon your back? Is that why you came, so you would know where to send Nerissa’s troops now that you have decided to betray me? How many followed you here?”

  “No one followed us, this I swear,” Myles said.

  He would have to trust the ex-soldier’s competence in this. But simply because they had not been followed did not mean that they were safe.

  “Did you use the name Josan to fetch him?”

  Myles shook his head. “No, he came when I told him that Magistrate Renato needed to speak with him about Lady Zenia’s murder.”

  “Good,” Lucius said. So he still had time. No doubt Nikos had come to find out how much Renato knew.

  “I would not betray you,” Brother Nikos said.

  “You already have,” Lucius replied. Then, with a glance at Myles, he switched to the scholar’s tongue. “You betrayed us both when you cast this spell.”

  “Prince Lucius?”

  “Yes,” he answered, still keeping to the scholar’s tongue. He wondered if it was his accent or perhaps his harsh condemnation that had given his identity away. Not that it mattered. Both monk and prince had their own reasons to distrust Nikos. And both shared the burning desire to stop the violence before it claimed another victim.

  “I can help you,” Nikos said. “There is a ship in the harbor that will leave for Xandropol tomorrow. One of the novices has already booked passage. You could take his place and none would be the wiser.”

  The scholar would like that. He would enjoy being confined amidst musty books and rotting scrolls, spending the rest of his life deciphering the writings of long-vanished civilizations. But the monk’s pleasure would be Lucius’s torment, and as long as their two souls were bound together, neither could truly be content.

  “Xandropol,” he repeated. From the corner of his eye he saw Myles’s sudden interest, as he recognized the name of the foreign city. Myles was shrewd enough to realize that Nikos must be offering safe passage, and no doubt he would urge his prince to accept.

  But Myles did not know what he knew.

  “Would they wait till I was at sea to dispose of my body? Or would you have me killed aboard ship, my body left in the harbor for the empress’s men to discover?”

  “Why did you summon me if you do not want my help?”

  “But I do want your help. I want you to take me to the empress. Now.”

  “You are mad,” Nikos said.

  “If I am, we know who is to blame.”

  “The empress will kill you.”

  Quite probably. But even death was better than this twisted half-life. “The empress will hear what I have to say first.”

  “I will not help you,” Nikos declared. He turned on his heel as if to leave.

  Lucius caught Myles’s eye, and Myles moved to block the door, his sword drawn. The ex-soldier might not understand what they were saying, but from
the tones of their voices it was clear that they were arguing.

  Nikos turned back. “You cannot force me to help you.”

  “You are mistaken.”

  As Lucius advanced, Nikos retreated. At last Nikos was forced to stop, lest he impale himself on Myles’s sword. Lucius stepped in close enough that he could smell Nikos’s fear, see the beads of sweat on his brow. He was a small man, really, for all his posturing, and Lucius wondered that he had ever been afraid of him.

  “You have two choices. First, you take me to the palace and use your status as chief counselor to demand a private meeting with the empress. When she arrives you will tell her that you persuaded me to surrender and accept her gratitude.”

  “What is my second choice?”

  “My friend summons the watch. They arrest us both, and I will tell anyone who will listen of your treason. They will not believe me, not at first. But they will be forced to investigate. I doubt Brother Giles will take much persuasion before he tells all, and soul magic is such an ugly thing, is it not? A man who would dabble in soul magic might well be guilty of any crime.”

  “Brother Giles is dead, and there are none who carry on his work,” Nikos avowed.

  “But surely his notes survive. The monk knows your ways—he knows you would never throw anything of value away. You kept me alive when you thought me a witless shell. The proof of your deeds is in the collegium and, once they know the stakes, the brethren will be all too eager to help Nerissa’s men find it.”

  Nikos was trapped, and from the defeated look in his eye, he knew it.

  “This is how you repay me for my help? For all I have done for you?”

  “You, at least, may come out of this alive and relatively unscathed. Which is more than you would offer me,” Lucius said. He held Nikos’s gaze until the monk finally nodded.

  Lucius stepped back. “Summon a litter for two,” he told Myles. “Brother Nikos and I are going to call on an old friend.”

  The excitement of finally taking action, and of being in control of his own fate, carried him through the delay as they waited first for the litter, and on the long, jostling trip through the streets of Karystos. Myles had been ordered to stay behind, to wait for Magistrate Renato to return. But even if he had disobeyed his orders, it was unlikely that he would realize the litter’s destination until it was too late.

  As they reached the first gate into the palace, Lucius placed one hand on the dagger that he wore at his side, but Nikos needed no persuasion. No doubt he had spent the journey weaving an elaborate web of lies and truths that would cast his actions in the noblest of lights, and ensure that whatever Lucius said would be seen as an attempt to discredit one who had proven unshakably loyal to the imperial house.

  Nikos’s name and face were enough to gain them entrance onto the palace grounds. As they left the litter, several glanced at Lucius, who was once more wearing a hood to conceal his face, but no one questioned him.

  The guards at the entrance to the palace were not as accepting. They refused to let Lucius pass unchallenged, until Nikos assured them that the stranger’s presence was a matter of the utmost discretion, and that he would take full responsibility. Even with these assurances the guards still searched Lucius as if he were a commoner, finding and confiscating his dagger.

  They were led to a small antechamber off the imperial receiving room. On his own, Brother Nikos could have been expected to be taken directly to the empress, but the presence of a second man meant that they would have to wait for the empress to deign to receive them.

  Servants offered water and fruit juices, in deference to Brother Nikos’s reputation for moderation. Nikos accepted a glass of melon fruit juice, but Lucius simply shook his head. He glared at Nikos, who sat lounging on a couch as if he were at ease in his own quarters. He could tell that the balance of power had shifted. In the magistrate’s house it had been Nikos who was afraid, while Lucius held the power.

  Now, having been given time to scheme, Nikos showed every sign of being in control of the situation, while Lucius paced restlessly, trying to hide the trembling of his limbs. He knew that he had to see the empress. It must be done. And yet the anger that had sustained him earlier was no match for the knowledge that directly under his feet lay the infamous dungeons where the empress’s torturers held sway.

  He heard the clicking of bootheels in the corridor and knew that Empress Nerissa and her bodyguards approached. Fear welled up within him as he felt the faint stirrings of the invader. He struggled to remain in control, but the harder he exerted his will, the more he felt himself slipping away. To his horror he realized that he could no longer feel his own limbs.

  There was no time. With his remaining strength he brought the details of his plan to the forefront of his thoughts, and then pushed them toward the invader, hoping against hope that it would be enough.

  I’m sorry, he thought, and Lucius surrendered. He had one moment to feel the horrified shock of the invader as he realized where they were, then he let himself fall into the blackness of unknowing.

  Empress Nerissa listened impassively as Benedict, second-in-command of the city watch, finished making his report.

  “My men searched the traitor Flavian’s residence, but have found no signs that he had any accomplices. His servants claim to know nothing, but of course they will be questioned under the severest forms to see if they are telling the truth.”

  The severest forms were a polite euphemism for torture. Given the magnitude of their master’s crimes, it was likely that some of the servants would die before the imperial questioners were satisfied as to their veracity. Others would be crippled by the lash or hot irons. Still, their fates could have been worse. It was within Nerissa’s rights to order the entire household put to death for what Flavian had done. For all that Lady Zenia had been related to her noble mother rather than her imperial father, Zenia was still kin to the empress, thus to shed her blood was an offense against the imperial house.

  “You think this the act of a madman rather than a conspiracy?”

  Benedict hesitated. His nervousness was understandable, for it was rare that he spoke directly with her. For ordinary matters she gave instructions to Proconsul Zuberi, who then passed on her orders to Petrelis, who commanded the city watch. But Petrelis was personally supervising the questioning of Flavian’s household, and had thus delegated his subordinate to make the report.

  “In these past weeks we have searched the city but found no signs of conspiracy; only a handful of malcontents. If I may offer my humble opinion, I believe that when Petrelis has finished his investigation he will find no signs that Flavian conspired with others in this deed.”

  She did not know if Benedict was allowing his hopes to overcome his good sense, or perhaps he merely feared being the bearer of bad news to his sovereign. It was more than mere unrest that had plagued the city in these past weeks. Just as a poisoned well revealed its presence through the dead animals that surrounded it, the conspiracy revealed itself through the ripples of violence that had spread out across the city, touching first commoners and now the noblest blood.

  But there was nothing more to be gained from interrogating one who was himself no more than a lackey, so she dismissed Benedict with the instructions that he or Petrelis was to report to her the moment they had any information.

  Even deep within the marble walls of the palace, the heat of the city penetrated, and she felt the sweat beading on her brow. A terse order summoned slaves to tend the massive fans that blew fresh breezes through her living quarters, but even their efforts were barely able to make things tolerable.

  Karystos in the summer was an uncivilized place, where the blazing sun drove the residents inside during the heat of the day, and periodic fevers swept through the poorer quarters. Anyone who could afford to do so retired to a country estate in the summer months, to avoid the heat and the disease. Nerissa herself possessed a half dozen estates, ranging from the imposing palace that Aitor had built on the island of
Eluktiri to the modest estate near Sarna, which could house a mere fifty of her household. And their retainers, of course. But the unrest in the city had forced her to remain in Karystos—and when the empress stayed, her courtiers also remained behind.

  She had urged Lady Zenia to leave, to travel to Sarna for the health of her children; but Zenia had chosen to stay, and that loyalty had cost her her life.

  This time, her enemies had gone too far. So far Nerissa had held her hand, but from here on she would be merciless in her quest to hunt down those who opposed her. Benedict and his master Petrelis might hesitate to use the word conspiracy, knowing that it would reflect badly on them to discover that such had flourished under their very noses, but Nerissa would not hesitate. Nor would she wait for absolute proof.

  Those who were currently under observation by the imperial spies would be brought in for questioning. The basic forms to start, though she would not hesitate to invoke the harsher disciplines. And Lady Ysobel would be brought in as well. There was no proof against her, but she had had one too many accidental encounters with those who were under suspicion. Lady Ysobel would have to be treated with caution, for she was still the official trade liaison. But she was also a pragmatic woman, used to reckoning the odds. A quick tour of the torture chambers ought to be enough to convince her of the wisdom of sharing whatever information she might have.

  Nerissa’s musings were interrupted by the news that Brother Nikos had arrived and requested an audience with her. Her interest was piqued when the messenger informed her that Nikos was not alone. She knew it was no coincidence that Nikos had arrived unbidden on this of all days, and as she made her way to the receiving room, she wondered what information he had brought her.

  Opening the door to the antechamber, her bodyguards took up their positions on either side of the door.

  As she entered the room, Nikos rose to his feet, then dropped to one knee.

  “Most Gracious Imperial Majesty, forgive me for intruding on your grief,” he said.

  “Rise,” she ordered. “I trust you would not do so lightly.”