As he entered the room, the conspirators turned to face him, separating themselves into two lines in order of precedence. One by one they knelt, giving their obeisance.
“My lord prince,” one murmured, while another addressed him as “Gracious Majesty,” as if Lucius had already ascended the throne.
He was sickened by this farce, but forced himself to smile as he accepted their pledges of fealty. At last he reached the mock throne and took his seat. Only then did the conspirators rise and take their own places.
Josan’s eyes swept the room. All those he had met at Lady Akantha’s gathering were present, with the exception of Lady Ysobel and the elderly Salvador. And there were new faces as well, proving the wisdom of his plan to gather them all together to be unmasked.
He waited for a moment, wondering why Farris and his men had not yet burst in to arrest them. What was he waiting for?
“I summoned you here tonight so you could hear my will, and so I could find out who was truly loyal to me,” he began. He had to stall for time. “Flavian paid for his crimes with his life. I had thought his fate might give some of you pause, but it seems your hatred for Nerissa and your greed outweigh your intelligence.”
Renato frowned, while a few others chuckled nervously.
“My years in exile changed me,” he said. “I learned many things, including what it meant to be worthy of respect. A prince must have more than mere lineage. He must have courage and honor if he is to lead his people.”
Many heads nodded at this. Dama Akantha’s gaze was fixed on him with seemingly rapt attention, but he knew this was a mask for boredom. She and many of the others did not care what he had to say, not as long as he was still willing to be used, a tool in their hands.
These people called themselves patriots, but they were merely zealots and lying opportunists who cared nothing for the people of Ikaria. At this moment he hated them all for bringing him to this point and took a perverse pleasure as he contemplated their fates.
He heard a faint sound, as if a voice was raised in alarm, then another. Those seated closest to the door began to turn their heads.
“I found my honor. Pity for you that you cannot say the same.”
As he finished speaking the door flew open, and the steward staggered within. “Master, we have been betrayed,” he gasped out, before falling to his knees and toppling over on his side. Even from here Josan could see the blood that spilled from underneath the hands that clutched his belly.
There were loud gasps as the conspirators scrambled to their feet. But it was too late, as Farris stepped over the servant’s body, his bloody sword extended in front of him. Behind him were a troop of soldiers, who quickly fanned out among the guests.
“You betrayed us,” Benedict said, pulling his dagger as he lunged toward Josan.
Josan sat, motionless, making no move to defend himself. But before Benedict could reach him, he was cut down from behind.
Pity. A swift death would have been a mercy.
He watched as the guards took the conspirators into custody, binding their hands behind them to prevent any from taking poison and thus evading the empress’s justice. Two drew weapons and tried to resist, but they were clubbed into submission.
At last it was over. Farris approached the chair where Josan was seated and gave a brief bow. “Empress Nerissa thanks you for this gift,” he declared loud enough to be heard over the grumbling of the prisoners.
“It is my privilege to serve her,” Josan replied, making sure his voice carried as well.
The scene was staged not for his benefit, but to destroy any last flickering loyalty the conspirators might feel for him. Their hatred of him would loosen their tongues and might make them more willing to cooperate with Nerissa’s questioners.
Farris remained at his side as the prisoners were led out to begin the last journey they would ever take. Finally, only Josan, Farris, and two guards remained.
“Prince Lucius, it is time. If you would rise,” Farris said.
Josan rose, pleased to find that his legs did not tremble. He stood impassively as Farris stripped off the damning robe, leaving him shivering in his tunic. His hands were tied behind him, and a cloak was placed over him, the hood drawn down to obscure his features.
Farris’s earlier words had been for show, but Josan had always known that it would come to this. A guard seized each of his arms and guided him to the carriage that waited outside. They had to help him in, for his bound arms made climbing awkward. At last he was seated, with the guards beside him and Farris on the seat opposite.
With his hands behind him, he was forced to lean awkwardly forward in his seat, but at least that gave him an excuse to keep his head lowered. He had no wish to meet Farris’s eyes for fear of what he would read in his gaze. Bad enough that terror made his heart race and curdled his bowels. He would not shame himself, nor this body, by letting others see his distress.
He thought again of the swift death that Benedict had offered and how Farris had thwarted that release. Josan had fulfilled his part of the bargain, but Nerissa had promised him justice rather than mercy. There was still the price to be paid for the uprising six years before, and for all those who had been killed in the misguided effort to bring Prince Lucius to the throne.
Prince Lucius had thought this a fair trade—a chance to punish those who had misled him and used him in their own murderous schemes. Lucius’s life was already forfeit, but by bargaining with Nerissa, he had secured a measure of justice for Lady Zenia and all those other innocents who had perished.
But Josan had committed no wrongs. He was as much a victim in this as any. Just as Lucius’s life had been twisted by the rebels, Josan had been betrayed by those he trusted. They had made him party to an unspeakable crime as they attempted to destroy one man’s soul to make room for another.
Josan was guilty of nothing more than wanting to live and trusting his fate to those who had proved unworthy. He had had six years more than the fates intended for him, living in another man’s body while his own rotted in an unmarked grave. Indeed, if it were not for the assassin, he might have lived the rest of his life tending the lighthouse, unaware that the body he inhabited was not his own.
And would that have been so bad a thing? Was he really better off knowing the truth? Once he would have said that it was always better to know the truth, regardless of the cost, but now he was not sure.
He could not help thinking about what had happened to Prince Lucius’s spirit in those years when he had slumbered unaware. Had the Other journeyed to the spirit realm, only recalled to his flesh when deadly peril forced him to act? Or had he been trapped in an endless dream, a nightmare from which he awoke only briefly?
Two souls bound together, but sharing a single fate. Whatever happened would happen to both of them. At this, Josan felt the Other stir within him. Not alone, he heard a voice whisper. He waited, ready to relinquish the body to the prince’s control, but Lucius’s spirit seemed content to linger on the surface of his thoughts. Still, even the mere shadow of companionship was a comfort.
He smiled grimly, wondering how Nerissa would react if he explained to her that this body housed two different souls—though he knew that even if she believed him, it would not change his fate. Lucius would die for his treason, while Josan would be put to death as an abomination. Handily, a single thrust of a sword would serve for both.
He was still smiling as Farris grabbed his chin and jerked his head upward. He had one last glimpse of Farris’s puzzlement, then a sack was pulled down over his head, blocking out all sight.
His breath quickened as the sack was drawn tight around his neck, but the pressure eased before it choked off his breathing. He heard the sound of the carriage wheels as they left the cobblestones and began to roll over smooth pavement, and he realized that they had reached the grounds of the palace. Moments later, the carriage drew to a halt.
Blind, his arms still bound, the guards had to practically lift him from the c
arriage. He was half-led, half-dragged across the pavement, up a short flight of stairs, then down a long hallway. For a moment they paused, then his guide pushed him forward. Josan’s left foot fell on empty air, and only a swift grab of his shoulders kept him from pitching forward.
“She wants him alive,” Farris growled. “Guido, you go first to guide him.”
As he went down the stairs, the man behind him kept a firm grip on his shoulders. Another went before, presumably to keep him from falling. They descended until he lost count of the individual steps.
“That’s the last of them,” the man in front of him announced.
He heard the jangle of a key in a lock, then creaking hinges as an iron gate swung open. They walked a short distance and there was another delay as a second gate was opened.
He was pushed inside, then spun around. His hands, which had gone numb sometime ago, burned with pain as his arms were untied and the blood once more began to flow. His arms hung limply by his sides for a moment, then he was shoved against a wall and each arm fastened to a manacle high up in the wall.
Only when he was secured was the concealing sack stripped off his head.
“There’s no need for this. I kept my oaths, and I’m not likely to try to escape.”
Farris didn’t bother to reply. He merely tugged each arm to make sure it was secure. Then he left, taking his men and the torchlight with him. Josan had only a moment to look around his cell before he was plunged back into darkness.
Even with the protection of the cloak, the stones were chill against his back. His shoulders ached from his earlier confinement, but he could not move his arms to ease them. The cell smelled of damp earth and other less wholesome scents. From far too close he heard a man scream once, and again.
These were the rooms of pain, that none dared speak of except in whispers. As a boy Prince Lucius had explored the palace looking to find this forbidden spot, but the guards had chased him away whenever he had ventured into their territory. Now his curiosity was satisfied, but this, too, was knowledge he could have lived without.
The elaborate steps to conceal his identity had been a surprise. He had expected that Nerissa would want to parade her newest captive, to show that she had nothing to fear. As it was, only Farris and the men who had arrested him knew that he was here.
If only he knew precisely where here was. There were two sets of secret cells. Those in the outer cells were held pending execution. Those unfortunates in the inner cells could expect to be tortured before they would be allowed to die.
Judging by the sobbing screams that he heard, he would wager that he was in one of the inner cells. He strained his ears, but could not identify the man’s voice, unable to discover whether he was one of the rebels or merely an unfortunate who had run afoul of Nerissa’s justice.
He wondered what more secrets Nerissa expected to wring from him. He had already delivered the conspirators to her. Did she suspect that he was protecting the remnants of the conspiracy? Or would she torture him not for information but as punishment for his crimes? The ritual death prescribed for traitors was a horrific affair, involving seven separate steps, and could stretch out for days depending on the skill of the executioner. But even that might not be enough to satisfy her need for vengeance.
“You are wise to be afraid of Nerissa. Pity I learned fear too late.”
This time Prince Lucius’s words came to him as if Lucius had spoken aloud, and Josan answered in kind.
“What do you think she will do to us?” he asked.
If anyone were spying on him, they would think him mad for conversing with himself, but he had long since passed the point where anyone else’s opinion mattered.
He felt himself shrug, a slight movement of shoulders constrained by his upraised arms.
“My mother drank hemlock rather than face these rooms,” Prince Lucius observed. “She knew nothing of what I was planning, but that would not have saved her.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling within himself an echo of the prince’s grief.
“I knew I had killed her, and I could not face what was to come next. I fled to Brother Nikos, begging him for sanctuary. He offered a cup of poison, but his plans for me did not include a clean death.”
“I did not know what he was planning. I swear it.” It was suddenly important to him that Lucius realize this. That he had never wished for this fate.
“I know. You are too honest a man to have done such a thing.” There was a long moment of silence. “Any other man would have fled Karystos rather than staying and trying to put right all that I had done wrong,” Lucius added.
“No, I do not believe that. I did what any honorable man would do. What you yourself would have done if you had been given the chance.”
“You flatter me,” Lucius said. “But I have lost the taste for pretty lies.”
There was nothing he could say that would not seem insincere or condescending. Ironically, though they shared the same body, he did not know Prince Lucius well enough to know what words might comfort him. He suspected the prince would face the same dilemma. The only comfort they could offer each other was the fact of their presence, and even that was tenuous at best.
When it came time for torture, Josan knew he would seek the release of oblivion if he was able, and he would not begrudge the prince if he chose the same. No reason for both of them to suffer.
“If by some miracle Nerissa decides to grant us our freedom, is there any hope for us? Any chance that our souls might be split apart?”
The question showed how much Lucius trusted his honesty. Josan had every reason to want to cling to the body he had stolen, for to leave it would be his death.
“There is no spell that I know of. Even the monk who performed the soul magic did not expect this,” he said.
“Pity,” Lucius said. “Then perhaps this is the best. Death for both of us before we drive each other mad.”
“Be certain then that you thank Nerissa for her kindness,” Josan said, and was rewarded with the sound of a chuckle.
The prince fell silent, and Josan was left to his own thoughts. He longed to sleep, but each time his body relaxed, it was jerked upright by the chains, and he was awoken once more. The ache in his bladder grew until he could no longer ignore it, and he fouled himself, pissing on the floor as countless others had before him. It was a deliberate humiliation, meant to remind him that he was less than an animal in the eyes of his captors. He could feel Lucius’s shame, but for his part he felt only anger. Whatever Lucius had done, he deserved better than this.
Chapter 21
When Josan woke the next morning, he was alone. He had not been able to find true sleep, but just as his body had gone numb from discomfort, so, too, his mind had finally fallen into a trancelike state that was neither sleep nor true wakefulness. He searched within himself but found no trace of Prince Lucius. Despite the promises the prince had made, it seemed Josan would face whatever the day brought alone.
He did not blame the prince. If he had been able to, Josan’s own spirit would have fled as well, leaving an insensate husk behind for whatever tortures Nerissa had planned.
He heard footsteps, and a faint glow revealed the direction of his cell door. Two guards stopped in front of the cell. One held a set of keys, which jangled as he unlocked the door, while his comrade held a torch. After hours of staring into the darkness, Josan’s eyes could not bear the light, and as the two guards approached he turned his head, blinking his watering eyes.
“What—” he tried to say, but his voice was a mere rasp. He coughed to clear his throat and tried again. “What has Nerissa planned for me?”
They gave no sign of having heard him. The torchbearer stood by, as the second guard reached for Josan’s right hand. He braced himself for the pain that would come from being unshackled, but such was not their intent. Instead the guard merely checked both manacles to make certain that they were secure. Only then did the guard reach down to his belt and unfasten a wate
rskin. Bringing it to Josan’s lips, he poured in a mouthful, then another. Josan swallowed eagerly, but all too soon it was withdrawn.
It took all his will not to beg for more.
Then, as silently as they had entered, they left, and he was once more alone in the darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps this was the punishment that the empress intended for him. Leaving him to starve to death in the darkness, giving him sips of water to prolong his suffering.
A cruel death, but he was confident that other prisoners had died far more agonizing ones at her command.
At some point she would surely want to witness his suffering, before his wits had gone begging and he was no longer able to recognize the author of his torments.
Hours passed. He heard screams from the rooms of pain, this time a woman’s voice, and he wondered if it was Dama Akantha or Lady Ysobel. Twice the darkness was briefly illuminated as guards passed his cell door. The second time he heard the sound of something or someone being dragged, but he could not see into the corridor to confirm his suspicions.
His mouth was parched, and his belly ached with hunger, though it had been only a day, or perhaps two since he had last eaten. Time had no meaning for him. Finally, he heard steps and the welcome sound of a key being inserted into the lock of his cell. He raised his head and peered at the door. This time he would beg, if it would gain him even a single more mouthful of precious water.
Four guards entered his cell this time, followed by Empress Nerissa.
Josan opened his mouth, but all that came out was a harsh croak.
At the empress’s gesture, one of the guards approached him, and offered a waterskin. He gulped eagerly, sputtering as he realized that the water was mixed with wine. The guard was patient, allowing Josan to drink his fill before he withdrew the skin. Two others approached, and as they unlocked the manacles that held him upright, it was only their grip on his arms that kept him from falling to the floor.
The First Betrayal Page 30