Морган Райс
Hero, Traitor, Daughter
CHAPTER THREE
Thanos knelt over the body of his brother, and for a moment or two it felt as though the world had stopped. He didn’t know what to think or feel in that moment. He didn’t know what to do next.
He’d been expecting some sense of triumph when he finally killed Lucious, or at least some sense of relief that it was finally all over. He’d been expecting to finally feel that the people he cared about were safe.
Instead, Thanos found grief welling up inside him, tears falling for a brother who had probably never deserved them. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that Lucious was his half-brother, and he was gone.
He was dead, with Thanos’s dagger in his heart. Thanos could feel Lucious’s blood on his hands, and there seemed like so much of it to hold in one body. Some small part of him expected there to be something different about it all, for there to be some sign there of the madness that had gripped Lucious, or the grasping evil that had seemed to fill him. Instead, Lucious was just a silent, empty shell.
Thanos wanted to do something then for his brother; to see him buried, or hand him to a priest at least. Even as he thought of it, though, he knew that he couldn’t. His brother’s own words meant that it was impossible.
Felldust was invading the Empire, and if Thanos wanted to be able to do anything to help the people he cared about, he had to go now.
He stood, collecting his sword, ready to race for the door. He took Lucious’s as well. Of all the things his brother had held close, the tools of violence had seemed like the closest. Thanos stood there with them both in his hands, surprised to find how well they matched. He was almost as surprised to find a collection of the inn’s patrons blocking his way.
“He said you were Prince Thanos,” a bushy-bearded man said, fingering the edge of a knife. “That true?”
“The stones will pay good money for a captive like you,” another said.
A third nodded. “And if they don’t, the slavers will.”
They started forward, and Thanos didn’t wait. Instead, he charged. His shoulder slammed into the nearest, knocking him back into a table. Thanos was already lashing out, cutting at the arm of the knifeman.
Thanos heard him cry out as the blade bit into his forearm, but he was already moving, kicking the third man back into a spot where four men hadn’t stopped playing dice, even for the battle he’d just had with Lucious. One of them snarled and turned then, grabbing at the thug.
In moments, the inn managed to do what it hadn’t when Lucious had been the one fighting: it erupted into a full-scale brawl. Men who had been content to stand by while Thanos and his brother traded sword blows now threw punches and drew knives. One grabbed for a chair, swinging it at Thanos’s head. Thanos sidestepped, hacking a lump from the wood as he redirected the swing into yet another of the patrons.
He could have stayed to fight, but the thought of the danger Ceres might be in pushed him into a run. He’d been so sure that he could stop the invasion if he only got to Lucious, and then there would be enough time to find the truth about his parentage, discover the proof he needed, and make his way back to Delos. Now, there was no time for any of it.
Thanos sprinted for the door. He dropped and skidded under the grabbing hands of a man who tried to stop him, scraping a shallow cut across his thigh. He ran out into the streets there…
…straight into some of the worst dust Thanos had seen since he’d come to the city. He didn’t slow. He just jammed his twin blades into his belt, pulled up his scarf against the dust, and pushed forward as best he could.
Behind him, Thanos could hear the sounds of men trying to follow, although how they hoped to see him well enough to catch up in this weather, he didn’t know. Thanos groped his way along like a blind man, passing a merchant who was packing away his cart, then a pair of soldiers who were cursing as they huddled in a doorway against the dust.
“Look at that madman!” Thanos heard one of them call in Felldust’s tongue.
“Probably hurrying to join the invasion. I hear Fourth Stone Vexa has started to send more of a fleet, while the other three are still plotting. The First Stone has stolen a march on them.”
“Always does,” the first replied.
Thanos was away into the dust by then though, seeking his route by the vague shapes of the buildings, watching out for the signs that hung above the streets, lit by oil lamps. There were stone carvings too, obviously intended so that the locals could find their way from the street of the carved bear to that of the knotted snakes by touch if they needed.
Thanos didn’t know enough about the system to be able to use it, but even so, he pressed on through the dust.
There were others doing the same, and several times, Thanos stopped, trying to make out whether the booted feet he heard were those of pursuers or not. Once, he pressed in behind the curved iron bulk of a windbreak, his swords finding his way into his hands, certain that those following from the inn had caught up.
Instead, a team of slaves raced by, faces wrapped against the dust, carrying a palanquin from within which Thanos could hear a merchant urging them on.
“Faster, you curs! Faster, or I’ll have you impaled. We need to get to the harbor before we miss the spoils.”
Thanos watched them, tracking along behind the palanquin on the basis that those carrying it probably knew the way better than he did. He couldn’t track it too closely, because in a city like Port Leeward, everyone kept a watch for would-be robbers or killers, but even so, he managed to follow it along the length of several streets before it disappeared into the dust.
Thanos stood there for a second or two, catching his breath, and as quickly as it had come, the dust storm lifted, giving him a view out over the harbor.
What he saw there made Thanos stand and stare.
He’d thought that there were plenty of ships in the harbor before. Now, it seemed that the water was full to brimming with them, until it appeared that Thanos could have walked to the horizon on their decks.
Many of them were warships, but many more now were merchant craft or smaller vessels. With the main fleet already gone from Felldust, the harbor should have been empty, yet it seemed to Thanos that there wouldn’t be enough room for another boat there. It seemed that everyone in Felldust had come there, ready to take their piece of what was to be gained in the Empire.
Thanos started to see the scale of it then, and what it meant. This wasn’t just an army invading, but a whole country. They’d seen an opportunity to take lands they’d long been denied, and they were going to acquire them by force now.
Regardless of what it meant for those already there.
“Who are you?” a soldier asked, coming up to him. “What fleet, what captain?”
Thanos thought quickly. The truth would mean another fight, and now there wasn’t the welcoming veil of the dust in which to hide. He had no doubt that he was as coated with it as any of the natives, but if anyone should guess who he was, or even just that he was from the Empire, this would not end well.
He briefly wondered what they did to spies in Felldust. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Whose fleet are you with?” the man demanded again, this time in a harsh voice.
“Fourth Stone Vexa’s,” Thanos shot back, making his voice equally harsh. He tried to inject the sense that he had no time for such interruptions. It wasn’t hard to do right then, when he had so little time to get back to help Ceres. “Please tell me it’s not true about her fleet leaving already.”
The other man laughed in his face. “Looks like you’re out of luck there. What, you thought you could sit around, saying farewell to your crew’s favorite whore? You waste time, you waste your chance.”
“Damn it!” Thanos said, trying to play his part. “They can’t all be gone. What about other ships?”
That got another laugh. “You can ask if you want, but if you think there’s not a crew that’s full right now, you haven’t been paying attention. Pickings like this, everyone wants a place. Half of them can barely fight. Tell you what, though, maybe I could find a place for you on one of Old Forkbeard’s crews. The Third Stone is taking his time. I’d only ask half of any share you get.”
“Maybe if I can’t find the lads I’m supposed to be with,” Thanos said. Every second he was there was a second in which he wasn’t sailing back toward Delos with the one crew there who wouldn’t try to kill him the moment they found out who he was.
He saw the other man shrug. “You’ll not get a better offer this late.”
“We’ll see,” Thanos said, and set off amongst the boats.
From the outside, it must have looked as though he was looking for one of the rare boats from the fleet he’d claimed, although Thanos hoped that he didn’t find one. The last thing he wanted was to find himself pressed into service in Felldust’s navy.
He’d do it, though, if he had to. If it meant getting back to Ceres, if it meant being able to help her, he’d risk it. He’d play the part of some Felldust warrior, eager to catch up. If it had been main fleet sitting there, he might even have made it his first choice, trying to get as close to the First Stone as possible in order to kill him.
Now, though, if he drifted along with this second fleet, he wouldn’t get there until it was far too late. He certainly wouldn’t be able to help. So he walked the planks between the many ships, watching warriors carry on barrels of fresh water and crates of food. Thanos cut cracks in at least three casks, but no amount of petty sabotage would stop a fleet like this.
He kept looking, instead. He saw men and women honing weapons and chaining oar slaves into place. He saw dust-covered priests intoning prayers for good luck, sacrificing animals in ways that made the dust into blood-colored mud. He saw two groups of soldiers under different banners arguing over which of them got to go along a wharf first.
Thanos saw plenty that made him angry, and more that made him scared for Delos. There was only one thing he couldn’t find among the chaos of the docks, and it was the one thing that he’d come there to find. There were hundreds of boats there, of every shape, size, and design. There were boats filled to the brim with tough-looking warriors, and boats that looked like little more than glorified pleasure barges, there to take people to see the invasion as much as participate in it.
What he couldn’t see was the boat that had brought him there. He needed to get back to Ceres, and right then, Thanos didn’t know how he was going to do it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stephania ran through the castle, pushed on by the sound of the war horns, like a hart ahead of a hunting party. If she didn’t get out now, there would be no escaping. She’d done enough when it came to Ceres.
“Let Felldust finish her off,” Stephania said.
She retraced her steps through the castle, to the point where it connected with the tunnels beneath the city. She hoped that Elethe had kept her escape route open as Stephania had ordered. Now was a time to flee. If they were caught by the rebellion, that would be bad enough, but to be caught in the middle of a battle between it and Felldust’s Five Stones would be far worse.
Except…
Stephania paused, looking out of a window toward the harbor. She could see the sky dark with missiles, ships on fire as a dark ribbon of invading vessels made its way closer. Stephania ran over to a spot where she could look out over the walls, and she could see fires beyond, too.
Whichever way she ran now, it seemed that there would be enemies. She couldn’t just slip out over the water, the way she’d come into Delos. She couldn’t risk slipping out into open countryside, because if it were her running the invasion, there would be raiding parties out to drive people back toward the city. She couldn’t risk wandering Delos openly, because the rebellion’s forces would try to snatch her.
Yet, where were those soldiers? Stephania had passed a few guards on the way in, her disguise more than enough to let her slip by them. There hadn’t been many though. The castle had the feel of a ghost ship, abandoned in the face of more pressing matters. Looking out, Stephania could see rebels moving through the streets in bright armor and patchwork stuff. There would be a few figures close by, but how many, and where?
The idea came to Stephania slowly, more as a possibility than a reality. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like her best option. She wasn’t one to dive in without thinking. In the circles of nobility, that was a way to put yourself in someone else’s power, or find yourself cast out, or worse.
There were times, though, when decisive action was the answer. When a prize was there to take, hanging back could lose it as surely as overeagerness.
Stephania made her way down to Elethe, who was looking back and forth between the tunnels and the city as though she expected a horde of enemies to arrive at any moment.
“Is it time to leave, my lady?” Elethe said. “Is Ceres dead?”
Stephania shook her head. “There has been a change of plan. Come with me.”
To her handmaiden’s credit, Elethe didn’t hesitate. She walked along with Stephania in spite of the worries she must have had.
“Where are we going?” Elethe asked.
Stephania smiled. “To the dungeons. I’ve decided that you’re handing me over to the rebellion.”
That got a shocked look from her handmaiden, although it was nothing compared to the surprise there when Stephania explained more of her plan.
“Are you ready?” Stephania asked, as they got closer to the dungeons.
“Yes, my lady,” Elethe said.
Stephania put her hands behind her back as if tied, then walked forward with what she hoped was a suitable show of fearful contrition. Elethe was doing a surprisingly good job of looking like a tough rebel with a freshly captured enemy.
There were a pair of guards near the main door, sitting behind a table with cards set out, showing how they were passing their time. Some things didn’t change, regardless of who was in charge.
They looked up as Stephania approached, and Stephania was quite amused by the surprise she saw there.
“Is that… you’ve captured Lady Stephania?” one asked.
“How did you do it?” the other said. “Where did you find her?”
Stephania could hear the disbelief, but also the sense that they didn’t know what to do next.
“She was creeping away from Ceres’s rooms,” Elethe answered smoothly. Her handmaiden was a good liar. “Can you… I need to tell someone, but I’m not sure who.”
That was a good move. They both looked over at Elethe then, as they tried to decide what to do next. That was when Stephania brought out a needle with each of her hands, bringing it forward to strike the guards’ necks. They spun, but the poison was a fast-acting one, and their hearts were already pumping it through their bodies. A breath or two later, and they collapsed.
“Fetch the keys,” Stephania said, gesturing to one guard’s belt.
Elethe did so, opening up the dungeons. They were full almost to bursting, as Stephania had suspected they might be. As she hoped, at least. There weren’t any more guards, either. Apparently, all those with the ability to fight were on the walls.
There were men and women who were obviously soldiers and guards, torturers and simply loyal nobles. Stephania saw more than a few of her own handmaidens there, which struck her as a little foolish. The sensible move was not to insist on their loyalty, but to pretend to serve the new regime. The important thing was that they were there.
“Lady Stephania?” one said, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. As if she were their savior.
Stephania smiled at that. She liked the thought of people seeing her as their hero. They would probably do far more that way than simply from obedience, and she liked the idea of turning Ceres’s weapons against her too.
“Listen to me,” she said to them. “You’ve had a lot taken from you. You had so much, and those rebels, those peasants, dared to snatch it. I say it’s time to snatch it back.”
“You’re here to get us out?” one former soldier asked.
“I’m here to do more than that,” Stephania said. “We’re going to take back the castle.”
She hadn’t expected cheers. She wasn’t some romantic who needed fools to applaud her every decision. Still, the nervous muttering amongst them was a little grating.
“Are you afraid?” she demanded.
“There will be rebels up there!” a nobleman said. Stephania knew him. High Reeve Scarel had always been quick enough to challenge others to fights when he knew he could win.
“Not enough to hold this castle,” Stephania said. “Not now. Every rebel who can be spared is out on the walls, trying to hold back the invasion.”
“And what about the invasion?” a noblewoman demanded. She was little better than the man who had spoken. Stephania knew secrets about what she’d done before she married into wealth that would make most of the others there blush.
“Oh, I see,” Stephania said. “You’d rather wait in a nice, safe dungeon for it all to be over. Well, what then? At best, you spend the rest of your lives in this stinking hole, if the rebels don’t decide to kill you quietly once they realize how inconvenient prisoners are. If the others win… do you think being in a cell will protect you? You won’t be nobles to them in here, just amusements. Brief amusements.”
She paused to let that sink in. She needed them to feel like cowards for even considering it.
“Or we could go out there,” Stephania said. “We take the castle and we close it against our enemies. We kill those who oppose us. I’ve already dealt with Ceres, so she won’t be able to stop us. We hold this castle until the rebellion and the invaders kill one another, then we take Delos back.”
“There are still guards,” one said. “There are still combatlords here. We can’t fight the combatlords and win.”
Stephania gestured to Elethe, who started to open the locks on the cells. “There are ways. We’ll gain more weapons with each guard we kill, and we all know where the armory is. Or you can stay here and rot. I’ll close the doors and send a few torturers later. I don’t care which.”
They followed, as Stephania knew they would. It didn’t matter whether they did it from fear, or pride, or even loyalty. What mattered was that they did it. They followed her up through the castle, and Stephania started to give orders, although she was careful to make it sound better than that, at least for now.
“Lord Hwel, would you mind taking some of the more able men and sealing the guard barracks?” Stephania said. “We don’t want rebels getting out.”
“And men loyal to the Empire?” the noble said.
“Can prove it by killing those other traitors,” Stephania replied.
The noble hurried to meet her command. She sent one of her handmaidens to gather more, and asked a noblewoman to instruct those servants who would be obedient to Stephania’s bidding.
Stephania looked around the group with her, judging who would be useful, who had secrets she could employ, whose weaknesses made them easy to control and whose made them dangerous. She sent the noble who had been so keen to avoid a fight to control the gates, and a cantankerous dowager to the kitchens where she could do no harm.
They gathered people as they went. Guards and servants came to them as they heard, their loyalties changing with the wind. Stephania’s handmaidens knelt before her, then rose at a touch to be sent about their next tasks.
Occasionally, they found rebels who wouldn’t submit, and those died. Some died in a quick rush of nobles, their weapons seized, their bodies broken as they were beaten to death. Others died with a knife taking them from behind, or a poisoned dart sliding into their flesh. Stephania’s handmaidens had learned to be good at their tasks.
When she saw Queen Athena, Stephania found herself wondering which it should be.
“What is this?” the queen demanded. “What’s going on here?”
Stephania ignored her bleating.
“Tia, I need you to find out how things are going at the armories. We need those weapons. I imagine High Reeve Scarel will have found a fight by now.”
She kept walking in the direction of the great hall.
“Stephania,” Queen Athena said. “I demand to know what’s happening.”
Stephania shrugged. “I have done what you should have. I freed these loyal people.”
It was such a simple argument, and such a neat one, that it needed no more. Stephania had been the one to do the work of saving the nobles. She was the one they owed their freedom to, and perhaps their lives.
“I was locked up too,” the queen shot back.
“Ah, of course. Had I known, I would have rescued you along with the other nobles. Now, excuse me. I have a castle to take.”
Stephania strode off briskly, because the best way to win an argument was not to give one’s opponent a chance to speak. She wasn’t surprised when the others there continued to follow her.
Nearby, Stephania heard the sounds of a fight. Gesturing to those with her, she headed up a flight of stairs, searching for a balcony. She quickly found what she was looking for. Stephania knew the layout of the castle as well as anyone.
Below, she saw a fight that would probably have impressed most people. A dozen muscled men, no two of whose weapons or armor matched, were fighting in the courtyard before the main gate. They did so against at least twice as many guards, maybe three times as many before the battle started, all led by High Reeve Scarel. More than that, it seemed that they were winning. Stephania could see the bodies scattered across the cobbles in their imperial armor. The noble who loved to pick fights had picked one for the ages, it seemed.
“Foolish man,” Stephania said.
Stephania watched for a moment, and if she had seen more of a point in the Stade, she would probably have found some kind of savage beauty in it all. As she watched, a man with a great axe slammed the haft into two men, then spun, catching one of them with the blade hard enough to nearly split him in two. A combatlord who fought with a chain leapt over a soldier, wrapping it around his neck.
It was a brave performance, and an impressive one. Perhaps if she’d thought, she could have bought a dozen combatlords sometime earlier and turned them into a suitably loyal bodyguard. The only difficulty would have been the lack of subtlety. Stephania winced as a spatter of blood managed to rise almost to the lip of the balcony.
“Aren’t they magnificent?” one of the noblewomen said.
Stephania looked over at her with as much scorn as she could muster. “I think they’re fools.” She snapped her fingers in Elethe’s direction. “Elethe, knives and bows. Now.”
Her handmaiden nodded, and Stephania watched while she and some of the others there drew throwing weapons and darts. A few of the guards with them had short bows taken from the armory. One had a ship’s crossbow, better fired braced on a deck than a balcony. They hesitated.
“Our people are down there,” one of the noblemen said.
Stephania snatched a light bow from his hands. “And they were going to die anyway, fighting combatlords so poorly. At least this way, they give us a chance to win.”
Winning was everything. Maybe one day, these others would understand that. Perhaps it was better if they didn’t. Stephania didn’t want to have to kill them.
For now, she drew the bow as best she could with her swollen belly. Firing down like this, it almost didn’t matter that she could barely pull it back halfway. It certainly didn’t matter that she took no time to aim. With the mass of those struggling there below, it was enough that she would hit something.
More than that, it was enough to serve as a signal.
Arrows rained down. Stephania saw one punch through the meat of a combatlord’s arm, and he roared like a wounded animal before another three slammed into his chest. Knives flashed down to cut and skim, dig and gouge. Darts carried poison that probably had no time to act before the targets were punctured by arrows.
Stephania saw imperial soldiers fall along with the combatlords. High Reeve Scarel looked up at her with accusing eyes as he pawed at a crossbow bolt that had struck him through the stomach. Men continued to fall under the combatlords’ blades, or found gaps in their defenses, only to find their moment of victory cut short by arrow fire.
Stephania didn’t care. Only when the last combatlord fell did she raise a hand for the assault to cease.
“So many…” one of the noblewomen started, and Stephania rounded on her.
“Don’t be so foolish. We have taken Ceres’s support, and we have taken the castle. Nothing else matters.”
“What about Ceres?” one of the guards there asked. “Is she dead?”
Stephania’s eyes narrowed at that question, because it was the one thing about this plan that irritated her.
“Not yet.”
They had to hold the castle until either the invasion was done or the rebels somehow found a way to beat it back. At that point, they might need Ceres as a bargaining chip, or even just a gift so that the Five Stones of Felldust could show their victory. Having her there might even draw in Thanos, letting Stephania have all her revenge at once.
For now, that meant that Ceres couldn’t die, but she could still suffer.
And she would.
