by Devin Madson
Malice laughed. “How I missed you, yes? Resorting to Avarice’s Levanti when you are enraged.”
“Shivats to your truth.”
“The truth is she betrayed you. She hates what you are and what you fight for. But we are gods, Darius.”
“No, she loves me.”
“Love,” he spat. “You’ve forgotten what the word means. Do you remember the day our father told you he loved you?”
The words were an ethereal jab that robbed me of breath. I love you, Darius, you are my son and I love you. Remember that, promise me you will remember that.
That night, my father had dragged me out through the garden. The storm had lashed at my face, and I had kicked and scratched and screamed, trying to make him let go. My Empathy had been immature, and he had brushed it aside like the reaching tendrils of the overgrown garden, bearing me inexorably toward the dark hedge looming from the night.
“I swore I would never let anyone break your heart again,” Malice said. “Do you remember for how many days you didn’t speak?”
“Two hundred and thirty-nine.” I barely needed to think; the words said themselves.
“And what was it I said to you the night before you broke your silence?”
Blood was dripping down my neck. It was on my hand and my sleeve, and running down my arm, determined to cover me with its pain. A drop of blood hit the floor, full of my anger, my guilt, my hurt. The floor would not feel it. But Malice…
“I will not let you hurt her,” I said.
“And how do you plan to stop me? Going to kill me, Darius?”
“I ought to have done so a long time ago!”
Peeling my hand from my cheek, I flicked the blood at him. He flinched, and in that moment of shock, I stepped in, slamming my blood-smeared hand into his face. His nose flattened beneath my palm, a single eye left to peer between my fingers. Malice’s whole body stiffened, that eye mad with my pain, his mouth gasping for more air than the room contained. Holding him pinned, I gripped his neck and squeezed, loving the feel of his hard throat beneath my hand.
And there I held him, an inch from death, unable to kill him, unable to let him go. Between my bloody fingers, his eye crinkled with laughter.
What did I say to you the night before you broke your silence? he asked, pushing his Empathy into my hand.
Footsteps thundered through the house, some part of me aware enough to hear them, though nothing mattered beyond this man I knew better than I could ever know another. “You said, ‘I would die for you. I will never let you lose your way.’”
The steps grew louder. Closer. Voices shouted. But still I stared into that single eye.
I meant it. I am yours, Mastery.
A lantern appeared beside me, its bright light causing Malice to squint. Voices filled the air. Someone gripped my shoulder and yanked me away, my hand leaving a bloody print across Malice’s face.
“Lord Darius Laroth and Whoreson Laroth,” spoke a voice, filling the room with such authority, such a feeling of importance. “You are under arrest on the orders of Emperor Katashi Otako, True Emperor of—”
I turned, catching the man around the throat with my bloodied hand. He had none of Malice’s barriers, none of Malice’s strength, and where Malice’s eye had laughed, this man’s screamed. I poured my hatred into him, my contempt for his pitiful sense of power all because an emperor had given him a command. Beneath my grip, his heartbeat quickened, rising to such a tempo it could not long sustain him. He clawed my arm, every breath a choke. I had the power. He would live if I let go. He would die if I held on. The room, the stage, belonged to me.
His eyes rolled back, showing their whites. The clawing stopped. And my soul sang as his useless body crumpled at my feet.
The men packed into the doorway stared at their fallen leader in horror as Malice came to my side. There were at least a dozen soldiers. More outside. Katashi knew what he was dealing with.
A man wearing a black and silver sash pushed his way to the front of the frozen group, his lips turned in a sneer. “We were warned you two were freaks,” he said. “But the way I see it, men all bleed the same, so you’d best come without a fight.”
Malice snarled, the sound bestial.
“I’ll take that as a no.” The man lifted his bow, an arrow already nocked. Aiming for Malice, he drew and released with whip-crack speed, and Malice staggered back, an arrow through his leg. Hissing pain, he lunged, but I grabbed him, locking my hands around his chest. “Stop,” I said. “Let them take us or they’ll kill you.”
He tried to throw me off, to twist out of my grip, too caught by fury to think clearly. “Stop,” I said again. “I don’t want you to die.”
Malice stopped, his chest straining within my hold. Against my cheek, his tangled hair smelt so much like the past from which I had run, too weak to accept the truth.
Bunched together, Katashi’s soldiers watched us, unsure. I glared at them over Malice’s shoulder. “What are you waiting for?” I said. “Tie us up if you’re going to.”
They approached warily, weapons ready. I watched them come. Malice watched them come, our thoughts undoubtedly the same. There were too many. Even gods weren’t invincible.
Malice growled as they bound his hands, but he did not fight. He watched as they bound me, watched me suppress every instinct that urged me to attack, and when they had finished, he bowed, an appreciative smile on his face.
“Mastery,” he said, his lips taut, his face growing pale. Blood was flowing fast from the wound in his leg.
“Malice.”
A soldier shunted me toward the door. “I don’t think Katashi wants us dead yet,” I said, addressing the man with the silver line through his sash. “You had best bind my brother’s wound.”
The man grunted and jerked his head back at the corpse on the floor. “Emperor Katashi gives me orders, not you, freak. Are you going to help my captain if I help him?”
“He’s dead,” I said.
“So are you when we get back to camp, so let him bleed, I say. Get them out of here.”
Chapter 20
Hana
It took all day to reach Katashi’s camp, a journey made all the more difficult because Shin would not let me ride. I had pleaded with him, explained to him, shouted at him, begged and cajoled, all to no avail. And hitting him had just made him bind my hands with his black sash.
Tili had been no help. In truth, there was nothing she could do even had she been a match for Shin. Where could I have run to? Back to Kin? To a marriage for the good of Kisia?
Between Shin’s stoic refusal to talk and Tili’s quiet monosyllables, I had plenty of time to imagine such a future on the ride back to camp. Kin always respectful, always controlled and moderate, even his smiles measured rather than expressive. Perhaps like Katashi, he would be a different man in private, when he did not need to consider the appearance of his position, but perhaps not. There had been no heat in his kiss, no passion, no honesty. Had I never met Katashi, I might have been satisfied with Kin’s stiff, formal attentions, but I had met Katashi. Loved Katashi. And for all my professions of duty, it was to him my thoughts returned. Yet the closer we got to his camp the more fear leached into my mind, tainting every thought of him with reminders of what he had done. What I had done.
It was dark by the time we found Katashi’s camp—a distant gathering of lights tucked into a hollow between two hills. They had travelled two days since I’d left, but despite what fears Katashi must have harboured about my purpose, he had not changed his plans. I could not decide whether his choice to camp where I could find him was a demonstration of his trust or his stubborn determination to show no fear.
“You can still turn around,” I said as Shin started down the steep hill, tall stalks of grass brushing at our feet. “You can still choose not to take me back like this.”
“So you can run back to the Usurper?” He spat. “He is not the man you think him.”
“Perhaps not, but he has more
sense of duty than you ever could.”
Behind me, Shin growled like a bristling dog. “A man does not climb to the Crimson Throne over the bodies of thousands because of duty. He does it for power. No. This is where you belong.”
“And if Katashi condemns me? Did you ever consider that he might execute me, Shin?”
“If that’s what he wants to do.”
The indifference in his tone stung. Ever since that ill-fated trip into the palace, he had been my guardian, my protector, and closing my eyes upon frustrated tears, I said, “Why did you stay with me, Shin? Why did you stay with me in Mei’lian? Why did you stay all the way to Koi? Why look after me at all if you care so little for my life?”
He seemed to chew upon words, but every time he took a breath as though to answer, none came out. With nothing but an annoyed grunt, he guided our horse down the steep slope, turning every now and then to be sure Tili followed.
Camp noise slowly washed over us as we descended, and at the bottom of the hill, Shin whistled and called his name to the men on sentry duty. They came, bringing a lantern to lift into our faces, a proud look all I could muster in spite of the sash binding my wrists.
With nods and bows, they let us pass, and I kept my head up high despite the fear clenching its hand upon my heart. Between rows of tents and around clustered groups of soldiers we wound, but they were not resting or eating or playing at dice, rather preparing to fight.
“What are they getting ready for?” I said as Shin continued toward the central tents.
“An ambush, maybe,” he rumbled. “Or perhaps there’s fear of an attack in the night.”
“Then wouldn’t it be safer if you—”
“No.”
Katashi’s tent was growing large in my vision, its tall pennons snapping in the wind. A glow of golden light spilled from the tent opening, and a guard stood in its pool, his hand straying to his sword hilt as we approached.
Shin reined in, our sweating mount backing as though in exception to the guard’s fluttering sash. “His Majesty in?”
“He’s in,” the guard replied. “But he’s got a visitor.”
“Tell him I’m here with Her Grace.”
“As you say, Captain.” The guard gave a little shrug and turned to poke his head through the tent opening.
With my back to his chest, I could not see Shin’s face. “What are you going to tell him?”
“Whatever he asks.”
I twisted my neck around harder and caught a glimpse of his stern expression over my shoulder. “Will you let me explain?”
His look owned no kindness, but he nodded. “He already suspects the what, but you can try to spin a nice palatable why.”
Before I could ask what Katashi already knew, the guard re-emerged from the tent. “Go on in, he’s waiting for you.”
The words made my heart thump hard against my breastbone. Behind me, Shin slid from the saddle, only to stand ready to help me dismount. He hadn’t untied my hands, and the guard was staring at them now, and rather than make more of a scene, I let Shin lift me down. My stomach dropped as he set me on the ground, as much from the sound of Katashi’s voice as the sudden movement.
“After you, Your Grace,” Shin said, and it took all the courage I possessed to hold my head up high and walk inside, wondering if this was how it felt to meet one’s executioner.
Katashi’s tent was large, but there was no hiding from him or the anger hanging so palpable upon the air. He was sitting in the middle of the floor with Hacho laid across his lap. She was unstrung, her limbs curving back like the legs of an enormous insect. I might have shied from so indecent a sight even without the scowl Katashi bent upon his work, but his fury made me flinch.
“Good evening, Cousin,” spoke a voice, but it was not his.
Someone stood in the shadows beyond the lantern light, a diminutive figure with a wild fountain of dark curls and bright, intelligent eyes.
“Are you…?”
The woman tilted her head. “You have other cousins?” She looked over my shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Shin. It’s been a while.”
“Too long, my little sparrow,” he said, emotion in his gruff voice I hadn’t thought to hear.
With such a resemblance, the woman could only be Katashi’s sister Kimiko, a suspicion Shin confirmed when he crushed her into a fatherly hug. Never had I seen Shin touch anyone except to kill them and for a moment I stood more transfixed by this show of devotion than by Katashi’s anger.
It didn’t last long. Katashi’s smouldering glare could have burned through steel as he said, “Where did you find her, Shin?”
“Orotana,” he said, letting Kimiko go. “Meeting with Kin like you thought.”
Katashi went on waxing Hacho as if Shin hadn’t spoken, but the look of reproach Kimiko flashed my way chilled the space enough for the both of them.
“I think,” she said, looking down at her brother, “that we are much in the way and ought to depart, Shin. I was looking forward to meeting you, Hana, but it seems this is not a very opportune moment.”
She bent to plant a kiss upon Katashi’s head. “Strength, Brother.”
With a last intent stare my way, Shin allowed himself to be carried out in her wake, leaving Katashi and I alone. All the air seemed to vanish with them.
“Do explain to me why I should not execute you for treason,” Katashi said, still not looking up.
“I can’t.”
His hand paused part way along Hacho’s length. “Do I not deserve an explanation?”
“Yes, but… no matter how I explain it, my actions are still treason.”
“For which you ought to be executed.”
“Better that than knowing I could save thousands of innocent lives with a few words yet choosing to do nothing.”
Gently, he set Hacho from him and pressed his fingers to his forehead in a moment of pain. “And what,” he said to the floor, “were your ‘few words’?”
“I told him to blockade the mouth of the Tzitzi,” I said, hating the breathlessness in my words and the trembling of my voice. “That was all. No details. No plan. Nothing more.”
“That’s all?” he said, his laugh devoid of all joy as he finally looked up at me. “That’s all? As though that were not enough. As though that information alone did not put everything I have worked for in jeopardy.”
He got to his feet, the slow uncurl of a waking predator. “You embarrass me, Cousin,” he said. “You betray me. You risk having yourself caught and bargained back to me or worse. And yet you can still stand there proudly.” He took a step closer, seeming to tower over me more than ever before. “I told you why I had to kill the men who surrendered,” he went on, fury throbbing in his voice. “I told you why I had to attack Shimai. I have given you every reason you have demanded and every opportunity to walk away, and this is what I get in return.”
“I could not let you do it,” I said, forcing myself to look up into his face. “I could not let you kill so many innocent people and you would not listen to me.”
“Had you threatened me with this I might have.”
“No, no you wouldn’t have, Katashi. You would have berated me and stalked out. You would have set Shin to follow me everywhere. You would have had me escorted back to Koi in chains if that was what it took to keep me quiet. Anything rather than consider that death was not the only way to take an empire.”
Hissing a breath between bared teeth, he advanced another step closer, and it was all I could do to hold my ground. “The entire history of the empire is built on blood, Hana.”
“But it doesn’t have to be.”
He ran his hands through his messy hair and blew out a breath in frustration. “We have had this conversation before. How can you not see how precarious my position is? All it takes is one tiny thing to go wrong and it will be over. And there will be no going back, because I will be dead.”
“So you would burn a city? You would kill innocents? Women? Children?”
“Listen to yourself! This is not a war against Chiltae, Katashi, where a leader must do anything and everything they can to protect their people. Kisia was prosperous. At peace. In no danger at all. What difference does it make to the common people who their emperor is? Whatever else you can say of him, Kin has taken care of the empire. It didn’t need saving.”
“Are you saying I should have just shrugged and walked away, after he killed my father and ruined our family, ruined my life?”
“No, but you cannot pretend that these people, your Pikes, your soldiers, your enemies—the people of Shimai—are dying in service of the empire. They are not. They are dying for you.”
He’s scowl grew uglier in the lantern light. “As they died for Kin when he—”
“No, do not tell me that Kin has shed as much blood or list what atrocities he has ordered. We are Otakos, Katashi. We are better than that. Better than him. We are the founding gods of the empire, protectors of its people, and if we cannot do that, cannot be that, then we deserve no throne.”
“And he does?” he cried, throwing out his arm in the vague direction of Mei’lian.
“No, but he has it, and to much of the empire, we are nothing but a rampaging conquest destroying lives and land. Right now you are the last of the Otakos. Is that how you would have us remembered? As barbarians?”
He closed his eyes, pain in the lines of his face, and I knew then that he was listening, that I had finally found the words I needed to make him understand.
I stepped forward, my bound hands outstretched. “I believe in our family’s right to the throne,” I said. “I believe in you, in us, in everything Kisia could be under Otako rule, but with the right advisors, the right strategy, we would not need to resort to bloody, ruthless plans that will more surely set our people against us than win us an empire. We need to be smart, Katashi, not barbaric. Between us, you and I, we can win this the right way.”
He opened his eyes but there was no kindness in his gaze. “You say ‘us’ a lot for someone I ought to execute,” he said quietly.
“I am not sorry I did what I did, and I won’t lie and say that I am. But I am sorry I could not find the words to make you listen sooner, and that I refused to do the one thing that could help you most, that might have made all of this unnecessary.”
