The Gods of Vice

by Devin Madson

  “We found them like this, Your Grace,” spoke a soldier behind us. “If we’d left them at it, I think they might have killed each other without our intervention. But we stuck the arrow in that one after Lord Laroth killed the captain.”

  Kimiko paled at these words, and I curled my lip at the reproach in her eyes. The disappointment. “Didn’t you want me to be more of a monster so I would be easier to leave? Behold me.” I bowed in her direction. “With my compliments on your fine trick, my lady.”

  “Darius…”

  “I heard your apologies the first time,” I spat. “And pray you make no further attempt to make me feel like a fool.”

  I had not meant to speak so, had not meant to let the hurt rule my tongue, but it spilled out of me like blackened bile and I could not stop.

  “Your professions and your sentiments were all very pretty, however, so pray don’t waste your talents on me when you could have such a brilliant career upon the stage.”

  You and I were made for one another, Darius, Malice had said. Did you really think someone else would love you, truly love you, knowing everything as I do? Did you tell her the truth?

  “Well,” Katashi said, speaking for the first time. “If ever I have seen a man spurned. You have made quite the conquest, Kimiko.”

  Even as he spoke, it was her I glared at, the hurt words of a child boiling up, only to be held back behind gritted teeth.

  I needed you to believe in me.

  I needed you to trust me.

  I needed you to love me.

  Words I could not say.

  “Lord Laroth,” Katashi went on when no one answered. “My sister has begged your life be spared, and I am willing to grant her wish—”

  “So forbearingly kind of her,” I sneered. “Truly, I shall be forever in her debt.”

  “—willing to grant her wish,” Katashi repeated. “Should you take this final chance you are being offered and kneel before me as your emperor.”

  I got to my feet, anger all that fuelled the effort. “Gods serve no emperor. It is you who should bow before me.”

  “No, Darius, don’t do this,” Kimiko whispered. Behind me, Malice, still slumped on the floor, began his mad laugh once more. “I am sorry for what I did. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with protecting my family.” She got to her feet, her hair settling around her like a mesmerising cloak. “I am here for you, but you have to listen to me. Don’t do this.” A step closer. “Please.” Another step, and she was almost near enough for me to reach out and touch, but there she stopped and, in a quiet voice for me alone, said, “I love you, Darius.”

  I looked down at the space between us, the distance the length of my arm and a little more to be safe. Safe. “But you don’t trust me.”

  I had thought my heart could suffer no more wounds, that Shin had dealt the final blow, but those long seconds in which she kept her distance tore the last shards from my body. “You may as well have wielded the knife yourself,” I hissed, thumping my scarred chest with my bound hands. And over her head, I glared at Katashi. “I will swear no allegiance to you or anyone, Otako.”

  Katashi nodded and stood up. “Then I hereby—”

  “Darius, don’t!” Kimiko closed the gap, stepping close enough that I could smell her hair, and gripping my bound hands, she tore at the knots. “I trust you, I—”

  “Kimiko!” Katashi grabbed her arm and yanked her back, but not before my bindings were loose enough that I could shake them free. “Don’t be a fool! By the gods, he was dangerous enough with his hands tied. Guards!”

  Soldiers crowded into the tent opening, most of those who had come to Esvar for us recognisable on the threshold.

  “By order of your emperor, kill these men at once!”

  Outcry rose on shrill lips, but whether it was Hana or Kimiko who protested, I couldn’t tell, all attention on the first advancing soldier. He had been on the cart with us, and drawing his sword, he swung, forcing me to leap back, hitting the tent’s central pole. The whole canopy shook. “I’ve been waiting to stick you, freak,” he said, his face contorted. “Now stop dancing around and stand still.”

  He lunged. Instinct took over: stepping, twisting, hunting skin. A slash came close and I ducked, hands to the floor. His bare feet scuffed in reed sandals.

  Skin.

  My hand closed around his toes. The man tried to pull away, yanking his foot back with a shocked cry as I forced the connection.

  His knife hit the matting as his scream tore the air. Kicking madly, he caught me in the chest, slamming me back against the pole again. But although the connection broke, the scream went on. Gripping his head between his hands, he ran, shoving comrades out of the way as he turned in tight circles, his legs working without reference to his broken mind. Soldiers had been gathering in the tent, but they halted at the opening now, faces filled with horror.

  But there was something beautiful about the broken man, about the disconnection, the freedom of a body no longer slave to its mind.

  From outside, one man shouldered his way forward. Drawing his sword, he caught the mad soldier’s arm, and thrust the blade through his stomach and up into his heart. The screaming stopped. The man tried to breathe, tried to swallow, the mindless body determined to keep living though blood leaked from its skin. But the merciful soldier clutched the dying man close, waiting for him to still before letting the body fall.

  In the frozen moment of horror that followed, I helped Malice to his feet, his hand lingering in mine. That was where it belonged, and when he let go, I could still feel him, his palm imprinted upon my skin.

  “What are you waiting for?” Katashi shouted at the men in the doorway, and the note of fear in his voice was delicious to hear. “Kill them!”

  “Do you want to die?” I asked, looking at each man in turn. “Do you want to lose your minds to a lifetime of agony?”

  “You don’t scare us,” Katashi said. “I will give the Laroth fortune to the man who brings me both their heads.”

  The merciful soldier swung first, forcing us back, the bloody tip of his sword sweeping past my face.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m just playing with you. How big is this fortune?”

  “Big enough, but you’ll never touch it.”

  Malice growled. “We’ll take you all to the hells with us.”

  The merciful one laughed as others joined him, their eyes gleaming with the same avarice. One stepped toward Malice, spinning a dagger. He licked dry lips, the veneer of his bravado thin.

  Malice gripped my hand, and for a single heart-stopping moment, his Empathy sucked emotion through my fingers. It was nothing to the strength with which Endymion had so nearly ended my life, but he formed it into a weapon with much more ease. Aiming cleanly, he discharged it in a single burst, knocking men back. But we were too weak, too tired, and they were up again in a moment.

  Death approached on dozens of dirty reed-clad feet.

  I lashed out at the first soldier to step close, gripping his wrist just long enough to elicit a cry of anguish from his lips. The joy of it made my breath come fast, and I lunged for another, a sharp connect sending the man reeling back only to be replaced by another.

  I could no longer see Malice, no longer sense him or anyone. Even Kimiko was fading from my Sight as fatigue took its toll. I was sinking, the stink of blood and sweat and leather and oil all I could smell, like I was drowning in a soup of soldiers. The world became a blur. I reached for more skin, narrowly missing death as steel scraped my arm, my face, my fingers, every cut fuelling me with greater pain.

  Another man appeared through the press, sleeveless armour leaving an expanse of bare flesh. My fingers flew for him, thin, pale, closing around damp skin.

  I didn’t see the blade until it sliced into my wrist, sinking into flesh. Into bone. The connection I’d been making died as the knife cut clean through. And Kimiko screamed. A scream that rose in pitch, seemi
ngly without end. Katashi knelt before her, shaking her shoulders and speaking her name, but she went on screaming, her small hands ripping the hair from her head.

  Grasping my arm, I found a slick stump, hot with blood. But there was no pain. Whether by some lingering threads of my mark or some other means, she was taking it all, drawing it all from me as easily as my blood leaked onto the floor.

  Writhing, Kimiko’s nails cut into her own skin. Katashi gripped her wrists, fighting to hold her. “What are you doing to her?” he demanded, glaring up at Malice. “Stop this, you monsters!”

  Monsters. A monster would be easier to leave.

  Dead men obscured the floor. The soldiers hung back now, wary, watching their emperor rise to his feet. But as Katashi approached, Malice stepped before me—there between me and the rest of the world, where he had always promised he would stand.

  “Get out of my way.” Katashi shoved through the press of his men. Soldiers stumbled, thrust aside as he advanced toward Malice. “You too, Spider.”

  “You’ll have to move me yourself, yes?”

  “I’ll kill you soon, I promise. But he dies now.” Katashi pointed at me. “Hiding behind your brother, Laroth? Afraid of me?”

  “Step aside, Malice,” I said, holding my injured arm against my chest. Despite what Kimiko was taking, pain was beginning to leach into my awareness, making every moment a struggle to stand, to breathe.

  “Darius—”

  “Do it!”

  Dragging his injured leg, Malice stepped aside, his expression ugly beneath the crackle of dried blood. Behind him, Katashi’s soldiers gathered, their eyes alight, their weapons ready.

  I cradled my arm, my sleeve sodden to the elbow.

  Katashi stepped forward. “If she dies, I will cut your body into a thousand pieces so the gods never find you.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “What else would you like me to say?” I spread my good arm. “It’s not like it’s going to happen.”

  A twitch of his lip gave him away, and I stepped as he lunged, lifting my hand to catch his fist. His knuckles slammed into my left palm, and I let connection flow, but there was no skin, no warmth, just the dark leather of an archer’s glove.

  His other hand grabbed my arm, his look of triumph gleeful.

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?” he said, the words a sneer. “What now, Empath? Can’t touch me now.”

  Gritting my teeth, I punched my stump into his arm. Pain was all I knew. The tent spun, and Katashi tightened his grip, his eyes laughing like the flames of the furthest hell as he drew his dagger. He was too skilled a fighter to trick, and my body was too riddled with fatigue to fight. All I had was Empathy.

  I needed skin.

  Using his grip, I pulled him toward me and leaned in. Our lips met. And in the space of a breath, I forged the connection with a kiss.

  We monsters need no gods.

  We monsters are gods.

  Chapter 22

  Endymion

  The ink tightened my skin as it dried, its presence as weighty as the Traitor’s Mark on my cheek. At least for now a sack hid their messages from the world. Katashi might want to parade me before Kin, but he would not risk me finding my way back to his camp with his enemy in tow.

  The horse carrying me through the night felt like Kaze, but I could not be sure, could not touch him or hear him or see him. A voice spoke nearby. Someone laughed. Every breath filled the sack with hot, damp air, and every step made the arrow in my arm wobble, tearing the skin little by little.

  Calm.

  The horse lurched into a ditch, and the arrow bounced, cutting a barb free of my skin. I retched and tried to vomit down so as to miss the sack, but although I heard some hit the ground, it was all over me, stinking and foul.

  Calm.

  My companions laughed. “Fine thing for a prince,” one jeered. “Oh right, he’s just a bastard.”

  The arrow slowly worked its way free. I could feel it twisting and loosening with every step, cutting threads of flesh.

  Another jolt and I retched again, the sour smell of bile sticking to me.

  More voices emerged from the night. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but we slowed our pace. A whispered conversation hissed past me like a breath of wind. No numbers, no thoughts on my tongue. There were men out there, and a whole empire full of souls whose minds were a touch away, and yet here I sat, blind.

  Normal.

  Calm.

  I could have hurt Katashi.

  “Calm,” I muttered to myself. “You don’t want to kill anyone.”

  “Shut up,” someone hissed.

  “All right, so maybe you do.” I continued whispering to myself. “But how long until you’re just like Malice? Or worse.”

  “Someone shut him up. Kin will have scouts out.”

  “I don’t care,” I returned. “You’re taking me to him anyway, aren’t you? Hey, scouts!” I shouted through the darkness of my sick-stained sack. “Lovely evening, don’t you think?”

  Someone punched my right arm, the jolt causing the arrow in my left to tear free. I hissed out the pain and almost retched again.

  “His arrow fell out,” one of my escorts whispered.

  “Then put it back in.”

  “Hey! Wait. No!” I twisted in the saddle, causing the horse to back.

  “I don’t have a bow with me.”

  “So? Just jam it back in.”

  The sound of hoofbeats drew closer. “What are you fools shouting about?” a new voice said.

  “The bastard shouted. And his arrow has fallen out. Frit says I’ve got to put it back in.”

  “Did your mothers bang your heads against the wall when you were born?” the newcomer asked. “Stick the arrow through his sash and bring him along. They’re camped exactly where His Majesty said, just waiting for Laroth.”

  Someone landed on the road. Fingers tugged at my sash, and an arrow slid through it, its form unyielding.

  We were nearing Kin’s camp, but without my Sight, I had to listen for little sounds to know when we arrived. A whisper came first. Then a distant whinny. The rustle of shifting fabric. A clink. The snap of a banner in the wind.

  Kaze halted, his hooves crunching on stones. “You go the rest of the way on your own,” one of my companions said and lifted the sack from my head.

  Hundreds of eyes stared at me from the gloom, looking from my face to the arrow to the wound in my arm, and a hiss of whispers filled the night. Someone set Kaze walking, and under the eyes of so many, I was carried into Kin’s camp, ink running into my eyes.

  Rather than look at my audience, I stared at Kaze’s ears and tried to calm the rapid beating of my heart. But though he must have sensed my fear, he walked on, allowing someone to grip his reins and lead us toward the central tents. Whispers followed us all the way.

  My new escort halted outside the grandest tent, where light spilled free in welcome. Word must already have run ahead, because the two soldiers standing outside asked no questions. One stepped forward and gripped my elbow. “Throw your leg over.”

  To refuse to dismount would only look ridiculous, so I wriggled out of the saddle with his aid. My aching knees buckled as my feet found firm ground, but I was pulled forward before I could right myself. Stepping blindly, I tripped, sandal scuffing onto reeds as I fell into the presence of Emperor Kin.

  Light stabbed into my eyes and I blinked. I had only ever seen Kisia’s emperor close up once before and now here he was kneeling before me, frowning—the sort of frown that digs deep lines upon even the most handsome face. A frown cut from the cares of an empire.

  His dark eyes focused on the ink staining my forehead, and his frown deepened.

  “What did he write on me?” I said, before I could think better of asking so bold a question of an emperor.

  Emperor Kin moistened his lips and glanced up at his men. “You may leave us. No, wait. Fetch warm water and a fresh robe.”

 
; “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The men left, the tent silk sighing as it fell closed behind them.

  “It says, ‘Bastard Prince. Pretty Takehiko,’” Kin said. “Hold out your hands.”

  I proffered my bound hands. Kin had to grip my bloodstained fingers to keep them steady while he slid a knife between my wrists. Its cold caress ghosted across my skin, and the rope fell away, leaving angry red grazes.

  My injured arm throbbed, but Kin did not let go. Pulling back my sleeve, he turned my wrist until my birthmark stared up at him.

  “I saw this mark when you were born,” he said. “Lord Nyraek Laroth had it. Darius has it. Everyone knew you were not an Otako.”

  He released my hand, and I lowered it slowly, bringing it to rest upon my knee. I wasn’t sure what to say, unable to divine his intentions from his face as I once could from his heart.

  “How did you get the branding?”

  “Darius,” I said. “I was arrested for witchcraft in Shimai and he came to see me. He told them I was just a traitor and ordered them to brand and exile me.”

  A little smile flickered upon those thin lips. “Thought I would kill you, did he? How full of secrets he continues to be. Where is he?”

  “At his house, or on his way, I’m not sure. He meant to be here. He had the crown for you, but Kimiko drugged him with something and stole it back for Katashi, and… and so I am here instead.” His scowl grew more ferocious as I spoke, and I faltered, recalling before whom I knelt. This was the soldier emperor of Kisia.

  Despite his frown, all he said was “Katashi’s sister? How full the world is of fish these days.”

  A man backed in through the tent flap carrying a wide bowl draped with linen cloths. With a bow to his emperor, he set it down on the matting, placed a neatly folded robe beside it before exiting again without a word.

  Kin nodded toward the bowl. “Clean yourself up. The ink might stain, but I think the vomit and blood can be dispensed with. Is it your blood?”

  I slid the arrow from my sash with a shaky hand and held it out. Kin took it, his gaze travelling from the bloodstained tip to the wound in my arm. “Captain Rosh,” he called, turning the arrow slowly in his fingers.