by Morgan Rice
Yet now, with the sun almost fully up, he wasn’t there. Anka didn’t know what to make of it.
Oreth came in, his knives strapped into place and a leather jerkin thrown on over his normal clothes. He looked ready for war, almost impatient for it.
“Do we know yet?” he asked.
Anka shook her head.
“Well,” she heard him say, “we need to know soon. The combatlords are getting restless. So are the mercenaries Yeralt hired.”
Either one would have been a problem. Both together were something more than that. The combatlords were strong, tough men, but they didn’t take orders well. They were too used to fighting on their own terms against a single opponent, and cautious battle tactics were something that just didn’t come into it. They would fight as long as they respected the people they were fighting for, and being kept waiting was not something they liked.
The mercenaries were a little more disciplined, but they didn’t have the same commitment to the cause. Yeralt might believe they would stay there as long as they were paid, but Anka knew better. Mercenaries would only stay as long as they believed that there was a good chance of winning. They needed to believe that their commander was competent, or they would start to desert, or worse.
“We need to hurry,” Oreth said. “If we hit them while they’re changing guards, it will be twice as difficult.”
Anka knew it was true, but there had to be a way.
“Ask around. Ask if anyone else has information on the gates. We can’t wait for Sartes.”
She saw Oreth nod. “I’ll try to be discreet.”
The wait was the hardest part. Every moment, Anka could see the sun rising higher. It was getting late. Maybe too late.
When Oreth returned, it was with a man who looked more like a beggar than one of the usual members of the rebellion. Anka didn’t know his name, but that was far too common these days. He was probably one of the ones they’d brought into their rebellion in the last few days.
“This is Ralk,” Oreth said. “Ralk, tell Anka what you told me.”
“I’ve seen all kinds of things the last day or two,” the beggar said. “Including which gates they’re pulling men from to protect the others. There’s a gate on the east side that we could take.”
“You’re sure?” Anka asked.
“I’m sure,” Ralk replied. “It might be hard to get there, but once you’re there…”
Anka wished she had more information, but forced herself to look confident. It was part of what being a leader meant. “We knew that wherever we attacked, it wouldn’t be easy, so let’s do it.”
She led the way down into the tenement, where her people were waiting for her. She could feel the mixture of nerves and eagerness there in the habitual sharpening of weapons, the constant movement to no purpose.
She had to be clear now. “You all know why we’re here. We’re going to end this. We’re going to open the eastern gate.”
That got a cheer from some of those there. Others had the set faces of men and women who knew about the violence that would be coming.
“We’ll go out in two waves,” Anka said. “I’ll lead the first wave, and Oreth will lead the second. The job of those of us in the first wave will be to take the guards on the gate by surprise and get it open. The second wave will come in after that to hold the gate until Ceres’s army can arrive, rising up in the city to take it. The element of surprise is crucial here, so keep weapons out of sight until we’re ready to act. Does everyone know what they need to do?”
Anka went through the room, picking out the people she needed. She picked some of the core of the rebellion, but also plenty of combatlords and mercenaries. This was a job for fighters. She checked their disguises like a mother ensuring her children were wrapped up against the cold, then headed out into the streets with them at her back. Berin was beside her, and Anka could see the head of his forge hammer in the palm of his hand, the haft hidden away up the sleeve of a long coat.
There were enough people in the streets that they could just about pass for the normal flow of the crowd. Even so, Anka could see people hurrying back inside their homes, shutting their doors as the rebellion passed. That was probably a good thing. The fewer people there were in the street, the less chance there was of ordinary people being hurt.
They walked in the direction of the gates, down through the poor districts and the merchant districts, keeping to the back streets and keeping their weapons out of sight. Anka held her breath as they walked past a squad of guards loitering at the side of a street, yet they didn’t give the rebels a second look, and Anka didn’t order her people to attack. There was no need, and the worst thing they could do right then would be to get caught up in fighting in the streets. Even with the hundreds, the thousands who would rise behind them, they couldn’t afford to give away what they were doing.
She looked up to see more of her people following across the rooftops, making their way over flat roofs and between gaps. She hoped that no one else would dare to look up then, because if they did, it was over. It would be open fighting, and the task of opening the main gates would be many times harder.
Anka signaled for the figures above to keep lower, and Oreth signaled back before slipping out of sight behind a roof edge. She kept going, making her way along the roads that skirted the city’s east-west processional way. That, more than anything, convinced her that the gate was the right one to try for. With it open, Ceres’s forces would be able to ride down the broad expanse of the street almost all of the way to the castle. The invasion of the city would be over almost before anyone knew what was happening.
In the distance now, Anka could see the gates. They were imposing things, covered in metal, embossed with scenes of the Empire’s triumph. The stone bastions around them were solid enough that siege engines would probably barely scratch them. The walls were high and strong, with watchers set every hundred paces or so.
Yet Ralk had been right: there wasn’t a whole army there on the walls. Those soldiers there were seemed to be loitering in the space in front of the gates, waiting for any move from beyond the walls. That made sense to Anka. They couldn’t stand at full readiness all the time. Of course they would wait there until there was some sign of threat. The trick would be to get the gates open before they realized that there was anything wrong.
“We’ll go in pretending to be a group of disgruntled traders,” Anka said, keeping her eyes on the gates. “If we make enough noise about it, the soldiers will be too busy arguing with us to see the real threat.”
“Or they might decide to attack to teach us a lesson,” Berin pointed out.
“If that happens, Oreth will bring his group in to back us up,” Anka assured him. By now, she knew how the other members of the rebellion would react. “Either way, it will look like a scuffle rather than a real attack. Half of them won’t bother joining in until it’s too late.”
She turned back to the others. She could see the nerves there. Several of the newer members of the group were fingering their hidden weapons, obviously ready for action.
“Stay calm,” Anka said. “And keep those blades hidden until I make my move. When we go up there, we’re just slightly stupid traders who want to know why a little thing like an army is getting in the way of us getting to make our living, all right? We’re going to go up and demand that they open the gates for us. If we’re really lucky, they might even let us do it, just so that they can think about shutting us outside. Is everybody ready?”
Anka saw the members of her little group nodding to one another. The mercenaries crowded to the back, but that was only to be expected with their sort.
“Then let’s go,” she said, turning back to the gate. She waved to where she thought Oreth was waiting above, but there was no response.
Anka looked around for him, because this needed to be coordinated, but there was no sign of him. She kept going anyway, because it was too late for anything else, and it was only as she set off that she sa
w the one thing she’d hoped not to see: figures struggling on the rooftop. Oreth was fighting against a pair of figures, silhouetted against the morning sun. She saw the flash of a blade as it plunged into him.
It was only as she saw that the figures were wearing the colors of the rebellion that Anka understood.
She heard the snick of blades clearing scabbards. Instantly, she spun back, but it was already too late. She saw her people there in the hundreds, and the mercenaries, the new recruits, had them. Berin had a blade pressed to his throat. One of the combatlords was on his knees, blood pouring from a wound. Three mercenaries had swords leveled at Anka.
She tried to think of something to do, something to say, but there was nothing. She’d warned the others about the dangers, and now it had come to pass.
They’d been betrayed.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Thanos looked back over Delos as he rode down toward the docks, tension there with every stride of the creature as the dawn rose. At any moment, he expected to see guards appearing behind them, riding him and Stephania down.
“It will be all right,” Stephania said from beside him. “By the time they realize that you’ve escaped, we’ll be long gone.”
Thanos nodded. Stephania knew him better than he could have believed.
“It’s strange to think this might be the last time we see Delos,” Thanos said, looking back at the city. In spite of the squalor of the docks, the destitution of the city, it was still difficult to be leaving it like this.
“It doesn’t matter,” Stephania said, reaching out for his hand without slowing down. “So long as we’re together.”
It did matter, though. It didn’t feel right that because of the evil of the Empire, he and his wife were being forced to flee the place where they’d been planning to build their lives.
“Do you really think they’ll take us in on Haylon?” Stephania asked him.
Thanos nodded, trying to look confident in spite of the argument he’d had with Akila. “When they hear what’s happened, they’ll help us.”
They had to. It was the only place they had left to go. Now that the Empire had condemned him, surely that would be enough to prove to the rebels that he was on their side.
“And we’ll be stuck on an island that’s under attack,” Stephania pointed out.
Thanos wanted to reassure her. He wanted to make things so much better for her. “Haylon is beautiful,” he said. “The Empire can’t touch us there, and it doesn’t have to be forever. Sooner or later, the Empire will fall, and we’ll be able to go anywhere we want. You, me, and our child.”
“Just you, me, and our child,” Stephania said. Thanos saw her smile. “Put that way, I think we’ll be fine wherever we go. We need to hurry though. This captain will carry us for coin, but the boat won’t wait long.”
They rode to the docks as quickly as they dared. Ahead, Thanos could see a boat waiting. It wasn’t as large or grand as some of the galleys the Empire used, but it had the sleek look of a ship well used to keeping ahead of pursuers.
“A smuggling boat?” Thanos said, as they got closer.
“I’ve always tried to find friends in strange places,” Stephania replied.
Thanos dismounted and helped her down. He slapped the rumps of their horses, setting them running. The more he and Stephania could disguise their trail, the better it would be, for them and for anyone who had helped them.
They stepped toward the waiting boat, and it was only then that Thanos saw the figure slip from the shadow of a stack of crates. He carried the markings of a royal messenger, and he thrust a scroll into Thanos’s hand, and then did not wait as he turned to go.
“From Lucious, my lord,” he said. “You may want to open it.”
And without another word, he hurried off, disappearing into the darkness.
Thanos stared at Stephania, who stared back at him, each of them floored. Lucious knew they were here; and yet he had not come. He could have had them imprisoned if he’d wanted. Then why hadn’t he? Thanos wondered. And then he realized there could only be one reason: whatever was in this scroll was so damaging, he did not have to appear.
That, and perhaps because Thanos would kill him on the spot.
Thanos studied the scroll with a new interest. It was genuine, the messenger was genuine, and the wax seal was genuine. It was definitely from Lucious.
“What are you doing?” Stephania asked, examining it with disgust. “Who cares what that beast has to say? Discard it at once!”
But Thanos shook his head.
“No, my lady,” he said. “We must know what he knows before we embark. This vessel, after all, may be a trap.”
He looked back up at the smuggling ship, the hardened faces of its men, now unsure of anything.
Slowly, Thanos broke the seal, his heart pounding, bracing himself as he did. He read aloud, so Stephania could hear.
Thanos,
I would have come myself. But if I bring you back, then there’s always a chance you could talk your way back into the king’s good graces. So I believe this scroll shall suffice to serve my purpose.
I hear things now, brother. And I thought you might like to hear some of them before you leave. If you choose to leave.
Ceres is alive.
Thanos lowered the scroll, his heart slamming, disbelieving, trying to process what he was reading. His world reeled at the news, and he felt it spinning out from under him.
Ceres was alive? Thanos’s heart leapt at the prospect, but he didn’t dare to believe it. Not when it was Lucious saying it.
He continued reading:
If you don’t believe it, ask your lovely wife. She knows all about what happened to Ceres. After all, she was the one who arranged for Ceres to be sent to the Isle of Prisoners.
Thanos looked up at Stephania, expecting to see her deny it, but instead, her face was reddening.
His heart dropped at her expression.
Could it be possible?
“Stephania?” he asked, his heart broken.
“I… she would have been dead in the Stade if I hadn’t,” Stephania said. “I saved her.”
Now Thanos reddened. He could hardly believe his ears.
“No more!” Stephania cried. “Read no more!”
She reached out, as if to rend the scroll, but Thanos, intrigued, pulled it back and read fervently.
But this should come as no surprise. Stephania, after all, is the one who arranged to have you killed. Who do you think hired the Typhoon?
Thanos turned back to Stephania, expecting her to tell him that it was all lies. Instead, she just stood there, looking torn, looking guilty.
“Stephania?” Thanos said.
“I… I don’t want to start off our new life together by lying to you,” Stephania said. “I love you, Thanos. I never thought I could love anyone like I love you.”
“What are you saying?” Thanos asked, feeling his world melting around him.
Suddenly, she burst into tears, rushing in to hug him.
“You were supposed to be mine,” Stephania said. “You said it yourself. You cast me aside for her, for Ceres. So I sent a message to the Typhoon. If I couldn’t have you—”
She wept and wept.
“I know how it sounds. It was awful. I should never have done it. I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. And I didn’t love you then like I do now. I am so ashamed of it. Please believe me. So ashamed. I beg God every day for forgiveness. I am begging for your forgiveness. Now, I would give my life for yours.”
Thanos couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared at Stephania as though only just seeing her for the first time. Perhaps he was.
“It was you who tried to have me killed,” he said, incredulous. His voice sounded flat, even to himself. It felt right then as if his emotions hadn’t caught up with the rest of him. “You. The woman I love most of all. The only one in this court I trusted.”
“I love you, Thanos,” she said through her
tears. “I’ve loved you even when I didn’t know what love was.”
He didn’t know what to think right then, what to feel. Ceres was alive, and Stephania had tried to kill him. She had tried to kill Ceres, too.
And yet Stephania was pregnant with his child, she claimed to love him, she’d married him. And she had risked her life to break him out of jail.
But she’d also tried to have him killed, and she’d sent Ceres away to die. He should have felt angry, but instead, he simply felt as though the world had been turned on its head. He didn’t know what to feel.
How could he ever trust her? How could he ever know who Stephania truly was? Did she even know who she was?
“You went around with me, looking for the killer,” Thanos said. “You pointed me at Lucious. You led me to the stable boy and then you had him killed.”
He could feel the anger rising up in him at that. Stephania had been willing to sacrifice innocents in her efforts to protect herself, and to blame Lucious.
Stephania reached out for his shoulder, and Thanos shook her off.
“No,” he said. “I can’t. I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you,” Stephania insisted. Thanos could see the tears in her eyes. The hard part was that he had no way of knowing if they were genuine now. He didn’t want them to be, because even now, he couldn’t bear the thought of Stephania in pain.
Thanos shook his head. “I don’t think you know what love really means.”
“I risked everything for you,” Stephania said. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. I need to spend my life with you. I’ve killed people to keep you safe.”
She wept and hugged him and he stood there, numb, not knowing what to say or think.
“I only tell you all this because I’ve changed,” Stephania insisted. With the tears in her eyes, a part of Thanos wanted nothing more than to comfort her.
He reached out for her automatically, and he saw the hope in her eyes.
“I… I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t love you, Stephania. But I still don’t think you understand.”
