To her credit, Adonia laughed at his crass wording. “Have you asked Persephone?”
He hated that this was a continuously deflected question. “I am asking you.” His tone was cold.
“You should ask Persephone sometime, though I warn you, she will not tell you readily. She has refused to speak of the matter for years.” His curiosity instantly ignited. “But I shall spare you some distress by telling you my rationale for allowing it.” She watched him, waiting for his agreement to the unstated contract. Part of the truth was better than a lie and it was more than he had presently, so he nodded. Besides, he could always make her tell him if he found himself dissatisfied. “In her short life Persephone has experienced grave injustice.” She paused, ensuring she had his full attention.
It took concentrated effort not to move to the edge of his seat and lean greedily across the desk for the information.
“Remember, General,” she finally continued, “where I come from, things are different. Women do not have rights equal to men, but they are treated as individuals, not as property.” Her expression tightened. “When Persephone insisted on being allowed to learn traditionally male pursuits, I saw no reason to deny her. Naturally, the king was opposed and he did take some convincing.”
“But why would she want to learn in the first place? You’ve not really answered the question.”
“I told you I would express my rationale for allowing it, not share her reason for wanting it. As in so many things, there was no single reason. Again, I encourage you to ask her about that; it is her story to tell and only she can do it justice. However, as you will not be satisfied to wait, some of it – the lesser part – likely has to do with simple sibling rivalry. Her brother started combat and politic lessons and she thought it unfair that she was not allowed to join. She is also the oldest, and because of her sex has been denied the opportunity to rule. I think to this day somewhere in her little girl’s heart she believes that if only she proves herself worthy, her father will make an exception and name her heir. She would never admit such a thing aloud, and if you tell her I said so, I will vehemently deny it.”
“Is that why she is yet unmarried? She refuses to leave Galilae in the futile hope that she will be allowed to succeed her father?”
“I am sure that is part of it.”
“And the other part?”
“No offers have come from someone she is willing to be married to.”
“I did not think women were given the choice about such things in Galilae.”
“Are you treating my daughter well, General?” As she looked at him, he realized that he was no longer the one interrogating her.
She was obviously changing the subject, but a part of him wanted to see where she was going. “Do you think I am not?”
“She is not sleeping.”
“I have no control over your daughter’s nocturnal habits, Highness.”
She eyed him shrewdly. “That is not really true, now is it, General?”
He forced himself to sit still. He felt no shame about the things he did to Persephone’s body – not entirely true, he’d felt ashamed last night, but only because he’d hurt her, not because he’d fucked her. Still, he found himself uncomfortable under her mother’s accusatory stare. “And what would you do if you were to discover I were mistreating your daughter?” Despite his discomfort, he was genuinely interested about how she would reply.
She did not disappoint; she answered with the same blunt honesty she’d used when confronting other uncomfortable topics. “You and I both know I am in no position to do anything. But I love my daughter, and as a concerned mother, I had to ask. You understand.”
He nodded. “It is a pity, you know.” She waited patiently for him to continue. “The women of this family inspire great loyalty. If only Persephone had been born a man. She would have made a great king.”
“Funny that you should say so.” She wasn’t laughing, nor did she wear her wryly amused smile. “I suspect that had she been born a man, you would have no need of us and we would be long dead.” Understanding simmered in her eyes as she stared pointedly at him.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, caught off guard by the acknowledgment.
“What do you think, General?” It was the first time she had completely avoided answering a question.
“Explain, Highness. Now,” he growled. He was not going to play games on this matter. If she knew their plan already, this could be very problematic.
“Do you not intend to marry her?”
Augustine forced himself to breathe evenly. “How, Highness, did you draw that conclusion?”
“You forget, General, that my marriage was not by my choice either. I suppose you could say, I recognized the signs.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell anyone?”
“I think that would be very unwise.”
He agreed, but he also couldn’t see her endgame. “Why is that, Highness?”
“What do you think would happen if my husband or son knew?”
“I think they would personally burn Galilae to the ground.”
“I think you have their measure, then,” she agreed.
“You seek to preserve Galilae?”
“I seek to ensure that an entire kingdom is not slaughtered, nor enslaved. I try to see the big picture, General.”
“And what of your daughter?” he asked.
The queen took a deep breath. “Persephone is, even to me, frequently a mystery. I am not sure what she would do if she knew. She goes to great lengths to protect others.”
“But?” Augustine supplied when Adonia didn’t seem to know what she wanted to say.
“She tends to place far less value on her own well-being,” the queen admitted reluctantly.
Augustine had noted the exact same thing; at least he wasn’t the only one aware of Persephone’s bent toward self-destruction. He didn’t understand it, but he recognized it for what it was. Perhaps he had an ally in her mother.
“Tell me, Highness, what would a mother do to protect her daughter?”
She leaned toward him, her expression fierce. “Anything.”
Chapter 7:
Whispers of the Dark
When it comes to matters of time, the present is all that exists. The past and the future are both just illusions.
– Adonia of House Galanis, Queen of Galilae
As it did every season, the first Council meeting was slow to start. It had been two months since all the members had seen each other in one place, so all of the morning and the early afternoon were spent on greetings and idle chatter before everyone settled enough to focus on political matters. In the past, Antaios had always enjoyed the friendly banter, but not today. He couldn’t even find it in himself to fake levity; the best he could do was to suppress the urge to shout at the top of his lungs, “We’ve been invaded! Perdomans in the palace!” The only thing that stayed his tongue was the ever-watchful eye of Hadrianus, the Perdoman infiltrator. Antaios vacillated back and forth over whether or not to announce the invasion anyway. It would mean that he would forfeit his life, and he knew that he was not ready to die; on the other hand, he’d been born to rule. What was a king without a kingdom? Would there even be a kingdom left if he did as he considered?
There were soldiers stationed at every entrance into the Grand Council Chamber. The doors could easily be barricaded and those inside struck down. Few of the Council members had ever been soldiers and those that had were far removed from their glory days. The only hope for success would be to get a message off in secret, but Hadrianus and the Perdoman guards hovered far too closely for such a thing to be carried out successfully.
Antaios’s other hope for intercession was that one of the Council members might take note of the many new faces in the palace guard. Much to Antaios’s dismay, it turned out Prodotin hadn’t been the only traitor. About a third of the faces in the room belonged to men that
had been Galilaean soldiers. Whether they had been bought or coerced into the Perdomans’ service was irrelevant; they were traitors to their kingdom. Each and every one of them. Antaios’s hopes for salvation were dashed when not one Council member took note of the numerous new faces. Even Prodotin’s absence was not noted, which shocked Antaios since Prodotin had been their Arms Commander for over ten years. Evidently they’d all – he and his father included – been sitting high on their laurels for too long, felt too self-assured that Galilae was secure and untouchable. How wrong they’d all been.
When finally everyone settled enough for them to get started, Antaios’s father stepped to the pulpit, causing the din in the room to fizzle and die.
“Another moon, another season,” the king started. “Welcome back. We will attend to matters within the districts posthaste, but I must first update you regarding the goings-on here in the palace as they are relevant to all of Galilae. I have some very unfortunate news. A flu swept through the palace” – his father’s words were met with worried and discontented murmuring – “and some of our losses were quite serious. Our youngest, Princess Kolimpri, has taken ill.” The concerned mutterings in the room rose and his father held up a placating hand. “She yet lives, but as it should be, her health is the priority of my wife and daughter. They’ve not left her side, and do not intend to do so until she is well and recovered.”
Disease had been the most innocuous way of explaining away the absences of the Galanis women as well as the numerous soldiers in the palace, should anyone look closely enough to notice. It did not raise alarms about invaders, encouraged others to stay at a distance, and was consistent with goings-on in other parts of the district – flu had been rampant in one of the districts bordering the sea last season. It was believable that it had made its way inland.
“Gods be with your family,” Titus, one of the newer Council members, said to the king.
“Gratitude, Titus. We will certainly need their blessing in the days to come.” His father paused a moment before continuing, as if choosing his words with care. “We are all praying that Kolimpri will not be another casualty of this disease, but we have experienced losses. One, in particular, concerns this group. My Arms Commander, Prodotin, took ill and the gods did not see fit to spare him. It is with a grave and humble heart that I present to you his replacement, and new Arms Commander, Decimus of House Hadrianus.”
Antaios clenched his teeth, but managed to keep the scowl off of his face when Hadrianus stepped to his father’s side. Distrust was evident on some of the Council members’ faces. At least that meant they weren’t completely daft. No one recognized this man or his name, which raised suspicion regarding his presence and recent elevation in status. The Perdomans had expected that, though, and had prepared a sufficient distraction.
“It pains me to deliver so much unfortunate news on our first day in session, but there is another matter of grave concern to us,” his father said. “Our spies in Fortunata have informed us that messengers of the Finctus have been seen entering the kingdom.”
The fear and worry that immediately rose up in response to the king’s words completely overpowered any misgivings that might have existed at Prodotin’s absence and Hadrianus’s presence. A perfect red herring.
Chaos erupted through the room.
“We should have destroyed Barbarus when we had the chance!”
“We cannot withstand both Fortunata and the Finctus!”
“Galilae has not been invaded in a thousand years, we are safe. It is Xenakai that will be targeted first.”
“Fuck Xenakai! Gods save them, but they are on their own.”
“What if they send the Reaper?”
They already have, Antaios thought ruefully.
“The Reaper has not been seen since Veius fell. Likely, he is dead.”
“No! I heard he was seen in the Free Kingdoms only a moon ago.”
“Just a rumor.”
“SILENCE!” Hadrianus’s bellowed command echoed through the room.
The response was immediate. Not a single person continued speaking, though more than one mouth hung open, their last sentence cut off unfinished.
“Highness.” With a nod of his head, the man deferred to the king.
“Your concerns are founded, and each will be heard and addressed, as we decide on a course of action. Let us not forget we will get nowhere without order. Decimus” – his father turned toward Hadrianus – “you received the news, and as the head of my guard, what say you?”
Antaios knew his father had been instructed to say the words, knew that they had agreed to go along with things until they saw an opening, knew that they were in no position to stage a resistance, but none of that mattered. He wanted to identify Hadrianus as an imposter, demand to know how the men leading Galilae could be so blind, accuse his father of cowardice. He wanted to do something. Anything. Evidently, it was a cowardice they shared, because Antaios did none of those things. He sat mutely and listened to the propaganda Hadrianus poured down each of their throats.
“It is true that messengers of the Finctus were seen entering Fortunata. Now, we do not know the details of what they propose, but we can infer the outcome would be a joining with the Finctus. Barbarus of House Fortunatus may be greedy and power hungry, but he is not a fool. Fortunata is nearest to the Finctus and has no allies in the East, so we have to assume they will at least entertain the proposal. It goes without saying that if Fortunata joins with the Finctus, it would be catastrophic for Galilae and her allies. Though things have remained peaceful of late, Fortunata and Galilae have a contentious history with one another, and any peace between us at present is temporary. Our position in the sea and the strength of our navy fortify us to a degree, but our allies, Xenakai in particular, are far more vulnerable.”
“Fuck Xenakai!” Antaios couldn’t identify the speaker, and though he couldn’t say for sure, he thought it was likely the same individual who had shouted the statement previously.
“Our queen’s homeland? By the marriage of our noble king and queen, we have a covenant with Xenakai. It would be ignoble of us to disregard our sister kingdom without giving her a second thought.” Several in the room shifted under Hadrianus’s accusing stare.
Considering he had been a part of a force that snuck in under cover of night and attacked a sleeping palace, Antaios felt the man was a hypocrite for speaking to them of nobility. And, yet, from a strictly political standpoint, everything the man had said was true. The whole plan was ingenious. Distract Galilae with an external threat, so the threat already in their midst would be overlooked, then propagate fear. But to what end? How was this grand scheme to culminate? That was the part Antaios couldn’t see.
* * * *
After her bath, Persephone had been returned to Pontius’s old room – the one she shared with her family. The last thing she’d wanted after her gut-wrenching tour of the palace and the conversations that had followed was to talk about what had happened. Or talk about anything, for that matter. Fortunately, her mother recognized her need for privacy and continued to occupy Koli’s attention so that Persephone could be by herself. She needed to pull herself together, but didn’t know how when she was being pulled apart from every direction.
Her reprieve had been short, though, as her mother had been called away for a while. With her father and brother still at the Council meeting, tending to and entertaining Koli had fallen to Persephone until her mother returned. Evidently, she – like Seraphime – had found herself subject to one of the general’s inquisitions. Persephone didn’t know how much time she’d been gone for, but it had felt excessively long, although that might have been in part due to Persephone’s foul mood. Had he probed Seraphime for so long during each dialogue as well? His prying and meddling rankled Persephone, but the thing she found most concerning was the new tactic he’d taken to using with Seraphime. Upon returning, her mother had informed her of how he’d admitted to forcing wine on Seraphime, though he had allowed th
e queen the luxury of a choice. That Seraphime might say something she did not intend was the least of Persephone’s worries, far outweighed by the fear that someone would take advantage of her while she was unable to defend herself. One way or another, Persephone would address her concerns about Seraphime with him. It was just a matter of how best to approach it.
There was also the matter of providing an explanation he would find satisfactory for how and why she had acquired her unique education and skill set. Persephone’s mother had informed her of how she’d baited the general, tempting him with notions of an injustice Persephone had experienced and encouraging him to seek the story from none but her. While Persephone understood all her reasons and appreciated that she had done so to attempt to help Persephone draw untoward attention off of Seraphime, it still felt like a betrayal. It did not matter that what her mother had told him was true, Persephone hated to think of hearing the words spoken aloud.
When her father and brother returned to their chamber that evening, the king looked as though he had aged several years. Persephone found no sympathy for him. She rarely did.
“We shall continue tomorrow,” Persephone whispered in Koli’s ear – they had been practicing her letters. “You did very well today.”
Koli smiled over her shoulder, her expression radiating self-pride. With a nod she got up to go entertain herself while Persephone joined the adults of her family. Persephone stood on the outskirts of their small group, listening silently.
“What news of Galilae?” Her mother’s voice was hushed, though probably it was not necessary; the door was closed and any guards stationed outside were unlikely to hear much of anything unless they took to shouting.
Her father shrugged. “No one is the wiser about what is happening in the palace. My new Arms Commander,” he said scathingly, “was presented and met with hardly the bat of an eye.”
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