Dangerous Crowns

by A K Fedeau

Marcus answered, “It does.”

  “I guess that only leaves one more thing.”

  Marcus looked up. “What’s that?”

  Livia placed a white pawn on the other side of the board. “Artemisia.”

  Marcus asked, “What about her?”

  “Should we tell her?”

  “About this?”

  “She has to know sometime.” Livia rested her cheek against her knuckles. “But I don’t know. Every time I think about how to do it, it feels wrong.”

  “How?”

  “Mother Clementia seems to think she’s an idealist. I don’t want to break her before she’s even on the throne.”

  Marcus took the bag and placed the white king and queen in front of the pawn. “Then don’t.”

  “She’s going to figure it out eventually.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Marcus said. “In the meantime, spare her the business of old soldiers and spies like us.”

  The lanterns flickered around them, and a draft blew in around their feet. Livia opened the drawer again and searched in the back, pulled out a silver-trimmed knife, and slid it out of its sheath.

  “What are you doing?” Marcus asked.

  “Making sure you don’t back out.”

  Marcus balked. “What is this, the Syndicate?”

  “You can only seal things like this with blood.” Livia stretched her palm over the chessboard and gripped the knife tight in her other hand. “Are you with me, or not?”

  “I…” Marcus gulped - “I am. I’m yours.”

  “Do you promise to see it through with me?”

  Marcus held his hand out next to hers. “I do.”

  “Then say it with me.” Livia made a fist, but bared the tip of her thumb. “For justice…”

  “For justice,” Marcus repeated.

  “Secrecy, loyalty…”

  “Secrecy, loyalty, and trust…”

  Livia slashed her thumb. “Ngh - for Histria.”

  Marcus took the knife and slashed his, too. “For Histria!”

  •••

  An hour later, they lay in bed with their arms tucked under their pillows - and again, every time Livia nodded off, Marcus’ squirming woke her up.

  “Nrgh.” Livia lifted her head up. “Marcus?”

  Marcus rolled over to face her. “What?”

  “What’s the matter? Can’t you sleep?”

  “No. I keep feeling like I’m being watched.” Marcus rolled over to face her, his eyes glistening in the dark. “Do you get that?”

  Livia frowned. “Not since I left the Syndicate.”

  “Oh.” Marcus eyed the canopy above them, then the crack in the drape. “Don’t worry, then.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  With that, they lay in silence for a long, awkward minute.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into?” Marcus asked.

  Livia answered, “Nothing yet.”

  “Says the one who didn’t burn their letter.”

  “Oh, please.” Livia pinched the bridge of her nose. “If anyone asks, you say you never received it, and apologize. If we’re going to pull this off, you need to learn how to lie.”

  “Hmph,” Marcus grunted.

  The awkward silence returned, and a shadow passed over Livia’s face.

  “Marcus…” she paused to choose her words - “are you feeling all right?”

  “Losing my mind, apparently,” Marcus muttered.

  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No. You were right.”

  “I’m not trying to be unkind.” Livia pulled the covers up to her shoulders and fluffed her pillow under her neck. “It’s just, you can’t sleep. You flinch every time I startle you. You’re sad. You’re nervous.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just tell me why.”

  Marcus furrowed his brow and mulled it over, but didn’t respond.

  “And don’t brush it off this time, either,” Livia added. “I know it’s more than a bad mood.”

  Marcus hesitated for a moment longer - and then he sighed.

  “I keep calling it a bad mood because I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m overtired. Maybe I’m losing my lust for life.” Marcus picked up Livia’s hand and admired her fingernails. “Maybe it’s eight years of foreign war starting to add up. I swore I wouldn’t bring it back to you, but I can’t help it. It keeps following me home.”

  Livia didn’t answer. She just let his words sink in.

  “I remember when my father came back from the Cherry Orchard Revolt. Sometimes, when the house was quiet, he just…” Marcus waved his free hand in front of his face to pantomime blanking out. “All my mother had to do was tap him on the shoulder, and he’d come around. Maybe it runs in the family.” He kneaded Livia’s palm. “Like the uniform.”

  “I’m being too hard on you.” Livia curled up against Marcus’ side. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I am.” Livia nestled against his arm. “I don’t think any of these things about you when you’re gone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t find fault with you. I just want you to come back alive.”

  “Oh, Livia.” Marcus shook his head. “Of all things, don’t make yourself sick over that. I’m a general. I’m not in that much danger.”

  “I’m not willing to take that chance.” Livia scowled, then her face softened, and she craned her neck and kissed his cheek. “Now, do you promise you’re going to try to get some sleep?”

  Marcus looked rueful. “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marcus pecked her ear in return. “Good night.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Thwack!

  In the manicured palace grounds, Livia nocked an arrow in her bow, alone in the cloudy morning chill on the old archery range.

  The soft dirt crunched under Livia’s feet as she aimed - and squinted - and shot. Thwack! Another bullseye. Good. Livia let out a relieved breath. A crow landed on one of the wooden fence posts and squawked before it flapped away, and Livia frowned to herself. Be like that crow. Keep your eyes sharp, and always hit what you’re aiming for.

  But before she could shoot for a third time, she heard Marcus’ voice at the end of the range.

  “Practicing for something?”

  Livia lowered her bow. “Never know when you’ll need it again.”

  “Not any time soon, I hope.”

  “In a few days, actually.” Livia beamed with vigor. “Hector’s having a hunt.”

  “Of what?”

  “Pheasant. What else?”

  “I don’t know. I thought he might turn a few of his critics loose.”

  “You’re sick.” Livia chuckled and let the bow string go slack. “I hear it’s to impress some nobles who are coming up from the countryside. Camilla probably needs to slather another layer of grease on their palms.”

  Marcus walked across the grass, then climbed over the low-hanging rope and fence posts. “I hope you’re not planning a ‘mysterious hunting accident’ for him.”

  “Tsk. Don’t worry.”

  Marcus joked, “Should I, though?”

  “I’ll behave myself.” Livia gave him a fake-offended look and stowed her bow under her arm. “I forget, did you do any archery training?”

  “Oh, it’s been decades.” Marcus strolled over to the table where Livia left her quiver and the rest of her gear. “I got commendations in wrestling and sparring, and I started Kadithan swordsmanship, but…”

  “No bows and arrows?”

  “Eh.” Marcus shrugged and scratched his chin. “You’re good enough for both of us.”

  “It’s easy once you get the hang of it. Come over here. I’ll show you how.” Livia drew a line in the dirt in front of her with the toe of her boot. “Do you know your dominant eye?”

  “My left.”

  “Good.” L
ivia scooted her feet away from each other on the ground. “Now, I won’t make you do it, but I want you to feel how I do. Stand behind me, so you’re touching my back, and I’ll explain as I go.”

  Marcus still looked skeptical, but he shuffled over to her side, and he stood back-to-stomach with her with his legs the same distance apart.

  “There you are.” Livia rolled her shoulders against him to stretch them out. “Make sure you’re standing upright, and bring your pelvis a little forward.”

  “Livia…”

  “What? I’m serious. That’s the proper stance.”

  Marcus slid his hips flush against her, then awkwardly cleared his throat.

  “Once I’m holding the bow, I’ll nock the arrow, but keep it pointed toward the ground. I wouldn’t want to hit anyone if they were standing on the other side.” Livia hooked the groove on the back of the arrow into the bowstring. “See?”

  Marcus moved with her. “That’s the easy part, though. It’s the execution that’s hard.”

  “Oh, come on. At least give it a chance.” Livia smirked and took hold of the bowstring again. “Now, follow my fingers. I’m going to fold them over, one - two - three…” she curled her index finger on top of the arrow, and the next two fingers below - “like this.”

  Marcus reached around and folded his hand over hers. “Like that?”

  “Perfect.” Livia secured her grip. “Now raise the bow…” she raised it - “and pull the string back to your face.”

  Livia flexed her back muscles against Marcus to show off, and she settled into the pale blue fabric on his chest. She shifted her hips backward so her petticoats pressed into his groin, and Marcus kept his composure, but his breath brushed across her ear.

  “Still that easy, huh?”

  Marcus batted his eyelids. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”

  Livia smiled like a satisfied cat, then let her hips drop.

  Marcus murmured, “All right, why’d you want me close?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  Livia kept drawing the string back. “I’ve finally got the pontifex.”

  Marcus lowered his voice. “What?”

  Livia let the arrow go with a snap! “You heard me.”

  With a softer thwack, the arrow landed right next to the bullseye.

  “Really?”

  “You were right. He’s not as clean as he looks.” Livia lowered the bow again. “I hear he’s been milking the Church’s biggest donors for the last few years. What he doesn’t spend on himself, he’s sent to Ciacco for the war.”

  “The war? Why?”

  “Good question.”

  “That’s blasphemy.”

  “Is it? I thought so.” Livia reached over and pulled another arrow out. “Actually, I have it on good authority that that’s where Church taxes are going, too. You know, in case you were wondering.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive.” Livia twisted the arrow to line the fletching up. “Apparently Ciacco was so grateful, he even wrote Florian a thank-you note. Which he signed. And Florian kept.”

  “Are you going where I think you’re going?”

  Livia raised the bow. “I am.”

  She shot again - and thwack! The arrow shred some of the fletching off her last bullseye.

  “What can you do with a letter, though?” Marcus asked.

  “Plenty.” Livia sized up her shot. “The question is what we can do for for the people. They’re the ones we want out for his blood.”

  Marcus hiked his eyebrow and marveled at Livia’s shot. “Right.”

  “Oh, well.” Livia set her bow down and paced toward the end of the range. “I should get my hands on it before I decide what to do with it.”

  “Sounds like easy going for you.”

  Livia stopped in front of her target. “What does?”

  “Pay him a visit. Distract him. Steal the letter. Get out.” Marcus strode over to the target with her, admiring her collection of bullseyes. “You used to do things like that all the time.”

  “Oh, I won’t be the one doing it.”

  Marcus blinked. “What?”

  Livia grabbed an arrow by its shaft and gave him a wide-eyed look.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Marcus scowled. “You know how I am.”

  “And I’ve never prayed to the Celestial Pair in my life.” Livia pulled out the first arrow with a good, hard tug. “You’re General Incipio. You’re a powerful man like him. If you show up with a spiritual crisis, he’ll clear his whole afternoon for you.”

  “What if the letter’s not there?” Marcus asked. “Or what if I can’t get to it?”

  Livia yanked another arrow out. “If you really can’t, just get out, and we’ll take it from there.”

  Marcus paused and propped his elbow on the target frame.

  “How do you steal something, anyway?”

  Livia smirked. “Go back to my bow. I’ll be right there.”

  •••

  Candles! Divination cards! Incense! Fine perfumes from Kaditha!

  That afternoon Marcus strode through the crowded marketplace, down the long, paved street that led to the Grand Temple and the Proscenium.

  Jewelry! Furs! The sellers yelled around him. Used books, two for the price of one! Horses clattered past him in freshly-shod shoes and kicked up clouds of dust, and from every corner the city bombarded him with sights and smells. Oranges. Charcoal smoke. Meat skewers. Rosewater, leather, parchment, and straw. And over them loomed the shadow of a great, benevolent statue of Hector himself - standing past the market square in gleaming, solid gold.

  Homegrown Jormund apples! Someone shouted. Tastes great, no need to betray Histria!

  Marcus squeezed between a fortune teller and a table of tattered books, and brushed his white cloak hem out of the way of a bloodied butcher’s rack. He skirted around an ox cart that heaved to the brim with tomatoes, and checked the wristband of his turtleneck to make sure he still smelled like soap.

  Join the Histrian Army today! A uniformed recruiter cried. Your brothers and sisters need you at the front! Are you going to let them down?

  Marcus turned on his heel and slipped away to avoid the recruiting stall, and stumbled into a web of hagglers and giant bolts of cloth. He emerged from the maze of tents, and shielded his eyes against the sun - and he hurried forward as soon as saw the temple’s towering dome.

  Coming to the Proscenium, a crier called from down the road. Exclusive engagement! The lyric play, Catarina!

  As Marcus drew closer to the temple, the crowds drowned the crier out, and the temple roof above him glittered against the cloudless sky. One by one, he climbed the long, white steps and shook the dirt off of his boots, and waited for a group of worshippers to pass before he went inside.

  •••

  As soon as Marcus crossed the brass-plated threshold, the smells and the noises dissipated and fell to a distant hush.

  Under the broad, arched ceiling, golden light streamed through the windows, and it fell in dusty patches on the dark blue marble floors. An initiate brother passed back and forth as he swept up and down the aisles, and a group of sisters stood with open books and sang a meditative hymn. And behind them stood two enormous statues, gazing at the world below - a man and woman with starry scepters and three-fourths-round auras on their heads.

  Marcus cut a straight path through the long, shaded entryway, and he came upon a mural between the colonnades set into the wall. He stepped a pace or two back from it so he could see the whole thing at once, and read the verse painted down the middle, flanked with flowers and trumpets and gilded leaves:

  And thus Titus and Mira decreed

  There should be balance in all things:

  In rest and work,

  In man and woman,

  In health and sickness,

  In day and night,

  In land and sea,

  In need and plenty,

  In go
od and evil,

  In death and life.

  The sisters’ voices echoed up to the eaves as they sang their next verse, and Marcus lingered on the painted blue flowers. Blue like Livia’s eyes. She cut a striking image with her earthy voice and defiant crop of hair, and those pale eyes that looked like they should glow in the dark. Sometimes courtiers whispered as they passed the two of them in the palace halls, and when he wrote to her from the front, he told her he missed them. She told him not to. They’d still be there when he came back.

  But even as a dark-haired colonel, he’d known it would be more than that. She took over court conversations when he didn’t know what to say next. She told jokes he couldn’t get away with, and stories about places he’d never been. And every time he awoke in the night, she held him in her lap and stroked his head, and sat with him in silence until he fell asleep again.

  He’d told himself one day she would lose her patience for it. But she never had.

  And then, suddenly, there came a timid voice behind him.

  “Sir?”

  Marcus turned away from the mural, and found the initiate brother behind him, clutching his broom.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. But are you General Incipio?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Marcus gave him a sheepish smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m just surprised to see you here, that’s all.”

  “I know. What would Titus and Mira think?”

  “Sir, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I did.” Marcus noticed the initiate’s white knuckles around his broom, and softened his shoulders to make himself less intimidating. “Do you know if the pontifex is in?”

  “He is. Do you need to see him?”

  “I do.” Marcus checked over his shoulder, then turned up his eyebrows. “Do you think he will on such short notice?”

  “For a man like you? I’m sure.” The brother led Marcus into a narrow hall, the broom straws trailing beside him with a swish-swish on the floor. “He’s in an appointment right now, but you’re welcome to wait if you want.”

  “Of course. That’s no trouble. I’m not in a hurry.”

  “Good.” The brother gestured to a spiral staircase. “His office is upstairs. You can sit in the antechamber.”

  “I will.”

  Marcus held onto the iron railing and took his first step up - but before he could go further, the brother spoke up again.