Rebel, Pawn, King

by Morgan Rice

  “Should I get ready to fight?” Felene asked. Thanos could see her looking around the buildings that ringed the docks, obviously searching for potential attackers.

  Thanos waved her back. There wasn’t anyone else there. No, this was something else.

  “I’ll tie up the boat,” Thanos said, taking the line as they approached. “Be ready if anything happens.”

  He felt the moment when the boat bumped against the wood of the dock, leaping out lightly and tying the boat into place. There was a risk in that moment, because if the cloaked figure turned out to be an assassin, Thanos was offering her his back. He had to trust that Felene would intervene if that did happen.

  Yet it didn’t. The cloaked figure was still standing there when Thanos turned back to her. She took a step forward, pulling back the hood of her cloak. She was a young woman Thanos didn’t know, with softly tan skin, dark hair cut short, and dark eyes. Thanos could see a bruise blooming into a rainbow of colors on one of her cheeks, while her expensive-looking dress was torn as if she’d ripped free from someone’s grip.

  “Prince Thanos,” she said, and Thanos could hear her breath catch with what sounded like relief. “Thank the gods. I wasn’t sure if it would really be you coming, or if this would just be one of Prince Lucious’s traps.”

  “Lucious?” Thanos said with a frown. “What’s going on? What are you doing here? Who are you?”

  “And are we about to have a hundred guards coming down on us?” Felene asked from behind him in a much harder tone. Thanos saw the girl flinch at it.

  “My name… my name is Elethe. I’m one of Lady Stephania’s handmaidens.”

  Thanos saw Felene hop up from the boat, quickly jumping behind the girl and wrapping an arm around her throat. Her hand delved into the cloak, coming out with a dagger.

  “Sent to kill Thanos and anyone with him? Give me one reason I shouldn’t put this blade through your ribs.”

  “I’m not here for that!” Elethe insisted, squirming in Felene’s grip.

  Thanos raised a hand. “That’s enough, Felene. Assassins don’t usually come looking as though they’ve just escaped from something.”

  “You didn’t spend enough time on the Isle of Prisoners if you believe that,” Felene countered, but she let Elethe go.

  “You still didn’t say what you were doing here,” Thanos said. Felene might think that he was being too trusting, but he wasn’t blind when it came to Stephania, or the plots that dominated Delos.

  “I… I managed to get away,” the girl said. “When they came for Lady Stephania, they tried to take me too. I’ve been hiding since then, listening to whatever rumors I could, trying to find a way to help. Some of Lady Stephania’s old informants… they told me you were coming. They heard it from people… on Haylon.”

  Thanos saw tears spring to her eyes then. She certainly sounded as though she were scared for her life, although given the threat Felene had made, it was hard to tell for sure.

  “All right,” Thanos said. “Calm down. Relax. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

  They took her to the boat, sitting her down in it so that they could talk without being caught out on the street if it turned out that guards had followed her. Thanos could see her looking around anxiously, as if expecting things to go wrong at any minute.

  “You need to tell us everything,” Thanos insisted. “What happened with Stephania? Why were guards coming for her? The last I saw of her, Lucious said he wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “And you believed him?” Felene asked.

  She was right, of course. Thanos cursed himself for a fool, for trusting Lucious even that much. For telling himself that he didn’t care what happened to Stephania, when the very fact that he was here told him that he did. Part of that was honor, but it had to be more than that, didn’t it?

  “Prince Lucious came to Lady Stephania with a vial that would destroy the child inside her,” Elethe went on. “He told her that she would continue to be safe only if she took it, and if she put you aside.”

  “Stephania wouldn’t do that,” Thanos said, but even as he said it, he realized that he had no idea what Stephania would and wouldn’t do. He hadn’t thought that she would send an assassin after him, after all.

  “She was angry after you left,” Elethe said, and that had the ring of truth to it. “She was grieving for you the way I’ve never seen her before. I think… I think you were the only thing she really cared about, and you were gone.”

  A wave of guilt hit Thanos at that, because he knew it was true. Whatever else she was, Stephania had loved him, and he had abandoned her. He had sailed away, leaving her with Lucious. He had done this, as much as her.

  “Are you saying…” he began, but he couldn’t even bring himself to ask it.

  Elethe seemed to understand what he wanted to know, though, because Thanos saw her nod. That brought a fresh burst of pain, even before she said the next words.

  “Lady Stephania… she took the potion. She formally set you aside. She didn’t have a choice.”

  Thanos reeled in a way that made it feel as though the boat he was on were suddenly enveloped in a storm. He felt Felene’s hand on his arm, and shook her off. This wasn’t the kind of thing anyone could help him with. It felt right then as though the whole world had disappeared from beneath him.

  In a way, it had. Just a short while ago, he had been a married man, with everything ahead of him and a child on the way. Now both of those things had been torn away from him so abruptly that it seemed impossible. It was too much. It was too soon.

  That was one of the biggest parts of it. Thanos had hardly had time to become used to the idea of being married before it had all been gone. The idea of being a father had been like a dream coming to him and then snatched away almost as quickly. He’d never even had time to think about what it might be like.

  He thought now, and even dreaming about it hurt with the promise of what could have been. He could have had a son, and raised him to be the kind of noble the world needed, showing him how to use a sword but also teaching him what was right, and kind, and good. Thanos could imagine himself with the boy, teaching him to ride, and fight, but also to think, and stand up for those weaker than himself. He could have had a daughter, and… well, why not teach her all the things he would have taught a son? Ceres had shown him that a woman could use a blade every bit as well as a man.

  He could imagine what their daughter would have been like. As beautiful and as intelligent as Stephania, but hopefully with Thanos’s commitment to others, and his need to make the Empire a better place for those who lived in it. Picturing it made his heart ache, because he knew it could never happen now, because of what Lucious had pushed Stephania into doing.

  Because of what he had pushed her into doing. If he hadn’t left her behind, none of this would have happened. Stephania had told him that things could be different, that she could be different, and in his anger Thanos had robbed them both of the chance of a future.

  When he looked up at the two women in the boat with him, it was as though he was coming back to himself from a long way away. He could barely remember what he was doing there, let alone what he needed to ask next.

  Thankfully, Felene asked it for him. “If Stephania did what Lucious wanted, then why would guards come after her? What kind of lie are you spinning?”

  “No lie,” Elethe insisted. “Lady Stephania did what Lucious required, but there were other things she wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t go to his bed. She wouldn’t be his mistress or get involved in the… things he was doing. In revenge, Lucious told the king about her role in helping you to escape.”

  “And King Claudius had her taken?” Thanos asked.

  He saw Elethe nod. “Her and any of her handmaidens who were there. Lucious claimed those. I managed to get away, but… I heard the king is imprisoning Stephania in one of the most secure towers of the castle until he decides what to do about her. He’s angry, Prince Thanos. He’s very angr
y.”

  Thanos felt something he hadn’t believed he would feel then: pity for Stephania, and fear on her behalf. There was a part of him that said Stephania deserved whatever fate she got after all the people she’d killed, all the times she’d manipulated people. Yet there was more of him that knew he had to find a way to make this right. He had to find a way to save her, before the worst happened.

  And it would happen. Thanos was the king’s own son, and King Claudius had been going to have him either executed or sent to the Isle of Prisoners. Stephania would suffer at least the same, if not worse.

  “You’re sure she isn’t dead already?” Thanos asked. That would be the cruelest thing of all: to know that he’d come this far, without any hope of saving her in the end.

  Elethe shook her head. “I don’t know anything for sure, but I hear that the king is holding her. I think he is waiting for the nobles to agree with him about what should happen, or perhaps he is distracted with everything that has happened in the last few weeks. I don’t know.”

  Thanos did. His father was holding her as a kind of hostage, knowing that eventually, Thanos would hear what had happened. He knew that Thanos would be coming for her, yet there was still only one thing to do.

  “Felene, stay here with the boat. Make sure that there’s a way out of here for Stephania when she comes.”

  “You mean for you and Stephania,” Felene said.

  “I hope so,” Thanos replied, even though he knew it wouldn’t work like that. “If you have to leave the harbor, try to sneak back in when you can.”

  “There’s an old smuggler’s landing outside the walls,” Felene said. “If I can’t get back here, I’ll be there until I’m sure you’re dead. I pay my debts.”

  Thanos nodded his thanks. “Elethe, stay with the boat. You’ll be safe here.”

  “But—”

  “Where else is there for you in the city?” Thanos asked. “Felene will keep you safe, and then we’ll leave together.”

  “Oh, I’ll look after her, right enough,” Felene said. “And in the meantime, what exactly will you be doing, Thanos?”

  The only thing he could do.

  “I am going to see my father.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Sartes let out a whoop of joy as the ox cart bounced its way down the road. He and Bryant were still going far faster than the oxen were probably used to, but for now, he reveled in it.

  “We’re free!” Bryant yelled beside him. “Free!”

  Sartes smiled at that. The other boy seemed stronger just for having gotten away. Even if all the painful thinness and the marks of abuse were all still there, he had a sense of hope to him now that made it seem less likely that he might collapse at any moment. Sartes suspected he looked much the same. He certainly felt like he never wanted this moment to end.

  Even so, he knew it had to. Eventually, they would have to slow the cart down, if only to stop the oxen from tiring before they got where they were going.

  They would need to work that out too. Sartes didn’t know whether they could return to Delos or not and if not there, where could they go? Sartes didn’t like the idea of going anywhere but Delos though. That was where Ceres was, and his father. He still didn’t know what had happened with the attack. Maybe they’d pulled back. Maybe they’d even succeeded, but hadn’t been able to find him, although Sartes doubted that. If they’d won, one of the first things the rebellion might have done would be to stop the cruelty of the tar pits.

  Perhaps the battle for Delos was still continuing. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Sartes needed to see his family again and make sure that they were safe.

  Before that, though, they needed food and water, and enough news to find out what was going on. Sartes didn’t know where there was a safe place to find any of them. For the moment, they just had to keep going and hope. Even so, he slowed the oxen to a walk they could maintain, looking out across the horizon for any hint that might point them in the right direction.

  Because of that, he spotted the slave line when it was still just a speck. It was unmistakable; men and women chained together and forced to walk by a quartet of guards, all overseen by a fat slaver riding on a cart. Just the sight of it made Sartes feel sick and frightened, all too aware of how vulnerable two boys on a cart might be.

  It made him angry too, and that anger burned until it consumed all the rest of it.

  “We need to get off the road,” Sartes said. “Somewhere they can’t see us.”

  He looked over the weapons they’d taken from the guard. They weren’t much, surely not enough to take on four, maybe five, men? Yet he couldn’t stand there and simply watch these people being dragged off into slavery, not when his mother had sold Ceres like that.

  They pulled the cart off the road, finding a clump of trees to hide it behind. Sartes passed the reins to Bryant, letting the other boy hold the oxen still while Sartes took the guard’s sword and watched the advancing group.

  “They won’t see us here, will they?” Bryant asked. “This is a good place to hide.”

  It was a good place to hide. Or a good place for an ambush. Sartes watched them getting closer, wanting to judge this right.

  When he saw his father at the center of the line, his heart leapt into his mouth.

  “Bryant, listen, we don’t have much time,” Sartes said. “My father’s in that slave line. I can’t leave him there.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Bryant asked, and Sartes could only feel grateful that he put it like that. It wasn’t a question of what Sartes was going to do, but what they both were.

  “I’m going to creep closer,” Sartes said. “When I give you the signal, I need you to get those oxen moving. I need you to panic them if you can. After that… do whatever you can to get people away from the guards.”

  He saw Bryant swallow, and he didn’t blame the other boy. Sartes was frightened too, but he couldn’t just stand by.

  He crept forward, to the leading edge of the stand of trees. He made sure to keep low, and the filth of the tar helped him here, blending him into the foliage so that Sartes was sure no one would spot him unless they stepped on him.

  He waited while the group drew level with him. There were two guards at the front, dressed in what had probably once been imperial armor, but was now battered and patched. They flanked the wagon on which the slaver sat. Two more were at the back, driving the slave coffle on with whips.

  Sartes could hear them talking to one another as they did it, and he crouched for a moment, listening, waiting.

  “Looks as though we got out of the city just in time,” one said. “The rebellion might be destroyed, but those new orders of the king’s? Could be the last slave line for a while.”

  “There will always be slave lines,” the other said. “Look at how many of these rebels Prince Lucious gave away. You think when he’s king, there won’t be all the work we could ever need?”

  “Might be a while before then though,” the first said. “And he killed plenty of them. It’s a waste.”

  “Just means there’s no glut in the market,” the second replied.

  “But just think of all the combatlords he’s having killed in the Stade! If he’d given us them, we’d make a fortune!”

  “And the boss would have to hire a dozen more men, so how much of it would you and I see?”

  Sartes had heard enough. The line was almost in position. It was time to act.

  “Now!” he yelled, and then ran forward. Surprise was his only hope then. He just had to trust that Bryant would do all that Sartes had asked.

  The first of the guards was turning toward him by then, but Sartes was already stabbing with his stolen sword. Between his father and the army, he’d learned more than enough about where the gaps in imperial armor were. His sword slid in under the guard’s arm, and the man stumbled back, looking almost shocked at what had happened as he fell.

  Sartes heard a crash and the cries of animals, and glanced back to see
their wagon careening into that of the slaver. One of the guards lay in the dirt, obviously having been struck by it, while Sartes saw the slaver leap from the cart and stumble.

  Perhaps because he was expecting it, he recovered quicker than the second guard, turning back to him and slicing his sword across the man’s leg.

  “You’ll die for that, pup!” the guard bellowed and lunged forward, but the cut to his leg slowed him. Sartes was able to dance aside, striking again while his opponent stumbled. This time, Sartes caught him in the throat.

  He ran for the front of the column, seeing Bryant being pushed back by a guard while the slaver lay on his back, shouting instructions and pointing.

  “Don’t just stand there! Kill him! What do I pay you for?”

  Sartes ran past him, ignoring the man while he buried his sword in the last guard’s back. He heard the man gasp, then fall forward, just short of the spot where Bryant stood with only a knife.

  The other boy looked awed. “Four men,” Bryant said. “You managed to kill four men!”

  Sartes shook his head. “One was hit by the cart, and I took the rest by surprise.”

  Even so, the boy continued to look at him as though he was a combatlord. Was this what Ceres felt like, with people looking at her as if she could do anything?

  Right then, he had more important things to deal with. The slaver was still on his back, and his earlier confidence had given way to fear.

  “Don’t kill me!” the man said. “Please don’t kill me!”

  “Where are the keys to the chains?” Sartes demanded, leveling his sword. The sight of blood on the blade made him feel sick, but he forced himself to stay as terrifying as he could be. “Give me them. Now!”

  “Here… here!” The slaver threw him a bunch of keys. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Sartes said. He gestured to the chained figures behind the cart. “I’m going to unchain everyone. I can’t make any promises about what they’ll do though.”