Prize of Night

by Bailey Cunningham

One of the lizards blinked, and he knew that the miles was behind him. There wasn’t time enough to act. He turned, and the guard stopped short. A flicker of surprise played across her face. She’d thought that he wasn’t paying attention. Two others joined her. They could move quietly in their sandals. He’d forgotten that.

  “You are to come with us,” the commander said. Her eyes were slate. He wondered what she’d been told about him.

  “I have an audience,” he said, and it sounded like a lie.

  “We’ll take you there.”

  Aleo hesitated. If this was a trick, then it was a relatively subtle one. Latona had a hundred ways to kill him at her disposal. She might have riddled him with arrows long before he entered the courtyard. Leaving him to water the lemon trees with his blood.

  The miles closest to her twitched. His hand strayed to the pommel of his gladius, a bronze apple carved with an invocation to Fortuna. Not everyone agreed that he should arrive at his assignation in one piece. Aleo glanced at the salamanders. One had fallen asleep, but the other kept a golden eye on him. Fire was within reach.

  He opted for cool reason. “I suppose an escort is appropriate.”

  The commander said nothing but remained within an inch of him. They made their way down a series of hallways with painted frescoes. He realized, after a few moments, that they were heading away from the oecus. He knew that it would be pointless to say as much. They had their orders. They could drop him in the carcer or throw him off the battlements. Now he was entirely within their power. He should have made that deal with the salamander.

  They brought him to the baths. It was unexpected. He couldn’t imagine what their purpose was. Unless she thought it fitting that he should drown.

  “Our lady wishes that you be prepared for your audience,” the commander said. “Appropriate garments will be delivered. In the meantime, we’ll wait by the entrance. Don’t be too long. She doesn’t like waiting.”

  She’s the one prolonging our conversation, he thought. But he remained silent. The guards assumed their place. He felt very odd. The general emptiness reminded him of a dream. Something with snow and fire, but he couldn’t remember it now. He stepped into the apodyterium, whose floor was heated by the hypocaust below. Outré pictures decorated the walls. Flying phalloi, disembodied breasts, men and women joined like a snake, circling. A graffito near the bench accused someone of devouring middles. He undressed swiftly, feeling awkward. The room was vacant, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still being observed. He placed his clothes in a niche painted with a leaping fish. No need to remember. Most likely, he wouldn’t get them back.

  He grabbed a thin robe from the peg and went straight to the caldarium. Rising steam made the coffered ceiling shimmer. The last rays of sunlight came through the circular window, moving across the water. The pool was empty, the floor so hot that it nearly burned his feet, but he liked the shiver of pain. It reminded him that he was still alive. He’d come this far without giving up everything. Just something.

  Aleo dropped the robe on the ledge and eased himself into the water. It wasn’t quite scalding, but only just. He breathed deeply, flushing as his body grew used to the temperature. He could feel his muscles uncoiling like frayed rope. The wound on his arm was a tree-branch pattern, blurred beneath the water. He looked up, watching the dance of the suspended lamps, hazy from the steam. Are the caela here too? he wondered. Smoke was their domain, but he wasn’t sure about steam. He relaxed his vision, trying to see anything that might be moving, any dark passengers upon the air. But there was only the wink of glass and the warm glow of the bronze coffers. He relaxed.

  A memory came, unbidden. Babieca moving alongside him, stained with ash. His own cry echoing through the devastated house. Aleo tried to stare past it. He spied the golden lizards clustering near the edge of the pool. He appreciated their fiery contentment. Happiness shouldn’t have to be so complicated.

  “Oh.”

  At first, he thought he’d been the one to speak. But then he looked toward the entrance and saw that he wasn’t alone. His face became a blank.

  “A lot of people have audiences today, it seems.”

  Felix managed to look uncomfortable for a moment. He was thin beneath the robe. He’d lost some weight, but it was more than that. He was diminished, somehow. Aleo saw the dark hollows beneath his eyes, the muscle jumping in his throat as he spoke. Bruises formed an almost delicate pattern on his cheek, and one eye was still red-rimmed. He favored one leg as he stood there, stiffly, about to speak. But oh was all he’d managed to deliver.

  “Come in,” Aleo said. “It’s a big pool. You’ll see me coming if I try anything.”

  It was meant to be funny, but Felix winced slightly at the suggestion. He rubbed his throat unconsciously. The blade had left no mark. Aleo remembered its weight in his hand. The meretrix crouched before him, staring straight ahead. Gracious in his acceptance.

  Only he wasn’t a meretrix anymore. He was unmasked. Aleo had grown so used to seeing the mask that he’d imagined it being there.

  Felix disrobed and slipped into the water. He no longer moved with grace. Several parts of him had been broken, and he couldn’t hide that fact. But there was still something playful about his bearing, as if this too were a part that he’d decided upon. Wounded wolf.

  “Where is it?”

  Felix looked at him for a moment. Then he knew. “Gone.”

  “Did you leave it in the undercroft?”

  “No.” A beat. “She made me destroy it.” He stared at the water.

  Aleo said: “It was beautiful.”

  “It outlived its purpose.”

  He drew closer. “What do you think her game is? Did she think we’d try to drown each other? Poetic, but impractical.”

  Felix looked at him. “Did you mean what you said? When you were holding the knife?”

  He met the man’s gaze. “Yes.”

  Felix watched droplets of water fall from his fingers. “I’m very sorry. I know what he was to you.”

  “What was he to you?” He didn’t mean the question to sound like a challenge, but there was a kind of growl behind it.

  Felix didn’t look sad. His expression was impossible to translate. “Music. A stone in my sandal. We didn’t fit, but we appreciated each other.”

  “Maybe you don’t fit with anyone.” He wasn’t trying to be cruel, but his mouth formed the words, regardless. He was still very angry, though not at this man.

  Felix simply looked thoughtful. “It’s always been a possibility.”

  “The plan wasn’t flawed,” Aleo said. “The flaw was in us. We thought we could stay one step ahead, but here we are, wet and stupid. Surprised to both be alive.”

  “It should have worked. All the right bribes were made. Nobody should have remained loyal to Mardian. That was the one card that we had to play. His exile.”

  “And what made him so dangerous. His desire for homecoming. That’s a weakness that we all have.” Aleo touched his bruised cheek. “Does it hurt much?”

  Felix didn’t move. “Only when I smile.”

  “Then you’d better not.”

  He winced. “I never could help it. I was always pleased with myself.”

  Aleo looked at him. “This is what she wants,” he said.

  “What do you want?”

  They were very close. Steam rose from their bodies. Now he was convinced that this must be a dream. The salamanders observed him from far away. The question wasn’t rhetorical, he realized. Felix didn’t know the answer. His face was curious, but not expectant. For the first time, he wasn’t at the center of a secret network. The whispers had gone silent. He was naked and uncertain, with scars visible on his body. No longer the house father of the black basia, the favored courtier. Something entirely different now.

  Aleo told him.

  They kissed on the sh
oulder, as was the courtly custom.

  Then they dressed in silence. Beautiful tunicae had been left for both of them. Felix’s was white—a jest, perhaps—while Aleo’s was black with a bloodred die at the throat. No more swan, then. He would be known for his gens only. The real die against his chest was cold as winter, but he’d grown used to it.

  For a moment, he thought about rolling. Something brilliantly wild and unexpected. A roll to turn back the flood, to reverse every doom and guarantee their safety. Even if it meant dying twice. He realized that Felix was thinking the same thing. The comedy of changing the world in a room meant for changing clothes. Maybe it was possible. But there was something necessary about living in the flaw. The smoke afterward. A part of him wondered if they were spinning the wheel, and Fortuna merely watched.

  The group of miles escorted them. Cool air rushed in through the impluvia. Lemon scent, the murmur of fountains. Felix was beside him, silent, matching him step for step. The fallen courtier, the hand that held the knife. They moved through the dazzle of the palace, two flaws that formed a crystal. Yes, Aleo thought, he’d meant what he said. Not just then, but now.

  He’d thought they were walking toward the oecus. It would be fitting for Latona to meet them on her hydraulic throne. Instead, they found themselves emerging into sunlight. They were on the Patio of Lions. He wasn’t sure why it was called that, since there was only one lion, rearing in white marble. Aleo remembered being here once before, but it was veiled by distance, like something that had happened to him when he was still a child. There were patterns in the lilies that he seemed to remember. The fountains sang. They were powered by water from the massive aqueduct whose granite bows pumped in water from the twin rivers. All of the city’s energy seemed to coalesce in this oddly serene place, with its delicate topiary and scent of summer fruit.

  He looked at Felix for a sense of what to do next. The courtier had been here many times, after all. He’d once been a fixture in the palace. But Felix was staring past him, frozen in the act of saying something. Aleo followed his look. Six paths radiated from the white marble lion, meant to represent the six spokes of Fortuna’s wheel. At the center of the patio, amid the cool spray of the fountains, two women sat on pillows. There was a board between them, and Aleo realized that they were playing acedrex, the game of queens. They could play nothing else. Latona wore a sleeveless stola, embroidered with purple dragons. A heart-shaped brooch gleamed at her throat, studded with carnelians. She’d removed her slippers, and her bare feet were tucked beneath her.

  This was not so surprising. The basilissa had always been a contradiction, and it was only natural that she would shed her armor to disorient them. The real surprise was her adversary in the game. Basilissa Pulcheria calmly considered her pieces. Her expression gave nothing away. Her hair was teased high, in the late-imperial style, and held in place by a series of winking jade combs. She looked quite formal in comparison to her opponent. Aleo had seen images of her in the palace—icons of gold and painted wood—and Felix had told him about her reputation as the ruler of Egressus. She was young, studied, fair-minded. After a botched assassination attempt, she’d also become Latona’s enemy. He couldn’t imagine what had brought her to this place, or why she’d consented to move gold and silver acedrex pieces in an alien court.

  Latona didn’t look up from the game. “Have a seat. You’re late, and I’m in the middle of doing something with my elephant. Though I haven’t decided precisely what.” She squinted beneath the cloudless sky. “One hopes for inspiration. Or distraction.”

  “She likes to talk,” Pulcheria said, tapping a golden vizier with her nail. “From what I can tell, it’s part of her strategy.”

  “Have I bored you, sister?” Latona nearly moved her elephant, then drew back her hand at the last moment. “It’s a flaw of mine, this need to tell stories. Perhaps diplomacy is better served by silence.”

  “This game has nothing to do with diplomacy.”

  Pulcheria took a sip of wine. Her goblet was engraved with a forest scene—Aleo thought he could see a silenus emerging from a forest grove.

  He looked at Felix again. Do you understand? He felt as if he’d arrived late to a performance, and now he had to try to follow along. Latona’s army was poised to march on Regina. No doubt, Egressus would follow. She would conquer what lay on either side of the park. Basilissa Pulcheria should be raising her own army, sending messages to the distant basilissae, who might follow her into battle. What was she doing here, playing a game on the Patio of Lions, with a woman who wanted her dead?

  “Confusion is natural,” Latona said, as if reading his thoughts. “More than anyone, the two of you have resisted a certain understanding. You’ve moved down unexpected pathways. That’s why you’re here. As witnesses, of a sort.”

  Pulcheria said: “Are you going to extemporize all day? If so, I’ll need more wine.”

  Latona flashed her a grin. “I thought you were the patient one.”

  They might have been speaking another language, for all that Aleo understood. Latona had been screaming the last time he’d seen her, covered in blood and ash. Now she was sweet as honey, as if she hadn’t spent the last month trying to set fire to both worlds. A happy ending. When she’d said that earlier, at the house by the wall, he’d thought it was a jest. Now he wasn’t so sure. He had to remind himself that this woman had planned to kill Felix. Babieca was dead, if not because of her, then as a result of her actions. There was no grief in her expression. Just a strange sense of play that he found infinitely more unnerving than the rage that he’d seen before. She looked up then. She might have been a painting in that light. Every inch Fortuna, with one hand dipped in blood, while the other rested lightly on ivory.

  “You’re looking well,” she said to Felix. “The water did you good.”

  “You tried to kill me.” Felix’s reply was the first sane thing that Aleo had heard. He said it without inflection. A bare statement of fact.

  “Of course. A ruler decides these things. And someone always dies.” Latona finally moved her elephant, taking one of Pulcheria’s heralds. A grandiose move for a minor victory. Surely there was something behind it.

  Felix stared at her. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “Do you need me to explain how death works?”

  Pulcheria made a sound. “There’s no use torturing them. You can’t expect them to see things from your position.”

  “Now who’s extemporizing?”

  Pulcheria captured her vizier. “At least I arrive at a point.”

  “What . . . is this?” Aleo’s voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken for years. “You bring us here, throw us together, play games. Are we meant to be some kind of audience?”

  Latona considered the board. “I could say something about it all being a game, but surely you’re tired of that by now. I will remind you, however, that I didn’t bring you here. You came of your own free will, bearing my property.”

  He seemed to remember the horn for the first time. He’d brought it as a kind of insurance, but he was no longer sure against what. Up until this moment, he realized that he’d considered returning the horn. It would depend on what he received in the bargain. But as he watched the pieces glide across the board, he knew that it was folly. She could pick him up just as easily, smash him against the ground. There was no deal to be made. There was the chance that he might not leave here alive.

  “You both swore an oath to me,” Latona said. “You broke that oath. Felix betrayed me, but that was a long time in the making.” She looked at Aleo then. “Your betrayal came as something of a surprise, though. I gave you everything that you asked for. I kept your friends alive. I offered you the power that you needed. Not enough, it seems.”

  “You asked me to commit murder.”

  “I asked you to pass sentence on an oathbreaker. The lares needed blood—you knew that. It’s alway
s blood.”

  He looked at Felix, whose expression was empty. “There had to be another way.”

  “Yes.” She moved a horseman. “The spado found it. The oath held.”

  Aleo felt a chill pass through him. “What you did,” he said softly, “was monstrous.”

  “What I did?” Latona shook her head. “You did it, Aleo. Don’t you see? A sacrifice requires love. It couldn’t have been anyone. It needed to echo. You set the terms, and you don’t even remember. It had to be one of them.”

  “How could he?” Pulcheria chided. “He’s been several different people. Who can keep it all straight?”

  “What are you doing?” Aleo realized that he was screaming. “Why are we here? What can this possibly serve?”

  “We’re passing time,” Pulcheria said. “She’s always late.”

  Aleo wanted to smash the board. He nearly stepped forward. But then he heard the soft crunch of gravel behind him. The basilissae rose in unison, leaving the game half-played. He couldn’t tell who was winning. Every piece seemed to be in danger.

  A woman was walking across the courtyard. She stopped at the nearest fountain, letting her hand trail through the water. Aleo felt something part him on the inside, like a knife paring an apple. He knew her, but he couldn’t say her name. The way that she walked, the silver in her hair, was like something from a dream. Light played upon the twin brooches that fastened her cloak. She was dressed for an entirely different climate, as if she’d come from far away.

  Each woman stood on her own spoke, her own path. For a moment, they were still, silently assessing each other. Then the newcomer raised her hand, and the others echoed her motion. She came to join them by the white lion. Her eyes swept over the abandoned board, and she smiled slightly.

  “I prefer stones to acedrex. There are fewer rules.”

  “You always did play on the margins.” Latona inclined her head. “Well met, Pharsia. The sun has given you some color, I see.”

  She shrugged. “The dark has its possibilities. I like the cool silences. Nobody bothers me, unless I want them to.”