They dragged him to the center of the cell, where he stood swaying under Nerissa’s cool gaze. He did not doubt that she saw everything—from his piss-stained tunic to the agony of limbs wrenched out of shape.
“Does this please you?” he asked.
He waited for a blow for his impertinence, but to his surprise it did not come.
“This was not my wish,” she said.
“On the contrary, I think that nothing happens here that you do not command. Are you satisfied with my humiliation, or is this just a taste of what you have planned?”
“I did not intend to leave you here so long.” It was not quite an apology.
He noticed that she showed no signs of distress at her surroundings. She might have been at a party in the imperial gardens, rather than in a dank cell that reeked of human suffering.
“I kept my oath,” he reminded her.
“So you did.” She walked around him, but he was too tired to crane his head to follow her movements. When she spoke next, her voice came from behind him. “In a way, your honor is to blame for your present trials. When I saw the list of those arrested, I was convinced that it was a trick on your part, implicating those I knew to be loyal.”
He wondered that she spoke so freely in front of the guards, then realized that the men wore dark uniforms without insignia of any sort. They must be part of Nizam’s interrogators, and as such had heard far more damning secrets.
“Surely Farris was able to convince you otherwise.”
She circled around to face him again. “Farris had much to say. So, too, did Renato, Akantha, and even Salvador, who was dragged from his supposed sickbed to explain his role. I have no doubt the others will confirm their guilt, once we have had time to question them all.”
“What of Lady Ysobel?”
Nerissa frowned. “She evaded those sent to arrest her and made her escape before we were able to close the harbor.”
He wondered why he felt relieved. Perhaps it was simply that Lady Ysobel was both young and female, and thus he felt pity for her, even if she did not deserve it. After all, she was inadvertently responsible for his fate, for it had been their meeting that had revealed his presence on Txomin’s Island, prompting the chain of events that had led him to this place. Federation gold had supported the rebels, while her counsel had inspired their acts of violence.
“Many of those questioned have also mentioned Brother Nikos, though he was not among their number,” she said. “Would you care to explain his role?”
The wine he had drunk had gone straight to his head, as she must have intended. Fortunately, he had expected the question and already prepared his answer.
“I sought out Brother Nikos and convinced him to bring me to you, as you already know. Then I used his presumed aid to convince the conspirators to assemble, telling them that Nikos had revealed the key to your destruction,” he said. “As for Nikos’s true loyalties, I leave you to determine where they lie.”
He made no mention of soul magic, nor of the role that Nikos had played in the events of the first uprising. It was not pity that stayed him, nor remnants of whatever loyalty Josan had once felt for the head of his order. Rather it was out of friendship for those members of the brethren who were true scholars and would inevitably be tainted by the actions of their leader. Nikos deserved whatever punishment the empress could devise, but the others did not.
“What do you intend for me?” he asked. He was tired of fencing words with her.
“I had intended death,” she said. “A clean death by the sword, far better than a traitor deserves.”
“And now?”
“Now I find myself in your debt.”
His breath froze, as he felt the first stirrings of hope. “I will swear any oath you ask. If you spare me, I will leave Ikaria and never return. You will never hear of me again.”
Josan would happily bury himself in the library of Xandropol for the rest of his life, safe in the anonymity of a scholar’s life. Or, if she would not allow that, he could live quietly anywhere she named. His years in exile had taught him to be content with the most humble of circumstances. He did not need to live the life of either prince or scholar, just as long as he was allowed to live.
“I cannot allow you to go free.” She sounded genuinely regretful as she dashed the hope that had sprung up within him.
“I understand,” he said, then wondered at what had prompted him to offer her forgiveness for what she must do.
She tilted her head to one side. “Yes, I believe that you do. Wisdom has come late, but it becomes you, Prince Lucius.”
He blinked at the unexpected praise.
“I still have a use for you, if you are minded to swear another oath. I cannot let you walk free, but a dead martyr serves me no purpose. Instead I have a mind to follow in the footsteps of Aitor the Great.”
“And you have cast me in the part of Callista?”
She smiled in approval of his quick wits. “Yes. I will pardon you for your crimes, in return for your public pledge of fealty. You will stand at my side as your followers are executed, and you will praise me for my justice.”
“And then what? After a few months I quietly disappear into an unmarked grave?”
“You will live here, in the palace, under constant supervision. Give me no reason to suspect you, and you will live to a ripe old age.”
He hesitated. Moments ago he had been willing to beg for his life, but it was no easy bargain that she was offering. It was not just a life sentence of humiliation, a prisoner in all but name, as his every deed, every word was watched and weighed. He was also agreeing to a lifetime in the role of Prince Lucius. If he swore this oath, he would be forced to live his days as the prince.
And as the days turned into months, the pretense would become reality. Josan the scholar would be lost, subsumed by the part he was forced to play. It would not be a painful death, but it would be a death all the same.
It was a harder decision than even Nerissa knew, but in the end he did not have any choice. He could not condemn this body to death, not knowing that such an act would kill not one soul but two.
“I accept your mercy,” he said. “My empress.”
The guards were surprisingly gentle as they helped him kneel, and he began to recite the formal words of submission.
Epilogue
Summer wore on, and as autumn approached the executions continued. As each traitor was put to death, Josan stood at Empress Nerissa’s right hand and uttered words of praise. Repetition had not numbed him. On the contrary each new killing only increased his sense of outrage and helplessness. If this is what it meant to rule, then Lucius was a fool ever to have wanted the throne.
Dama Akantha was the first. As a woman and a noble she was granted the courtesy of a swift, private death, witnessed only by Josan, the empress, and two dozen members of the court. Renato was next, and his death was a public affair, held in the great square outside the palace, attended by thousands of jeering spectators. Weeks went by as the fates of the conspirators and those they implicated were decided.
Most of those who had been arrested that night were executed. In some cases their family members were also executed, in others they were merely stripped of their titles and properties. Salvador, who had been a close confidant of both Nerissa and her father before her, was found dead in his cell. It was possible that his elderly body had been unable to stand the strain of his imprisonment, but more likely that he had been granted the mercy of poison.
Josan had dismissed Salvador as a querulous old man, but he later learned how badly he had misjudged him. It seemed that while Salvador had supported Prince Lucius’s original bid for power, he had then blamed the prince for its failure, and for the deaths of so many whom Salvador had called friend. When Dama Akantha had shared the news that a potential pretender to the throne had been sighted at a remote lighthouse, Salvador had been the first to guess that the man might actually be Prince Lucius and sent an assassin to kill him.
>
Ironically it was this very assassination attempt that had brought Prince Lucius back to the capital, though it was doubtful Salvador realized what he had set in motion.
But if Salvador had not supported Lucius’s attempt to raise a new rebellion, neither had he informed the empress of the threat against her. Thus it was only in the manner of his death that the empress showed the remnants of the affection she had once held for him.
To his knowledge Myles had not been captured, though since he was a commoner, it was uncertain if Josan would have been required to witness his execution. Lady Ysobel had escaped to freedom, as had Septimus the Younger, who had fled on one of his own ships when he learned of his father’s treachery. Ambassador Hardouin had been expelled for failure to control his subordinate and a new ambassador appointed to fill his place. Along with the new ambassador, Seddon had sent profuse apologies for the actions of their rogue liaison, and for the moment Empress Nerissa seemed inclined to take their explanation at face value. She had enough enemies within her borders to occupy her attention.
Brother Nikos had called upon Josan once, at the empress’s request. There had been nothing for them to say to one another. All meaningful topics were too perilous to be spoken aloud, for Josan’s rooms were watched at all hours of the day and night. Still, the visit had been of some use, for he had persuaded Nikos to lend him scrolls from the library at the collegium.
Every week a slave brought new scrolls for him to read and took back the ones he had finished. They were the only means he had of alleviating his boredom. Most days he was confined to his room in the palace, allowed to leave only when it was time for his daily stroll or he was summoned by the empress.
There had been two attempts on his life. The first, by poison, had been insufficient to kill him, producing only a night and day of fevered sweats and agonizing cramps. The second attempt was less subtle; a servant stabbed him while he was walking in the gardens. If the gardener had known how to handle a dagger, he might have succeeded, but his first strike was a wild glancing blow that merely grazed Josan’s skin. The guards that accompanied him everywhere ensured that the servant did not have a second chance to strike.
He had few visitors since none dared seek him out unless they were ordered to by the empress. Prince Anthor came by, but he merely inspected Josan and his quarters, then left without speaking. Others came, but no one he knew. They called him Lucius, and spoke to him of trivialities—plays that he would not see, people that he did not know. When other topics failed they turned to the weather and the prospects for the harvest. He would have preferred the solitude of his lighthouse to these false-faced strangers.
Everyone called him Lucius, although only the empress addressed him by the title of prince as well. There was no one to speak his true name, no one to remind him of who he had once been. All thought of him as Lucius, and he wondered how much longer it would be before he thought of that name as his own.
As for the prince’s spirit, he had heard not a whisper since the night of his arrest. He wondered if it was possible for a soul to will itself out of existence, and if that was what Lucius had done.
Or was the prince’s spirit still trapped somewhere within him? Was he slumbering now as he had been before? What would it take to recall him?
But even if he knew how to summon Lucius, he did not know if he would do so. It was not pure selfishness, though the prince might see it as an attempt for Josan to keep the body he had stolen as his own. But rather he did not know if it was fair to inflict his trials upon another. It was a mercy that Lucius had been spared witnessing the deaths of those who had supported him. The prince might well have been driven mad by this existence, but Josan was stronger. He was strong enough for both of them.
He knew better than to try and guess what the fates had in store for him. Two years ago he had been a lighthouse keeper, intent simply on surviving the great storm. Last year, he had been an outcast wanderer, fighting for survival as he battled what he thought was the onset of madness. Now he was living the life of a captive prince, and doing so might well prove his greatest test yet.
Still, he would survive. If he had learned anything in the past years, it was that he was a survivor. Every day he lived was a triumph over those who had sought to destroy him.
He refused to believe that this was the end. It was merely the newest beginning.
About the Author
Patricia Bray is descended from a long line of storytellers, all of whom understood that a good story was far more important than the literal truth. She uses her power only for good—to confound survey takers, telemarketers, and others of that ilk. A corporate I/T project manager by day, she wishes to note that any resemblance between her villains and former coworkers is entirely coincidental. When not at her home in upstate New York, she can be found on the SF convention circuit, or taking long bicycle trips to exotic locations destined to become settings for future novels. Fans can find out more about Patricia and her books by visiting her website at www.patriciabray.com.
Also by Patricia Bray
Published by Bantam Spectra Books
THE SWORD OF CHANGE TRILOGY
BOOK 1: DEVLIN’S LUCK
BOOK 2: DEVLIN’S HONOR
BOOK 3: DEVLIN’S JUSTICE
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THE SEA CHANGE
the next exciting novel in
The Chronicles of Josan
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THE SEA CHANGE
Patricia Bray
On sale Spring 2007
As chief advisor to Empress Nerissa, Brother Nikos was seldom called upon to act in a spiritual role. Head of the Collegium of the Learned Brethren, he had long ago delegated his religious duties to lesser monks, leaving them to offer prayers to the indifferent gods while Nikos reserved his energies for temporal matters. Some in the court had been known to mutter that Nikos wielded too much influence for one who called himself a monk, but these were the mere grumblings of those who had no power of their own. If the empress preferred to have him at her side dispensing advice rather than meditating in the collegium among musty scrolls and ancient tomes, who was he to question her judgment?
The last time he had served as priest was three years before, when he had officiated at Prince Nestor’s wedding. Now he was called again once more to take up his role as priest—this time to lead the public mourning for Prince Nestor’s bride, who had died yesterday, after giving birth to a stillborn son. The twin losses had shaken the imperial family, especially Prince Nestor, who had grown unaccountably fond of the bride that politics had chosen for him. Empress Nerissa, though normally free of the sentimental weaknesses that governed her sex, had chosen to delay the public announcement until today, to give the prince a chance to grieve in private. Once the announcement was made, the needs of the empire would take precedence over private mourning.
The death of the princess was a tragedy, to be certain, but Nikos was pragmatic enough to see it was also an opportunity. Ever since Prince Nestor had achieved his majority, there had been calls for Empress Nerissa to resign in favor of her son. She had only been intended as a placeholder, after all. There were many who had never been easy with a woman on the imperial throne, and they had found allies among those who had been unable to secure Nerissa’s favor.
Nikos had tutored the imperial princes, but they had never warmed to him, and he knew that when Prince Nestor took the throne, his influence would be greatly diminished. Nestor would have his own advisors, and would undoubtedly overturn many of his mother’s policies in his drive to set his own stamp upon the empire.
Fortunately for Nikos, the empress had shown no signs that she was eager to relinquish her throne. Though the pressure upon her would have undoubtedly grown even greater if Prince Nestor had produced an heir of his own, now that question was moot. The prince’s supporters had been dealt a mighty bl
ow, while the position of Nikos and Nerissa’s other allies had been strengthened.
A new wife would have to be found for Nestor, as soon as the official period of mourning was over. And perhaps it was time for his younger brother, Prince Anthor, to wed as well. Lost in calculating the favors that could be extracted from those who had suitable daughters, it took Nikos a moment to realize that they had arrived at the entrance to the imperial palace, where a large crowded blocked their way. With harsh words and sharp elbows, his acolytes cleared a path to the iron gates, which were unaccountably closed.
A man tugged on his sleeve, and as he turned he recognized Priam, a minor noble with an insignificant estate in the southern lands.
“Brother Nikos, do you know what is happening? The empress summoned us to her morning audience, but the gates are barred and the guards will not let us in.”
Nikos had no answers for him. Even in the recent civil unrest, the palace gates had never been closed during daylight hours. But he would not betray his ignorance, not even before one as inconsequential as Priam.
“All will be explained when the empress wills,” he said.
Brother Basil had managed to attract the attention of one of the half-dozen guards who stood on the other side of the gate, apparently deaf to the strident pleas of those outside.
“This is Brother Nikos, summoned to counsel by the empress herself,” Basil shouted.
It was undignified. Never before had he had to beg for admission.
But the guards did not seem impressed by Basil’s shouts. Instead their eyes were hard, and their hands rested on their swords, as if they feared attack.
It did not take a scholar to know that something was gravely wrong.
He pushed Basil aside, and stood directly before the gate. “I am Brother Nikos, chief advisor to her imperial majesty Nerissa, and I demand to be taken to her,” he said, in the booming voice best suited to leading the faithful in prayers.
The First Betrayal Page 31
