The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  “And getting close to me was the best way to find out where we were most vulnerable?”

  “No!” Alia said. She half reached for him but stopped short. “It wasn’t like that at all. I was… I am…” She trailed off, obviously aware of how she must sound. “Josen.” She said his name so softly, a desperate, hurt whisper. “Please believe me.”

  Josen swore loudly. He turned and kicked at one of Berden’s immaculately tended flower beds, yelling wordlessly. The tender, confused hole in his chest that had opened at the discovery of Saul’s deception tore wide open. Josen felt empty and on fire. Hollow. Alia whimpered quietly behind him. Why was she telling him any of this at all? Did she just feel guilty, or was this somehow another ploy?

  He turned back toward her, jaw set, ready to...

  A man held Alia from behind, the point of a long piece of steel pressed firmly to the soft spot under her ear. She stood on her tiptoes, trying in vain to stretch away from the sharp tip. Blood trickled down her neck. Her eyes were wide and full of wordless terror, her mouth open in pain and shock.

  “Why?” the man asked without preamble. His voice was hoarse and dry.

  Josen stepped very slowly to the side to try to get a better look at the man. He stood stooped, mostly hid behind Alia. Josen kept his hands upheld. Tears streamed silently down Alia’s face.

  “Why!” the man asked again—screamed—gloved hand shaking. Alia gasped and tried to stretch further. Even with the gloves, Josen recognized the madness and hatred blazing in the man’s eyes. This man was an addict, was high on the drug right now. He was not stable.

  “Why what?” Josen asked slowly, still moving sideways.

  “Stop, or I’ll break this off in her brain.”

  Josen stopped. “Okay. What do you want?”

  “Tell me why. Why did you save me?”

  “What?”

  The addict shoved Alia, who stumbled into a bush, but he paid her no mind. He stood straight, turning the length of metal on Josen.

  And Josen recognized him—Josen had pulled him out of the canal only a few days before. The man who had been with Saul. How was he even standing? He should have broken half a dozen bones at the very least—

  “Haven’t you done enough?” the addict spat. He was shaking with animal hatred, barely held at bay by genuine confusion. The two emotions were utterly at odds on his face. “Is there something else? Another hell you haven’t put me through? Why!”

  “I was just trying to help,” Josen said. He had no idea what the man was asking. “I’m sorry if—”

  “Riveran said I could kill you,” the addict said. “I want to. I said I would, promised myself, swore it. You ruined me. Made me a wretch. But you saved my life. Why would you do that?”

  “Please—”

  “WHY?”

  Riveran—Saul had sent this man to kill Josen? Why would… It would have to wait. Josen glanced to where Alia was retreating slowly. The man paid her no attention, his burning, bloodshot eyes locked on Josen.

  “I’m sorry,” Josen said. “Truly. I don’t know—”

  Josen jumped as the addict let out an anguished yell, then turned and fled into the night.

  Chapter 36

  Alia was nowhere to be found, but that was for the best. Josen hadn’t the slightest idea what he would say if he found her.

  But he did know what he needed to do next.

  Josen felt Saul’s eyes on him the moment he stepped back into the ballroom. Saul was easy to find. Josen found him at the center of a knot of laughing people, but Saul was not looking at them. Saul was watching him, an infuriating, knowing smile on his face.

  Josen felt apprehension rising inside him, crawling up the back of his throat like something alive, determined to let itself out. He did his best to swallow it back down. Emotions raged, competing with one another—anger and wariness, confusion and pain all burned hot—but over everything else surged absolute betrayal. Saul had used him. Even if the addict was lying about Saul wanting Josen dead, there was no way to get around Saul’s disregard for Josen’s fate.

  And Josen wasn’t ready to dismiss the addict’s claim.

  “Reverate Oak, it is a pleasure,” Saul said as he stood, offering Josen his hand. “I’ve looked forward to this meeting for some time. Do you have a moment?”

  Josen hesitated but he didn’t want to cause a scene. He reluctantly took Saul’s hand, and tried in vain to work a smile onto his face.

  Saul’s grin widened. “Ladies, gentlemen, will you all please excuse me for a moment?” he asked, all innocence.

  Josen paid the group around Saul no mind, except to note that he was already accumulating sycophants. Saul left them behind, moving only the minimum dozen or so paces to an isolated pocket where the two of them could converse frankly. Josen followed.

  “Hello, Josen,” said Saul. His grin was as familiar and comforting as it was enraging. Josen consciously resisted the impulse to lower his guard, to relax and confide in this man. “How are you?” Saul asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Josen asked, barely able keep from yelling. “What the in the starving hells, Saul?”

  “Easy, Reverate,” Saul said, still smiling. “People can still see us.” He swirled the amber liquid idly around his glass, waiting for Josen to deflate. “I suggest you keep yourself under control.”

  “You tried to have me killed!” Josen hissed.

  “And you’ve done a spectacular job of not dying. Well done.”

  “Well done? God’s tears, are you serious?”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “What?”

  “The addict,” Saul said, as if he was barely interested. “Jamis. Did you kill him? He was pretty fixated on the idea of avenging himself on you. Can’t say I’m surprised he didn’t manage it—you always were a slippery one—but I am surprised you managed to do it without even bloodying your hands.” Saul flicked his gaze down to Josen’s hands, then back to his face, bored and barely curious.

  The image of Alia, terrified, flashed into Josen’s mind, a line of blood running down her neck where Jamis’ steel pierced the skin, the look of utter panic in her eyes. Josen shook the image from his mind, forced himself to focus. He needed to find Alia and soon, but he needed to do this first.

  “No,” Josen said. “No, I didn’t kill him.”

  “Hmm. Do you remember him?”

  “It was only five minutes ago—”

  “You don’t!” Saul said, perversely pleased at something Josen didn’t understand. “Oh, how did Jamis take that? Not well, I’d guess.”

  “What do you want, Saul?” Josen didn’t like the way the conversation was going. He was tired of being toyed with.

  “You’ve met him once before.” Saul grinned, enjoying his control of the conversation. “But of course, you don’t remember. You met him for a few brief moments not long ago. And you ruined his life. You inspired a level of hatred in that boy that impresses even me.”

  Josen didn’t respond, and Saul seemed content to let the statement hang in the air for a moment. “Fine,” Josen said. “When did we meet?”

  “He’s the poor Deferate you duped all those months ago, the one you tricked into detaining the Protectors while you and your friends escaped through Ludon Pass.” Saul clucked softly. “Did it occur to you how the Church might respond to Jamis’ misguided efforts on your behalf?”

  “Deferate Carle,” Josen said. He could remember the young man clearly—bored, but kind and eager to help. That young man bore almost no resemblance to the trembling, raging addict Josen had seen tonight. “He couldn’t—”

  “High-profile criminal escapes through the Pass, carrying with him a stolen Deferate’s robe, and the thing that allows him to get away is the interference of the young, misguided Deferate Jamis Carle. They couldn’t have asked for a more convenient scapegoat. The boy was stripped of his priesthood, excommunicated, and ostracized. He became an addict. A thief. A killer for hire. Who do you think he blames?”
>
  Josen had no words.

  “It was a clever trick, though, posing as a Reverate on the run. Though I’ll admit I’m not sure how you managed to get through at all. I arranged for the Pass to be shut down temporarily so that you wouldn’t be able to do exactly what you did—slip away and disappear. Slippery Josen. That was an expensive bribe, too.” Saul shook his head.

  “What’s this all about?” Josen asked. Saul was either stalling or he was bragging because he was sure he had already won a game Josen didn’t even know they were playing. Neither scenario was good.

  Saul’s smile broadened. “Power, of course. What else would it be about? Politics. Welcome, Josen Oak,” Saul said with a flourish, “to the most dangerous game.”

  “This isn’t a game, this is real—”

  “It is a game—a serious, bloody game we grownups play.” Saul pointed at Josen. “And the Stewards are powerful players.”

  “The Stewards? They’re—we’re just farmers with fancy titles and big houses.”

  “Because you’re morons,” Saul said, fire in his voice. “Shortsighted children who can’t see past the flailing of their own stubby fingers. You’re all so busy with parties and procedures and petty squabbles you can’t see the power lying unused at your feet. You are fools. Weak, blind, incompetent fools.” He stepped closer to Josen, and his grin grew hungry. “But I see,” he said softly—nearly a whisper. “Oh yes, I can see.”

  “So what? You can see,” Josen said. “Good for you. What does it have to do with me?” Josen barely recognized the man standing before him—cruel and spiteful, entirely unlike the Saul he knew in Ludon. “Take what you want—I won’t get in your way—but leave me and my family out of it.”

  Saul laughed. “Ah yes, there he is—Josen the romantic. I almost forgot. For a thief, you’ve always had a naïve sense of trust. You’ve always fancied yourself something of a grey hero—the good boy who does bad things, the thief with a heart of gold.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret: there’s no such thing. I’m not sure which you really are—the thief or the saint—but you can’t be both. One will always be a disguise. A mask.

  “Now me, on the other hand, I know who I am. I know which is the face and which is the mask. You’ve always tried to be both, righteous rogue. But I know who I am. I know what I want, and you, Josen, are in my way.”

  “My Stewardship,” Josen said, realization dawning. “That’s the endgame. You knew who I was all along.”

  “Clever boy.”

  “You knew I’d come home if you pushed the right way,” Josen said, his blood rising at the thought of being played so thoroughly.

  “Well, I actually expected the Protectors to catch you at the Pass, expected you would throw your name around, that eventually the Protectors would cart you back to Ceralon to corroborate your wild tale. Imagine my happy surprise when I heard that you had run back home on your own. You’ve always had a knack for doing the right thing the wrong way.”

  “You made sure my coming home would throw things into chaos. You…” Josen paused, swallowing an unexpected wave of emotion. “You killed my father.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Saul said, waving a hand. “One has people for such things. With your father out of the way, and an unknown, unprepared, unpredictable runaway at the helm, it was a simple matter of giving the whole structure a little nudge, then stepping back to watch you tear it to the ground. You’ve done a spectacular job, by the way—the perfect inside man.”

  “I don’t work for you,” Josen said.

  “Josen, Josen. Do you think I need your consent? Do you think anything about this is sudden? You never did figure out what it took to be a master thief. All that romanticizing about Thorne and Dania and Shade. Would you like to know the secret—the difference between a master thief and a jumped-up pickpocket? The difference between you and me? You showed up tonight without a clue in the world how the night would turn out. You improvise. And you do it well, but it’s your only trick.

  “I already know how this night ends. I’ve known for months, and there’s nothing you can do tonight that won’t work to my advantage. After you’re removed, Berden will see to it that I am named as your replacement.”

  “How long?” Josen asked. “Was I a walking corpse the day you pulled me off the street?”

  “God’s tears, Josen, I was your employer, not your lover.” Saul shook his head. “How long,” he scoffed.

  “You were my friend. I thought.” Josen’s world was spinning. Part of him knew Saul was trying to unbalance him, but it was still working.

  “Of course you thought that. You wanted desperately to be a part of something. You wanted a friend, someone to look up to. It was a simple thing to earn your loyalty. That’s what we do, Josen. That is the art of the confidence game. We show people what they want to see. We make them trust us, then take what we want. That’s what we are.”

  “I…” Josen started, but there was nothing to say as his world crashed down on him. What did he expect? He had gone looking for brotherhood and honor among people who lied and stole and killed for a living.

  “Truth is,” Saul said, “I actually like you, Josen. If you weren’t sitting so squarely in the seat I decided long ago I would take for my own… well, who knows? You could have made quite the thief. But you’re still in my way.” Saul spread his hands as though there was nothing to be done. “I like you, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. That is the difference between you and me.”

  Josen’s knees finally gave out. He collapsed into the chair behind him, sitting with his head in his hands, dumbstruck. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what Saul was saying, around how completely he had set himself up for this moment.

  “You’ve done an admirable job resisting your inevitable fall, but you’re only prolonging the process. The pieces are in motion—the collapse of your house is unavoidable. You were just the most convenient way to set that in motion.” Saul paused, waiting until Josen lifted his head from his hands to look him in the eye. “The Oaks—your family—will fall, Josen, and Berden will name me the new Steward by the end of the season. I will step in to take advantage of your Stewardship in ways you have never imagined. But I’ll give you one last choice. Move, or be crushed.”

  “What?”

  “Leave. Tonight. You’ve played your bit in my little scheme. I respect you just enough to give you one chance,” Saul said.

  “Run away,” Josen said. It wasn’t a question, but Saul took it as one.

  “If that’s what you want to call it. Run away, and I won’t step on you.” Saul smirked like he had said something particularly clever.

  Josen’s blood boiled.

  He had run away from home, then from city to city, from one problem to the next for last six years. He ran because it always looked like the only option. He ran because he assumed he was beaten.

  But this was his family, and for the first time, Josen realized that meant far more to him than he had ever known. This was his land, his title, and his home. And he wasn’t beaten. They weren’t Saul’s to take, not while Josen still breathed.

  “No,” Josen said.

  “Boy,” Saul said menacingly, “you should think very hard. I won’t give you another chance.”

  “I won’t run,” Josen said, eyes locked on Saul’s.

  Saul glowered. “Very well.” He raised his glass to Josen, then drained it in a single gulp, as if in some kind of ironic toast. Then he waved a casual dismissal, as though Josen were a serving boy hawking appetizers. “Then stand still, little crab,” he said.

  Josen didn’t care. He’d turned to leave before Saul had even finished his sentence. He needed to find Akelle and Vale. He needed to find Alia.

  “Reverate Oak! Hold there.” A woman’s voice called after him before Josen made it even a dozen steps. Josen searched for the source, finding a light-haired woman he didn’t recognize working her way through the most imminent crowd of partygoers. “A moment, Reverate,” she said,
emerging from the throng.

  “Surely,” Josen said, though he wanted to tell her he didn’t have time for whatever it was she wanted. He turned toward her, trying to calm his features. She was maybe half a dozen years his senior, and her fair skin and hair clearly bespoke Seftish heritage. The distinctly confident—almost aggressive—way she moved… Josen’s throat tightened as he recognized her—Lady Yvette Ulnan, Second Prefect of the Archon. He should have recognized her at once, except she was not in uniform like the Archonites he had seen earlier this evening. Josen fought down the impulse to run, to hide himself. Everyone in the immediate vicinity took several steps back to watch from a safer distance.

  “Ah, Lady Ulnan,” Josen said, locking eyes with the Prefect. Her gaze managed to smolder despite the deep blue of her eyes. “How can I help you?” He took a deep mental breath, reminding himself that he hadn’t done anything wrong—not in several days, at least.

  “I’m not looking for help.” The smile on Lady Ulnan’s face was so genuine that the words took half a moment longer than they should have to register. In that half moment someone seized Josen’s arms from behind, twisting in a way that drove him painfully to his knees before he could even think of struggling.

  “As a Prefect of the Archon, under the authority of the Ceral Basin Council of Reverates,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Oh, hells, Josen thought, the realization crashing down far too late. His head whipped back toward Saul. His former mentor looked on with a knowing smile. He raised his empty glass to Josen, then turned away.

  “I declare your immediate arrest, in service of Governor Clarsen of Ludon.” Josen felt a pair of heavy manacles close around his wrists. “On counts of theft, conspiracy, and malicious impersonation of a member of the Clergy.”

  Chapter 37

  “What do you mean, I can’t see him?” Vale leaned over the desk, demanding eye contact with Lady Stonelowe, her hands gripping the edge of Lady Stonelowe’s desk to keep them from shaking—or reaching across the desk and strangling the infuriating woman.