I wasn’t ready.
Chapter Four
I stood up in the freestanding copper bath, its scented waters swooshing as I stepped out and reached for the towel. Laid out on a chair by the window was a beautiful deep-blue satin gown. I pulled it on and turned to look at my reflection. I barely recognised myself in the alluring, sophisticated gown. Unlike the usual gowns I wore on formal occasions, there was no hint of the innocent debutante to this low-cut dress. It was a thing of mystery and seduction. It looked like my last boon was actually being granted.
The brand-new cosmetics laid out for me by the sink were all my preferred colours and brands. I needed little though; my eyes sparkled, and my cheeks were flushed. Apparently impending death agreed with me, or perhaps it was anticipation of the night I had been granted. One last night with Devyn before the guards inevitably came to return me to the sands where I would be burned at the stake. My chest tightened at the reminder, the horror of such a death tingling at my flesh. I put it to one side. There was no point spending my last hours on this earth worrying about the pain ahead of me. I should enjoy what time remained to me. Time with Devyn.
After the Mete, the sentinels had taken Marcus, then an hour later they returned for Devyn, and an interminable time after that they finally came for me.
Calchas was too smart to transport us across the city together. Instead, he ensured that any escape attempt had to wait until we were reunited in our new prison. Or rather, in the praetor’s residence. The White Tower was a building inside a fortress from more militant times. Built over a thousand years ago, it had for a time held Briton prisoners – or at least the noble ones captured in battle. Many of them had been executed in the grounds. The tower ceased to be used as a high-end prison in the last couple of centuries of peace and had more recently become the residence of the Province’s commander of the legions, the highest judge in the land, whose hospitality we were enjoying this evening.
Finally dressed, I tried the latch on the heavy oak door and finding that it opened, I stepped through, where I was greeted by a waiting guard who indicated that I should follow him down the winding stairs.
We passed through stone corridors until we came to a dark wooden door which opened to reveal a warm room with tapestry-covered walls and a large formal dining table.
Devyn sat stiffly on one side with Marcus opposite. Praetor Calchas was seated at the head of the table. I looked around, half dreading to find my own parents – or at least Senator Dolon – here for our final evening meal.
“Yes, just us. The governor considers you vermin. His only concern is to have you wiped from the surface of the earth as soon as can be arranged.” He had answered a question I had neither asked nor wondered at. Why did he think we would expect the governor? To have found ourselves at the praetor’s table was surprise enough. “Particularly Master Agrestis here, who looks so much better than the last time we met.”
Devyn’s jaw clenched at this. He had no memory of the flogging he received on his last visit to the arena.
“I had my suspicions that you weren’t acting alone, as you insisted,” Calchas continued, gesturing to us to partake of the food spread in front of us, the picture of a gracious host. “No mean feat to persuade Governor Actaeon not to spill the blood of a hacker into the sands at his earliest convenience. Little did I think that removing your wounds and memories would reap such rich rewards.”
His deceptively paternal countenance surveyed us each in turn, his manner that of a benevolent uncle.
“Such unexpected and unsettling rewards. The city’s darling couple brought so low by a Briton.” His lips turned down in false dismay.
Something about the way he said it caught my attention. He turned from Devyn to look directly at me, filling my glass as he spoke.
“Yes, Donna Shelton, I knew before your little announcement today that your boyfriend is a Briton; we’ve known since we brought him in. Had a citizen committed the crime of hacking, the sentence would have been instant death. When we captured Master Agrestis here, we did our usual thorough investigations and discovered his existence was a thing of fiction. No friends to speak of and no family – at all. Oh, they were recorded in our databases, but we had difficulty tracking down these people in real life. Turns out there was no real life up until ten years ago. So, what is a Briton doing behind the walls? Who is he working with? What is he doing here? We were curious… and it appears that curiosity has paid off.” He smiled, beatifically, at the three of us. “As here we all are.”
“So glad it worked out for you,” Marcus commented sourly.
“Dr Courtenay… or do you prefer Lord Courtenay?” the praetor asked superciliously, as he filled Marcus’s glass, in turn gesturing for him to eat his as yet untouched meal.
“Dr Courtenay is fine,” Marcus gritted.
“Ah, the medical persona that drove you to betray your home.” Calchas tutted. “Your mother’s son, and, like her, destined to die before your time.”
Marcus frowned, but our host had already turned back to me once more.
“Little Cassandra. You appear to be the focus of all this chaos.” His eyes flicked to Devyn. “Our foundling whom we cared for as one of our own, our generosity so poorly repaid. How quickly you turned against us. Such a shame. We were going to create a new generation who had not only magic but technology under their control. We would have ruled the whole island. But our attempts will most likely lead to it all unravelling,” Calchas sighed.
Praetor Calchas was part of Dolon’s faction. Of course he was. This was who pulled the strings. I was quickly coming to loathe this man who was so impressed with his own cleverness. I had always felt like whoever was behind it all was a step ahead of us every time. I hadn’t ever imagined it would all be explained with such insufferable smugness. It made me even madder that we had been so outwitted. As if someone who was about to lose their life could possibly be any more dismayed at having been caught.
“You did this to rule the island. You wanted to use our children to wage war on the Britons?” I asked.
“Oh no, we didn’t need your children to be full-grown to wage war; the war has already begun. Even now, change is sweeping through the country. Having your children would have ensured we controlled two of the greatest magical bloodlines. The Britons have weakened; they are not what they once were.” Calchas took a sip of his drink. “With both of you under our control, we could finally take Britannia. But of course, we had reckoned without Actaeon’s fervour. He is a true son of the Empire. Assimilate or die. If the Britons won’t be subdued then he will eradicate them from the Earth. There will be no exceptions. The Maledictio has swept through the rest of the Empire so there are plenty of loyal citizens to occupy cleared space.”
I frowned, trying to follow the politics of the power struggle within the council. Matthias had been involved with the faction that wanted to control magic and, presumably, ultimately the entire island; Actaeon wanted to rule the island too but was happy to empty it first.
“You wanted to have the greatest of our bloodlines under your control. It was quite the stroke of luck that Cassandra dropped into your clutches,” Devyn observed quietly. He had noticed what I had missed. The two greatest bloodlines… Calchas knew I wasn’t a random latent.
“Luck, ha! There is no such thing as luck; you make your own luck. Or not.” He turned to me again. “We gave you all a girl could desire, all the comforts of the Empire, yet you threw it all away. And for what?”
My throat was dry, constricted. Not trusting myself to speak, I sat mutely. More than anything, I had wanted to be a long way from here, out of the tangle of streets and buildings, away from the overbearingly suffocating society I had grown up in; I wanted to return to the Wilds where, I had learned, my true home lay. Now, I would never see it.
I looked at Devyn. He had found me and revealed the truth to me. Tomorrow I would be executed, but at least I wouldn’t die in ignorance. And there was still hope he would live a long life, tha
t he would see days that were to be stolen from me. I set my jaw. It wasn’t over yet.
“Ah. True love. It is enough for you to imagine he will make it back to whatever cave he crawled out of. How adorable.” The Praetor failed to suppress a snigger. “Donna Shelton, really? You think your would-be rescuer will ever see the outside of the arena again? Much less the outside of the city?”
He intended to follow through despite my announcement to the world that Devyn was not an imperial citizen. It was over 200 years since the 1772 Treaty ended the centuries of war that had ripped the island apart. Devyn’s presence behind the walls was in clear violation of the terms. But that didn’t mean his execution would be accepted by those beyond the walls.
“You can’t,” I protested. From the moment I discovered that Devyn was a Briton, I had known that capture would mean death, but the recent Treaty Renewal had reminded me of something. The Empire was not alone on this island and Devyn had friends beyond the walls. He served a house in the north. Surely that meant something. “You can’t know what the Britons will do if you kill one of their own.”
“You think they will object? Perhaps,” Calchas mocked. “But we did not accuse him of being Briton. There is no proof to be found of Master Agrestis’s true origin. In fact, we have all of that clever work he did in the city’s databases that proves otherwise.”
The insufferable Praetor Calchas actually smiled in his delight at the irony. “I do hope you’re enjoying your meal. We’ve even got some rather delicious apple cake. I thought you might appreciate it, Master Agrestis – a final taste of home. I believe it is a seasonal speciality served at your Samhain celebrations. This is the last one you will live to see begin, even if you won’t see it end.”
Devyn hadn’t spoken or even deigned to look at our host while his own imminent demise was so casually discussed; he had taken little interest in any of the proceedings, apart from Calchas’s slip-up regarding my own origin. But now his eyes wandered to the sideboard where there sat a cake with dried apple on top, surrounded by hazelnuts and chestnuts; his interest piqued at the suggestion of a last taste of home. The city didn’t usually mark the last night of October. Samhain, as the Britons called it, was a night for the Wilders and their superstitions; it had no place inside the city.
But it was clear that Calchas relished the idea of executing his captured Briton on a date that meant something to the rest of the island. Did someone as esteemed and preeminent as the praetor do something as juvenile as flick off the enemy? Before tonight I wouldn’t have thought so. He had always appeared so righteous, but the man who sat crowing at our capture and imminent executions… of him I would believe it.
We ate course after course while the praetor chattered on about inconsequential city matters as if we had all the time in the world. This was how I was to spend my last night alive?
The last course was finally set on the table – a sumptuous lemon parfait – fresh plates laid out in front of all of us but Devyn. A servant cut a slice of the Wilder apple cake and left the room, a sentinel entering as the servant exited.
“No Wilder food will ever grace my table. You are free to eat it elsewhere.” Calchas’s eyes rolled to the sentinel.
This left Devyn no choice but to leave the table after casting a last look at me. I had asked to spend what hours I had left to me with Devyn. Was that it? Would I never see him again?
“Don’t worry, girl, I’ll release you to join him shortly.” Calchas finished his last mouthful of dessert while Marcus and I sat behind our untouched plates.
Odious man! I smiled in as close an approximation of gratitude as I could manage, even as every muscle in my body unclenched at his announcement.
“Marcus, would you care to join me for a drink while Cassandra enjoys her last wish?” Calchas said, pushing back his chair.
“Not really,” Marcus replied flatly.
Calchas laughed as he made his way around the table to stand behind my chair, preventing me from pushing it out and leaving the table. “Did you think refusal was an option, Dr Courtenay? It was most gallant of you to allow your betrothed to spend her last night with her lover. Especially as you are so unlikely to enjoy it.”
Marcus frowned, not following Calchas’s latest gleeful pronouncement. “What do you mean?”
Calchas delayed answering. Instead, his fingers touched my bare neck and traced along my shoulder. I stifled a shudder of repulsion. “The last time the lovely Cassandra so wickedly betrayed you with the Wilder, you had yet to be handfasted, which you have been now for a while. At this point you would have been married. The wedding was scheduled for yesterday, was it not?”
I struggled to concentrate against the bile rising within me as Calchas allowed his fingers to traverse my shoulder and descend along my arm.
“Have you not felt the burning in the blood and passions rising?” Calchas asked Marcus archly. “But then, you have all been so very busy. Except, the handfast is not designed to handle a third wheel. You recall how you felt when your match encountered Master Agrestis in the hospital.”
Enlightenment dawned and Marcus’s eyes caught and held mine across the table. Calchas knew Marcus was affected when Devyn and I were together. It was Marcus’s reaction to this effect that had alerted our security detail to Devyn’s presence in the hospital after the handfast. What Calchas didn’t seem to be aware of was our recent discovery that while we both wore our charms, this effect was almost entirely countered.
Our host’s eyes flicked from me to Marcus, his delight in our feigned horror evident. He was a cat playing with trapped mice.
“You’re disgusting.” I pulled my arm away from Calchas’s wandering fingers.
“Sorry, my dear, I don’t mean to detain you any further.” I waited for him to pull back the chair. His hands returned to my skin, touching my neck as he released the catch of the necklace I wore. In reflex I snatched at it; without it I had no defence against the effects of the handfast. In fact, they would have to drag me to Devyn’s room. I held the rose gold pendant tight, my thumb worrying against the etched Celtic design on the back, as if I could imprint the triquetra charm onto my very flesh.
“Now, now, Cassandra, I think this little device has served its purpose, don’t you? Such a clever little contraption. Our scientists haven’t quite figured out how it manages to block the coding embedded in the cuff, but it has served its purpose.”
It appeared that they figured out, as we had, that while wearing the charm the desire to comply with the city’s dictates was countered. But it sounded as if they hadn’t discovered its primary purpose: to hide its wearer from the cameras and microphones that covered the city. I hadn’t failed to notice that in Marcus and Devyn’s evidentiary reels, there was little coverage from those times the charms were activated. The triquetra charms succeeded in obscuring us from general surveillance but failed to deflect the focus when the cameras were directed at a specific subject, like in Oban’s apartment; the rest must have come from physical tails who managed to capture us in public. This explained the sensation I had a few times of being followed. I refocused on Calchas’s monologue.
“…After all, it was only fair that you should be fully cognisant of the events that brought you onto the sand. However, you failed to include it as a condition of your boon when you had your little fun this afternoon,” Calchas crowed. His revenge for my revelation that Devyn was a Briton was to allow me to spend the night with Devyn knowing that as soon as he removed the pendant, my deepest wish to be with Devyn would become the last thing I wanted.
“Please,” I whispered. I had to beg. Thankfully Calchas didn’t know everything: as long as I allowed Devyn to get close enough, his presence alone would counter the effects of the handfast. Though, sitting with Marcus, Calchas would be able to tell that his plan to ruin our night had failed. Devyn would have to get close enough for me to tell him about Calchas’s little game but then if I was to die tomorrow night, what difference did it make anyway?
; Calchas peeled my fingers slowly off the pendant as I stared across at Marcus. What should I do? Marcus’s eyes flicked to his wristband; he would be protected from eavesdropping, as it were, while he wore it – to a degree anyway – so despite Calchas’s repugnant games, we would have privacy.
The pendant removed, Calchas dropped it carelessly onto his dirty dessert plate and pulled my chair back, helping me to stand.
“Now,” he said, his lips parting in a pout, “we must bid you goodnight. Time for you to make your appointment, Donna Shelton.”
I blinked in confusion; the transition back to compliant citizen always left me dazed for a moment. Why was I arm in arm with the Praetor? I looked around the room. Servants were entering busily and clearing the table by which I stood, one leaning in front of the man who was sitting on the other side of the table to collect the plates in front of him.
“Marcus,” I breathed in relief as the servant moved away.
Praetor Calchas smiled at me. “Marcus and I are going to have a little chat, Donna Shelton. His father is joining us for drinks. You are meeting a friend down the hall.”
I looked to Marcus in confusion, and he nodded tightly. Lord Calchas instructed me to follow the guard who had just escorted Matthias Dolon into the room and I took my leave.
As we walked down the dark stone hallway, recent memories started to tumble into my mind. Preparing for my wedding, the night of the pre-wedding revels, Devyn appearing, Marcus, the warehouse, the arena, the cell in the amphitheatre. It all came flooding back in a bombardment of images. Death. I had been sentenced to death for my part in… Oh! I needed to go back to Marcus. How was this happening? I needed him to help me make sense of all this. I needed him.
Curse of the Celts Page 5
