The final sacrifice, p.19
The Final Sacrifice, page 19
“We will arrive in Sendat in a few days,” she said. “I came to ask what you intend.”
Lucius drank the water, and then held out the cup for more.
She heard voices in the hall, then a brisk knock at the door, followed by it swinging open.
It wasn't Chenzira, but rather his first lieutenant, Federico, whose quarters Burrell was sharing. Federico bowed low.
“Emperor, I apologize. This won't happen again,” Federico said. Then he turned to Ysobel and gestured for her to come.
“Let her stay,” Lucius said, showing one of the rapid mood changes that had been the subject of so much gossip back in Karystos. “When she no longer amuses me, I will command her to leave.”
Federico bowed low, and when he straightened his cheeks were flushed. She knew just how Lucius's remark had been interpreted.
“Of course,” Federico said. “I will see that no one else disturbs you.”
He backed out and closed the door behind him. He must have thought that he'd interrupted the two of them as they were preparing for a tryst.
Lucius had meant to insult her, but she refused to be distracted.
“What do you intend?” she asked.
“He has a plan,” Lucius said, finishing the cup of water.
“He?”
“Josan. The monk,” Lucius said.
He did not look feverish, but his words made no sense. “I do not understand.”
“Of course you don't. I don't understand myself—we were in Xandropol. We could have sought a cure, but he decided to turn aside.”
Was the emperor insane? Was this the secret behind his so-called illness? The reason for his flight?
How could she have missed this?
“What is Josan's plan?” she asked, speaking softly as if to a child.
Lucius laughed, an ugly sound. “You'll have to ask him.” He looked around his cabin. “Is there wine?” he asked.
“No,” she said, without even bothering to look.
“I suppose you think me mad,” he said.
She said nothing. Let him interpret her silence as he would.
Lucius rose from his chair and sat on his bed, leaning back against the wall. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair. “Let me tell you a story.”
He waited until she had sat down before continuing. “Years ago, in the time of the first rebellion against Nerissa, there was a monk named Brother Josan. He'd been at the library in Xandropol collecting rare knowledge, but on his journey back to Ikaria he was struck down by the breakbone fever. By the time he reached the collegium it was too late; there was nothing the monks could do for him.”
“So you took his identity?” She'd long suspected that Lucius had lived under the brethren's protection during his exile.
“Patience,” he said. “At the same time there was a young man. A prince—arrogant, ambitious, and so naïve that he placed his trust in those who wanted to use him for their own gain, regardless of the cost.”
His words stung, and her hands curled into fists at her sides. “I did not come here to be insulted. Or to rehash all of our dealings.”
“Ah, but you've never heard the rest of this,” he said. “Only two people know the full story—three if you count Josan.”
How did one count a dead man? She nodded for him to proceed.
“The prince, realizing that the rebellion was doomed, fled to his old tutor, Brother Nikos. And Nikos saw an opportunity. The rebellion had shown him that Empress Nerissa was vulnerable. The prince, alas, was too weak, but with Nikos's backing the proper candidate might succeed. Nikos sent for a monk who had spent his life studying forbidden magic. The monk promised that he could take the soul of the dying man and place it in the body of the prince—creating someone who wore the face of a prince but was sworn to loyalty to Nikos.”
She leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. “What happened?”
“Brother Nikos handed me a cup of wine, to help me sleep. The next time I woke, it was five years later.”
“The spell failed?” Of course it must have—what he was saying was impossible, the delusions of a deranged mind.
“Yes. And no.”
“I don't understand.”
“Neither did I. Nor Brother Josan, who woke to find himself confused, his wits damaged from his illness. His body so clumsy that he needed to relearn how to write, and a hundred other tasks most men take for granted. Of course, it was not his fault. How was he to know that the body he wore was not his own?”
“That's impossible,” she said, slowly shaking her head. Surely the emperor was lying. This was a symptom of the madness that she had only just begun to suspect.
“I wish it were,” he said. “It took years for my soul to find its way back to my body. I still do not know if it was the passage of time or mortal peril that brought me back. Since then we've shared this body. Sometimes he is in command, sometimes I am.”
She stared at him, but he did not have the look of a man who was mad, merely one who was tired.
“You have no proof,” she said.
“I don't need proof. You've met Josan yourself. You knew from the first that he was not the same man that you'd known during the rebellion.”
“Men change,” she said. “You were younger then. We all were. And if this were true, what of Brother Nikos?”
“The spell did not work as he had planned. He thought us too damaged to be of use, so sent us into exile. When we finally returned to Karystos, Josan confronted him. Rather than a willing puppet, Nikos had created two implacable enemies. It's hard to say which of us hates him more,” Lucius said.
It was monstrous, if it were true. To steal a man's body? To deliberately plot to destroy not his life, but his very soul? What kind of man could think up such a tale?
“If this is true, why tell me? Why now?” She knew he did not trust her—why would he confide in her, of all people?
Lucius leaned back against his pillows. “Because I'm tired of pretending,” he said. “Because you should know that the soul spell is failing. As our link fails, so, too, does this body.”
Her head was spinning. If anyone else had told such a tale, she would have dismissed him as a liar. And yet, Lucius's words held the ring of truth. He was not trying to convince her, merely relating a story.
The less he argued, the more she was inclined to believe him.
“That's why you went to Xandropol,” she said. “Not to see a physician, but rather to consult with their magicians.”
He shook his head. “Do I look a fool? I cannot trust anyone to help me. Josan had planned to do his own research, hoping that if he found the source of the soul spell, he could also find the means to reverse it.”
She did not want to believe him. And yet his story explained so much—the strange fits she'd observed, his unpredictable temper, even his flight to Xandropol. As well as how one man could appear a spoiled noble on one day and a commoner on another.
But even if it were true, it changed nothing. It made no difference if he was mad, or if the body before her truly was inhabited by the souls of two different men. The body belonged to the emperor of Ikaria, and in the end, that was what mattered.
“I haven't been truly awake for weeks, now,” Lucius said. “From time to time I surface, as if in a dream, but Josan has remained in control of my body.”
“So the decision to come here—”
“Was the monk's,” Lucius said. “I'd have stayed in Xandropol.”
“But you will help us stop this war,” she said. Was this all an elaborate ruse so he could claim that he was not truly bound, because he had not been the one to swear the oath?
“Doesn't matter. In a few minutes or hours at the most you'll be speaking with him again. He'll do as he likes; he always has.”
If it was true, it was monstrous. To have your own body invaded—usurped by another? She could only imagine how helpless he must feel.
Something of what she felt must have shown in her face, for he patted the bed beside him. “I don't suppose you'd lie with me? One last wish for a dying man?”
“No,” she said.
“Pity,” he replied. He stretched out full length on the bed, closing his eyes. Then, after a moment, he reopened them. “If it were the monk's choice, he'd prefer your aide.”
Chapter 14
Zuberi had forgotten about the functionaries. When he'd made his list of the men who knew that the emperor was missing, he'd forgotten the functionaries who ran the imperial household and accompanied the emperor everywhere. They knew that none of their number had accompanied the emperor to either Sarna or Eluktiri—and though they were forbidden to gossip, he'd not thought to tell them to lie.
It had been a simple enough matter that unraveled it all. Prince Hadeon lived in Ikaria as hostage to ensure the continued cooperation of his father, the ruler of Kazagan. When Hadeon had received news that his mother was ill, perhaps dying, the prince had sought permission from the emperor to return home.
If Hadeon had made his request in a letter, Lucius's clerks would have brought it to Zuberi, who would have dealt with the matter. But instead Hadeon had gone to Sarna, apparently feeling that honor required him to make a personal plea for release.
But the emperor was not at Sarna. Returning to the capital, instead of going to the proconsul, Hadeon had instead approached one of the functionaries to request help in sending a message to the emperor's summer palace at Eluktiri.
Only to be told that the emperor was not at Eluktiri, either.
The functionary hadn't told Hadeon that the emperor was missing, but the damage was done. The prince had seen their refusal to tell him where the emperor was as a sign that he, and his kingdom, were unworthy of the emperor's attention. He'd complained loudly to his friends over the slight, and others, more cunning than he, had seen what the prince had not. If the emperor wasn't at either of his summer retreats, then where was he? He was too important to pass unnoticed for long.
Fortunately one of Zuberi's clients was among Hadeon's circle of acquaintances, and so he'd learned of Hadeon's indiscretion even before the rumors started to swirl through the city.
Zuberi realized that the time had come to put his plans into motion.
He chose the senatorial baths for the first part of his plan, arriving in late morning when the baths were quiet, so that his presence would be duly noted. He began by indulging himself in a long soak in the warmest pool, where the heat inspired only desultory conversation with fellow bathers.
When he left the pool, the attendants dried him, then dressed him in a loose cotton wrap that belted around his waist and fastened rope sandals on his feet.
He left the bathing room for the antechamber, where patrons mingled as they sampled the delicacies on offer, or gathered on benches for conversation. He accepted a cup of chilled fruit juice and made his circuit of the room, pausing now and then to engage in conversation. At last he spotted Senator Columba sitting in close conversation with his companion.
Perfect. Columba was a known gossip, who would not be able to resist this tidbit. He paused to make certain he caught the eye of his aide Hanif, who'd been carefully observing his master from the periphery of the chamber. Hanif nodded, then held up his hand showing five fingers.
Five minutes, as they'd agreed.
Zuberi made his way over to where Senator Columba sat, then paused, as if by chance. Summoning a passing servant, he ordered “Run and find out if the barber Tomasso is free. I will wait here.”
The servant disappeared, and Zuberi turned slowly, as if surveying the room.
As he caught sight of Columba he inclined his head. “Senator,” he said.
“Proconsul, greetings of the day to you,” Columba said. “And may I present my cousin Parnassus, who has just arrived in the city?”
“Parnassus,” he said, inclining his head.
“I am honored,” Parnassus replied.
“Will you join us?” Columba asked.
Zuberi shook his head. “I am waiting for the barber,” he said.
Just then Hanif hurried over, panting as if he'd run a great distance. His face was red, covered in sweat. If Zuberi had not known otherwise, he'd have sworn that Hanif had run the length of the city to find him.
“Proconsul,” Hanif said, gasping for breath.
“What is it? Have they found him?” Zuberi demanded, as they had rehearsed.
Hanif shook his head. “No, but the commander has returned and wishes to meet with you at once,” he said.
“He was ordered not to return alone,” Zuberi ground out. “If he has failed, and the emperor has been harmed—”
He bit off his words, as if suddenly recalling that they had an audience.
“Come,” he said, taking Hanif by the arm.
He left, without a backward glance, but he knew that Senator Columba's eyes would be fixed upon him.
By fortunate coincidence, that night he'd already planned to host a select dinner party, for his most important clients and closest allies. Two additional invitations were sent out, and he informed his wife of the extended guest list, so she could alter the preparations accordingly.
As night fell, fourteen guests joined him for dinner, along with their wives and companions. They ranged from Matticus of Alondra, who held the obscure if lucrative post of inspector of roads, to Senator Demetrios and General Kiril, both men who could challenge him for the emperorship, if they dared.
As the guests arrived they were escorted to the inner courtyard, where hanging lanterns illuminated the statues and frescoes, while the perfumed waters of the bubbling fountain filled the air with the scent of flowers. A musician played the kithara, while servants circulated, offering glasses of wine and delicacies to whet the appetite.
Several of his guests eyed him closely, showing that rumors had reached their ears, but in the presence of the women the conversation was general.
Only Demetrios was bold enough to break with custom, drawing Zuberi aside.
“Have you heard the rumors?” he demanded. “It's all over the city that Lucius is dead.”
“Only just,” Zuberi lied. “This is not the time, but stay after my guests leave, and we will decide what must be done.”
Just then Petrelis entered with his longtime mistress, Savina, on his arm, and Zuberi excused himself so that he could greet them.
When the last guest arrived, he nodded to Eugenia, who gave the signal that they should proceed inside. His wife's reputation as hostess was well earned, and for the next three hours the guests dined on a succession of exquisite dishes. Wine was offered freely, but no one drank to excess.
They spoke of the things that were oft discussed at such gatherings—high-minded discussions of intellectual matters mingled with the gossip of the court: which senator's wife had demanded a divorce, and which minister's clients had deserted him after he'd gambled away his patrimony.
Matticus of Alondra described his recent visit to inspect his new estate in the country, which was being rebuilt after an earthquake. There was general commiseration as he described his dismay when he realized that the builders had ignored his directions, allowing the laborers to simply rebuild the old villa, rather than tear it down and start anew. All agreed that his mistake had been in trusting a provincial factor rather than sending his own man to supervise.
Savina told a humorous story of her reception where both Senator Aeaneas's wife and his mistress had decided to attend, much to the horror of both women. The guests laughed, as they were supposed to, but their laughter had a brittle sound and soon died away.
At last, when the final savory was offered, none had the stomach for it. Eugenia caught his eye, and as he nodded, she rose from her couch.
“Honored husband, the evening grows late, and it is time I retired,” she said, in accordance with custom.
“Honored wife, on behalf of my guests, my thanks for your splendid hospitality,” he said, rising to his feet.
The rest of the party rose as well—some having to be helped to their feet after having reclined for so long.
The women followed Eugenia as she led them to her private sitting room, where they would drink tea and discuss the foibles of their men, before litters were summoned to take them home.
The men followed Zuberi, who led them back to the courtyard, where chairs had been placed around braziers to ward off the chill of the night. Some men paused to use the adjacent lavatory, but Zuberi had drunk only sparingly at dinner and did not join them.
Tables held pitchers of wine, along with crystal goblets, and his guests served themselves as they took their seats. It was understood that the servants would not approach unless specifically summoned, so the guests could speak freely.
Demetrios maneuvered himself so he took the chair to Zuberi's right, while General Kiril took the seat across from him, so that he faced both Demetrios and Zuberi. When the last guest had found his place, they exchanged uneasy glances, no one wanting to be the first to break the silence.
It fell to Telamon, who'd replaced the murdered Simon as Chancellor of the Exchequer, to say what all were thinking.
“Three people came to me today, and swore that they'd heard the emperor was dead,” Telamon said.
“Mere rumors,” Demetrios scoffed.
“Rumors or not, they would not have dared say such a thing unless they were gravely concerned,” Telamon replied.
“We cannot be responsible for every bit of idle gossip,” Zuberi said.
“It's not just gossip,” Matticus of Alondra said. “The emperor has been gone too long—and all know he was ill when he left. If he could be seen—”
He could not have asked for a better prompt.
“No,” Zuberi said swiftly.
“Why not?” General Kiril asked.
“It's not possible,” Zuberi replied.
Kiril leaned forward. “What is it that you're not telling us? How ill is he?”
Zuberi made a show of hesitating.
“We have a right to know,” Kiril said. “I have that right.”
Zuberi took a deep breath. “What I say must go no farther than this courtyard,” he said. “I'll have your oaths.”
