The final sacrifice, p.28
The Final Sacrifice, page 28
Or even resumed his life as a monk, joining the brethren in Tarsus or some other place where they'd never heard of Brother Josan. Nor of Brother Nikos.
It was possible. Some would say it was the wisest choice. And his supporters would have understood.
But Lucius would not.
In the end, Lucius had finally understood duty, and that the power he'd inherited was not a privilege but a responsibility.
Lucius had sacrificed himself for his empire, and so that Josan might live. Josan could do no less.
Eight approached, carrying the casket that held the lizard crown.
“Admiral, if you would?” Josan asked.
Septimus flushed at the honor, then carefully he lifted the crown and set it on Josan's head. The familiar warmth greeted him, and for a moment he thought he heard lizards chattering.
The crown still recognized him. He knew that Lucius would have taken this as an omen.
Chenzira guided the ship to the imperial pier, which was reserved for the emperor's own ship. It was vacant, which could be taken as a sign of respect—or merely that they wished to make it easy for him to surrender. As they approached, Josan saw that the wharves were crowded with people, their voices rising and falling in excited utterances. All around the harbor, imperial flags flew, adorned with purple streamers, likely left over from Zuberi's coronation.
At the very end of the pier a canopy had been erected, and he saw a small group of people standing there, though he could not make out their faces.
It made no sense. He thought he'd be met by Zuberi's men, or perhaps a squad of General Kiril's troops, ready to take the former emperor into custody. But this crowd was more than mere casual spectators—all of Karystos would know what happened here today.
It was not like Zuberi to make this kind of mistake. But perhaps he'd had no choice—word of the victory at Anamur would have reached Karystos a week ago by his reckoning, and such news could not be kept quiet.
Zuberi might have had better luck suppressing the news that today was the day of the emperor's return, but he could not control rumors, and any preparations he made for Lucius's arrival would serve as warning to Lucius's allies.
If he had any supporters left besides the men who currently stood by him.
A handful of men approached, but even with their help, it seemed to take an eternity for the ship to be made fast and the gangplank to be lowered in place.
To his surprise, once they'd tied off the ship, the men retreated back down the short pier. He waited for a heartbeat, but no group of soldiers took their place.
It seemed Zuberi was waiting for Lucius to come to them. So be it.
“It is time,” Josan said.
He led the way down the gangplank, flanked on either side by Septimus and Chenzira. He recognized Senator Demetrios standing beneath the canopy, accompanied by General Kiril, Petrelis, and a handful of other senators and dignitaries. Oddly, several key figures were missing, including Chancellor Telamon.
And there was no sign of Zuberi, but armed men wearing the uniforms of the city guard formed a solid line that held back the crowds on either side, likely by Zuberi's command.
He heard the crowd chanting, “Long live the emperor,” and wondered who it was that they hailed.
As Josan's foot touched the pier, he summoned his will, and a rainbow appeared, arching from the harbor up over Karystos, coming to rest at the spires of the palace.
The crowd gasped, then cheered. It was not a subtle display, but he knew that Lucius would have loved it.
The magic had been Lucius's final gift to him—tied to the very blood that flowed through these veins, regardless of whose spirit commanded it.
He pasted a confident smile on his face as he drew near those who awaited him.
General Kiril was the first to step forward, followed a heartbeat later by Demetrios. Kiril looked much the same as he remembered, but Demetrios was pale, with a half-healed scar across his neck that even a high-necked robe could not wholly conceal.
“Where is my proconsul?” Josan asked. He would not grant Zuberi the title of emperor.
“Dead. Assassinated,” Kiril said bluntly.
Josan blinked. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him. He looked quickly at Demetrios, then scanned the rest of his welcomers, to see who had taken Zuberi's place, but none wore a crown, nor even the thin gold circlet that proclaimed the wearer as the emperor-in-waiting.
“But I know he would have wished to be the first to greet you upon your victorious return,” Kiril added.
These were not the words of a man preparing to arrest his former ruler. Kiril had risen to his post because of his alliance with the emperor—and his ability to sense the shifting winds of power.
But it could not be this easy, could it?
And yet, even as he wondered, Kiril dropped to his knees, followed by Demetrios, and the rest of the greeting party.
Demetrios bowed his head, saying, “Emperor Lucius, your loyal subjects welcome you home.”
He wondered if anyone else perceived the irony in those words.
Apparently Zuberi's assassination had meant that there had not been enough time to name a new emperor, or perhaps that no suitable candidate had been able to muster the necessary support. Merely because Demetrios knelt to him now did not mean that he had given up his ambitions.
The same could be said for the rest of the court. Those present were at least as much of a danger as those who had not been chosen to greet him.
The support of the navy, and the resounding victory at Anamur—a victory that for all their striving Empress Nerissa and her ancestors had never been able to achieve—had apparently secured his throne. For the moment.
If he wished to remain as emperor, to rule Ikaria and not merely pose as a figurehead for others, it would take everything that he had. Every bit of energy, every scrap of cunning, every bit of wisdom that he could muster. It could be no half effort—he could no longer play at being a scholar and leave the governance of his realm to others.
The scholar must give way to the emperor, as Lucius had given way to Josan. In the end, each had sacrificed what he valued most, so that the best part of the other would survive.
Just as no one would know to mourn Lucius, there was no one who would realize that today was the day that Josan the monk finally perished.
“Rise, my loyal friends,” he said. “It is good to be home.”
About the Author
PATRICIA BRAY grew up in a family where the ability to tell a good story was prized above all others. She soon realized that books were magical creations that let the author share stories with people he'd never met, and vowed that someday, she, too, would have this magic power.
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 bike trips in exotic locations. Readers can find out more about Patricia and her latest projects 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
THE SEA CHANGE
THE FIRST BETRAYAL
THE FINAL SACRIFICE
A Bantam Spectra Book / July 2008
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2008 by Patricia Bray
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Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks and Spectra and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-553-90517-5
v3.0
Patricia Bray, The Final Sacrifice
