Chapter 12

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The servingwoman looked up at Lucius through lowered lashes, smiling demurely as she handed him a cup of chilled tipia. “The bath, it is to your liking, your graciousness?”

He returned the smile. “I find much to like,” he said, letting his gaze wander down from her face to her lithe form.

She blushed, as if she were a modest maiden. Then she leaned forward, reaching in with one hand to stir the rose petals that floated on the surface of the water. The pose gave him a clear view of the tops of her firm young breasts.

She was very much to his taste—a change from the matronly servants who had been his previous attendants, and he wondered whom he had to thank for her presence. Were the functionaries finally ready to treat him as an emperor should be treated? Or was this woman’s presence here mere happenstance?

He took a sip of his drink, the chilled mixture of fruit juices mixed with soft wine providing a perfect counterpoint to the heat of the baths. Lucius felt a stirring in his groin, as she once more leaned in—this time close enough that her breasts brushed his arm as if by accident.

Yet it was no mere accident, but rather the dance of seduction—a game that he had played in his youth, though never as often as he had wished. The imperial princes had been the subject of most women’s ambitions; he had had neither wealth nor influence to tempt them.

“You are far more beautiful than my last attendant,” he said, taking up his part in the game. “Tell me your name so that I may ask for you again.”

“Tiphene, your majesty,” she said. “It is my honor to serve you.”

She boldly met his gaze, then dropped her eyes, this time not in modesty but in frank appraisal of his form. The scars from his torture had faded, and he knew that what she saw would please her—as it would please any woman. He was young, handsome, and well endowed—a far cry from the withered old men who were his advisors.

Well, perhaps Demetrios was not old, though he was far from handsome. But as for the rest—only a mercenary would sleep with them by choice.

Lucius stood, letting the water drip from his body. His male bath attendant held out his arm to help Lucius descend from the bathing pool, while Tiphene picked up a large towel. She dried him slowly, her touch lingering as she reached his waist, and he felt his flesh respond.

He cast his mind back, but he could not remember the last time he had lain with a woman.

He could feel the monk’s presence in his mind, and so he asked, How long has it been?

Since what?

Since my body felt the touch of a woman?

Not since I was joined to you.

Lucius shuddered. Was the monk only half a man? Could he really have spent the past years in a celibate existence?

“Quickly, fetch his robe,” Tiphene ordered her fellow servant, mistaking his shuddering for a sign that he was chilled.

He allowed her to slip his arms into the robe, then held still as she belted it around his waist. She stood there for a moment, her hands lingering on the ties.

“I can think of another way to warm up,” he said. He took her hand in his, then turned to his other attendant, saying, “You are dismissed.”

He did not miss the flash of triumph that crossed Tiphene’s features, though it was swiftly hidden beneath another maidenly blush. Still, for all her feigned demureness, it was she who tugged gently at his hand, leading him toward his bedroom.

He was content to be led. The monk might have wasted these past years, but he would not allow such an opportunity to pass him by.

A thought crossed his mind. Perhaps those years had not been wasted—the monks of the Learned Brethren were known to lie with other men. Not solely by preference, though no doubt there were those who preferred the rugged embrace of a man to the softer joys of a woman. But the monks—who drew their ranks from the bastard outcasts of noble families—lay with their fellows in order to ensure that they would breed no challengers to the rightful heirs.

Lucius had never felt an attraction toward another man, and the thought that Josan might have used his body in that manner was distressing. Tell me, did you lie with male lovers?

Josan was silent, for so long that Lucius feared he would not speak. Then, finally he said, Since the time I was joined with your body, I have taken no lover, neither man nor woman.

Lucius was relieved. Even if he had no memory of such an act, it was still distasteful to contemplate. Perhaps Josan found the idea of sex with a woman equally distasteful, for he could feel the monk’s presence retreating, allowing Lucius to take full control of his body.

He climbed upon the bed, reclining back against the pillows, then unbelted his robe, letting it fall open.

“Let me see you,” he said.

Tiphene slipped her right shoulder free of her chiton, exposing one breast. She held the pose with the skill of a practiced courtesan, then slowly slipped her left shoulder free, and let the chiton puddle on the floor at her feet.

She was not classically beautiful, but her skin was unblemished, her breasts generous and firm. White teeth flashed in a smile as she climbed onto the foot of the enormous bed and began to crawl toward him.

He waited, enjoying the sight of a beautiful woman anxious to please him. As she approached he held out his hands, drawing her to him so that she knelt astride his thighs, the tip of his sex brushing the softness of her belly.

She bent her head to him and he brushed her lips with a kiss as he reached forward and caressed her breasts. Their soft weight filled his hands, but it was not as pleasant as he remembered.

He withdrew his hands, and Tiphene took this as a signal, for she brushed a kiss against his chin, then his neck, then continued down his chest, exploring him with lips and hands.

He smelled the perfume of her hair and gazed upon her soft curves. But his attraction was waning—what should have been a delight instead felt wrong.

She was too fragile, too yielding. Plump and curved where he wanted hardness and strength. He grasped her waist, but it was as if he were clenching a bolster rather than a lover.

Tiphene’s lips reached his sex, which now lay flaccid against his leg. He heard her soft gasp of surprise, then she began to stroke him with her tongue.

You, this is your fault! Leave, before you unman me.

I would if I knew how. I am sorry.

But the monk’s apologies were useless, and Lucius could not summon the concentration necessary to force him into oblivion.

Lucius imagined sinking his hardness into Tiphene’s soft curves, remembering the pleasures to be found in joining with a woman, but it was no use. He could not recapture his earlier arousal. Despite his efforts, and Tiphene’s increasingly frantic ministrations, his body remained unmoved.

He was a eunuch. Crippled by the cursed spell that had stolen so much else from him.

He shoved Tiphene so that she toppled to her side. She looked up at him, pouting lips topped with dark accusing eyes.

“I am bored of this,” he said. “Leave me.”

“But—” she began.

“Leave,” he said, in a voice that would not countenance disagreement.

Tiphene scrambled to her feet, picking up her garment but not bothering to don it as she raced from the room. She must have feared that he was about to order her whipped for her presumption.

I should have her whipped, he thought. By tomorrow the whole of the palace will know that I am not a man. In a few days the news will spread throughout the city.

They will think her words a sign of pique—the spite of a serving girl angry that the emperor refused her advances, the monk observed.

But he was not in the mood to be reasonable. And what if this happens again? What if I can no longer lie with a woman? An emperor must have an heir.

Lucius was furious, but the monk’s mind voice was calm. It is likely that we will fall victim to Zuberi’s machinations long before the question of an heir arises. And, if by chance it comes to that, I am certain Zuberi would be happy to father our heir. He has already assumed the rest of your powers.

And how is Zuberi any different from you? Lucius asked. He, at least, is honest in his intentions. You are just as much of a usurper, but you cover your deeds with apologies and feigned regret.

He felt a flash of rage from the monk, then silence. He could still feel the monk’s lingering presence, an unclean shadow lurking in his mind. He vowed that he would not endure this partnership forever. Someday he would find the means necessary to rid himself of the monk’s spirit—whatever it took.

There could be only one emperor, and Lucius was determined to be that man.

 

The mood of the palace had lightened, perhaps owing as much to Zuberi’s absence as it did to the news that the rebellion in the north had been put down. Other news was less encouraging—Ikarian merchant ships were returning to port with tales of harassment by coastal raiders, and several had gone missing entirely. Their absence could be the result of storms or pirates, or there could be more sinister forces at work. There were many countries that might seek to take advantage of Ikaria’s internal distractions—chief among them the Federation of Seddon.

At least Josan no longer languished in ignorance. His tentative accord with Demetrios had already borne fruit—each morning at breakfast a clerk would arrive to brief him on the news of the previous day. As troubling as the rumors had been, the bare facts were even worse.

The mood of the populace was grim. Violence remained a daily fact of life in Karystos, and Petrelis’s guards were hard-pressed to maintain even a semblance of order. Two of the provincial governors reported that they had suppressed rebellions, though Josan wondered if they were merely using this as an excuse to seize the assets of their rivals.

Some nobles who had remained in the capital throughout the summer now chose to return to their estates. Perhaps they were fleeing the violence, or perhaps they sought to return to their bases of power, in preparation for the civil war that most feared loomed on the horizon.

Today’s briefing brought the disquieting news that the federation had recalled their ambassador for consultations—a diplomatic phrase that meant he was suspected of wrongdoing, or considered too valuable to leave as a potential hostage in case war broke out. Ambassador Blaise had only served a short time, replacing Ambassador Hardouin, who’d been expelled for not noticing that his assistant, Lady Ysobel, was conspiring with the Ikarian rebels—Prince Lucius among them.

Josan wondered what had happened to Lady Ysobel after her escape. Had she returned to the life of a sea trader? Or was she weaving new schemes, once again risking her life to fuel her ambitions? She must have been astounded by his rise to the throne though he had no doubt that she had somehow found a way to claim credit.

What would he do if the federation sent her back as part of their delegation? Would he be expected to greet her as an ally? But surely she, at least, knew better. After all, he had betrayed his supporters to Empress Nerissa, Lady Ysobel among them. Having once fled Karystos to save her life, she could not be anxious to return.

This morning’s report brought more troubling news, a rumor that the federation was massing its naval forces, converting merchant vessels to troop transports. It was a single report, but if true, it boded ill. Especially with the Ikarian navy still captive in port and no likely successor for Admiral Hector found.

The navy is unimportant. The strength of the empire has always been in her armies, Lucius thought. It was he who took control of their shared body and dismissed the clerk with a wave of one hand, ordering the hovering servants to bring him a pot of fresh citrus tea.

Josan despised citrus tea, and Lucius knew this. He had taken a perverse pleasure in requesting it as often as possible, savoring each sip, while Josan inwardly winced. At times like this he almost wished for the days when Lucius could temporarily banish him, but Lucius could no longer force Josan into unknowingness. Josan could not rest—he could try to silence his own thoughts in meditation, providing the illusion of solitariness, but he was always present.

He could not bring himself to apologize for something that was not in his control. Nor could Lucius accept the situation gracefully. They had begun to rub each other raw, as would any two men who had been chained together against their will.

We need the navy to protect our coast. And our ships. Unless you plan to give up the teas of Olizon, along with at least one quarter of the gold that flows into the imperial coffers.

Lucius grimaced, but accepted this point. Then what do you suggest?

Josan had the beginnings of a plan, but he was not ready to share. If he mentioned it, Lucius would insist on implementing it at once rather than waiting until the right moment. Josan resented having been forced into the role of parent, constantly reining in Lucius’s intemperance, urging caution over folly. But each time he was tempted to let Lucius simply have his way, he reminded himself that the consequences to both of them might well prove fatal.

We must ponder our strategy, Josan replied. Zuberi will return tomorrow, and I know the council will have their own ideas.

Think as much as you like. The voice in his mind was scornful. I am in the mood for fencing, unless you plan to interfere with this pleasure as well?

Josan thought a wordless agreement and wondered if the embarrassment that he felt was reflected on their shared visage. When Lucius’s mind slumbered, Josan was content to read his scrolls, consult with the clerks, or stroll in the gardens. He had learned to accept these limitations, but Lucius was used to a more energetic life. Forbidden to leave the city to engage in his favorite pastime of riding, he had taken to visiting the training hall, practicing with a sword as if he were expecting to lead his armies in the field. An unobjectionable pastime for an emperor, and far more to Josan’s taste than Lucius’s other attempts at diversion.

Lucius had still not forgiven Josan for his role in their failed attempt at seduction, though it was not clear what Josan could have done differently. Neither Josan’s apologies, nor his reminder of how such a liaison would be seen by Zuberi, was enough to deflect his wrath.

Since then he had been careful to defer to Lucius in small matters whenever Lucius was present. It would not take much to break their tentative truce.

He could feel Lucius attempting to take control of their body, and Josan let his focus diminish, ignoring the physical sensations in favor of contemplation of the mysteries of the sacred numbers that had once formed the central portion of his studies.


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Lucius felt the monk’s presence diminish as he resumed full control of his body. He knew the retreat was meant as an apology, but he could not bring himself to feel grateful. The monk had done him no favors, merely ceding back to Lucius what was his by birthright—control of his own body. Though he knew from bitter experience that this control was but a temporary interlude.

It chafed that he had no way to strike back at the monk. Any action that hurt Josan ultimately hurt Lucius as well. He could not harm him, nor could he banish the monk to silence. Instead he was reduced to petty tricks—eating foods that he knew the monk disliked, insisting on vigorous exercise when the monk would have preferred to study.

He wondered if it would have been easier if they were friends. There was no common ground between them other than their mutual desire to survive. Left to his own desires, he would never have spoken two words to the monk, yet circumstances had bound them together more intimately than any friendship.

Though it was a decidedly unequal partnership. He knew that Josan considered him reckless, constantly chiding him as if the monk were his elder brother. The monk seemed to have forgotten that it had been Lucius, not Josan, who had won over Commander Kiril to their cause. Lucius had engineered their first victory against those who would see him cast off the throne, yet instead of being inspired to even bolder actions, the monk continued to counsel patience.

If the monk had his way, Lucius would turn into a mere statue, surrounded by dusty tomes.

It was not as if the monk’s studies had any value. He still refused to send for books on magic, or anything that might help them discover how to undo the original spell. At times Lucius wondered if the monk truly wished to be free of this curse. For him, this stolen half-life was better than no life at all.

But it was not enough for Lucius, whose restless spirit craved action. In the days before his exile, Lucius had engaged in mock duels with other young nobles of Nerissa’s court—younger sons who showed their daring by befriending the object of the empress’s charity. He had considered them true friends at the time, and indeed some had died in his name in that first aborted rebellion. Those that had survived had done so by denouncing him. Now fortune had turned in his favor, but so far none had shown signs of being willing to trade upon their old friendship. And for his part, he made no overtures to them.

He did not need friends. He needed allies, and the company of those who had once gambled, drunk, and wenched with him would only serve to remind others of the wastrel he had been.

And that Josan still considered him to be.

As he reached the training hall he saw that Ermanno, his usual partner, was already there.

He doffed his robe, revealing a thin tunic underneath, belted with a linen cord. Ermanno was dressed in similar fashion, though his tunic was undyed cotton rather than silk. Lucius began by stretching to limber his muscles. Ermanno mirrored him, performing his own stretches with a fluid grace that Lucius envied. The muscles needed for fighting and swordplay were far different from those required by the menial existence of a lighthouse keeper or fugitive, and his body was only slowly regaining its former suppleness.

At last Lucius straightened up. “The heavy swords today,” he said.

“As you wish, emperor,” Ermanno said. Crossing to the wall he selected two wooden broadswords. Bowing low he extended the first to Lucius, hilt first, before taking his own.

Lucius swung his arm in a serpentine pattern, accustoming himself to the weight of the sword. Usually they practiced with the lighter dueling swords, but he was in the mood to test himself today. The polished ironwood was nearly as heavy as an actual sword would be, though the dull edge would draw no blood.

No man would risk dueling an emperor with sharpened steel—not even if he commanded him to do so.

They took their places in the center of the hall, a dueling circle outlined by dark red stones set in the marble floor. It had been years, perhaps decades, since an actual duel had been fought here, but the circle still remained, testament to a bloodier past. These days the circle was used as a training device—as long as both players stayed within the circle, points were awarded by judges based on the difficulty of the attacks and speed of execution. A swordsman forfeited the match if he stepped outside the circle, or was so careless as to draw blood from his opponent.

Today there were no judges. Lucius raised his sword in salute, and Ermanno followed. As he lowered his sword, Lucius lunged forward in attack.

Ermanno blocked his strike with a blow that made Lucius’s arm ache, and the contest was joined. A part of Lucius’s mind was wholly engaged by the swordplay, though it was merely an extension of the training exercises, as Ermanno essayed one choreographed drill after another, testing his pupil’s skill and stamina. Lucius recognized the attacks, and was nearly always able to block them, though he struck few blows of his own.

But even as he sparred, a part of Lucius’s mind was still focused on his anger with the monk. The revelation of Zuberi’s fatal illness should have spurred them to take decisive action, but the monk insisted on moving slowly.

If only there was someone he could trust to give him counsel. But even if he found a political ally, he could not trust him with the secret of his twin existence. Neither friendship nor political expediency would be enough to counter the horror of realizing that the emperor was a monster.

His lungs burned, and sweat covered his body, while his opponent was as fresh as if he were merely describing the moves rather than sparring. Lucius’s anger rose. Putting his left hand over his right, he lifted the sword high, then whirled, the sword cutting a clean arc through the air, right where Ermanno’s neck would be.

In his anger he had forgotten that a blow above the shoulders was considered in poor form. But it did not matter, because, before he could complete his turn, Ermanno hooked one leg around his own, and Lucius crashed to the floor.

He lay there, winded, his aching body protesting the bruises he had already received, and the new ones that he had just earned. He would regret this folly later.

“My apologies, emperor,” Ermanno said. He said the same thing every time he bested Lucius, as if superior skill was something to apologize for.

“I will not make that mistake again,” Lucius said.

Ermanno extended his left arm, and after a moment Lucius took it, allowing the man to pull him up.

Lucius swayed for a moment, still breathing heavily. “Enough for today,” he said.

“It was well fought, until the end,” Ermanno said.

Lucius shrugged. He wanted to believe Ermanno’s words, but suspected that they were mere flattery. Still, he could take pride in having lasted longer than he had in his last bout with the heavy swords. Next time he would last longer still.

The monk was wrong about him. Lucius had learned how to be patient when it mattered. But he had also learned when to take risks, and that was a skill the monk needed to learn. And if the monk was unwilling to learn, then it would be up to Lucius to take decisive action, regardless of the monk’s objections.

 

Josan raised his right arm to tug at the fold of his tunic, grimacing as his muscles reminded him of yesterday’s exertions. Almost as soon as the training session was over, Lucius’s presence had begun to fade. Rather than fighting his retreat, Lucius had cheerfully accepted his banishment, pleased to leave the burden of their aching body to Josan.

It was a child’s trick, letting another be punished for his sins. Shameful in a youth, it was contemptible in a man who claimed to be ready to rule as emperor. Any sympathy that Josan had felt for Lucius had been slowly worn away by such tricks until now he felt only anger at Lucius’s shortsightedness.

Zuberi had returned to the city last night and set a council meeting for this very afternoon. The emperor had been informed of the meeting as if he were the one who had called it and the functionary was merely confirming the time. A subtle play, meant to give the appearance that the emperor was in control. Though if matters followed true to form, any decisions would be made before the emperor arrived, so his presence was a mere formality.

Josan had been waiting for an opportunity to test his newfound alliance with Demetrios and see just how much goodwill the victory over Markos had won him. He had considered his proposal long and hard over many hours and believed he could sway the majority of the councilors to his side.

But it meant acting without Lucius’s agreement, something he had sworn not to do. Each had promised to take no action without the agreement of the other. Yet this opportunity might not come again. If he acted without Lucius, he would incur his anger. If he waited until Lucius was once more present, the moment to act might well have passed.

No matter what he did, he could not win. He had spent most of the morning desperately trying to rouse Lucius’s consciousness, to no avail. As the council chamber came in sight, he gave one last mental shout but heard only silence.

So be it. He was on his own.

Josan did not break stride as he approached the council chamber, trusting that the guards would open the door at the correct moment. It was a trick he had learned from Lucius—an emperor expected others to serve him. The more he behaved like an emperor, the more others were likely to perceive him as such.

Entering the chamber, he was not surprised to see that the councilors were already seated, apparently having been here for some time. Mindful of the watching guards, they rose to their feet and remained standing, until he took his seat, then resumed their own as the doors swung shut behind him.

He used the opportunity to study Zuberi carefully. He looked better than he had—not quite as worn, his complexion warmed by the sun rather than the pale gray of exhaustion. But he was not a well man, and Josan wondered how he could have missed seeing the signs of illness.

Perhaps it was because he had seen Zuberi only as his enemy, not as a man. It was a blindness he could ill afford.

“Proconsul Zuberi, Senator Demetrios, Brother Nikos,” he began, acknowledging each man in turn. “It has been too long since I heard your words of wisdom.”

“Fortunately there has been little to discuss,” Nikos said.

“Oh? Then the news that our colonies are under attack were mere rumors, not fact?” Josan pressed.

“A single colony,” Zuberi said. “And the attackers were repelled.”

“One colony that you know of,” Josan pressed. “And how many ships lost at sea?”

Zuberi frowned.

“It is difficult to determine if the ships are lost, or merely delayed,” Demetrios said.

“Delayed.” Josan let the word hang in the silence. “And how many ships must be delayed before you will believe that there is a threat?”

“We did not summon you here today to talk about ships,” Zuberi said.

“Then you are overlooking a grave danger. Or do you truly think that the Federation of Seddon has forsaken its ambitions?”

“And what makes you think the federation is behind our losses? Perhaps you are still in communication with the treacherous Lady Ysobel?” Brother Nikos asked.

Josan shrugged. “Lady Ysobel’s plans are her own. But those who sent her here to stir up trouble are still in power in the federation, and it is not likely that they will miss any opportunity to take advantage of our weakness.”

“What would you have us do?” Demetrios asked, drawing a sharp glare from Zuberi.

“The fleet needs a new admiral. The captains blame me for Hector’s death, seeing him as a martyr to my ambitions. They will not follow me unless they are led by someone they trust.”

“We have discussed this before. The senior captains are all Hector’s men, chosen by him and personally loyal to him,” Nikos said, with the air of a teacher correcting a difficult student.

“And most are of the old blood,” Josan said. “We need one of the old blood who can hold their loyalties yet who would be faithful to us.”

“Every candidate we’ve proposed either has no experience at sea or enough experience that he will decline this honor. We waste our time discussing this,” Demetrios added.

“But we all agree that the need is urgent?” Josan asked. There were reluctant nods from all present. “Then I suggest we publish a decree recalling Septimus the Younger.”

“No,” Zuberi said, slamming his fist against the table. “I will not see a traitor go unpunished.”

The others startled at his vehemence though Josan had expected no less. Simon the Bald had been the only one who could reach him in his anger, and since Simon had been murdered the council had lost an important voice of reason.

“Septimus the Elder was a traitor. I myself gave evidence against him,” Josan said. “As for his son, not even Nizam could find a whisper linking him to the conspiracy. Septimus’s flight from Ikaria was a sign of prudence, not guilt.”

“The guilt of the father is shared by his sons,” Demetrios pointed out. Such was true by law, though the law was rarely enforced.

“I will not stand for this,” Zuberi said. “You think to grasp power—”

Demetrios laid a hand on Zuberi’s forearm. “Hear him out,” he said.

Josan took a deep breath, forcing himself to display a calmness he did not feel. These men held his life in his hands, and the moment they thought him beyond their control, they would dispose of him. The trick was to guide them while letting them make the final decision.

“Septimus was an experienced captain before he became master of Karystos harbor. He is of the old blood, and well known to the navy. Moreover, if we are seen to deal with him fairly, it will set an example for all those captains who might feel threatened by our rule. Give them a reason to serve faithfully, and they will fall in line.”

“And if not?” Brother Nikos asked.

“If not, are we any worse off than we are now? Our fleet and sailors are rotting in harbor, while our enemies’ aggression goes unchecked,” Josan said.

“I do not believe the situation is as dire as you say. Still, it would do no harm to recall Septimus the Younger and put our own questions to him,” Demetrios said. He turned slightly away from Josan so that he was facing the other councilors. “If we then see fit to offer him a post, that will be our choice.”

Demetrios was a master politician. By reminding Zuberi of where the power lay, he had both supported the emperor while simultaneously undercutting his position.

But it was enough for Zuberi. “So be it. Draft up a decree recalling Septimus, guaranteeing his safety. But do not think yourself clever, princeling. You have not gotten your way. Not yet.”

“The final decision will be yours, of course,” Josan said. “I merely offered my advice.”

“And have you any other words of wisdom for us today?” Zuberi asked, his voice dripping with scorn.

Josan shook his head.

“Then be still as we tell you what we have decided. Emperor.”

Josan resisted the urge to mop his brow. He had won this skirmish, but Zuberi’s resistance had been greater than he expected. He would have to tread lightly in the coming days if he wanted to avoid further suspicion.