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  “Things are going differently for many in this house,” Persephone ground out.

  “A thing I regret terribly. We live in a world where women only have value for what they can bring the men in their lives. It is not fair, nor is it right, but it is reality. You could just as easily be married to a good man named foe as a tyrant named friend.”

  Persephone had never been so close to striking her mother. “A fact I am well aware of, if you do not recall.”

  “Then act like it.”

  Persephone startled at the words before regaining her composure. “I refuse to accept there is not another way of things.”

  Her mother rose. “We cannot control the circumstances the fates send to us. Sometimes we have to find ways to manipulate a bad situation toward the greater good.”

  As her mother walked away, Persephone acknowledged fleetingly that it was possible she was speaking from experience.

  Chapter 5:

  Words as Weapons

  There is much that determines the worth of a secret: the value of the information; the consequences if it is discovered; and, perhaps most of all, the people from whom it must be kept.

  – Persephone of House Galanis, Princess of Galilae

  Augustine stood in the doorway for a moment watching his target. Old friends as they were, Agrippa had been amenable after hearing Augustine’s plan. A mere week after Augustine left Galilae, with Agrippa leading the charge, the Finctus overthrew Fortunata. Fortunata’s palace had been taken almost as easily as the palace in Galilae. It was vile to have deceived the the king, posing as peaceful messengers engaged in negotiation. This was the sort of thing that led to the distrust between kingdoms when envoys were sent, and yet Augustine could find no remorse for the action. He’d not filled Agrippa in on all of the details regarding his newfound contempt for the King of Fortunata, sticking only to what was publicly known, but politically it was a good move and would be the final log on Galilae’s funeral pyre.

  The fallen king had been positioned as requested in the throne room. He’d not noticed Augustine’s approach and looked to a point on the floor between his knees. Naked, he sat in the center of the high-ceilinged room, his hands and feet bound to a chair that was only a frame – the seat had been removed.

  He looked up when Augustine’s footsteps echoed his direction. Grabbing a chair of his own, Augustine dragged it as he walked. The resounding scrape echoed hollowly in the otherwise empty room. Swiveling it around one leg until it faced the king, he let it down and settled himself amicably.

  “Do you know who I am?” The king shook his head. Augustine smiled. “I am Augustine Sempronius, General of the Nex Division of the Finctus.” Barbarus’s eyes widened, pupils dilating to the point that they swallowed his irises at the news. “So you do know me,” Augustine said, pleased at his reaction.

  Augustine pulled a small knife out of his belt. The blade was short and wide, very sharp, but the steel was forged to be durable. The king’s breathing escalated as he looked at the knife twirled casually between Augustine’s fingers. Without warning Augustine threw his weight behind his arm and slammed the dagger into the center of the king’s thigh. Forced all the way to the hilt, the blade was just long enough to press the tip into the bone. Hence the need for its durability.

  The king gaped open-mouthed at his leg.

  “That would be the shock.” Augustine stood and patted his cheek. “Your body will register the pain momentarily.”

  A bellow followed his statement and Augustine made his way to the window, looking into the courtyard while Barbarus screamed himself out. When all he heard behind him were shallow, gasping breaths, Augustine turned, propping his elbows on the windowsill behind him.

  “What. The. Fuck?!” Barbarus barely choked out.

  Ignoring the question, Augustine pulled out the small blade’s matching counterpart and used it to pick underneath his fingernails. “I know what it is that they say about me in the Eastern Kingdoms. They call me the Reaper. I suppose the title is well earned. I’ve killed more than my fair share. More than I care to count died horrible deaths. My fame is largely due to my ability to think up and execute these creative ends.”

  “Are you mad?” Anguish evident in his every word, the king looked at him accusingly.

  Augustine laughed. “No. I assure you I am quite lucid. Just making polite conversation to pass the time. You see, when I thrust that blade into your thigh, your body made preparations to fight or flee. That response dulls your senses for a time.” Barbarus was looking at him horror-struck. “And I want to be sure you feel every little thing.”

  The pungent smell of urine drifted past him and Augustine curled his lip in disgust. It figured that the man was a coward at heart. With long purposeful strides, Augustine closed the distance between them and with a heave on the chair back tipped it onto two legs. One-handed, he dragged the immobile king behind him until they were well clear of the puddle.

  “Make no mistake, Highness. I’ve no problems leaving you in your own filth” – he retrieved his own chair – “but I do not care to join you in it.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Barbarus sniveled. Undoubtedly the movement had rattled his leg.

  Augustine felt no sympathy for the pathetic man. “I was getting to that when you interrupted me.” He gave the hilt of the protruding knife a small wiggle, which caused the king to double over as far as his bindings would allow and howl his anguish to the room. “Hmm. The time is near.”

  Suddenly, he slammed the matching dagger into the king’s other thigh. Barbarus arched and thrashed. It was to no avail; he’d been left very little room. Jiggling a finger in his ear to relieve the discomfort at the king’s volume, Augustine pulled a third dagger. A long thin-bladed thing. Elegant. It wasn’t his.

  The king was leaning back in his chair, his mouth hanging open unattractively as he sobbed and wheezed.

  “Pay attention.” Augustine rapped the blade of the dagger sharply against Barbarus’s front teeth. The metal rang pleasantly at the contact.

  The king yelped and shot upright, lips carefully covering his teeth.

  “As I was saying, because of the things I’ve done, the rumors are that I am without honor. That I lack morals.” Breathing heavily through his nose, the king made no comment. “I do what I must for my kingdom as I would hope you do for yours, but the truth is that I have a very strong moral code. For example, whenever possible, I reserve torture for only the men, and I reserve the worst for the leaders rather than those that were simply following orders. You see, I find no pleasure in torturing those who did not earn it, and most especially those unable to defend themselves. Women. Children. Even when it comes to sharing the spoils after battle, children are specifically off limits to my soldiers. A thing they well know and abide. But you? You do not share my code. Do you?”

  Barbarus shook his head. “That is not true.” He spoke quickly, pulling his lips protectively over his teeth as soon as he’d finished.

  Teeth were shockingly sensitive. It was no wonder the man was so mindful to protect them.

  “Barbarus ‘the Brutal.’ So named not just for your exploits on the battlefield.” Augustine flicked the hilt protruding from the king’s left thigh.

  He moaned a high keening sound.

  Augustine leaned forward, meeting Barbarus’s tear-filled eyes. “Tell me about the princess, Persephone.”

  “Who?”

  Augustine held his gaze. “Persephone of House Galanis.”

  “The Princess of Galilae?” He sounded surprised and confused, but fear lurked in his eyes.

  Augustine nodded.

  “What of her?”

  “She was your betrothed once.” Augustine held up the thin-bladed dagger.

  “That is not known. How do you –”

  “That it is not known does not make it untrue. She was your betrothed once. Yes?”

  “She was.”

  Augustine grabbed Barbarus’s flaccid cock. “You raped her.” No
t a question.

  “I did not!” Barbarus was frantic, trying to jerk away. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I do not believe you.” Mindful not to break the skin, Augustine traced the line of the king’s femoral artery with the tip of the dagger. Moving it on a slow trek from Barbarus’s knee toward his manhood.

  “I admit to bedding her, but I did not rape her. She wanted it. All of it,” Barbarus insisted.

  “She was nine,” Augustine reminded him coldly.

  “She did! She agreed,” Barbarus insisted. “In exchange for the slave!”

  The dagger halted partway between them. “Seraphime?” He shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, Persephone had traded herself for Seraphime; she’d left that part out in the telling, though. “What, Highness,” he said derisively, “did you do to her?”

  “Nothing! I did nothing except threaten her.”

  “Was that the first or the second time?” Augustine asked.

  “Wha –”

  “First or second?” Augustine repeated, squeezing Barbarus hard. How Barbarus answered the question might very well determine if he would merely lose his cock or if it would be mangled first.

  The man’s face contorted in pain and his breath continued to wheeze loudly even after Augustine loosened his grip. “Second! Second,” he panted.

  Wrong answer. Augustine placed the very tip of the dagger at the slit on the end of Barbarus’s penis.

  “Stop!” he pleaded desperately, near to hyperventilating. “I will tell you anything you want! Please don’t!”

  Dagger still poised at the opening of Barbarus’s urethra, Augustine looked him in the eye. “When you raped Persephone, did she cry?”

  “YES!” Barbarus sobbed, still staring horrified at his precariously positioned cock.

  “Did she beg you to stop?”

  Recognition dawned in the king’s eyes. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Did you?”

  Barbarus shook his head. “No.”

  “Nor will I.”

  * * * *

  Persephone’s stomach turned violently. The smell of the meats and cheeses on their breakfast plate was more than enough to send it into revolt. Resorting to breathing through her mouth, she took a crust of bread and nibbled it experimentally, testing to see if her churning stomach would accept the meager offering. All seemed well for the moment. Still, she ate slowly just in case. Her mother was watching her closely, so Persephone made sure to keep her face and posture as neutral as possible. Persephone was still angry with her and found herself disinterested in hearing further argument from her in support of accepting the marriage pact.

  It had been a week since she’d spoken with the captain. A week since she’d last seen Seraphime. The only thing that kept her from completely losing her mind was that Para had been assigned to help Persephone bathe and she reported daily that Seraphime was well. She’d been assigned to Para’s kitchen duties when the younger girl was pulled away to attend Persephone.

  It had also been a week since Persephone had seen Augustine. His silence troubled her greatly. She surmised that he was no longer in the palace – possibly absent from the kingdom itself – though no matter how she tried, she could not get confirmation of such from Seneca when he escorted her to perform her daily stochasmos alone. In a way, Augustine’s absence was a blessing. Were she still sharing his bed every night, it would be more difficult to hide certain symptoms from him. Or lack of symptoms, as she should have started her moonblood and hadn’t.

  To perform stochasmos without Seraphime felt like trying to perform it with a missing limb. Persephone hated it. Everything seemed wrong, but she’d been allowed to continue and to refuse to do so seemed like cutting off her nose to spite her face. She’d bargained for it because it kept her muscles and fighting skills in shape should she have the opportunity to take action against their captors.

  This morning, the hour dragged past especially slowly given the excessive fatigue and nausea Persephone was experiencing and it was a relief to finally make it into the bathhouse. When she arrived, Persephone saw Para already waiting for her in the hottest tub. Though acting as Persephone’s body slave was not anything Para had been groomed for, she was eager to please and paid close attention to Persephone’s preferences. Persephone also suspected that she spent time speaking with Seraphime about the role. She admired and appreciated the girl’s commitment, even as her own guilt threatened daily to open widen enough to swallow her whole.

  In spite of the abuses Persephone knew she suffered daily, Para always seemed genuinely pleased to see her. “My lady, are you well today?” Para’s smile was warm, but her eyes had the slightly glassy look that indicated she had taken valerian recently.

  Although Para asked the same question in the same way every day, Persephone never knew how to answer. She was far from well in nearly every regard, but what Para wanted and needed was hope, not complaints. Yet, even though she knew it was what Para wanted to hear, Persephone hated telling her that she was well. It wasn’t the lying that bothered her, but the knowledge that so many others fared so poorly. Persephone felt she deserved to hurt with them.

  “I am, Para, thank you for asking.” Persephone always responded with something similar. “How are you?”

  Para shrugged. “Much the same.”

  Persephone looked at the water swirling between them as Para moved and shifted. “I am so sorry, Para. I did not want this for any of you.” A fresh wave of nausea rolled over Persephone and she worried she would empty her stomach into the water.

  “We know that.” Para had stilled and was looking at Persephone with concern. “None of us blame you for this.”

  They should blame her, but Persephone didn’t say that. “Forgive me, Para, it was not my intent to make you feel worse.” The heat was exacerbating her nausea – or maybe it was the shame. She needed to get out of the water and quickly or she was going to lose the fight against her rebellious stomach.

  “You did not,” Para insisted. “I wish there was something I could do for you, though.”

  “Perhaps there is,” Persephone said, an idea striking her.

  “Anything.” By the earnest look in her eyes, Para meant it when she said anything.

  The question was how to get what she wanted without alerting anyone to her intent. Were it Seraphime, Persephone would have no problem getting off a subversive message, but it was Para and she would take Persephone’s words at face value.

  “Raspberries have come into season. I look forward to them every year and it would lift my spirits to add them to our stores.”

  Para considered the request. “I believe Decimus will inquire about our stocks today or tomorrow. I will speak with him of the possibility.”

  “Gratitude, Para. If we do get them, Seraphime knows how I enjoy them.”

  Para nodded eagerly and Persephone felt satisfied that she had kept the request as innocuous as possible.

  As they finished and Para was escorted back to the kitchen, Seneca approached Persephone. She’d assumed his intent was to take her back to her room, but he’d stopped walking and was watching her fixedly. He suspected her of being up to something, but Persephone could see that he did not know enough to piece together what it was.

  “Lucius has informed the captain of your request,” he told her.

  “But not the general?” she baited him.

  He did not take it. “He would speak with you now, Princess.”

  If she was lucky, the captain would not recognize what she really wanted the raspberries for either, though Seraphime would immediately. Persephone knew she would be unable to keep the pregnancy a secret forever; however, for the moment it was imperative that she do so. Were she cold enough to use it, this was the thing that might finally give her some much-needed leverage over the general.

  * * * *

  Augustine looked up as the door opened. He nodded respectfully at Agrippa before returning his attention to the task at hand – removing all traces of
Barbarus’s blood from his hands. Posture careless, he waited for Agrippa to state his purpose. He did not need to wait long.

  “Happy now?”

  “Happy?” Dark red still creased in the spirals of his knuckles. He observed the patterns with interest before bending each finger to run the cloth over the smoothed surface. “No.” Agrippa was right next to him, looking at the desecrated body of the former king. “But I am satisfied.” A nod of acknowledgment met his words as his friend continued to study his handiwork. “Congratulations, Imperator. Fortunata is yours.”

  “I suppose it is,” Agrippa acknowledged.

  “My business in Galilae is not yet finished. Do whatever you must with the body today. I will take the head with me tomorrow when I take my leave if it pleases you.”

  Agrippa nodded. “Of course.”

  They clasped wrists. “You are a true friend. I owe you a debt.”

  “I will call on you when I have need. Gods. Kingdom. Kin.”

  The Finctus’s Code of Honor. “Gods. Kingdom. Kin.” Augustine parroted the words he’d grown up saying and hearing.

  Chapter 6:

  Silent Confessions

  Secrets isolate a person like nothing else.

  – Proverb

  After her bath, Seneca escorted Persephone directly to the captain. She knew Seneca was clever; evidently he was much shrewder than she’d given him credit for if he’d deemed her behavior suspicious. Of course, he had reason to be suspicious; she was hiding something of great import from them. But would the captain understand the meaning behind her request as Seneca had not? She would find out soon enough.

  She hadn’t been in his company since he’d revoked her ability to spend time with Seraphime. As far as she could tell, he’d continued to honor all of the other agreements she’d made with Augustine. Persephone desperately wanted to see her sister, but she was violently angry with him for separating them in the first place and with almost equal fervor she wanted to rebel against him out of spite. As they sat in silence assessing one another, she still hadn’t decided if she was going to cooperate or not.