Fallen Page 33
“Should you agree, yes, your knee will bend, but consider this, Acheron of House Galanis, you will maintain your life. You will continue to govern Galilae. You lose nothing except a title.”
“And what would I gain?”
“The combined might of the Finctus. If we are for you, who could stand against you?”
“Nothing is without a price,” the king snorted. “Tell me, what else is this to cost me?”
“Nothing it would not please you to part with,” Augustine told him coldly.
Cato remembered the first night that they had taken the palace, Acheron had made mention that Persephone should have married long ago. Undoubtedly, Augustine had remembered as well. Since discovering to whom she was to have been married and the blatant abuse she had suffered at his hands under Acheron’s roof, the king’s implication that she should have married Barbarus anyway seemed all the more callous.
“Naturally, we would need some insurance. My full army would take up residence in Galilae. A simple thing, really. With your navy and my army, Galilae will be impenetrable. As Imperator, you would need a Consul, so it makes the most sense that you would name me.” If Augustine’s tone was any indication, he was enjoying himself immensely.
“Only in your deluded mind does that make sense,” the king scoffed.
“Come, now. Is that any way to speak to your future son?”
The king recoiled, instantly paling as comprehension dawned.
“As you well know, nothing joins two nations as a marriage,” Augustine continued. “The end of the Fall Festival is a perfect time for a wedding.”
“And if I refuse?”
This was the part they had been concerned about, that the king would be unwilling to accept the deal proffered. They were well prepared for the eventuality, but all their plans could come to naught, if he remained unconvinced.
Augustine sighed. “I had hoped you would not ask.”
* * * *
At his sigh, Persephone’s entire body had gone rigid. She knew, or at least suspected what was coming, but Augustine had anticipated that. So when she attempted to spring from him, it was already too late. The struggle was over before it had even started.
His arms had already banded around her, pinning her own to her sides as he pulled the long-bladed dagger from the sheath at his hip. Making soothing sounds in her ear, he quickly brought the point to her throat, fitting it snugly against her delicate skin. The point notched perfectly underneath her jawbone. With no choice but to still or impale herself on its edge, she froze instantly.
Careful, so as not to inadvertently stick her, he pulled them both upright so he could meet the king’s appalled gaze. Sentries had moved threateningly close to the rest of the family, ready to strike them down at a moment’s notice, though Augustine alone had actually drawn steel.
Kolimpri had begun crying and the queen made shushing noises, attempting to calm her.
Acheron’s eyes fixed on the blade at his daughter’s throat before lifting to meet Augustine’s. “You would not.” Bold words, but the tremor in them betrayed his doubt.
“You think not?” Augustine asked him.
“You are a monster, of that I have no doubt. But all have seen how you look upon her. I do not believe you capable of murdering the woman you make love to every night.”
Augustine tipped his head snidely. “Mark my words, Highness, your daughter and I do not make love,” he mocked. “We fuck.” Turning his head, he looked at Persephone’s face. Despite her precarious position, her blank mask was firmly in place, betraying nothing she might be feeling. “You know me best of all, Princess. Spend your nights sharing my bed. What think you?”
Neither her head nor her body moved, but her eyes flicked to the side to meet his gaze. “I think you capable of stabbing me in the back while I slept if you had enough to gain by it.” Her coldly delivered words parroted the phrase he’d given her.
Overwhelming sadness consumed him at their truth. “Just so.”
He looked at her beautiful face for what he hoped would not be the last time before returning his attention to her father. “You’ve heard it from her own mouth. I am more than capable of doing what must be done. But since you insist on following this path to its foregone conclusion, I shall give you all you need to make an informed decision. Should you refuse, the first thing I will do is kill your daughters.” Killing them quickly was the one mercy he could be sure to offer them if it came to that. “Then your son. Last, your beloved wife, but not before she’s been passed through the ranks of my soldiers.” He hated to do it. He liked and respected Adonia, but by Persephone’s own lips, she held great meaning to the king. Her abuse would be the most impactful.
Acheron’s hands fisted so tightly his knuckles turned white, his fingernails likely leaving crescent-shaped punctures in his palms.
“At the last, I will overtake your Council while your people gather under the Grand Balcony to hear your final decree before the Fall Festival. In front of them all, I will slit you from groin to sternum before pushing you over the rail with a noose around your neck. Have you ever seen a man’s entrails all laid out? I should think they will connect you to the ground with room to spare. Even from such a great height.” The king sat looking decidedly green. “I will take your kingdom with or without your consent. How would you like them to remember you, Highness?”
Mouth opening and closing dumbly, Acheron finally found his voice. “I need to think.”
“You have to the count of five.” Augustine pushed the dagger more firmly into Persephone’s skin. She strained to lengthen her neck in order to keep it unmarred. “One.” He pushed a bit harder. “Two.” She had nowhere else to go. “Three.” Her sharp intake of breath coincided with the small pop he felt when the point pierced her flesh. “Four.” A red ribbon snaked down the column of her throat to pool against the bust of her chiton. “Fi –”
“STOP!” Hand outstretched across the table, the king beseeched. “I consent.”
Augustine immediately lowered the blade, passing it to Cato, who stood waiting and seamlessly traded a cloth for it.
“A wise choice, Highness.”
Pressing the cloth firmly to the wound, Augustine held the palm of his hand to Persephone’s throat. A warning. One she wisely heeded, though he never relaxed the arm banding her to him. With her, it was best if she never had the opportunity to disobey.
“Now, for the rest of you” – he looked particularly at the king and his son – “we want this to appear convincing, do we not?”
Chapter 8:
The Beginning of the End
Fights can both begin and end with handshakes, so how is one to know if it is the start, or the finish?
– Acheron of House Galanis, King of Galilae
After describing in detail what was expected of the patriarchs in her family, Augustine had hauled Persephone to her feet. He’d relinquished the task of stemming the flow of blood at her throat to her. Mindlessly, she held the cloth in place as she followed him. Likely, it had stopped bleeding by this point, but it gave her something to do, so she had continued.
Augustine would have killed her, of that, she had no doubt. He still might. Truly, she was more surprised that her father had agreed to go along with the arrangement. And in time to save her, no less. Even if barely so. It would seem he was capable of making decisions for the benefit of others and not merely himself after all.
Hand on her arm, Augustine forcibly escorted her to the king’s chambers. Not that she would have dared move against him at this point. Not publicly anyway. Privately, her next steps were about to prove brilliant or foolhardy.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Augustine turned her, moving her tamper so he could examine her latest injury at his hand. At least a viper appeared as a snake. There was no mistaking it for something other than what it was. The man in front of her was a wolf cleverly disguised in sheep’s clothing. Capable of unparalleled gentleness when it suited his purposes, but th
e gnashing of his teeth and snap of his jaws were far more reflective of his true nature.
Surprising him, she grabbed his wrist and squeezed a pressure point, as he had once done to her. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
Stepping back from him, she released his arm and put herself out of his reach.
“Persephone –” He took a step toward her, but stopped when she held up a hand.
“You will not lay hands on me again. In any capacity. Do you understand?”
“Persephone,” he started again, but she was in no mood to hear any words that would fall from his lips.
“Now, more than ever, you need my complete and utter cooperation. As the Treasure of Galilae, I can help to turn all toward your favor. Or, would you prefer to see how they would respond if they believed you brought harm or unhappiness to their treasured princess?”
“Speak plain, Persephone.” He watched her warily.
“If you wish me to play the part of doting wife and mother, you will see that my demands are met.”
“How are you to play the part of doting mother if you are not –” This time, he cut himself off. His eyes flicked to her stomach and then back to her face as understanding registered. He tempered his reaction too quickly for her to ascertain how he felt about the news. “I do not believe you.”
She felt her mouth curve wickedly. “Oh, I think you do. But by all means, check with your trusted captain. He knows, even if he has no means of proving it.”
The hard set of his jaw and shoulders confirmed that in spite of his words, he did believe her.
“You do wish to ensure your child enters this world happy and healthy, and remains so, do you not?”
“You would use our child against me.” The pitch of his voice and the tic in his jaw betrayed his anger.
“I would use your child against you,” she corrected him unapologetically.
“Our child,” he reiterated.
She shrugged indifferently. “Call it whose you’d like. I would merely offer you the same courtesy you showed me. I would leverage what you value against you.”
His hands were fisted at his sides, but he made no move toward her.
“You cannot spirit me away without rousing the people’s suspicions. Nor can you hurt those close to me by means of coercion, because I will retaliate in kind, General.” Before, she’d doubted that she could end the life growing inside her; presently, there was no question that she could – and would – if he gave her reason to.
By his expression, he knew it as well as she did. “What do you want, Princess?”
“Publicly, I will put on whatever face you instruct of me. I will vocalize my support of you. Even profess my undying love if you wish it.”
“What do you want, Persephone?” he repeated, his voice dropping a notch further.
“I will share your bed no more. You will continue to see to it that my family, Seraphime included, remain protected and untouched. And I do not care if you parade every whore between here and the Finctus through these walls, but the abuses of those serving in this palace stops immediately.”
Looking murderous, Augustine closed the distance between them. Persephone’s instincts screamed for her to retreat, but she did not allow herself to do so. She refused to believe he would hurt her in light of her new value. The well-being of his child was inextricably tied to her own, at least for the coming months. After that she would need to come up with a new solution. A child in the womb could not survive without its mother, but once birthed? Seraphime was proof that there were alternative solutions.
Even through the fabric separating them, her skin heated when he splayed his hand against her abdomen. “See to it that our child is well cared for, Persephone. Your charade begins tomorrow.”
Without further instruction or a backward glance, he turned and left the room, leaving her reeling in the middle of it. Had she truly just outmaneuvered him? It felt surreal. She should have felt triumphant, but her victory just felt hollow. Clasping both hands over her womb, she considered the implications of what had just transpired. For the moment, at least, she had won. But at what cost?
* * * *
As soon as Augustine had left Persephone the previous night, he’d gone to chat with his captain, starting the conversation by punching him in the mouth. Cato had known she was pregnant and hadn’t told him? Would have let him kill her knowing his own child grew inside her? Augustine had seriously considered murdering his friend.
“Could you have done it if you’d known?” Cato had demanded, completely unsurprised by Augustine’s reaction and knowing without being told what had caused it.
“Fuck you, Cato! I should kill you.” Augustine had paced angrily while Cato had watched him calmly.
“Do so if you must, but we discussed this at length and we both agreed it would be the most effective means of coercing the king. Could you have done it if you’d known?”
“Of course not!”
“Gods. Kingdom. Kin, Augustine. I did not tell you, so that you would be able to do your duty.”
Cato’s words had continued to echo in Augustine’s mind through the night and into the next morning. Even as he’d prepared for the final Council meeting, it was all he could think of. He had said them himself countless times over the years – Gods. Kingdom. Kin. – had always believed them without question. But when it came down to it, when it actually came to taking action, to choosing his priorities, reordering them seemed natural.
When he and Cato had been escorted into the Grand Council Chamber, they hadn’t spoken. Augustine understood why his friend had done what he had, but that didn’t stop him from holding on to his own anger and resentment. Augustine loved Cato as a brother; their friendship would survive, but perhaps they would need to take it to the sparring yard. Probably he should have thought of that before, as Cato now wore a sizable split in his lip. Soldiers were expected to wear injuries, but as the two of them were intended to present as peaceful messengers, it was not ideal for this situation. If Augustine had been thinking, he would have hit Cato where the mark would be hidden under his armor.
Augustine kept his face passive, but remained preoccupied through their introductions, finding none of his usual satisfaction in the shocked horror his name always conjured. Fortunately, Cato and Decimus compensated for Augustine’s distraction, playing their own parts well. When the time came for Augustine to present his gift to the Council, he forced himself to focus. He smiled inwardly at the gasps that shook the room when he placed the head on the dais. Unseeing eyes watched the growing pandemonium, the mouth gaping appropriately in reply.
“Is that?” one of the Council members began to ask.
“Barbarus ‘the Brutal’ of House Fortunatus, former King of Fortunata.” Augustine answered the question reflexively. He had no idea who in the crowd had questioned the head’s identity. Nor did he care. There was only one reaction in the room that held any real interest to him. “His jewels can be found nestled in his throat for any who venture to look.”
Acheron of House Galanis, soon to be former King of Galilae, wore his dismay openly. If only Augustine could see Acheron to the same fate. Displaying the two fallen kings together would please him immensely.
“Apologies for my lack of tact. Please forgive me for shocking you, gentlemen.” He felt utterly no remorse at all. “I am a soldier at heart and I prefer to cut right to the point. Your conflict with Fortunata is known in the Finctus. The gods favor Galilae. We are not ones to question their judgment or decrees. Fortunata has been struck down in a show of support, so you would know the gods and the Finctus are with you.”
He could have heard a pin drop. Courage wrought in battles and the victories that followed might be glorified in sonnets and poems, but patience was the true virtue of a soldier. Augustine could outwait any in the room. Their lack of discipline merely meant he would not need to wait long.
“And what are we expected to give in return for this support that has been so graciously offered?”
“Of what mutual benefit do you speak,” Luca asked. His tone was convincingly curious despite the fact that he knew all.
“A peaceful joining of our great nations.”
Suspicious mutterings permeated the crowd.
“Peaceful?”
“I rather think not.”
“No such thing with the Finctus.”
“More like a takeover if you ask me.”
“The Finctus has never joined peacefully with anyone. Why should we believe you and what does that even mean? Peaceful joining,” the same man who had asked what was expected in return of the Finctus’s support scoffed his new question in Augustine’s direction.
“Both excellent questions,” Augustine started affably. They weren’t excellent questions, but he was supposed to be diplomatic. “As to why you should believe me, you all know who I am. If I had wanted conflict, I would have come here forcibly. And to your second question: a peaceful joining looks much the way it sounds. Galilae is a great and thriving nation. We wish to thrive with you, not destroy you. Like all districts of the Finctus, you would be allowed to govern yourselves independently, so long as you do so under the overarching law of the Finctus and you pay homage to the Sator.”
“Bend knee is what he means,” the same man muttered loudly. Augustine would gladly kill him if doing so would not be a detriment to his current cause. Maybe later.
Augustine pretended not to hear and continued his explanation. “The difference between Galilae and the other districts of the Finctus, including Fortunata” – he indicated the head with a tilt of his own – “is that an Imperator shall not be appointed to you. So long as loyalty is maintained, all here may maintain their seats. And their heads.” He made a special point to lock eyes with the antagonist at the last. The man swallowed visibly.