Fallen Page 34

  Tittering rose up amongst the crowd yet again. As expected, there were those in the group who considered the proposition in earnest, while some maintained an air of uncertainty, and the rest vehemently opposed. The combination of voices all attempting to speak over one another looked and sounded very much like a hive of angry bees.

  “Why?” It was Acheron who finally spoke. For the first time since meeting him, Augustine could not read the look on his face and he carried himself with a quiet confidence yet unseen.

  Curiously, Augustine regarded him as the king and not the blustering fool he’d come to expect. The why was actually very simple. Augustine planned to make his permanent home on Galilae, and he’d not wanted to combat potential uprisings and revolt for the rest of his life. A non-hostile takeover – or amicable joining as they had coined it – lowered the risk of those things. He could hardly announce that, though, so instead he smoothly delivered the bit of propaganda he’d prepared while still in the Finctus. “I cannot tell you for certain why. Why Galilae? Why now? I know only that the gods have decreed it. Our oracles have been very clear on this. I am but a man. Who am I to defy their will?”

  * * * *

  Antaios would never have believed it had he not seen it himself. He knew Sempronius only as a menacing brute. This political wielder of flowery words was a stranger to him.

  “You make an interesting offer, and I thank you for striking down our enemy. An enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine.” The diplomatic words sounded so convincing leaving his father’s mouth and yet Antaios knew that both of them wanted nothing more than to see the man in front of them struck down. “As is our custom, would you be so kind as to excuse us while we discuss your proposition?”

  Sempronius inclined his head respectfully. He looked so humble. So sincere. Antaios knew it for the lie it was. Not a moment after the door closed behind Sempronius and Numitor, the room erupted, everyone trying to speak over one another.

  “SILENCE!” the king bellowed, his order immediately obeyed. “We shall start simply. All those in favor of accepting the Finctus’s offer, cast your vote.” More hands in the room went up than Antaios would have expected. Nearly a third. The Perdomans had been very busy this month past. “All those opposed.”

  An even smaller number of hands went up. A very bad omen indeed. Their hope that the Council would remain stalwart in the face of Sempronius was rapidly dying.

  “Those undecided.” About half the hands in the room went up.

  His father may have agreed to this stupid truce, but Antaios hadn’t. He was not about to allow a room full of fearful old men to give away his birthright.

  “A speaker from each side, step forward and make your case.”

  Sulla, whom Antaios liked to think of as having a serpent’s tongue rather than a silver one, stepped forward to argue in favor of accepting the Finctus’s terms. He was a viper indeed, but he held sway over the Council. Likely the reason Sempronius had seen fit to put him in his pocket.

  Before Sulla could open his mouth to speak, Antaios halted him with a hand. As heir, it was his right to speak first. “I will speak against this treason.”

  His father watched him with wide eyes, and Antaios tried to silently reassure him that all would be well. “Speak, my son.” The words seemed to leave his father’s mouth reluctantly.

  A fact that pained Antaios and renewed his determination to sway these men to reason.

  “The general, Augustine Sempronius, wields ornate words.” As Antaios paced around the pulpit, he could see Hadrianus, watching him closely, his hand resting subtly – yet not casually – on the hilt of his sword. Despite his trepidation, Antaios continued, “And I can understand why we would wish to believe them. He is a man to be feared. It is for this reason, above any other, that we must not yield. Do not forget who Sempronius really is. The Reaper. The Finctus’s famed harbinger of death and destruction. To overlook this is foolhardy. This man brought us the mutilated head of a conquered king and called it a gesture of peace. Do not misconstrue this as an act of supplication. This is a threat. One that’s not even been thinly veiled. We’ve the power to repel the Finctus, but we must take a stand. If we do not, who in the Free Kingdoms will?”

  “Well-spoken words, my son. You would make a great king one day.” His father seemed to be faltering in his decision to back Sempronius, though it could just as easily have been regret that Antaios heard in his tone. He couldn’t tell for certain. “Sulla, what say you?”

  Sulla once again stepped forward. “You are correct, my prince. Bringing the head of a fallen king does seem aggressive for a message of peace. But let us not forget of whom we speak: Barbarus ‘the Brutal.’ Aptly named. Not only for his dealings with his enemies, but his own people as well. And let us not forget his many child brides.” Sulla looked around the room pointedly. “Were it not for the actions of our wise king, breaking the marriage pact that this Council agreed to, who knows what may have become of our beloved Princess Persephone?”

  Fuck. There it was. The thought of one such as Barbarus laying a hand on the beloved Treasure of Galilae and Sulla had turned the tide in his favor. Just like that. All it took was the mention of her name and men dropped to reverent knee. Galilae was to be his kingdom, and yet it always came back to Persephone. Though it wasn’t entirely her fault, Antaios resented her for it.

  A glance at his father to see how he was taking Sulla’s speech showed the king looking ashamed rather than proud of his achievement, as he should have been. His father’s eyes flicked to Barbarus, lingering a hair too long before returning his attention to Sulla. None other than Antaios seemed to notice his father’s strange and incongruent behavior. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had spurred it.

  Sulla continued, unaffected by the king’s distraction. “As to the man they call the Reaper – yes, his reputation precedes him, and for good reason. I, for one, am grateful that he did not come here under a show of force. And I do not believe I am the only one.” The Council shifted uncomfortably under Sulla’s accusatory stare.

  Antaios could feel his future slipping between his fingers. Even if the rest of the Council did not, Antaios knew this for the act of aggression that it was. Despite his best efforts, it would seem the rest of them had not caught on. That, or their fear kept them in denial. But to acknowledge aloud that Sempronius had already taken control was also the one thing too dangerous to say. He would be struck down before the words finished passing his lips.

  “The Finctus creeps east. The Free Kingdoms are dwindling. The fall of Fortunata – our neighbor, and second only to Galilae in strength – proves that even the Great Kingdoms are not impervious to the might of the Finctus. Now, whether we believe in his motives for being here or not is irrelevant. What matters is the threat we feel moving in on all sides and whether or not we believe we can win. I myself am not so convinced. In the short term? Certainly. But for how long? And what would be the cost? It seems a foolish choice for our pride.”

  Sulla spoke of pride, but what of greed? Antaios wondered what Sempronius had bribed him with to obtain his support.

  “Our king,” Sulla continued, “has led us wisely and courageously in all things, and does he not have the most to lose? To risk?”

  Fuck. Sulla ‘the Serpent Tongue’ had struck again. If the king spoke in support of it, there were enough already in favor or undecided that it would tip the scales. Antaios clenched his fists, and nearly burst from his seat to stop what was happening only feet in front of him. Decimus had shifted his position so that he was standing right next to him.

  “Do not even consider it, boy.” Hadrianus’s whispered threat reached Antaios’s ears, but no one else’s, too riveted they were by Sulla’s speech.

  “What say you, Highness?” Sulla finished. “It is your crown, your kingdom. What would you do?”

  His father, the king, sat looking as though he had aged years in those few short minutes and Antaios knew he was decided. Or maybe reaffirmed was more accurate as
the man had already agreed to the deal.

  “Excellent points made on both sides. I would, of course, and as always, do what is best for Galilae.”

  Antaios’s heart quickened at his father’s words.

  “I would not bring bloodshed, death, and destruction upon my people when there is an alternative. The Finctus wants to join peacefully and leave those of us in charge to continue the running of things? I can see no reason why war would be more beneficial than what has been proposed. We must act in the best interest of our people. You, the Council, speak for them. I will honor your decision. Let us vote. Those in favor of accepting Sempronius’s proposal and joining the Finctus.”

  Antaios held his breath in his chest and prayed that the Council would see sense. That they would hear his father’s desperate plea for what it was and vote against this madness. Slowly, hands started toward the ceiling. One by one as each went up Antaios felt a corresponding pang in his chest. It wasn’t an overwhelming majority, but it was enough. The scales had been tipped. More than half the Council favored the treaty. Antaios felt like he was in a dream, bolted to his seat, silently screaming, but no one could hear him.

  “The people have spoken. I will put my pride aside and do what I must for Galilae. But how to secure it? Peace must be our utmost priority. What are we to offer them?”

  “Are they not getting enough? They receive all of Galilae! What more must we give?!” Cyrus, the one man, other than Antaios himself, who had been overtly outspoken against Sempronius demanded.

  Antaios was eminently grateful for him. Though they had failed today, Antaios knew he had an ally moving forward. There had to be a way around this.

  “Peace comes at a heavy price, Cyrus,” his father said grimly. “Always. They ask for our loyalty, and yet if we wish to survive this in the long term, it is far more important that we secure their loyalty to us.”

  “What of a marriage?” Titus asked.

  Interested mutterings filled the room. Antaios was surprised. Titus was not one of the men he would have branded traitor. Proof that one never really knew the hearts of others.

  “Sempronius is the greatest threat the Finctus has to offer. We cannot give him our Treasure!” Themistocles shouted as he gained his feet.

  Themistocles had been attempting to secure a marriage between his own son, Thales, and Persephone for years, never to any avail. Antaios wasn’t sure why their father allowed her to dictate to him who she would or would not marry, but for whatever reason he had, and Persephone had always opposed the union. She had fought against all proposed unions prior to this; she hadn’t objected to marrying Sempronius. Not once. Though a part of Antaios recognized that, like the rest of them, she didn’t have a choice in the matter, it was easier to be angry at her than sympathetic. After all, she’d been fucking Sempronius long before the marriage pact had ever been proposed. For all Antaios knew, it had been her idea.

  “If he decides he wants her, and we refuse, a man like him will take her anyway,” Luca said over the din Themistocles’s outburst had stirred. Angry mutterings acknowledging the truth of the statement followed. “Would it not be better to ensure she is treated gently and in the process bind him to us?”

  “Handing her over does not ensure her gentle treatment,” Cyrus grumbled. “Nor does it guarantee he will not betray us after the marriage is complete.”

  “Marriage pacts are used all the time to ensure peace between families and kingdoms,” Luca replied. “Are they foolproof? No, we all know this to be true, yet they are still utilized. Furthermore, is it not more likely that a gift will be cherished? How will he not come to adore her as the rest of us already do?”

  Heads were nodded and arms were crossed. The mood of the room was of abject bitterness, but no one said anything. By their silence, they were sealing the fate of Galilae.

  * * * *

  Augustine sauntered back into the room with Cato at his side. Impending victory always stirred his blood. The change in battlegrounds did not lend exception. His triumph was bittersweet, though. In winning her compliance, he had lost Persephone. Deceptive and manipulative as she was, he still wanted her. A thing he never would have guessed, and that irritated him to no end.

  “I thank you for your patience, General. We are decided.” Not if the tone of his voice was any indication, he wasn’t, but Augustine waited for the King of Galilae to speak his piece. “You have made us a generous offer. One we would be foolish to refuse. We wonder, though, how can we be assured of the Finctus’s continued loyalty to us after you’ve been delivered that which you desire?”

  Resisting the smirk that threatened to color his face, Augustine made himself look amiable and open to suggestion. “What would you recommend, Highness?”

  “I have a daughter, as you must surely know. The Treasure of Galilae. She is of age but, as of yet, unmarried. I wonder if you would consider joining our houses together?” The king looked as though the words brought him as much pleasure as a knife to the belly.

  “You suggest a marriage pact?” He feigned surprise while laughing internally at Acheron’s obvious consternation.

  “An assurance as old as time,” Acheron offered.

  “Indeed.” Augustine stood silent, as though in deep thought. “Am I to meet her before the decision is made?”

  To help assuage suspicion among the Council, it was agreed that Persephone would be introduced to him publicly. It also provided Augustine the opportunity to verify that she would dutifully play her part, per their most recent agreement. One that still left him feeling murderous.

  The Council shifted uncomfortably at Augustine’s hesitance. A good sign. They were leery of what would happen if he were to refuse. As they should be.

  “I assure you, she is beyond fair to look upon. But if it would sway your decision, she could be summoned.” The king inclined his head toward Decimus, who sent one of the lesser guards to fetch her. “Naturally, with your elevated status, you would also be offered a seat on the Council should you enjoy it.”

  “Gratitude.” Augustine smiled politely, betraying none of the mirth he felt at Acheron’s expense. “You make a tempting offer. A man could find himself swayed.”

  A brief knock preceded Persephone, who entered the room with her shoulders high and her eyes submissively downcast. She would never be confused with a slave, but she wore none of the defiance he’d observed so frequently this past month. So this was what she showed her kingdom when they looked upon her. She was a vision of loveliness and tranquil femininity. No sign of what lurked just beneath the surface was in evidence. It was as though she were two different people. Perhaps she was.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, leading her directly to the dais where her father presently stood, she dipped into a respectful curtsy. “How may I be of service, my king?”

  As she waited for his reply, Augustine watched her eyes subtly flick to the place where Barbarus’s head rested. Cato had discreetly covered it while they had waited for her under the pretense of protecting her delicate sensibilities. The thought nearly had Augustine snorting with derision. Likely, she was more comfortable with death and the macabre aftermath than some of the men in the room. The minute narrowing of her eyes suggested that although she could guess what was under the cloth, she did not know who. She’d still not been told of Barbarus’s demise. Augustine wasn’t entirely sure why he wished to continue hiding it from her, only that he did.

  Her father’s voice cut through his scattered thoughts. “Persephone, I would like you to meet General Augustine Sempronius and his Captain, Cato Numitor.”

  She followed her father’s sweeping arm, and at the sight of them, dipped into a more formal curtsy.

  “Soldiers of the Finctus.”

  At her father’s latest proclamation, her eyes snapped up and her jaw dropped ever so slightly. Advertising surprise and unease. If he didn’t know better, even he would have believed he had never met the woman in front of him. That she was nothing more than what she a
ppeared. If this was what she showed her people – what they believed to be true about her – then they really did not know anything at all about who she really was. Though their most recent interaction would suggest that Augustine did not either.

  “Do not fret, my darling. They come peacefully.”

  Augustine actually had visions of running Acheron through to listen to him falsely placate her fears. It was irrelevant to him that her fears were feigned, the man was a coward. He’d done nothing to lift a finger when she’d actually needed him. Any protection the king had ever been willing to offer her was as superficial as the platitudes he uttered presently.

  Continuing to look slightly leery, Persephone recovered her composure quickly. She assumed a polite smile as she turned back to the supposed strangers and dropped once more into a curtsy. “Then on behalf of Galilae, welcome.”

  “You honor us. Gratitude.” Augustine brought the back of her hand to his lips for a chaste kiss.

  She tipped her head demurely to shyly hide her face. The only thing missing from the well-practiced gesture was the telltale flush of her cheeks. It was then that Augustine realized he couldn’t remember ever having seen her blush in embarrassment. Her responses were so well controlled, she rarely flushed even when angry.

  Upon his release, she clasped her hands in front of her.

  “Thank you, Persephone. You may go.”

  At her father’s dismissal, she swept from the room without a word or a backward glance. In a manner completely uncontrived, Augustine continued to watch even after she was gone. He had to believe that, with time, things between them could be different. The clearing of a throat had him returning his attention to the men in front of him, many of whom watched his reaction with smug assurance.