Fallen Page 6

  “I know.”

  He slowly righted himself and stepped away from the table. She sat up stiffly, pushing the skirt of her chiton down around her legs and sliding off the table. A trail of broken dishes and scattered food followed in her wake.

  Augustine gave his soldiers a nod. As one, they carefully lowered their blades and allowed their captives to step forward. At the first taste of freedom, Kolimpri scampered underneath rather than around the table to Persephone, wrapping both arms as high on Persephone’s legs as she could manage. Gently stroking her hair, Persephone held her.

  “Did he hurt you?” Kolimpri’s whispered words were punctuated by her tears.

  Eyes full of obvious adoration, Persephone looked down at Kolimpri’s face. “No, Little Bird.” Persephone broke Kolimpri’s gaze and stared directly into his eyes, her tone and expression unreadable. “No more than was warranted.”

  Chapter 4:

  Just Deserts

  A lie, just as any other misdeed, is only reprehensible if you are caught in the act.

  – Persephone of House Galanis, Princess of Galilae

  Persephone’s mother fussed behind her, carefully pulling pieces of clay dishware from her marred skin. She was only mildly aware of the burning sensation on her back and the dull throb in her cheek. Koli hadn’t left Persephone’s side, so she had continued to habitually stroke the smaller girl’s head while Koli hummed tunelessly. The bulk of Persephone’s attention remained riveted to the general. Presently, he was speaking with the captain, though his gaze never strayed from her.

  Attacking the soldier had been foolish in more ways than one. Aside from the obvious danger it presented her family, Persephone had hoped to keep Seraphime off the Perdomans’ radar as much as possible. Their similar features attracted enough attention on their own. To draw more had been unwise. Feeling hopeless, Persephone finally took notice of her mother’s sudden inactivity. Breaking eye contact with the general to see what had snared her mother’s attention, she noted two soldiers directly in front of her. The way they watched her suggested they were waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. Had they spoken and she’d missed it?

  “Pardon?” she asked, pouring her agitation at her own distraction into the words. Let them think they were the reason she was irritated.

  The one on the left responded. “It is time to put you all to bed.”

  She didn’t like the way he leered when he said bed.

  “How kind of you to offer.” Her expression was polite, but her tone sardonic. “However, we are well aware of where our chambers are. Your assistance will not be required. Gratitude all the same.”

  “It will be good when the general teaches you to mind that smart mouth of yours. You and I both know that none of you will be sleeping in your own chambers tonight.”

  “Whose chambers will we be sleeping in?!” Antaios interjected suddenly.

  Persephone found herself gritting her teeth. For one as clever as he was, he could be infuriatingly dense. “Likely the dungeons,” Persephone told him while glaring openly. “Perhaps you would benefit from thinking before speaking. Otherwise one might assume your common sense was usurped along with the rest of the palace.”

  Antaios’s mouth gaped and he clenched his fists. Maybe he would take a swing at her. A pathetic matchup – he hadn’t bested her for years – but as he wasn’t one of the general’s men, she wouldn’t be breaking her newest rule by fighting him.

  “Move along,” the captain said before she could bait her brother further in an attempt to provoke a response. It was for the best. The last thing they needed was to appear more divided than they had already presented themselves.

  It was her mother that moved first. Lifting Kolimpri into her arms, she followed the lead of the soldiers in front of her. The queen walked proudly, while her husband slunk behind her, gawking around him, obviously aghast at his recent fall from grace. Though it meant a fall for the rest of them alongside him, Persephone felt vindictive satisfaction in his predicament. Whether the feeling was warranted or not, it wasn’t helpful and she felt slightly guilty for even entertaining it, so she shut the notion down.

  It appeared that Seraphime was not to be joining them. The two shared a look as Seraphime was ushered down the corridor leading to the kitchens. Concern for her threatened to choke Persephone. Debating whether or not to cause a scene or follow her parents, Persephone hesitated.

  “You will see her soon.” Not appreciating his platitude, Persephone glared at the captain. He continued despite her enmity. “For the moment, she will carry on with her duties attending to you in addition to the palace.”

  Seraphime’s duties had been the least of her concerns. The captain was not a fool, so surely he was aware of the fact, but he never addressed her actual fears. Would Seraphime be safe? Would Persephone ever see her again?

  “If it is of comfort to you,” he continued, “you will not be staying in the dungeons. Chambers have been prepared for you all to share.”

  Why was he telling her this? Was it out of kindness? Was he trying to gain her trust?

  She asked none of the relevant questions pinging through her mind and instead asked, “Are all invading armies so gallant? Should I thank you?”

  “Only if you mean it, Princess. After you.” He punctuated his words with a sweep of his hand.

  Since she didn’t, and they both knew it, she walked away with nothing but a smirk.

  * * * *

  Cato walked next to Decimus in silence. They all expected further trouble from the eldest princess, so Augustine had instructed the two of them to ensure the Galanis family made it to their chambers without further incident. As she had shared words with Cato before following her family, Persephone brought up the rear. He had deliberately positioned himself just behind her so that he could observe her and everything that would be in her line of sight.

  Having seen firsthand twice now, Cato was already aware that she was well trained. From what he had seen in the Grand Hall, she was also highly volatile and, worst of all, she appeared harmless. There were as many proverbs and saying about appearances deceiving as there were grains of sand in a square foot of beach, and yet, perceptions continued to be built upon what was seen before anything else. The fact that Persephone was lethal, but did not look it, made it easy to be lulled into a false sense of security around her. Even Augustine, who was not easily beguiled, had trusted his own impression over Cato’s warning and it had nearly cost them a sixth man. Fortunately, Falco sported only a nick. Compared to the alternative, the man was damned lucky.

  Truth be told, Cato could have killed the man himself. Falco had disregarded a direct command; at minimum, a lashing was clearly in order. As Persephone had been given a pass for his near assassination, though, likely no punishment would follow Falco’s lapse. Although the princess was integral to their purpose in Galilae, it had not been well received that she was not to be punished for killing five of their own in her attempt to flee the palace. That resistance was to be expected was a sound argument, but in the heat of battle and the grief over fallen comrades, reason could be difficult to see. There was bound to be discontent that she had now escaped penalty a second time.

  Despite her earlier defiance, Persephone seemed complacent enough at present. Cato would not make the mistake of underestimating how quickly that could turn. If he could devise a way to do so safely and convince Augustine to allow it, he itched to see a demonstration of her skill. She fought in a style wholly unfamiliar to him, though obviously it was effective. She had, after all, bested five Perdoman soldiers. Augustine’s soldiers, no less. The best the Finctus had to offer.

  As they neared their destination, fate took a turn for the worse. Ahead of the family, Prodotin – the former Galanis Arms Commander – rounded a corner, heading straight their way. The man was a fool. He had followed Augustine’s orders to stay out of sight during the siege and subsequent celebration. Now, however, he escaped no one’s notice. A little longer, just e
nough time to prepare the family, would have been sufficient, but judging by the amused smirk curling Prodotin’s lips as he stared at the dumbfounded royals, the man had planned the confrontation. Likely to gloat. If that was the goal, it was certainly effective. Even as they continued walking, the entire Galanis household stared fixedly at Prodotin. Surprise – both at his survival and his shiny new Perdoman armor – read obviously on each of their faces. Continuing his trek somewhat mindlessly, Acheron turned to stare at him open-mouthed.

  “Highness.” Though he spoke to his own king, Prodotin managed to strip all honor from the word.

  Wasting no time, Cato positioned himself between Persephone and House Galanis’s former Arms Commander before they passed one another, even grabbing her upper arm for good measure. Distracted from glaring at Prodotin, she looked at Cato’s hand around her bicep before lifting a brow in mock confusion. One corner of Cato’s mouth turned up in reply. When they made their way past Prodotin without incident, he felt relieved that she had taken Augustine’s words to heart. He should have known better.

  He’d expected a reaction from her. Had sworn to himself he wouldn’t underestimate her. It had been futile. Knowing exactly where his hold would be at its weakest, Persephone suddenly spun. Using her momentum, she wrenched her arm, breaking Cato’s grip. He reached for her, but she checked him with her shoulder, sending him stumbling directly into Decimus. The brief moment it took them to recover their balance gave her all the time she needed.

  Persephone lunged forward, pulled Prodotin’s own dagger from his hip, and slammed it to the hilt into the soft part of his throat. Just above the collarbone. Hand in the neck of his armor, Prodotin stared perplexed as she pulled his face close to hers. For the first time in his life, Cato watched in shocked immobility, not even bothering with another attempt to grab her. It was already too late.

  “Traitor.” Cato heard her hissed accusation the moment before Decimus grabbed Persephone, yanking her backwards.

  Immediately, she released Prodotin. Without her bracing him, he sank to his knees. His own dagger still protruded from his throat. Blood bubbled from his mouth. There was nothing they would be able to do for him; the wound was fatal. Efficient. A single strike, just like each of the others she’d delivered.

  Persephone flinched momentarily, as Decimus twisted one arm painfully high behind her back. Still, she offered no resistance.

  She caught Cato’s eye. “He was our man, not yours. I request a formal audience with the general before he carries out any punishment. Will you tell him?” Her expression was almost tranquil despite the ensuing chaos.

  “I will.” Standing trancelike, Cato heard the words as though someone else had spoken them.

  “Thank you.” She’d barely spoken above a whisper, yet her words still seemed to echo.

  * * * *

  Augustine stared coldly as Falco paced, incensed in front of him.

  “Truly?” Falco demanded, completely aghast. “You will allow that bitch to go unpunished?! She insults you by attacking me with your own dagger, and you do nothing?!”

  Augustine spoke evenly, despite the fact that he was tempted to finish what Persephone had attempted. “She is a prisoner. Her insubordination is to be expected. Yours, on the other hand” – stunned, Falco stopped his pacing – “is not, and is the much greater insult.” Augustine spoke over Falco’s incoherent spluttering. “You disregarded a direct order. My ban on the slave girl has not been lifted. Consider yourself fortunate I find your public humiliation at a woman’s hand a sufficient punishment, or I’d have you whipped.”

  Though still fuming, Falco stood silently.

  “Dismissed.”

  Following protocol, Falco nodded his respect before storming out, offering the same courtesy – likely out of habit rather than actual deference at the moment – to Cato, who marched in purposefully.

  Only after a passing look of longing at the bed did Augustine address Cato, who respectfully waited for his turn to speak. “Out with it, friend. By your expression, I will not like it.”

  He set to removing his wrist guards while he waited.

  Though momentary, Cato’s hesitation was unexpected, speaking volumes to his level of unease. “Persephone killed Prodotin in the hall on the way to the slave chambers.”

  Shock was the first thing Augustine registered. Forgetting the fact that he had only removed one wrist guard, he turned his full attention to the man in front of him, anger quickly replacing his surprise. “She what?” Augustine didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

  Cato would immediately recognize the rage simmering in those two words. He at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Apologies, sir. He came around the corner unexpectedly and –”

  “And what? There were five soldiers escorting them. You were one of them. I trust you more than any man here.”

  “I know. It is unforgivable.” Cato left his head bowed. His face was etched with regret. “I shall accept any punishment you consider fit.”

  “How did you let this happen?” Not yet sure what, if any, he might deliver, Augustine didn’t address the notion of a punishment.

  “Prodotin intercepted us unexpectedly. I suspect it was on purpose because of the way he antagonized Acheron upon passing. I expected trouble and grabbed the princess as we passed him –”

  “Then, pray tell, why is Prodotin dead?” Augustine’s voice was deadly quiet.

  “She managed to break my hold. You caught a glimpse tonight; she is very fast and highly skilled. Single blow to the throat with Prodotin’s own dagger before we had a chance to regain control.”

  Augustine ran a hand down his face. This was the last thing he needed. “What the fuck am I going to do with her?” The question was rhetorical. He didn’t really want or expect an answer.

  “She has requested an audience before you order her punishment.”

  Augustine let out an ironic laugh. “Of course she has. What is there to say? I gave explicit directions with explicit consequences. She disregarded them.”

  “She said he was their man, not ours.”

  Augustine looked meaningfully at his friend. “And what about you? You are obviously my man, yet she attacked you to get at him despite my instruction.”

  Cato shrugged. “She broke my hold. The only thing wounded was my pride.” Cato’s slight smile was out of place. And telling.

  “Were it you in my place, what would you do? Would you hear her out?”

  Cato was thoughtful for a moment. It was one of the things Augustine respected about him: he never decided anything rashly.

  “I would.” He suspected Cato would say as much, but Augustine waited silently for the inevitable explanation. “Prodotin was their Arms Commander: personal bodyguard to the King of Galilae and responsible for the security of the entire royal family. He fed them to the wolves. What would you or I do in the face of that kind of betrayal?” As was typical, Augustine agreed with Cato’s logic and nodded along. “Furthermore, Persephone has proven herself to be intelligent, cunning, and ruthless. We all thought Acheron would be our biggest obstacle, but it would seem that his daughter is the individual most capable of foiling everything. You need to find a way to coerce her cooperation.”

  Cato was spot on, of course. But Augustine was exhausted, and he had no idea how to go about it. Diplomacy was not his forte. His was a more hands-on approach.

  “And, General, you will need to get creative. A punishment will be necessary.”

  * * * *

  Antaios paced anxiously. They’d been relegated to the chambers of Pontius, his father’s body slave. The whole lot of them reduced to a slave’s quarters.

  “Fucking ridiculous.” No one responded to his muttered declaration except his father, who grunted his agreement.

  He’d been talking to himself, but would have appreciated the courtesy of a response. His mother and sisters seemed oblivious to their current demotion. Fucking women. Kolimpri was four, the only one of them with a reasonab
le excuse. Persephone and their mother, the queen, should both know better, and yet both remained diligently focused on their task. Mother had helped Persephone to rewrap her chiton, exposing her back so that the wounds could be cleaned. Presently Persephone sat on a padded bench, resting her weight on her elbows as the queen ran a wine soaked cloth over the punctures and abrasions where dishware had pierced her skin. It wasn’t an ideal remedy, but should help prevent infection. Besides, a mild wine had been the only item in the room that was potentially useful for such tasks. All things considered, Antaios felt the injuries she’d received were slight given her trespass, although, the worst was undoubtedly still to come. He’d only wondered if the Perdoman general was going to kill her before. Now that she had killed Prodotin – the fucking traitor – Antaios felt certain that the next time the Perdomans came for her, they would.

  “Pacing changes nothing, brother.” Persephone had finally opened her eyes. Her head never moved, but her gaze flicked back and forth as she followed his crusade across the room.

  Even knowing that she might have sealed her own execution – all of their executions – she managed to appear bored. Disinterested. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if fear was an emotion that even registered for her. It never seemed to and he hated her for it. In combat training, she had been pitted against men twice her size. She’d fought outnumbered. She’d sparred hand-to-hand and with weapons. Sometimes her opponents were armed while she was not. None of it mattered. She faced each and every match with the same brazen confidence; as though it were an impossibility that she might lose. Of course, she never did and hadn’t for years. Just once, he wanted her to.

  “You do realize you’ve probably killed her, do you not? Your precious Seraphime.”

  If his words found their mark, she didn’t show it. Had he been the one threatened in the Grand Hall, he seriously doubted she would have raised a finger in his defense. Bound to him by blood, yet she’d always cared more about that fucking slave than she had him. The betrayal was unforgivable.