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  Before either of them could antagonize one another further, the Perdoman captain entered the room with two other soldiers. Without a word, their mother quickly re-pinned Persephone’s chiton and Persephone stood, moving to follow him out the door, only he did not leave. When she reached him, he held up a pair of wrist shackles. Clearly he didn’t know Persephone if he thought they would be sufficient to stop her should she truly set her mind to a course of action.

  “Are those necessary?”

  That she was still insubordinate after everything served only to agitate Antaios further. If it were him, he would have gone with silent obedience. Though, if he were truly being honest, he would not have assassinated Prodotin in the first place and would not have found himself facing a tribunal by enemies. Grudgingly, he had to admit – if only to himself – that Persephone had done the thing they’d all considered. Desired. Still, it was a reckless move, and he feared that her actions would cost the rest of them dearly.

  The captain stared at her pointedly before answering. “Have you given me any reason to believe otherwise?”

  “You attacked us, Captain. You could not have reasonably expected to encounter no resistance.” Despite her words, she held her hands in front of her.

  The captain gave a slight shake of his head and indicated with a finger for her to about-face.

  “As you will it,” she assented indifferently, as though it made no difference to her. Maybe it didn’t.

  After securing and checking the shackles, the captain grabbed her arm to escort her out the door.

  “No!” Koli wailed, and Antaios grabbed her, lifting her easily into his arms when she would have run to Persephone’s side.

  Kolimpri clung to his shoulder even as she continued to sob and bawl her protests. He gently bounced her and rubbed comforting circles on her back.

  “Stay here, Little Bird, I will return shortly,” Persephone said confidently.

  For a moment, Antaios half-hoped she wouldn’t, and then immediately regretted thinking it. Their mother came over and moved to grab Koli from Antaios, but Koli screamed louder and proceeded to kick her feet in the air.

  “I have her,” he told their mother quietly, and she nodded, staying next to him to try to help soothe little Koli.

  “Kolimpri,” Persephone said loudly. As it always seemed to, hearing Persephone address Koli by her given name rather than her nickname, Little Bird, snared Koli’s attention. “Did you hear me?” she asked as soon as Koli quieted enough to let her get a word in.

  “Yes.” Koli was no longer howling, but continued to take gasping breaths that shuddered in and out as she wept.

  “What did I say?”

  “You will be back.”

  While both he and their mother still rubbed Koli’s back, Antaios switched from the gentle bouncing he’d been employing to swaying steadily back and forth. Koli was obviously still distressed, but the worst of her tantrum seemed to have passed.

  “Would I lie to you?” Persephone asked.

  In a heartbeat, Antaios thought, but Koli didn’t need to know that, so he didn’t say it out loud.

  * * * *

  Augustine half-sat, half-leaned on the desk, watching the door as they entered. Cato marched Persephone into the room that acted as Acheron’s study. Decimus, who had also been present during the incident, had been summoned to bear witness, and stood against one wall. Seneca waited patiently by Decimus’s side. Seneca had been escorting the group as well and was to be assigned as Persephone’s primary guard. In light of new events, Augustine had determined that he would be assigning Seneca a Second. Skilled as the man was, Persephone had proven herself to be too treacherous to trust her cooperation to a single soldier.

  The wrist shackles would have been comical if he hadn’t seen for himself how dangerous Persephone could be. She wasn’t particularly tall and at a glance her attractive figure appeared to be all feminine curves. He’d learned in the Grand Hall, though, that her muscles maintained none of the softness he’d come to associate with affluent women. By no means was she as robust as a man, but she was significantly stronger than she looked. Further, she knew both how to wield her build and where to direct her energy to cause the greatest damage with the least effort.

  With a sigh, Augustine crossed his arms and addressed her. “You surprise me. I was sure, based on your behavior in the Grand Hall, that you valued Seraphime’s well-being.”

  “Very much so.” She seemed so sincere.

  “Why?”

  Seraphime had to be a royal bastard. There was no other explanation he could think of for their eerie similarities. Likely she was the queen’s, if the green eyes were any indication. Acheron had the pale blue eyes that characterized the Galanis line. What confused Augustine, though, was that although Seraphime bore green eyes, like Persephone, she looked more like the king than she did Adonia. So whose was she? Augustine hated unanswered questions. They nagged and cajoled at him, distracting his attention when it might have been better placed. If she had looked like only one parent or the other, Augustine would have had no problem trusting his assumptions. Like Persephone, Seraphime had at least some characteristics of both the king and the queen, but if she was their natural daughter, he could not reconcile why she had been cast into slavery.

  “That is not what I came here to speak with you about,” Persephone deflected his question readily.

  Augustine had known it was unlikely, but he’d hoped to surprise her with the question, which might elicit a more honest answer.

  “You requested an audience. We need not discuss anything,” he told her dismissively.

  Persephone didn’t falter at the implied threat in his words. If she wanted to speak with him about Prodotin, she would first need to discuss the mystery that had needled him since he’d first laid eyes on the two of them next to one another in the Grand Hall.

  “She looks like you,” he continued, hoping to gauge her response, but her face gave nothing away. “Uncannily so.”

  Finally, Persephone sighed, looking at him as though it was obvious. “She is born of Galilae.”

  Augustine smiled. “Yes, and her coloring suggests it, except that her eyes are green. Now that is unusual in Galilae. Very unusual.” He looked at her pointedly.

  Persephone shrugged indifferently. “Her mother was a slave from Xenakai, a kingdom made up of people originally from the West. My understanding was that green eyes were not so uncommon there.”

  Persephone was right, which meant either she was telling the truth, or she was attempting to hide indiscretions on her mother’s part. Augustine suspected she was telling the truth. The king seemed the more likely to be the hedonistic type. Also, if Seraphime had been the queen’s bastard, Augustine seriously doubted the king would have let her live at all if he suspected, and she looked too like Persephone to inspire doubts that they shared at least one parent.

  “So it is a father that the two of you share.”

  “I did not say that,” Persephone replied blandly.

  “You did not need to. If she is not your mother’s bastard, then she must be your father’s.”

  “If you say so. Have you finished with this tedious conversation?”

  “You did not answer my question.”

  “You did not ask one,” she said with a sardonic smile, “you made an assertion.”

  “Is Seraphime your father’s bastard?”

  “In Galilae, it would be considered taboo to leave the child of a king, even a bastard, bonded in slavery,” Persephone said.

  A non-answer if ever he’d heard one. “I do not need a lesson in Galilae’s mores, Persephone, I do my research. It is a yes-or-no question.”

  “Then you will have to ask my father. I know only what I’ve been told.”

  Augustine resisted the urge to strangle her. She was infuriating. “And what have you been told?”

  “That Seraphime’s mother was my mother’s body slave.”

  “Then I would speak with her. What is her n
ame?”

  “Diana.”

  Augustine found himself mildly surprised that she had offered the name so easily.

  “But you will have trouble finding her in the palace,” she continued.

  He’d known it couldn’t have been so simple. “And why is that?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “She is no longer of this world. I would help you to meet her were it not for the troublesome matter that I am not to bring you to harm.”

  Persephone was smiling coldly and he had no doubt that she would help him into the next life if he gave her the opportunity. She’d also successfully returned her conversation to the direction of her choosing.

  “Well played, Princess. Now that we are on the subject, why in the Grand Hall did you defend your illegitimate sister” – he used the descriptor even though Persephone had not truly confirmed it – “at the risk of the rest of your family – even young Kolimpri – only to immediately discard her upon seeing Prodotin?”

  “In the Grand Hall, I watched your man attack Seraphime. I acted impulsively without considering consequences. My only thought was to protect her.”

  “In the hallway, did you not act impulsively?”

  “No. I saw Prodotin, and I made a choice.”

  “Of that, I am well aware. Tell me, Princess, was it worth the cost?”

  She stared at him with equal parts confidence and defiance. “Prodotin was born of Galilae. His family’s roots in this kingdom span generations. They have been in the proud employ of House Galanis for almost as long as my ancestors have ruled. He betrayed his king, his kingdom, and his kin. He deserved a traitor’s death.”

  “Well-spoken words, Princess, but the moment he agreed to betray you, your father, and the rest of Galilae, he became my man, not yours. And my instructions on that matter were very clear. If you attack me or one of my men again…” He waved his hand in explanation of the rest. Everyone in the room was aware of his threat, one he was willing to follow through on, but had been sure he wouldn’t have to.

  Persephone looked at him grimly. “Then I did you a favor. Any man willing to sell his loyalty to the highest bidder is a liability, not an asset.”

  Augustine stared back, knowing she’d hit truth. He never would have trusted Prodotin. None of his men would, despite the fact that all of them had been willing to use him.

  As if she suspected his leanings, Persephone continued. “I only attacked Prodotin –”

  Augustine held up a hand immediately silencing her. “What of my captain? Did you not attack him as well?”

  “No. I admit to evading him. But I did not attack him.”

  He stared at her coldly. “Semantics.”

  Her reaction both surprised and impressed him. She turned to Cato. “Did I injure you when I broke your hold?”

  Cato shook his head. “You did not.”

  She turned her attention back to Augustine with a dramatic shrug. “Well, there you have it. I attacked Prodotin alone. I admit to breaking your captain’s hold, but I made no move against him or any of your true men. Nor did I resist when restrained. I honored my word to you.”

  Augustine glanced first at Decimus, then at Seneca, both of whom nodded a confirmation.

  Finally, Augustine looked to Cato, whose amused gaze he held longer. “On this, she speaks truth. She moved only against Prodotin and has offered no resistance to myself or anyone else since.”

  Augustine nodded once in understanding before looking to Persephone. “You make a strong argument, yet the reality remains. You killed a man that swore fealty to me after agreeing not to do so. That cannot go unpunished.”

  “I understand, General. But given the circumstances I ask that you exact any punishment on my person alone and leave the members of my family as well as Seraphime out of it.”

  She was offering to take Seraphime’s place. Even knowing what it would mean for her. The sincerity of her voice left no doubt she meant it. She was an unusual creature indeed.

  “No.” Even if he did not have an alternative in mind, he would not have allowed it. Already, he’d come to consider her as his.

  “Sir?” For the first time, confusion and concern snaked across her face.

  Augustine walked towards her as he spoke. “It is admirable that you would take your sister’s place. However, your actions thus far advertise that you are fearless in regards to yourself, rendering threats against your person ineffective. It is painfully clear, however, that there are others whom you find to be much more valuable. I am a man of means and will use the manner you provide me to secure your compliance. Your half-sister, Seraphime, will suffer your punishment.”

  “Please –”

  He held up a hand to silence her protests. Tears built in her eyes. Biting her lip, she waited.

  “I am not completely without reason. Your execution of Prodotin was as much tactical as it was moral. Not only was he a traitor, he was a traitor who knew secrets of the palace, the ruling family, and the kingdom. It was both wise and just of you to kill him, and I believe it is safe to assume any of us would have done the same in your position.” He saw Cato, Decimus, and Seneca nodding from the corners of his eyes. “A rule was broken, but for a just reason. Therefore, a punishment must be carried out. But it too must be just.”

  Persephone held her breath.

  “Seraphime will stand as a star in a knife-throwing contest. Naked.”

  Persephone shook her head. “No –”

  “The original punishment was one that would demand your attention while providing base entertainment for my soldiers. The replacement punishment must fulfill the same.”

  “General, please do not do this.”

  His expression remained stony. “Would you prefer her raped?”

  “Of course not.” Persephone shook her head.

  “Just as I assumed,” he stated with finality.

  “But that is not fair!”

  He took a deliberate step towards her, coming so close she was forced to take a step back if she was to maintain a shred of space between them. “It was never meant to be fair.” Compelled to solidify his authority, he took another step and felt a rush of satisfaction when she retreated further. “But she is in this position because of your choices. Now her fate is dependent on you once again, so pick.”

  For the first time since he had encountered her, Persephone broke eye contact to look at the floor. Augustine could hear the tears in her voice. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  She nodded without looking up. “She will stand as target.”

  This had never been a negotiation. A test, if anything. Persephone was clearly capable of presenting a sound argument eloquently and persuasively. Had she been unable to do so, he would not have been able to justify altering the punishment. As it was, his soldiers’ respect for his authority, and his abilities as a leader, would be the only reasons it was tolerated.

  Still, Augustine nodded. Knowing she couldn’t see him, he opened his mouth to speak.

  Persephone spoke first. “And I will throw the daggers.” Now she looked at him, her eyes clear and her voice firm.

  What of her tears, he wondered? Whether it was the tears that were faked or the calm she presented now, clearly she was a master of her emotions. Augustine nearly laughed outright. Both at the knowledge she was going to be far more difficult to control than he ever could have anticipated, and more so at the thought of willingly handing her weapons. It was preposterous. He addressed only the latter. “Given your behavior so far, there is no way –”

  “Then keep Kolimpri with you for leverage.”

  He looked at her with his brows pinched together, not quite believing what he was hearing. “You do not mean that.”

  “Of course I do. You said this is as much about entertainment as demanding my attention. We both know what you really mean is that it should cause me distress. Would it not be entertaining to see me throw knives at the individual I was protecting mere hours earlier?”

&
nbsp; He knew Cato would oppose the idea, but could see the interest in Decimus’s and Seneca’s demeanors. They were just as curious to see what she could do as he was.

  “Likely it would.” Augustine spoke cautiously, not ready to agree to the arrangement. “However, it is not much of a punishment if you control the outcome.”

  “That is one way of seeing things.”

  “Is there another?” he asked incredulously.

  “There is always another way of things.”

  “Said the rule breaker. Speak plainly.” He was as infuriated as he was intrigued by her.

  “Know that if I miss, it will cause me more pain than you could deal me in a thousand lifetimes.” The power of the emotion roiling off of her left no question as to the profound truth of her statement.

  Augustine contemplated her proposal. After the destruction she’d already wrought, each of his men was curious to know what she was capable of. It would provide an opportunity to measure the extent of at least one of her skills in a controlled way. Well, relatively controlled. But could he trust her? Not at all.

  “Kolimpri will stay with me through the demonstration.”

  “Of course.”

  “Seraphime will be naked and unrestrained. It will be up to her not to flinch.”

  “As you will it. But you will see to it that she is not touched during the demonstration, nor in the time leading up to it.”

  Augustine could see no reason not to keep the slave untouched for a while longer, especially if it increased Persephone’s level of compliance. “Agreed.”

  “And you and I will talk terms of the continued safety of my family and my people after the demonstration.”

  Not one to miss an opportunity, was she? Augustine felt the corner of his mouth pull upward. She was very good. “One step at a time, Princess.”

  He could see that wasn’t the answer she sought. He wouldn’t give her everything she wanted, though. It would set a bad precedent.

  Chapter 5: