Page 52

Chapter 52

Everyone turned to stare at the prince, who sat limply in the throne, occasionally twitching like a mouse freshly stung by a spider. So agitated did he seem that he didn’t voice any protest at this.

“Wh-what?” said Pavitar.

“ What? ” said Kardas. “Dolabra—what…what plot is this?”

“It is no plot at all, sir,” said Ana. “That man in that throne is not the prince. He is Sunus Pyktis, augur of the Shroud, plague of the Apoths of Yarrowdale, and killer of the king of Yarrow! He is, just as I said, the dead man brought to life—for he was never truly dead at all! Yet again, he has so expertly faked his death!”

“A ridiculous assertion!” shouted Pavitar. “The stupidest of—”

“Is it?” said Ana. “Let us see how he responds if I play again.”

Once more she plucked out the bizarre, syncopated song. Prince Camak looked up and tried his hardest to keep a firm face. A twitch emerged in his cheek; then he began to quake and tremble, until finally he lost all control of himself, and he screamed at the top of his lungs, a long, unearthly, disturbing cry. He fell back upon the throne, hands pressed to his ears, thrashing his legs.

“ Stop it! ” he shrieked. “ Make it stop, make it stop! Please, stop, stop, stop! ”

Pavitar stared at him, astonished. “Prince…Prince Camak,” he said. “Your Majesty, why do you—”

Ana ceased her playing. “Is it not obvious, Pavitar? I told you that Sunus Pyktis is the son of the king—but in truth, the relation goes far further than that! For Pyktis is actually the prince’s brother, his perfect twin ! The two shared a womb, and indeed look almost exactly alike!”

Again, the soldiers about the hall began muttering, though now there was an anxious tone to it.

“No!” said Pavitar. “No, I will not listen to this!”

“Are not twins and triplets unusually dominant in the royal bloodline, Pavitar?” demanded Ana. “And have you ever seen the prince respond in such a fashion to music? I suspect you haven’t, true?”

Pavitar’s face was troubled, but he shook his head. “It is a mad suggestion! I have known the prince since childhood, and I would know if another had taken his place!”

“ Do you know him so well?” asked Ana. “For I once theorized that the true Sunus Pyktis would be marked by blotley welts. This corpse before me bears their stings, true—but perhaps check the prince’s arms and chest, and see if you can find any there!”

“Then that shall be an easy thing!” said Pavitar. He turned to the prince. “Raise your sleeve, Your Majesty, and put these people in their place!”

Yet the prince did not move. He hesitated, swallowed, and said, “I…I will not.”

Pavitar blinked. “Your Majesty?” he asked.

“I will not do so,” said the prince stolidly. “I will not give any credit to…to these wild accusations.”

“You see?” said Ana. “He refuses.”

Pavitar took a step toward the throne. “Prince Camak, I…You need only raise your sleeve, Your Majesty. With that, all can be finished here.”

The prince blinked. He opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and said, “I want them thrown from the hall. I want them thrown from the hall for these claims, because they…they…”

All the pride and indignation began to leak from Pavitar’s bearing. “Why do you hesitate, my prince?” he asked. “Why would you not show me?”

“He can’t, Pavitar,” said Ana slyly. “Because if he did, you would see…and then you would know whose body really lies in that box.”

Pavitar stared at the man in the throne. Then he turned to gaze at the chest containing the corpse, and a dreadful horror filled his face.

The prince saw this and froze.

Then he changed.

First the prince’s entire body seemed to go limp, and he collapsed in his throne, his head falling to the side. It was as if his flesh and bones were the stuff of a puppet, mere matter to be tugged about by invisible strings, yet all the strings had been suddenly severed; but not his eyes. His eyes filled with a flat, cold, brutal intelligence, and they swiveled in his slack face to stare at Ana. So stark was the change that some in the chamber gasped at the sight of it.

I understood then: he had ended his performance, ceased sending out all the signals and gestures and motions that suggested Prince Camak inhabited that body. Now he was something very different: Sunus Pyktis, augur of the Shroud.

His mouth shut with a click. He slowly sat up, again like he was being pulled by an invisible string. Then he whistled, a low, curious note.

Then blades were drawn and the entire hall fell into chaos.

—

I saw the swords glinting in the firelight. In an instant, the green blade was in my hand, and I leapt forward.

Half of the royal guard of Yarrow—some dozen men in total—now sprang forward and attacked, all at once. Their targets were many: they leapt for their fellow guards, who were quickly struck down, astonished; they attacked Jari Pavitar, who barely managed to unsheathe his own sword; and they moved for Ana, who sat calmly before the throne and Pyktis.

Yet the wardens and I were moving as well; for Ana, of course, had predicted this. He will have seeded traitors and brigands among the court, she’d told us. Only when he is sure all is lost shall he call upon their aid.

The first soldier to leap for Ana was met with an arrow to the mouth, and he stumbled to the ground, choking; somewhere behind me I heard Malo let loose a wicked, triumphant cry. The second soldier I met with my green blade and struck down quickly and easily. Yet as I readied to face the third and raised my sword, he was struck down by not another arrow but by the short sword of Jari Pavitar, who was screaming in rage.

Between Pavitar, myself, the wardens, and the few loyal Yarrow guards who had managed to respond, the battle was over quickly. Soon the hall was silent, broken only by our labored breathing, the moans of the wounded, the trickle of blood, and the gentle crackle of the fireplaces.

Yet Sunus Pyktis had not moved at all. He slouched on the throne and stared at Ana. Much like the augurs I’d seen on the Shroud, his eyes simply sat in his skull like little wet stones, brimming with an alien intelligence.

Ana grinned, completely unperturbed. “I am guessing,” she said to Pyktis, “that you made a calculation, and decided it would be better to try to save some, than wait and lose all.”

Pyktis said nothing. He just stared at Ana with that flat, cold gaze.

“How…how has this been done to us?” whispered Pavitar.

“Well, my guess, Pavitar, is that Sunus Pyktis made the swap with the prince some time ago,” said Ana. “He likely did it when you took the prince on that hunting trip in the west. For it was after this when you returned to the High City and found all your dogs slain, of course.”

“My dogs?” murmured Pavitar.

“Yes! Killed by Pyktis, of course!” said Ana. “For if he planned to switch places with Prince Camak, your dogs would have recognized the different scents! They were a liability, and thus had to be removed. Having killed them, he then pursued you into the west and ambushed Prince Camak, perhaps sedating him—and then he applied the handful of alterations necessary to himself become him. A little extra fat, a little extra hair. I suspect he had already used the waters of your region here to stain his eyes the proper shade of green. The teeth were tricky; he had to color and stain his own to match the prince’s. And, of course, he applied the gold paint upon his cheeks, and the circlet atop it all…Really, it must have been his easiest performance yet, given that he already had the prince’s face! Except, of course, he had to refrain from his obsessive finger-tapping…” She smiled at the prince. “…but a creature of iron will like yourself can resist that, eh, Sunus?”

Pyktis’s flat gaze danced around the chamber, as if checking to see if any ally survived in any state.

“Once the transformation was complete, he then killed Prince Camak,” said Ana. “A quick, simple stab to the man’s heart. But before doing this, he altered the prince’s body just as he had his own—applying grafts now to remove fat and hair, not to mention wiping the face of gold and clearing the eyes of green stain. He even gave the man better teeth—fresh, pearly, imperial teeth! And that was the giveaway, you know,” she said sweetly to Pyktis. “For why in hell would Sunus Pyktis wish to grow himself a nice set of teeth while out in the jungle?”

Again, she was met with Pyktis’s stony stare.

“He was then left with a body possessing the same bone structure,” continued Ana, “the same skin tone, similar teeth, the same slight Rathras features…In other words, he made the prince look like himself, altered to become the jungle-dwelling creature of the canals! For he planned to use him, you see. He intended to use his twin brother’s corpse for this very night—for Sunus Pyktis always thinks thirty steps ahead! And how did he preserve the dead body, Din?”

“With ossuary moss, ma’am,” I said quietly. “For Pyktis was a master with its use, when he served with the Apoths upon the Shroud.”

“Of course!” said Ana. “He bound the dead Prince Camak up in moss and stored his brother’s body away, waiting for the perfect time to fake his death again. For if the trick worked once, it could certainly do so a second time! And he did just that, extracting the body from the moss at the right moment, then placing it in a chest in the royal vault. For that was when he put the second piece of his plan into play—Satrap Darhi, whom he’d been preparing to be his patsy for years.

“You fed Darhi’s greed, and his avarice,” Ana said to Pyktis. “An easy thing, for a snake like him! You even knew he’d eventually betray you. But then you arranged the trail just so. It was you who hid the oathcoin in your den, knowing that Darhi was so free with them! And you knew we’d eventually identify Gorthaus as the traitor, and she would name Darhi as the architect of all of this. Honestly, what fools we’d be if we thought it was anyone but Darhi behind it all!” She stuck a finger out at him. “But it was you, of course, and not Darhi, who killed the king.”

“Wh-what?” said Pavitar weakly.

Pyktis’s glare grew slightly icier.

“It was Pyktis, you see, now pretending to be the prince,” said Ana, “who dropped the poison in the king’s cup. He did it as he carried it back to the cauldron of tea, knowing that Kardas would soon refill it. We never suspected the prince as the killer, of course, for the true prince would never do such a thing.” She turned back to Pyktis. “All that went swimmingly for you…until I arrived and identified Gorthaus as a traitor far faster than you’d anticipated. That made you a little desperate, but you’d already arranged things. You were alone in the reliquary, true, sitting vigil for your father as Yarrow tradition demands. None of the guards said you left that chamber while Gorthaus perished—but I am guessing they did see a guard exit. For you’ve become quite handy at disguising yourself, haven’t you? After all, what is a disguise but signals, and patterns, and gestures? All very easy things for an augur’s mind to unwind. You disguised yourself, slipped off into the halls, pricked Gorthaus with your poison blade before she could give too much of the game away too early, and returned swiftly, becoming the prince once more. And now that this was done, the throne was yours, and soon you would be king.”

Ana paused, tapping her chin, and grinned horribly. “But you never wanted to just be king. It would do you no good to inherit a realm destined to be annexed by the Empire. Yet nor would it do to destroy the Shroud and unravel the Empire itself, as Thelenai and I so feared—for what would so much chaos win you? No, no. Your thoughts were much more practical. You were dreaming of a way to destroy the marrow, and the marrow alone.”

Kardas stared at her, open-mouthed.

“If the marrow was destroyed,” said Ana, “then you knew the Empire would have to stay in Yarrow for years longer. The Empire lacked the will to fully adopt the region—you’d already put that together ages ago—but they’d be more than happy to keep paying the court to keep things just as they were. And oh, you’d make sure the Empire would pay you a fortune. ”

My eyes fluttered in my skull, and I recalled what Kardas had said to us: Extend the deadline for a decade. Maybe two. Dump another trove of gold on the High City. Buy time, quite literally.

“Oh, fucking hell,” whispered Kardas.

“Only that could explain why you waited to attack the Shroud,” said Ana. “And, of course, it also explained your macabre campaign of terror—you wanted to terrify Thelenai into taking a desperate measure. All this business of heads and warped smugglers…all of it was a story you fed us, to make Thelenai panic and move the marrow by ship, far away from here. A most vulnerable choice, really…” She sat back, idly plucking a string of her lyres. “Because that’s where your titan’s blood weapon truly is, isn’t it? It’s hidden in the mundane, forgettable, overlooked docks where that ship will stop first. ”

Pyktis twitched slightly, but his dead, cold eyes never deviated from Ana’s face.

My eyes fluttered as I recalled that day when I’d sailed for the Shroud, after first meeting Ghrelin on the pier: We get so few vessels that sail abroad that this is the only place that can handle a ship of that size—yet it’s hardly ever used, Kol. No reagents have passed through those warehouses in months, and what few wardens we’ve spared to search this place have found not a whiff.

“Your weapon’s not on the Shroud,” said Ana. “It never has been! It’s hidden in the docks of Yarrowdale, at the very pier where the hydricyst shall first make anchor. It’s probably been hidden there for weeks, perhaps before you even kidnapped Sujedo! I am guessing you crept to Darhi’s secret little estate and stole the reagents before even that. Very brilliant! Yet Thelenai went searching there this very night, and I told her to be thorough. She fired a red rocket high into the sky just minutes ago, alerting us that she’d found your waiting weapon.” She grinned lazily. “My guess is that it’s disguised as some common resource they’ll load onto the boat…never realizing they carry death with them. Tell me—am I right?”

It might have been my imagination, but I thought Pyktis’s eyes narrowed very slightly.

Ana tutted. “It was a very brilliant game, I admit. And it very nearly worked! You put your brother’s body in a Yarrow treasure chest, having predicted long ago that Darhi would grab all he could, when rattled enough. You also knew we’d easily track him. You probably realized that the first time you met Malo and saw her altered senses.”

Malo gave a quiet, indignant sniff.

“You didn’t expect that Darhi would die, of course,” said Ana, “though that was a rather lucky break. But even if he’d lived, the goal would have been achieved anyway—for how could we believe such a liar when he claimed he was not the killer of the body found in his litter? You’d win either way. We would think all the villains captured or killed, and all was safe—and we would relax, and relent. The hydricyst would dock in Yarrowdale and unknowingly load your weapon aboard. Then it would go to the Shroud, take the marrow, sail for the River Asigis…but then, somewhere out at sea, your weapon would finally unravel and destroy it all—yes? The marrow would be forever lost. The Empire would be dependent on the Shroud for years to come…and thus on Yarrow, and your rule.”

Still Pyktis said nothing.

“How small-minded it all was…” Ana shook her head. “You’d deny the imperial people so much healing, so much advancement. You’d rule over a nation of slaves and slavers. All for gold. For a golden crown, and a throne, and a little bit of money.”

“No,” said Pyktis. His voice was a cold and icy whisper.

“Then why?” Ana asked.

He was silent for a moment. Then he whispered, “It was…the sight of him. To lay eyes on him.”

“The prince?” said Ana. She cocked her head. “Or…your father?”

“I…I had never even seen him before,” whispered Pyktis. “I had asked once, before I went to the Shroud, to meet my father, my king, but was rebuffed. But after I deceived you all into thinking I was dead, I…I came here. Crept in like a thief in the night. Gazed upon him sleeping. He woke and asked me to fetch him his chamber pot. He thought I was my brother. But he was…he was so old, and so weak. Just a man. Just a doddering old fool. It had all been a…a story.”

“What had?” asked Ana.

“Kings.” Pyktis shuddered. “For so long I was told they were wondrous fathers, farsighted rulers touched by the divine. The natural rule of strength, of crown, of throne—a noble thing, unlike the Empire, so unnatural and invented. But when I looked upon my father, I saw they are just…men. Little men with muddy, ugly little minds, who fall to common corruptions just like anyone.” His face twisted. “Just like everyone in the Empire. Just like Thelenai.”

“Is that so?” said Ana.

“She is just like him, do you know that?” he asked. “She made tools of us, asking us to sacrifice ourselves, to risk our lives and minds for her own little treasure. You all do. The Empire weeps so grandly, and bedecks the dead with gold and lands, but…it is still the same as my father. You call it serving. But you are slaves, and your masters shall never know any consequence.”

“Are you so sure of that? For Thelenai shall see many consequences, and soon.”

“She will wriggle out of them,” said Pyktis bitterly. “It is the same in all nations of the earth. You are either a slave or a master. I had my chance. I made my choice.”

Ana nodded slowly, then tsked. “I see…Simple nihilism, then. How terribly unimaginative. With you being so brilliant, Pyktis, I thought your motivations might wind up being a bit more interesting! But now the game is done, and your fate is sealed. And it’s to be quite horrid, isn’t it?”

For the first time, Pyktis blinked. “What?”

“Oh—did you think we were going to arrest you?” said Ana, feigning surprise. “Haul you before your taxiarkhe? After the scene of slaughter in this throne room? That would not be a very diplomatic choice!”

Pyktis gazed about and seemed to realize for the first time that every green eye in the room was staring at him with a look of profound hatred; save for Pavitar, who stood beside the open chest, staring down on the corpse within.

“I…I am an imperial citizen,” Pyktis said. “I demand my rights to imperial justi—”

“No! No, sir,” said Ana. Her grin contorted into something monstrous. “Don’t you see? You are an abomination, Pyktis, and abominations must be dealt with. But even if we tried to arrest you, I doubt Yarrows here would let us—true, Pavitar?”

Pavitar swallowed very slowly, his eyes still fixed on the true prince’s corpse. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, I would not.”

“No…for you have committed apavitari, sir. The murder of a king and a prince, done by their own blood to gain the throne.” She stood. “Thus, I shall excuse myself and leave justice to those who have been wronged.”

Pyktis stared at her, speechless. Pavitar took a deep breath, his short sword held tight in his hands, and began to walk toward the throne.

“No,” said Pyktis. “No, you can’t…you…” Then his face twisted, and his voice rose to a shriek. “You call me an abomination, but I know what you are! I have read it in your body, in your very movements! You disdain kings, but I know what you are !”

Pavitar drew closer to him, eyes still averted, short sword low at his side.

Ana yawned. “Hum,” she said. “How you bore me, child.”

The sword struck but once, at the base of Pyktis’s neck, the blade biting deep into his throat, then retracting: a swift, practical blow. As always with such wounds, the rush of blood was tremendous. Pyktis fell back into the throne and gazed up at the ceiling, choking once, a look of utter incredulity on his face, as if he simply could not believe this was happening to him. Then his neck grew limp, and his head lolled to the side, and he was still.

There was a long silence. Pavitar dropped his sword and dazedly stared about the bloodied room. “Get out,” he said quietly. Then, louder: “All of you, get out. Get out, now, now! ”

“Prificto Kardas?” said Ana. “I believe now is a good time to make our exit.”

“Y-yes,” said Kardas, shaken. “I agree, Dolabra.”

We began to make ourselves ready to leave, and Pavitar walked to the open crate. Then he sat at its side, lifted out the body, and began to cradle it in his arms. “What did they do to you?” he whispered.

I looked back as we filed out, studying the soldiers and the money-counters and the servants, who all stared at Pavitar sitting among the piles of gold, rocking the dead body in his arms as he wept.