In Her Shadow (11 page)

The smoke wasn't obvious at first. Perhaps if he hadn't had his head down in the fight, dealing with the war in front of him instead of taking a fuller view of his surroundings. . . Well, it was too late for second guessing now. As his eyes watered and nostrils burned, Lucius turned his focus to what to do next. The damn fools had set fires to the homes on either side of the street, never thinking they'd be trapped between walls of flames just as they were trapped between his two shield walls. So what now? Let them burn inside a holocaust of their own making?

No, Lucius couldn't do that. He couldn't let them go free, either. When the crowd collectively realized the depth of its trouble, it would panic, stampede. His and Captain Marcus's shield walls might hold, but probably wouldn't. He couldn't be responsible for that. He wouldn't be responsible for it.

Lucius couldn't retreat either. If he ordered his men to stand aside and let the crowd through, who was to say they wouldn't just keep on rioting? The crowd might take his saving their lives as an admission of surrender. It might encourage them to tear up the rest of the city as badly as they had the docks. It was Lucius's duty to protect the law abiding citizens behind his line, and the guilt of having backed up this far already tugged at him. He'd fallen back far enough. The home he'd taken Britta to burned. No one escaped. He could retreat no farther physically because he could retreat no further morally.

Get your head back in this, he thought. Emotions clouded judgment. A fatal flaw for any military commander. Moments like these were why he'd studied with the Disciples of the Sun Triumphant. He needed to see past the tears formed by smoke and shame. He needed to hear over the shouting crowd and his thundering heart. He needed clarity. Clarity.

And then it came. Over his shoulder, a brigade of cloaked sisters, buckets in hand, led by Britta and the soldier sent to guard the Abbess of Night, tromped down the street towards him. Dux Lucius thought he could forgive the soldier for abandoning his post given the circumstances – especially since the man started shouting orders, telling the sisters what to do to fight the fire. They split into two groups, one on each side of the road. With long hooks, hammers, axes, and other tools, they began tearing houses down on either side of Lucius's flank.

Whose idea had it been for the sisters to come down here in the first place? Lucius knew. He wanted to grab Britta up in his arms, swing her around, kiss her, tell her he was glad she was safe.

Kiss her? Where had that thought come from?

There was no time to ponder it, because the wind shifted, sweeping up from the docks. The flames shot into the sky. Worse, they raced up the street toward his line.

What Lucius feared most, happened. The crowd panicked. He shouted for his men to put their backs into it as the bodies pressed against their shields. He did likewise, leaning into the man in front of him hoping this one, tiny gesture, might stem the human flood. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be. The damn burst. His line disintegrated, and a mass of angry, scared people exploded through.

His shield wall gone, there was nothing left to do but survive. He and his men had done more than anyone could have asked. They'd gone above and beyond. He prayed they could escape the violence, rally at the garrison. He would meet them there. But first–

Lucius darted into the crowd, fighting against the current as he struggled towards the last place he'd seen Britta. He had to find her, pull her to safety before. . . Before. . .

Lucius stopped in the middle of the street as the crowd surged around him. The priestesses had set down their house breaking tools and formed a line of their own. Instead of shields, they linked hands. Britta at the head, they waded into the crowd. At the edge of the fire, the sisters started passing buckets down the line. When it reached Britta, she tossed it on the fire and sent the bucket back. A bucket at a time, the fire didn't even notice – but the crowd did. The sound of the riot faded. Around Lucius, the great mass of people hung their heads in shame.

Valex broke through the crowd and ran to Dux Lucius. "Sir! Sir! They've stopped fighting on our end. And here too, I see. What's happened?"

Frankly, Lucius wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't about to let the boy know that, though. "Tell Captain Marcus to find every bucket his men can get a hold of and start putting the fire out on his side of the city. Go!"

Valex ran off, back towards the harbor. Lucius's men formed around him, asking for orders. "Help them," he said. "Help the priestesses put out the fire." And it wasn't just his men that followed his command, but the crowd. They joined the line, carrying buckets back and forth. They formed into new lines, doubling and tripling where they attacked the flames. People who'd been hiding since the riot began, stepped out of their homes and joined the fight. As Lucius joined Britta at the head, he realized there weren't any distinct lines fighting the fire anymore – only a giant, interlocking chain.

***

It was just before dawn when the last of the embers, wetted to ashy mush, drained down the gutters towards the sea. Britta and Lucius sat in the middle of the street. Caked in soot, blood and sweat; beaten and bruised, they leaned on each other as they watched the first hints of daybreak stretch over the horizon across the harbor.

"I hate this city," Lucius said.

Britta chuckled, weak, tired, but genuine. "I don't blame you."

"Shouldn't you be off to hide from the light?"

"Now that I'm the Abbess of Night, I think I'll change that particular taboo."

"You're the Abbess of Night?"

"Yes."

"So we're not to be married?"

Britta licked her thumb. She used it to scrub grime away from a cut on his forehead. "Of course we are."

"I thought, if you're the new Abbess of Night. . ."

"We're not celibate, if that's what you're thinking. I mean, come on."

Too tired to resist, Dux Lucius threw his head back and released a great guffaw that emanated from his belly. The sound reverberated up and down the street. So tired were his men, the sisters, the citizens, they barely even lifted their heads to see what was happening. Some even dozed in the same spots they'd been trying to kill each other in hours ago.

"I like to hear you laugh," said Britta. She put an arm around his shoulder and drew him close. They rested their heads together, watching as the sea burst into a magenta light that rippled far below them.

"What happens now?" asked Britta.

"Captain Marcus is securing Weboshi. My theory was right, she was on one of our ships. Marcus said it hadn't occurred to him not to search the Regnal ships – that when I told him to search the boats in the harbor, he assumed I meant all of them. Anyway, I'll take a cohort to the Governor's manse and confront my father."

"And if he's guilty?"

Dux Lucius sighed against her. It wasn't loud, but she felt it. "Then I'll take his place."

"The Emperor won't send a replacement?"

"No. Couldn't anyway. By then, we'll be married – the two heads of this city. And when he hears how we've rebuilt it, made it better than before, he'll leave us to rule it."

"Are you sure?"

"Not even a little."

Britta dug her elbow into his rib and Lucius laughed as he told her to stop. "We can do this, Britta. Tonight proved it. Together, we can make peace between our peoples once and for all. You're smiling."

Britta leaned back on her elbows and squint at the distance. "For all the violence and destruction, it was a good night. Maybe Ankshara needed to have part of it burned away, to fertilize new growth."

"Nice, but it doesn't quite explain the smile."

"I guess not. I learned a lot tonight – so much I can't process it all. It'll take years, if I can at all."

"That's a reason to smile?"

"My mother, Dux Lucius. The abbey told me she died. She didn't. I understand why they told me she did, but. . ."

"But?"

"I saw her so clearly as the soldiers dragged her away. She was so skinny, ragged, but the expression on her face was so peaceful. She'd done the right thing giving me to the abbey, and she knew it." Britta wiped a tear from her eyes and sniffled. "Sorry. I'm not getting maudlin. I grieved her loss a long time ago. It was just nice to see her face again."

"You're fine," said Dux Lucius. "Learn anything else?"

"I learned I can see things in both the literal and figurative dark."

"Figurative dark?"

"Yes, like into the heart of a man who's cut himself from the world emotionally because of his grief."

Lucius stiffened.

"A man," Britta said, "who feels guilt anytime he finds pleasure. A man who hurts so deeply he's afraid to love."

"Stop."

"She'd forgive you for finding love again. She'd want that for you."

"So you can see into the darkness beyond death?"

"No, but–"

"Then you don't know." Lucius pulled away from her. Stood. "Our business isn't done yet. We still have to deal with my father."

The party of cloaked sisters and soldiers – Weboshi fettered in their midst – passed through the city streets as Ankshara woke. Those citizens who hadn't been party to the riot stole glances as the unusual parade went. The march from the docks to the Governor's manse was a sign of unity between the two peoples, a symbolic act as important as the real act of putting out the fire together not long before. Weboshi, by accident born of incident, had caused it all. Britta wanted to hug her, tell her it was going to be okay, but her new position as Abbess of Night prevented her. Was this what it meant to be the Abbess? A constant stream of lies, secrets, and omissions? It explained a lot about her predecessor.

Britta hated it, and hated herself for not being able to speak the words that brewed inside, for not being able to save Weboshi from her fate. If the Governor wasn't guilty, then what? Weboshi would hang – might hang anyway. Britta couldn't blame Dux Lucius for it. Weboshi had stolen his daughter, almost killed her. He was well within his rights to be angry. Was he right to be angry with Britta too? It's not as if she'd intentionally looked into his soul to uncover the secrets of his heart. She didn't ask for that information, it had been thrust on her.

That was the problem, she realized as they neared the Governor's manse. The Goddess had given her a lot of information, but not the information Britta needed. Couldn't this whole ordeal be cut short if the Goddess had simply told her if the Governor was guilty; and if he was, where to find proof? Another secret, piled like a brick a top a wall of more secrets. The Goddess shared nothing more than was necessary to achieve Her own goals. Could someone who lied so much ever be trustworthy?

Look at me, Britta thought, a mere mortal questioning the motives of a goddess. So what? How much pain could the world be spared if the gods kept their noses out of mortal business? No, Britta knew better than that. Mankind made its own mistakes, committed its own atrocities. If anything, her Goddess had mitigated the worst of that. It wasn't fair to castigate Her. But then, what harm would it have done to stop Weboshi from ever acting in the first place? So much hurt, so much pain, so much destruction could have been avoided if the Goddess had commanded the last Abbess of Night to act. She could have nipped all this in the bud. She'd revealed to Britta so much; why had she revealed what Dux Lucius thought too? Especially if bringing it up had only served to upset him. In the crucible of the riot and ensuing fire, Britta felt she and Lucius had forged a bond. Anyone who'd seen the pair sitting side-by-side, leaning on one another in the aftermath, would have thought them lovers. And what ruined that moment? Revealing what the Goddess had shown her in the darkness of Lucius's heart. It wasn't right – sabotage even. "Have faith," the last Abbess had told her, but how could Britta when it seemed like the Goddess moved the peace process forward only to immediately undercut it. What purpose did it serve?

Disloyal, Britta thought, like Weboshi; I am Her chief priestess, and I am disloyal. She would think on it later, pray, meditate, see if the Goddess would reveal more. Britta wished she could stop and do it now, but the reality of the situation faced her as the Governor, surrounded by his household guard, stepped onto the front porch of the manse.

"Son!" said the Governor, arms wide as he descended the steps. "You found her!"

"Yes," said Dux Lucius.

"Excellent! Excellent!" The Governor glanced over his shoulder at his guard. "Take her away," he said. "No more waiting. We can be done with this. How long until your men arrive with the Abbess of Night?"

Britta took a step forward but Captain Marcus quietly put a hand across her chest, restraining her.

"She's not coming," said Dux Lucius.

"What? Why not? Did she escape?"

"No, she died."

"Ah." The Governor scratched his chin. "Okay then, arrest her instead," he said indicating Britta.

Britta's heart pounded. Could he do that? The last Abbess might have been guilty in the sense she hadn't acted to prevent Weboshi's crime, but Britta was blameless.

"I won't," said Lucius

The Governor's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand."

"I won't arrest Britta, the new Abbess of Night. I don't know if the old Abbess was involved, but I'm certain Britta wasn't."

"That can come out during the trial. I'm sure she's innocent to, but–"

"There won't be a trail."

The Governor took a step back from his son. His skin stretched taut across his face. "There won't?"

"No. I want to release Weboshi."

"But Ava–"

"I know what Weboshi did," said Dux Lucius. "Believe me, I know. Between what Britta has told me and what Captain Marcus learned from interrogating her, I've learned much about her. She was angry at us – rightfully from what I can tell. We took one daughter from her. In her mind, when Britta and I marry, we'll be taking a second. Weboshi was wrong. She was wrong to poison Ava, and she was wrong to kidnap her. I know that, and she knows that."

"You're not making sense, son. She wronged you and Ava in some revenge scheme."

"I know. I forgive her."

"Forgive her? Why?"

"She acted on emotion, let if blind her into doing something she wouldn't have done otherwise. Forgiving her – releasing her – is the right thing to do. And if you don't accept that, father, then think of it this way: the city just had a riot. Regnals and Anksharans came together to save the city from burning down. Their chief heirs are about to marry each other. Releasing Weboshi would be an act of of magnanimity and mercy that would impress both sides."

A weak smile passed across the Governor's lips. "Oh son, no."

"What?"

"A marriage to one of these barbarians is what I'm trying to save you from."

"Father–"

"You said Captain Marcus interrogated her?"

"Yes."

"And she confessed?"

"Well, yes but–"

"Then there's no need for a trial, we can skip straight to the execution. Seize her."

Britta screamed. For a moment, she'd thought what Dux Lucius was playing at would work. She'd dared have hope. It was a mistake, one that cost her her dignity as her sisters pulled her away from the scene. She kicked and fought them as she tried to struggle forward. She'd been so close to having Weboshi back – to have her ripped away again was an unbearable pain that could only be expressed as a wail.

Lucius looked over his shoulder at her, his expression filled with that maddening emptiness. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword. "Father, please," he said as the Governor's guard muscled by him to get to Weboshi.

The Governor's mouth fell into an "o," his eyelids heavy as he glanced down at Lucius's hand. "What are you doing, son?" he asked. "Are you going to pull a sword on your own father for doing his job as the rightful voice of the Emperor's law? Where's your filial piety? Where's your loyalty to the empire?"

Lucius's hand fell away from his sword. "I'm sorry," he said.

Britta screamed again as her sisters dragged her away.

***

Dux Lucius restrained himself, barely. He'd never been so angry in his life, but he didn't let it show. Now, of all times, he needed to keep calm. It was the only way he'd outwit the Governor. If Lucius were to win, he'd have to do it by the books. Otherwise, should the time come, he'd be as guilty of treason as his father appeared to be. Lucius needed proof.

"Let her go," he said to the guards trying to take Weboshi out from the crowd of soldiers.

"Excuse me?" said the Governor.

"I said let her go."

"I'm the Emperor's authority in this city, son. I pass judgment."

"And I'm the Emperor's law enforcement arm. Your civilian mercenaries have already proven incompetent at keeping her locked up. She's coming with us to the garrison."

"Oh? And you'll execute here there? Why not do it here? Now? It'd save a lot of trouble."

Lucius wanted to knock the smirk off the Governor's face, but kept his cool. He always knew his father was sneaky – a quality that made for a good politician – but this depth of duplicity Lucius had never expected.

"No," said Lucius. "We can execute her after the inquest."

"Inquest? She's guilty. You even admit she confessed to Captain Marcus–"

"I know what I said. I also said 'inquest,' not 'trial.' If you'll forgive me father, this prisoner represents a threat to the Emperor's peace. There are a lot of questions that I, as the military commander responsible for the safety of Ankshara, need answered."

The Governor waved a hand. "Oh, posh."

"Not 'posh.' She couldn't have kidnapped Ava or escaped without assistance. She might have even been involved with the assassination attempt against me. It's my duty to investigate any possible conspiracy in this city to subvert the will of the Emperor."

"Son–"

"Will you release her to my custody for interrogation, or will I have to declare a state of emergency and put this city under military dictatorship until the Emperor can send someone to sort the whole mess out?"

The Governor visibly swallowed. A visit from the Emperor's own magistrate under such circumstances would ruin his career. Even if he were found innocent of any wrong doing, the mere implication would destroy his reputation; especially if it were his own son who called the magistrate. "Captain Marcus," he said, his voice wobbly and weak. "I deputize you Dux of the Anksharan Imperial Garrison and demand you arrest my son."

Captain Marcus squawked more than laughed – a high-throated belch. "Me? Arrest him? When our troops were down on those docks last night fighting for our lives, where was your household guard? No, sir. I think I'll just keep my rank until my commanding officer, Dux Lucius, sees fit to promote me."

The Governor turned pale. There was a tremor to him that Lucius thought was anger until he realized it was fear. Was it fear of being called out? Fear of discovery? Guilt? When he was alone with Weboshi, Lucius intended to find out.

The Governor waved a trembling hand. "Fine," he said, "take her. But these Anksharans are tricky. She'll lie to your face, and then lie some more. You'll never get to the bottom of what happened." Who was the Governor trying to convince, Lucius thought, Lucius or himself? The Governor's household guard released Weboshi and the soldiers took her by the arms and led her away from the manse to the garrison.

***

Alone in the dark, Britta brooded. She'd hoped that, with the right amount of prayer, she might commune with the Goddess. Her reward for her effort was a flood of her own, angry thoughts. She'd made a terrible mistake thinking there might be hope for Weboshi, for her city, and for herself. That's not how the real world worked. She'd always suspected it on some level intellectually; now she knew it in her heart.

Dux Lucius's betrayal helped hammer the lesson home. Britta had thought there was something special growing between them, something more than a political arrangement. She'd felt it when they kissed, and she'd felt it on the docks. She'd thought maybe – just maybe – they could be something more than two leaders married out of necessity. She'd thought they'd be husband and wife in the truest sense. She loved him, but Lucius's inability to stand up to his father was another in a string of betrayals by those closest to her. It tore at her. All the hope, all the expectation, all the heart-twittering giddiness of new love, stolen. That's what Regnals do, she thought: take what was most precious and dear.

Soon they'd take this abbey, and crush what remained of Ankshara's uniqueness. They'd make the city one more bland imperial outpost, exactly like all the others. They wouldn't just drain Ankshara's blood, they'd drain its spirit. And there was nothing she could do. Nothing.

Britta slumped in her chair and stared into the darkness expecting to see. . . She didn't know. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do," she whispered.

"Excuse me?"

Britta sat up in her chair and glanced over her shoulder at the girl who'd entered. The orphan who'd helped her through the city. She carried a tray of food in her hand.

"Nothing," said Britta, doing her best to muster a reassuring smile as the girl sat the tray down on a table in the center of the room. "Thank you. You brought this to me?"

"I made it. The other sisters – well. . ."

Britta sighed. "They've already lost all faith in me. Barely had the job a day and I've already–"

The girl's eyes went wide. "Oh no! No ma'am! Not at all! The abbey runs itself, they told me. The night to night stuff at least. They said there was no stewardess though, no handmaid to the Twin Moons. So they put me to work."

"Awfully presumptuous of them. Kind, but presumptuous." A cold, hollow laugh erupted from her. It stung. "There are no 'Twin Moons' anyway. Only me, the last Abbess of Night it would seem."

The girl's gaze fell to ground, and her cheeks broke out in hot blush.

"What girl? Out with it."

"They elected me New Moon."

Britta sat up in her chair. "What?"

"They uh – well, a lot of them remember your election. They thought, I mean with my parents–"