Rogue, Prisoner, Princess

  She stood there, her heart pounding, fearing to embrace her power—yet craving it.

  Eoin stepped back.

  “The decision is yours.”

  Ceres stood, looking out over the village. She looked further out, to where the ocean lapped at the edges of the island. Somewhere beyond it, her family was waiting. She wanted to get back to them. She wanted to have the strength to protect them. The rebellion was out there too. They needed her to have the strength to make a difference.

  But did it need her to unleash something like this? How many people might she hurt? How many people might she kill? This was a decision that couldn’t be undone. The kind of decision that might affect her whole life.

  She saw Eoin step through the wall of water at the top of the ziggurat, disappearing beyond it. His voice carried back.

  “Follow me if you dare, Ceres.”

  Ceres stood there for a long time. She thought of the rebellion, and of all the people who had been taken away by the Empire. She thought of her family. Then she thought of Thanos, dead because of all this madness. Madness that she might finally have the power to stop if she accepted this.

  Ceres felt the water thunder down on her as she stepped through it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Thanos walked down into the poorest districts of Delos, trying not to let the pity he felt at the state of this quarter of the city show on his face. He kept his cloak wrapped around him so that no one would see who he was. He doubted that being a prince would carry much weight here amongst those so poor they couldn’t even afford food.

  The houses down here barely even merited the term. They weren’t so much discrete units as agglomerations of wood and plaster, one shack flowing into the next until Thanos couldn’t tell where the buildings started and stopped.

  There were beggars on the street, and Thanos guessed that there would have been thieves too if anyone had possessed anything worth stealing. He kept a wary eye on the alleys he passed while he tried to find the one that matched the address he had for the midwife.

  He looked behind him too. It wasn’t just thieves he had to worry about. After what had happened to the stable boy, he didn’t want to risk bringing death down on anyone else.

  Even with the address Cosmas had given him, it took time to find the right place. The address was for a house in one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods. Thanos slipped down there in the early morning light, wrapping himself in his cloak so he wouldn’t attract attention.

  He found the house after more than an hour of searching. It was ramshackle and dilapidated, looking to Thanos as though the spider webs were the only things keeping one of the walls standing. There was a faint smell of rot there as he got closer, and it was so quiet that Thanos wasn’t sure whether it was empty or not.

  He knocked anyway, and was a little surprised when a woman his own age answered the door.

  “I’m looking for the woman who was a midwife up at the castle two decades ago,” he said. The young woman looked as though she might bolt, but when Thanos threw the hood of his cloak back, she seemed to freeze in place. She obviously recognized him.

  “Please,” he said. “It’s important.”

  She stood there considering him for a moment. “You’re…”

  “Yes,” Thanos said with a nod. “I am.”

  “You want my mother. Come with me.”

  Thanos followed her into a shack that didn’t look much better on the inside than the outside. The little furniture that there was looked as though it had been there a long time. It certainly didn’t look like the home of a midwife successful enough to be summoned to the palace.

  In a back room, he found an old woman sitting on a chair that looked as though it might fall apart at any moment. As soon as he saw her hands, crabbed with arthritis, Thanos understood why the two weren’t living anywhere better.

  “Be gentle with Mother,” the young woman said. “Her memory isn’t what it was. She hardly speaks now.”

  Thanos made his way over. There was no response from the old woman. He crouched down beside her, but her expression didn’t change.

  “I need your help,” Thanos said. “I found a reference in the castle library, in a genealogy. I’m trying to find out why.”

  There was no response from the woman.

  “It was to a collection of plays,” Thanos tried. Still, there was no response.

  “Please,” Thanos said. “People have been trying to kill me, and I think this has something to do with it. I need to understand the reason why.”

  There wasn’t any answer from the old woman. There barely seemed to be any spark of life there, so that it seemed to Thanos as though he might be talking to an empty shell.

  The seconds stretched out, turning into minutes. He looked into the woman’s eyes, silently pleading for something.

  “Please,” he said. “I just want to understand who I really am.”

  This was hopeless. He would never find out what he needed to know.

  He stood with a sigh. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll go.”

  He turned, and found a hand clamped onto his arm. The old woman’s fingers felt fragile around his wrist, but Thanos could feel the strength there too.

  Thanos saw her eyes lock onto his as he turned back. “The son of the king.”

  Thanos shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I’m the king’s—”

  “Son,” the old woman said, cutting him off in a voice that sounded rusty with lack of use. “The girl pretended that you weren’t at first, but he was right there outside the room, pacing the way only a father can.”

  “You’re sure?” Thanos asked.

  The former midwife nodded. “She told me, because there wasn’t anyone else to tell.”

  Thanos swallowed as he tried to make sense of it. Even though he’d guessed at this with Cosmas, it was still a shock to hear it like this, from a woman who’d been there. There was a part of him that still wanted to say that it was a lie, but it made more sense than he’d thought it would. The shock still hit him like a falling boulder, but there was something about it that seemed right too.

  He stood there while the pieces fell into place. If this old woman was telling the truth, then he really was the heir. And that gave Lucious more than enough reasons to want him dead.

  Anger rose in Thanos then, hard edged as diamond. He’d put up with so much of what Lucious had done over the years. He’d stood by while he’d been the worst kind of noble, while he’d put Thanos down, even while he’d attacked Ceres. Well, no more.

  “Thank you,” Thanos said to the old woman. “I have to get back to the castle.”

  “Don’t thank me, boy,” he heard her say. “There’s some news that brings no one happiness.”

  ***

  Thanos stormed his way back to the castle, ignoring the guards who tried to challenge him at the gates. He made his way along the corridors, heading back to his rooms only because it would give him a chance to fetch his weapons and armor. Right then, he could have walked up to Lucious and ripped him in half with his bare hands, after all he’d done.

  He threw open the doors to his rooms, and was surprised to see Stephania sitting in there on a couch, obviously waiting for him. She stood with a frown as soon as he came in.

  “Thanos? What’s wrong?”

  “How did you get in here?” Thanos asked. Too much of his anger came through in that.

  “A servant let me in,” Stephania said. “There were things I needed to tell you, and I thought it was better to wait for you in here. But that can wait. What’s happened?”

  Thanos stood there, with his hands balled up. “I found out the truth.”

  “What truth?” Stephania asked.

  Thanos paused for a moment before he told her, but he had to say this to someone. “Lucious is the one who tried to kill me.”

  “Oh, Thanos,” Stephania said, and Thanos saw her raise her hand to her mouth. He knew how she felt.

  “I’m going to ki
ll him,” Thanos said. “After everything he’s done, I’m going to kill him, Stephania.”

  She stepped between him and the door.

  “Don’t try to stop me,” Thanos said.

  “It’s not that,” Stephania replied. “It’s… I have some news.”

  “It can wait.”

  He saw her shake her head. “It can’t wait. It’s about Ceres.”

  That was enough to stop Thanos in his tracks. He stood there in silence.

  “You should come and sit down,” Stephania said, moving back to the couch and gesturing for him to join her.

  Thanos didn’t want to. He wanted the news now, whatever it was, but it seemed clear that Stephania wasn’t going to say anything until he joined her. He sat down carefully, feeling the hardness of the couch beneath him.

  “Don’t tell me…” Thanos began.

  “They were taking her to the Isle of Prisoners on a prison ship. That ship never arrived.”

  Thanos thought of all the possibilities. Maybe the rebellion had intercepted the ship. Maybe Akila’s people had captured it. Maybe Ceres had orchestrated an escape.

  “When a boat passed close to their path, they found wreckage,” Stephania said. “They say there must have been a storm. The ship was torn apart. There were… I’m sorry, Thanos, but there were no survivors.”

  “No,” Thanos said, shaking his head. He stood up. “No, it can’t be.”

  Ceres couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be. If she was dead, then nothing else made sense. Thanos felt tears welling up in his eyes, impossible to stop no matter how hard he tried. He made to turn away so that Stephania wouldn’t see, but she was there in front of him anyway.

  She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close enough that he could smell the soft, floral scent of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. I didn’t trust anyone else to do it.”

  “It’s…” He didn’t know what to say next. He just didn’t know. It felt as though the world had come to a jarring halt, caught between one moment and the next. It felt as though he’d breathed out, and fresh air refused to come into his lungs, leaving him as some kind of gasping wreck.

  Stephania was there in that space, holding onto him, feeling like an anchor to the world when so much of Thanos felt as though he was floating free. Her hand felt so small and delicate in his, but there was strength there as she held onto him. She was there while his grief washed over him, building in waves that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to see.

  Stephania held onto him through all of it, and Thanos found himself more and more grateful for the fact that she was there. She was right; there was no one else there who could have told him something such as this. There was no one else he would have trusted to hold him like this.

  And he did trust her. Stephania had been there to help him through his investigation. She’d put aside the way he’d treated her, and she was there now in the darkest moment of his life. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She was simply there, waiting while Thanos’s grief burned itself out. He was surprised to find what was there as the initial rush of it passed.

  He’d never thought he could feel anything for someone like Stephania, but now, looking at her, it was impossible not to. She was perfect in so many ways, but this moment just went to show exactly how deeply he understood her.

  Thanos realized how close they were then. Close enough that it would have been nothing to close the distance between them. It would have been so easy to kiss her then, and maybe that would have helped. Maybe, he thought, it would be enough to make him feel something, anything, instead of the awful emptiness that yawned inside him.

  Instead, he felt her fingers touch his lips.

  “Don’t,” Stephania said. “Not like this. You’re upset. I don’t want it to be just because of that, and it’s not why I’m doing this. I’m here because you’re my friend, and because I care about you.”

  The amazing thing was just how much he cared about her too. It felt like it had crept up on Thanos, feelings for Stephania building up within him almost imperceptibly the more time he spent with her. He’d gotten to see who she really was, and it was someone he could easily find himself falling in love with.

  Someone he could find himself being with forever.

  “You need to concentrate on the important things,” Stephania said. “Like what you’re going to do next.”

  “That part’s simple,” Thanos said. “I’m going to deal with Lucious.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Sartes clung to the horse tightly as they raced toward the city, terrified that he might fall off if he didn’t. Just as terrified that he might drop the precious plans he held. He reined in his horse, and beside him, Anka and his father did the same.

  “Anka, we have to go slower,” he said. “I can’t risk dropping these.”

  “What’s more important than your life?” Anka called back.

  “Sartes has plans taken from the Empire’s command tents,” his father said, answering for him.

  Sartes saw Anka stare over at him in obvious surprise.

  “Really? You have their plans?”

  Sartes nodded. “One of the commanders wanted them so he could see where he was supposed to go. I took everything I could.”

  “Then we can’t just take you into the city the normal way,” Anka said. “Follow me.”

  She heeled her horse into a gallop and Sartes did his best to follow. He dared a glance back, and now he could see horses on the horizon, dust flying from their hooves. They’d spent too much time talking. The soldiers were in sight.

  Sartes did his best to stay on the horse as Anka led the way down back trails and over broken ground. He looked over to see his father urging his horse on, and tried not to show how scared he was then. If the soldiers could see them, it had turned from a hunt into a race, and he didn’t know if he could win it.

  Sartes followed Anka along a twisting series of trails that led through a stand of trees and past a spot where two boulders stood at either side, almost blocking the path. It seemed to Sartes that it was a route designed to confuse and distract those following, but it meant that he was jolted with every rut and shift of ground.

  “Not far now,” he heard Anka call. “We’ll have to let the horses go when we get to the city, but our people have a way in.”

  Our people. Sartes liked the sound of that. He’d wanted to be a part of the rebellion since the first time he’d heard about it. He’d wanted to be there for the attack on Fountain Square. If he’d been older…

  …then maybe he would have ended up dead, like Rexus and his brother. He’d been too young to do anything for the rebellion before, but maybe he could now.

  He saw a creek ahead, steep sided and too fast flowing to risk plunging into, especially with the plans. Anka’s horse jumped it easily, and Sartes saw his father follow. His horse seemed to know what was required of it without being told, giving Sartes no time to think about just how wide the gap was, or how cold the water would be if he fell.

  He felt the muscles of the horse bunch beneath him and he gripped it with his thighs as it leapt. For a moment, everything felt weightless, then the ground came thundering up to meet them, and Sartes was almost jarred from the saddle. He felt the plans he held shifting, grabbed for them, and managed to keep them from falling as his horse surged forward again.

  In the distance, Sartes saw the walls of Delos. Given the misery of the city, he had never thought he would be so grateful to see them again. The three of them rode toward the walls, and Anka angled a mirror toward the sun in a pattern that seemed to repeat as they got closer.

  They rode in through a side gate and Sartes dared another glance back. The soldiers chasing them were closer now, swords out ready to fight, their horses straining as they charged after the three of them.

  They raced through the streets, to a crossroads thronging with people. To Sartes’s surprise, one waved.

  “Dism
ount here!” Anka said, practically leaping off her horse.

  Sartes and his father followed her lead, and almost before he was off the horse, Sartes found the reins being taken by a man in simple clothes, the hilts of weapons just visible as they moved. Another man threw a worn and filthy cloak his way.

  “Put it on!” Anka ordered, donning one that was almost identical.

  Wearing them, Sartes, his father, and Anka looked to Sartes like a group of beggars making their way through the city. The crowd closed around them and he saw the soldiers riding through, shoving people out of the way. Briefly, Sartes’s heart was in his mouth. What if their disguise didn’t work? What if the men spotted the three of them?

  But they rode past, while Sartes and the others made their way along the city’s streets. Anka led the way, taking twists and turns that seemed to make no sense until they reached a space with a walled courtyard. Anka headed inside, then up into a building that mixed stone and timber, more solid than most of those around it.

  Sartes followed. His father put a hand on his shoulder.

  “We did it. We actually got away.”

  Sartes nodded, and relief flooded through him. “You saved me.”

  His father shook his head. “Anka saved both of us.”

  “And now maybe we can repay her,” Sartes said, fingering the maps he still held.

  He followed while Anka led the way up to an attic-level room where more than a dozen people were waiting for them. They stood around a large table, the space lit by guttering candles.

  The surprising thing to Sartes was how ordinary they all looked. He’d heard so many stories of the rebellion that he was expecting something… more. Perhaps an army of combatlords, each ready to take on a horde of the Empire’s soldiers. Skilled assassins, cloaked in black and armed with rare poisons. Heroic leaders like Rexus.

  Instead, they just seemed to be normal people. People like his father. People like him. They didn’t seem happy.