Cassius deals with the Blacktower traitors, and chases after Llewellyn.

Length: >7000 words, POV: Cassius, Rating: R
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Part of: 013 Separation, Contents

So, Llewellyn was tramping across Jovan to find himself, Veritus was mixed up in Ivery’s treason, and Cassius was trussed up like a turkey, sitting on the floor of his office with his feet out in front of him.

As he wiggled his hands around to test the ropes, Cassius reflected that he hadn’t really distinguished himself with his cunning in the last twenty-four hours.

He hadn’t seen Ivery yet, but Veritus had been coming in and out, casting him troubled looks and asking if he were comfortable. After the first time Cassius had answered sarcastically, “Yes, very comfortable, thank you,” Veritus had become rather diffident and apologetic.

Judging by the light at the window, it was about seven in the morning. Llewellyn now had a head start of almost a day. Getting his feet under him, Cassius managed to crawl over to the wall and slither up it to standing. Then he went over to his desk, sat down, and leaned back against the chair as if there weren’t ropes wrapped around his torso, tying his hands behind him.

There he waited for about half an hour, attempting to develop a scheme. He was saved from his unsuccessful exercise by the door opening to admit Ivery and Veritus.

“Commander,” said Ivery.

“Captain,” returned Cassius with some irony.

“I gather from Veritus that you have become aware of my alliance with the Sironese.” Ivery seemed uncomfortable. Not a natural schemer, Cassius thought. “So, cooperate, and I will plead your case to my lord of Sal Sirona when he arrives. Resist, and I will—throw you from the parapet.”

“Ah, very good, Ivery. Suitably threatening.” Cassius stood, pushing his chair back with his knees. “But absurd. Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” Ivery said impatiently. “When you showed up, I thought it was a disaster. But you were easy to manage, in the end, weren’t you?”

Cassius ignored this. “No, you think I am Lord Cassius, commander of the Empress’ armies. You have forgotten I am Cassius Sylvanus Nero filius Herminius, lord of Jovan, Black Prince of Caith’il Deran. My father crushed the Fabii in the civil war; what makes you think Capistan Fabius de Sirona will stand a chance?”

Ivery opened his mouth to speak, then shut it.

“More to the point, do you understand the consequences of taking me hostage? For your appalling lack of discipline at Blacktower, you should be discharged from the army. For the treason you contemplate, you will be punished: imprisonment for a plan not enacted, or a quick death, for you and your conspirators.” Here he looked pointedly at Veritus. “For acting against the Sylvanii, for taking me hostage? You will be blinded, castrated, and hung on a cross outside Monsilys to rot in your own filth. You should be begging me for mercy.”

Biting his lip, Ivery said, “Words.”

Cassius shook his head. “When he was ten years old, my eldest brother watched a hundred men crucified outside Tyresine. I put a thousand Gallicans to the sword after the battle of Amberedge. The Sylvanii haven’t forgotten the war. The Fabii forgot how to fight, and we crushed them. We will watch your suffering and laugh.”

“Veritus, gag him,” said Ivery. “I will have my reward from Prince Capistan. And I will be the one watching you rot in your own filth. My lord.”

As Veritus advanced, Cassius said, “You’re better than this, Veritus. If you release me and turn your sword on that traitor, I will make sure you’re known as the hero of Blacktower. Write any dispatch you like; I will put my seal to it. You’ll be promoted to captain. The Commander-General will personally thank you. You will be given a post anywhere you like. You could see the Empire. All you have to do is turn your sword on that traitor.”

Veritus froze, hand on his hilt. Like a startled animal, he caught and held Cassius’ gaze.

“Veritus…” said Ivery, turning his shoulders towards the door.

Cassius counted in his head. He had no idea whether he had judged Veritus right. After what seemed like an hour, Veritus leaned forward and tied his handkerchief across Cassius’ mouth. Then he turned towards the door. Damn. Cassius flopped back into the chair.

When he reached the door, Veritus turned around and leaned against it. He raised his sword. “Captain,” he said, “I have no choice but to arrest you for treason.”

As Cassius rode through the streets of Gerhin, the events at Blacktower were far from the forefront of his mind. Whether or not Veritus had confined Ivery and alerted Monsilys, Cassius couldn’t care less. If he had to come back and mop up that absurd little plot, he would. Later. He had accomplished the journey to Gerhin as quickly as possible, changing horses at a legionary waystation. Llewellyn had been on foot, so Cassius doubted he could be far behind the boy.

The harbourmaster had told him that the next ship bound for Cambria left the following morning. Bad winds had kept most ships harbourbound for the last few days. Cassius had found the ship and extorted from the first mate a passenger manifest. Here he had found Llewellyn’s name as expected and obtained his direction at a respectable inn a few blocks back from the water.

Reaching the Wolf and Sickle, he swung down from his horse and was about to pay a boy to hold the creature when Llewellyn himself emerged, clad in a hooded cloak.

“Llewellyn,” said Cassius, closing the space between them.

Llewellyn looked up, eyes wide with shock. “Prince Cassius.” He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see his erstwhile master. “What are you doing here?”

Cassius quirked a smile.

“Master.” Llewellyn dropped to his knees on the dirty road. “Forgive me.”

“Don’t be absurd, boy.” Cassius hooked a hand under Llewellyn’s shoulder and lifted him up, catching him in a vise-like embrace. Llewellyn poked his chin into Cassius sternum and sighed, before pressing closer.

“I missed you,” said Llewellyn. “But I am going to Cambria.”

“No, you’re not. You are coming with me to Ilas. It is time I made good on my promise to strike off your slave brand. I have all the paperwork with me, and there is a ship leaving on the afternoon tide.”

Llewellyn pushed away from his chest to blink up at him. “Truly?”

Nodding, Cassius said, “And then you will be a free man.”

“Free,” Llewellyn echoed, looking past Cassius’ shoulder.

The journey passed quickly, and the ship disgorged them in Ilas’ main port city four days after they departed. They wound their way through the distinct Ilasian architecture, red brick houses with black-painted wooden supports and trims. Here, blue-robed slaves trailed their veiled mistresses and masters in elaborate brocade tunics dripping with gems. In Ilas, black was the garb of choice for the nobility and those with pretensions, and one carried one’s wealth on one’s fingers.

They found the slave markets near the harbour and a brander leaning against the wall of his forge took Cassius’ papers and studied them. “This the slave?” he said. “Er, Cloud of Sha-Pensei, formerly property of King Adder Oblaiki of Sha-Pensei, now owned by Lord Cassius Sylvanus of Jovan?”

Llewellyn nodded. Cassius said, “Yes, this is he.”

“Why would you let a piece of property like that go? What a provenance,” said the brander. Cassius raised his eyebrows and the man put his hands up and shrugged his shoulders. “None of my business, of course. Come inside.”

The brander, handling Llewellyn like a piece of merchandise, took his arm and laid it over the anvil, sleeve pulled up. The slave brand, a spiralling pattern with the crest of Sha-Pensei in the centre, stood out shiny and white against the soft skin of Llewellyn’s inner arm.

Cassius knelt down opposite and took Llewellyn’s hand in his. Llewellyn’s jaw was very tight as he watched the brander heating up the iron. When it was hot, the man brought it over and held it above Llewellyn’s arm.

“Are you sure, milord?” he said.

Cassius looked at Llewellyn. Llewellyn nodded.

The brander brought the steaming hot metal down against Llewellyn’s arm. Llewellyn hissed and bit his lip. Cassius clung tight to his hand, feeling it spasm. As the brander lifted the iron. Llewellyn gasped and pressed his eyes closed. Over the slave brand, an angry red welt arose in a counter-pattern.

After paying the brander, Cassius helped Llewellyn upright and took him to an inn, where they dressed and bandaged the wound.

The next morning, Llewellyn said, “When is the next ship to Cambria?” He stood by the washstand, hand pressed to the dressing covering his burn.

“I don’t know,” said Cassius, pausing in the act of donning his shirt. “Would you like me to check?”

“Please. I would like to continue on my journey.” He turned and splashed water over his face.

“Your journey?”

“Are you not needed in Jovan?”

Cassius let his arms fall to his sides. “Yes. I had thought—if you could wait a few months…”

“I want to go now.” Llewellyn put his hands around Cassius’ shoulders. “I need to find out who I am. I need to be my own man for a while. Otherwise I will go from being your slave to your pet and never be myself.”

“Oh.” Cassius pushed at Llewellyn’s shoulders until he released him.

“You said once I was freed you would let me go.”

“I suppose I thought…” Trailing off, Cassius turned away and went to put on his tunic.

Llewellyn followed him, ducking under his arm and using a hand on Cassius’ nape to bring their faces close. “Prince Cassius, I’ll come back.” He pressed their lips together, then sank to his knees, putting one hand against Cassius’ chest while the other pulled his shirt aside.

Banging his head back against the wall, Cassius said, “No. If this is your last gesture of obligation to me, don’t.”

“It isn’t,” said Llewellyn. “I want to.”

Cassius stepped away and pulled his hose up again. “Go to Cambria. Become your own man. If we meet again, if—you come back to me, we’ll be equals.” His stomach wanted to sink into his feet. “Have you enough money for the journey?”

“Yes. Lord Valentin was very generous.” Face impassive, Llewellyn stood up. After a moment of uncertain hesitation, he took Cassius’ hand and pulled him back onto the bed. When Cassius resisted, Llewellyn said, “This is for my benefit, not yours, Prince Cassius.”

He pushed Cassius down onto the counterpane, then snuggled himself under Cassius’ arm, his head on Cassius’ shoulder and their legs tangled together. With a little sigh, he put his arm over Cassius’ chest and said, “I don’t know how I will do without you.”

Around the lead which seemed to fill his lungs, Cassius said, “Me neither.”

As he rode back across Jovan towards Blacktower, Cassius wondered as he had been for the last five days whether he had just done the most foolish thing of his entire life. Valentin would call it stupid, self-defeating behaviour and counsel him to look to his own pleasure first.

He supposed he would never see Llewellyn again. He had done everything he could to free the boy of any obligation. Llewellyn would find his folk in Cambria, or he would find a place somewhere else. What slave would ever return to their former master? What slave would want to even remember their enslavement?

Sighing, Cassius pressed his heels to his horse’s sides and nudged it into a trot. He had been gone just over two weeks. Blacktower was probably in Veritus’ hands, but just in case Veritus had once again been swayed to Ivery’s side, Cassius had decided to stop in Meadow Hill and send a dispatch from the legionary waystation there. Blacktower wasn’t designed to withstand an attack from land. If the Sironese had managed to carry off their plan, it might have made a good staging point for bringing troops into Jovan and taking the nearby towns, but it was unlikely to withstand even the most cursory siege.

He arrived at the waystation to find it full of legionaries. Leaving his horse in the stables, he approached a captain. “Are you here because of the situation at Blacktower?”

“Blacktower is back in the hands of loyal Jovanis, Commander,” said the captain. “Thanks to the honesty and quick thinking of one of your lieutenants.”

“Indeed,” said Cassius wryly. He broke off as a man walked past in the uniform of the Imperial Guard. “What are the guard doing here?”

“I believe they are looking for you,” said the captain.

Cassius found the guard lieutenant in the dining room. “Commander,” the man said, standing.

“I understand you are looking for me.”

“Yes. Commander, please come with me.”

Frowning, Cassius followed the lieutenant up to the locked and guarded room where imperial dispatches were kept overnight. The lieutenant emerged holding a rolled missive with the Empress’ seal on it. He handed the roll to Cassius, who took it wordlessly. Turning away, he slid his finger between the sheets and broke open the seal.

Valentin stood at the window of his study, leaning against the wall. In his hand was a rolled up letter. The blue ribbon bore the Empress’ seal. It was unopened. With one rough gesture, he pulled it open. He quickly scanned the contents, and let the letter fall to his side.

He heard the click of the door, then soft footsteps behind him. “My lord,” said Luvina.

Turning around, he said, “Yes?”

“You should look in on Luca.”

Tonelessly, Valentin said, “Is there any change?”

Luvina shook her head. There was a tentative, tender smile on her face. “My lord, I’m pregnant.”

Valentin looked down at the crumpled paper in his hand. “The Empress has summoned me back to Monsilys,” he said.

END BOOK 1

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