***I have to thank those who sent me such inspiring feedback regarding this story. I had truthfully thought about putting it down and not picking it up again, but some of you have enjoyed it so much, I had to satiate you. My personal life is filled with a lot of stress and busyness, but I'm hoping I'll be able to post at least once a month, and make the chapters long enough to move the story along.
I also have to thank the lovely J. Stone for her work editing this chapter (and chapters to come!). Her perspective has opened me up to becoming a better writer.
There isn't much sex in this one, rather a boat-load of story progression. Enjoy, and as always, comments and critiques are welcome. Thank you***
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Gaius lifted his head as footsteps echoed down the dank stone corridor running the length of the cellblock. A faint jingle told him that whoever was approaching was wearing armor and a weapon, and the heavy shuffle suggested he was either tired or inebriated. Probably both, he commented inwardly. A thick shadow fell over him as the figure passed in front of a weakly guttering torch, and the lieutenant general raised his eyes to meet the silhouetted face.
"Looky here," slurred a gruff voice, and the figure leaned forward to jeer through the iron bars. Gaius could make out a sparse, unkempt beard and a pockmarked face framing rotten teeth. "Li'l princeling's gone an' got hisself all arrested. Thought he could plot against the Empire an' win. Stupid prick."
Gaius remained silent, refusing to be goaded into a fight he would clearly lose. Instead he stared unblinking at his captor, his bright blue eyes haloed in the flickering torchlight. The jailer continued to grin for a moment, confidence waning, before snorting and continuing onward in search of easier prey. Gaius listened to him leave, and then resumed staring at the wall beyond his cell. A slow sigh billowed from his chest, and he closed his eyes against the surrounding gloom.
The length of his captivity was impossible to determine; no sunlight penetrated the Empire's vast underground prisons. Immediately separated from his entourage upon incarceration, he was held in solitude and treated poorly in light of damning accusations. At first he had hoped that his ordeal would end swiftly; surely someone would come to his aid, decrying the charges and lobbying for his defense. But no one came, no lawyer posted his bail, and a gnawing anxiety now ate away at his mind. Something, or someone, was subverting justice, a justice he had worked his whole life to uphold. Even now he had no idea what evidence denounced him. His jailers whispered of "conspiracies against the Empire".
Gaius frowned as he ran once again through his already exhausted list of possibilities. Snorting in frustration, he gave up and shivered. Whatever was happening beyond his cell was bigger than anyone knew, and there was little he could do from where he sat.
His mind often drifted to Lithana. Surely his house guards had been apprehended as well; who was defending her? Who was keeping her safe? Though the girl certainly had the fire and spit to hold her own against an assailant, he doubted she would last long against the brutal politics of Arthos. He often worried about what she would do, how she would handle the situation. He took small comfort in the knowledge that, if she did do something remarkably insane, he would likely hear about it.
The steady drip of unseen water droned him into a daze, and Gaius didn't hear a second set of footsteps approach. A new figure stopped before the cell, clearing its throat as it moved in front of the torchlight. Gaius turned his head and cracked open an eye.
"You look thoroughly wretched," said Domo Camron Liperion, frowning sadly. His weathered face looked more deeply lined than ever.
Gaius started in disbelief, and struggled to stand and grasp the bars. "Camron? What—how? When?" Knitting his brow, he fought for self control. "What's happening? Why am I in here?"
Domo Liperion sighed heavily, shaking his head. "The news is terrible, my friend, simply dreadful. I've had great difficulty in coming here, let alone finding someone to hear your case. There is talk they will skip that particular step." He eyed Gaius pointedly from beneath bushy brows. "The evidence seems conclusive."
Gaius grimaced. "What evidence? What am I accused of?"
"Treachery, my friend. Murder most foul. A senator and his wife were stabbed to death in their beds, a crime that proved difficult for investigators, for a time. They found evidence so damning, however, there was little to do but to arrest the culprit."
Gaius's temper flared, and he glared warily at the old man he often called friend. What was he playing at? Why was he withholding such important information?
"What evidence? Who claims I am a murderer?"
"A coin, my friend, a talisman, bearing your house's name. The same worn by your guards." Liperion shook his head, a slow, regretful gesture, before resting a pleading gaze on Gaius. "How could you do it, Gaius? How could you order the assassination of one of your brothers in the Forum? I knew you were keen on securing more power and affluence, but killing an old man in his bed? You went too far, old friend."
"I killed no one!" Gaius roared. "I've been set up! I would never stoop to such vile tactics! I am no murderer, no criminal!" Pressing his face against the bars, Gaius pleaded, "Camron, you must believe me, I am innocent! Whatever they found, it isn't mine. I'm not responsible for this betrayal. Listen, someone has been trying to hurt me, they hired a hash—"
"And then, to have it come to light that you are involved in another, more nefarious, treasonous plot..." The old man clucked his tongue. "I cannot see this ending well for you, Gaius."
Gaius scowled, suspicion gripping his stomach. The corners of Liperion's lips were curled in an ever- so-delicate smile. "What plot would that be, old friend?" he asked through gritted teeth, his voice low and harboring barely controlled rage.
"Why your plans to murder the Emperor, of course. How did you afford the hashir? I suspect you borrowed an inordinate sum from the senators you corrupted." Liperion gazed sadly at the end of the corridor. "How tragic his death was. His entire family, women and children, massacred as they slept. Such a shame we couldn't stop it, but we were unaware that your machinations were coming from behind bars."
"The Emperor... My uncle's dead?"
"Will be, Gaius." Liperion patted the stricken man's white-knuckled fist as it gripped the bars, his face sympathetic. "And the Empire will have you to thank for it. Eleven generations of god-boys finally gone, all because of the power-mongering of a corrupt military mind."
Liperion sneered wickedly as a low growl escaped Gaius' throat. "Don't worry, my boy, your sacrifice is ultimately for the good of all. Though, I do worry about what will become of your household. It will likely be auctioned off, servants and all, after your conspirators are executed of course. And your lady wife, well, we all know what happens to the wives of traitors."
Gaius reacted instinctively and Liperion was wholly unprepared. He gasped and gagged as the younger man's hand surged between the bars and wrapped around his throat, squeezing tight. Clawing desperately, the domo writhed, hoarse screams echoing down the corridor.
There was a rush of running feet, and three guards were on Gaius, striking him on the face and hands through the bars with thick clubs. Gaius stumbled backward, reeling as he hit a wall and sank to the filthy stone floor.
Liperion coughed raggedly, glaring at the defeated prisoner as he allowed himself to be led away by the guards, ignoring Gaius's roars of rage and desperation.
Gaius screamed into the darkness, alternating between threatening unholy vengeance and pleading for Lithana's life until his voice left him. Exhausted, he sank sideways to the ground, numbness swarming his mind as dead, dreamless sleep overtook him.
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My heart thundered in my ears, and I worried that someone would hear it. I paused, trying to listen beyond the pounding in my head for sounds of pursuit. Beside me, Vienes did likewise, tightly clenching a sheathed dagger to her chest. I glanced at her, pursing my lips as I noted the uneasiness in her features. I was equally terrified of the path before us, and my imagination conjured horrible images of our fate should we be discovered. I inhaled deeply and steeled myself- one of us needed a cool head.
I remained there for several tense minutes before breathing a sigh of relief; there was no sign of pursuit. With a nod, my handmaid and I continued our desperate flight through Arthos's darkened streets.
It was unseasonably warm for summer, and the night was thick with heat and stagnant humidity. A fly buzzed near my face, and I resisted the urge to swat it, fervently wishing for a breeze or rain. Pausing in the shadow of a covered vendor's stall, I removed a scrap of paper from the folds of my toga, squinting in the meager light. A crude map was scrawled on its face, landmarks dotting the simple strip streets. I surveyed my surroundings, noting the faded street sign on an adjacent corner; we were close. I met Vienes's eyes, and we were off again.
It had taken a week to design our escape from the estate. After the arrest of our guard, the entire compound was put under house arrest, and a regular garrison of Imperial guards were stationed to ensure that no one went in or out. I spent long, frustrating days poring over architectural plans and maps with little success; our plans seemed futile. My physical reconnaissance of the estate yielded results, and a visit to the cellars led me to stumble upon an old servants' tunnel. It had, at one time, been used to bring supplies into the compound in the event of a riot or uprising. Unfortunately, it was barricaded some twenty feet inward.
Galvanized, Vienes and I conspired to clear the passage and flee. Three days of night work removed the stout wooden planks, and it seemed our bid for freedom was near. We were almost ready to depart when we received word, a message squirreled away in a wine bottle. Alethea's spidery script was scrawled across a single sheet of paper, pleading for our urgent escape. I responded with details to leave through the servant's tunnel, which met her approval. We were provided with a map and directions to her pavilion, and I promised we would take flight the following night.
Wrapped in sackcloth togas and cloaks and armed with daggers and short swords apiece, we crept into the narrow passage hoping it would lead somewhere recognizable and that there weren't any cave-ins. Our progress was maddeningly slow, putrid water pools and penetrating tree roots impeding our progress. I didn't know the tunnel's length, and as it stretched in endless darkness, I frequently considered turning back. Vienes insisted we maintain our course, however, and bolstered by her courage I pressed onward.
Our resolve was rewarded when the tunnel stopped abruptly in an old warehouse on the outskirts of what was once the Grand District, the old seat of power for Arthos's nobility. I was lost, but Vienes managed to orient herself in short order. I reminded myself to thank her in some spectacular way if we survived our endeavors. Using her good sense and the map, we stole through the city like shades over gravestones.
Alethea's pavilion was a welcome sight, alabaster construction blazing in the moonlight against a star-marked sky. Vienes and I trotted silently to the gate, where I hesitated to knock, my hand suspended over the wooden gate.
"What is it?" Vienes whispered urgently.
"What if it's a trap?" I whined fearfully. "What if she didn't send those missives, and it was someone from the Forum? What if...?"
"Lithana, we don't have time for this!" Vienes flared, and I balked and sputtered at her use of my name. "We're out here, exposed, and this is our only chance. Now, knock on the gate and let's get on with it."
