The shorter was slender, and finer-featured, his eyes startlingly blue, more like the Drakes than his father’s icy, near-colorless hue.
At first, Cassius thought they were speaking a foreign language—then, with a start, realized it was Selesee. He’d been speaking Eastern so long that he struggled a beat to recall his mother tongue.
“…through the tunnels,” the taller, armored son was saying as Cassius approached the table, and halted a few respectful paces back. “We more than outnumber them.”
“Our drakes are larger and stronger,” the shorter one said, turning to his father. “It wouldn’t be a true contest between our forces.”
Romanus studied the map without acknowledging either of them. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, and then his lower lip. And then he lifted his head, and his gaze landed on Cassius, and Cassius wished to be anywhere else, even a prison cell, chained to the wall, with only a bucket to see to his necessities. This was what he’d dreaded the entire long walk down the hallway: Romus looking at him.Seeinghim. As he was now.
Facing down Amelia’s drakes had been less chilling. They, at least, bore a spark of warmth in their golden eyes.
“Cassius.”
His name was the only thing that had ever beenhis, the only sign that he was a man, and not merely a sword. But in Romanus’s mouth, it sounded like a reprimand. Or like a word for something unpleasant he’d scraped off the bottom of his boot.
Belatedly, Cassius realized he should have bowed the moment the emperor turned his way, and he rushed to do so now. He fell forward at the waist, fist to his chest in a sign of respect, and stood that way, unspeaking, faint tremors plucking at his arms.
In a sneering voice, one of the sons said, “Thisis the worm you entrusted with finding my bride? This slave?”
Bride. Cassius thought of the unsteady heave of Amelia’s back beneath his hand, how fragile she truly was, once you got past her steely façade, and his blood ran cold.
Of course the emperor planned to breed his sons to the Drake women.Of course.
“No,” Romanus said. “I entrusted him with nothing. He acted alone. He showed initiative.”
Cassius fought the urge to shudder.
“Approach the table, soldier.”
He could do nothing but comply. He kept his head ducked, even when he straightened, and hovered an arm-span back from the table. “Your imminence,” he greeted.
Romanus stood as he’d been before, poised above the table, a fingertip resting upon a point on the map. Only his head was turned toward Cassius, and even that much attention weighed heavy as a millstone.
The emperor said, “Fabius tells me you were captured by Lady Amelia’s army. That you have been her prisoner for some weeks.” His tone was impossible to read: he could have been stating fact, could have been leading him into a trap.
“Yes, your imminence.”
“And that you bided your time, quiet and peaceable, until an opportunity to return arose.”
“Yes, your imminence.”
“Were you hoping for a reward? Bringing the lady here?”
“No, your imminence.”
A faint note of amusement colored Romanus’s voice when he said, “But you did suspect that your actions would curry favor, didn’t you?”
Cassius wet his lips and bought himself a brief second of thought. “I wished only to assist my emperor in any way that I could.”
He glanced up through his lashes, and saw the taller son in the armor sneer, but the shorter remained thoughtful.
Romanus’s face didn’t change, which Cassius chose to take as an encouraging sign. The man wasn’t known for smiling—nor for frowning. So long as he remained impassive, Cassius thought his own head might remain atop his shoulders.
“Send him back to the barracks, Father,” the taller boy said, lip still curled. “After he’s been thoroughly searched forspells. The Southerners likely ensorcelled him before sending him back to us.”
They hadn’t, but Cassius had heard tales of the Selesee interrogation tactics, and his stomach shriveled up another impossible fraction at thought of them.
“No,” Romanus said. “He carries no trace of magic, Southern or otherwise.”
