A Torch Against the Night (An Ember in the Ashes #2) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,85
chose to defy your Augur-chosen Emperor,” he roars. “Ten Illustrian Paters believed that they knew better than the holy seers who have guided us for centuries. These Paters bring shame to their Gens through their treasonous actions. They are traitors to the Empire. There is only one punishment for traitors.”
He nods, and Harper and I, standing on either side of a writhing, gagged Pater Rufius, drag the man to his feet. Without ceremony, Marcus takes Rufius by his garish robes and casts him over the side of the cliff.
The sound of his body hitting the pit below is lost in the cheers of the crowd.
The next nine Paters follow swiftly, and when they are nothing but a mass of broken bones and shattered skulls at the base of the cliff, Marcus turns to their heirs—kneeling, chained, and lined up for all of Antium to see. The flags of their Gens fly behind them.
“You will swear your fealty,” he says, “upon the lives of your wives and sons and daughters. Or I swear by the skies that my Blood Shrike will wipe out each of your Gens one by one, Illustrian or not.”
They trip all over each other to swear. Of course they do, what with the screams of their now-dead Paters echoing in their heads. With each oath proclaimed, the crowd cheers again.
When it is done, Marcus turns again to the masses. “I am your Emperor,” his voice booms out across the square. “Foretold by the Augurs. I will have order. I will have loyalty. Those who defy me will pay with their lives.”
The crowd cheers again, and, almost lost within the cacophony, the new Pater of Gens Rufia speaks to one of the other Paters beside him.
“What of Elias Veturius?” he hisses. “The Emperor casts the finest men in the land to their deaths, while that bastard eludes him.”
The crowd does not hear the words—but Marcus does. The Snake turns to the new Pater slowly, and the man shrinks away, his eyes straying fearfully to the edge of the cliff.
“A fair point, Pater Rufius,” Marcus says. “To which I say: Elias Veturius will be publicly executed by Rathana. My Blood Shrike has men closing on him. Don’t you, Shrike?”
Rathana? That’s only a few weeks away. “I—”
“I hope,” the Commandant says, “that you will not bore his Majesty with more excuses. We would not wish to learn that your loyalties are as suspect as those of the traitors we just executed.”
“How dare—”
“You were given a mission,” Marcus says. “You have not succeeded. Cardium Rock is thirsty for the blood of traitors. If we do not slake that thirst with the blood of Elias Veturius, perhaps we will slake it with the blood of Gens Aquilla. Traitors are traitors, after all.”
“You can’t kill me,” I say. “Cain said doing so would bring your own doom upon you.”
“You are not the only member of Gens Aquilla.”
My family. As the import of his words washes over me, Marcus’s eyes light with that unholy joy he only seems to feel when he’s got someone by the gut.
“You’re engaged to Hannah.” Appeal to his lust for power, I think frantically. Make him see that this will hurt him more than you, Helene. “Gens Aquilla is the only ally you have.”
“He has Gens Veturia,” the Commandant says.
“And I can think of, oh”—Marcus glances at the new Illustrian Paters just yards away—“about ten other Gens that will adamantly back me. Thank you for that gift, by the way. As for your sister”—he shrugs—“I can find another highborn whore to marry. It’s not as if there’s a shortage.”
“Your throne is not secure enough—”
His voice drops to a hiss. “You dare to challenge me about my throne—my allies—here, in front of the court? Never presume to think you know more than me, Blood Shrike. Never. Nothing angers me more.”
My body turns to lead at the cunning calculation in his eyes. He steps toward me, his malice like a poison that saps my ability to move, much less think.
“Ah.” He tilts my chin up and searches my face. “Panic, fear, and desperation. I prefer you like this, Blood Shrike.” He bites my lip, sudden and painful, his eyes open the whole time. I taste my own blood.
“Now, Shrike,” he breathes into my mouth. “Go fetch.”
XXIX: Laia
That woman—the Mask—the one they call the Commandant. She’s killing them all.
All the Scholars. All the Scholar prisoners.
“Skies, Keenan,” I say. The rebel understands immediately, just like me. “Darin.”