Page 85 of Poisoned Empire

Belisarius glared, turned on his heel and continued his way down the steps, passing Marduk by. Marduk waited for the emperor. When Darius noticed him, he seemed surprised.

“I leave the interrogation to the two of you. I’m not sure I’d be of much use.”

Marduk nodded, his face neutral. It was painful to watch two men he cared about make so many mistakes and hurt each other, but it wasn’t his place to correct them. Marduk believed the emperor deeply regretted his behaviour, but when his son rejected any olive branch, no matter how insubstantial, Darius tended to retreat back into the only comforts he could. Belisarius, in turn, was a stubborn mule, refusing to let go of his resentment. It had kept Belisarius going when Nadia died as much as his promise to her to rule well and wisely. Marduk wasn’t certain either man would change enough to come to peace with the other. He hoped Selene could act as the bridge between them.

Marduk bowed to Darius.

“I’ll take my leave then, Your Majesty.”

When Marduk caught up to the prince, the air had chilled. Belisarius paused and looked back at him, his uncertainty plain.

“Am I failing her in truth?”

“Only the next few days will tell, Your Royal Highness.”

“No, not ‘Your Royal Highness,’ Marduk. I am asking you as my friend.”

Marduk’s eyes widened in surprise. It had been some time since Belisarius had asked anything of him in any capacity outside his role as strategos and advisor. He supposed a matter of the heart was something better suited to discussion among friends.

“She is going to face difficulties now that the nobles know she’s both a bastard and unacknowledged, but if anyone has the mettle to face the situation, it’s her. Though I don’t think you’ll find it as difficult to convince her to marry you as you seem to think.”

Of course, Marduk had the benefit of knowing through Iliana just how hard the poison mage was studying in order to convince the prince to see her potential. At least Belisarius would have that to look forward to.

“Thank you, Marduk.” Belisarius sighed, straightened his posture and collected himself, the princely mask back in place. “Let’s get to the bottom of this plot and be done with it.”

Belisarius and Marduk sat across the stone table from Grigori Amethyst. The chamber was dim, the bare, windowless stone walls seeming to close in, making the room uncomfortable to linger in. Though it was not the architecture that had him so disturbed. Belisarius repressed a chill as yet another question went unanswered. The lightning mage and former Magister sat across from him, a short man with only the beginnings of grey in his red hair, wry amusement curling his lips. The only sound which had come from him had been the metallic clinking of the chains around his ankles as he adjusted his feet.

Belisarius glared at the silver-tongue mage at his side. She was young in years, but powerfully gifted. She’d been the only one to survive the collective poisoning of the palace’s well-guarded interrogators. While they had lived in comfort and seclusion in the palace, they had never been free, and never would be, given the danger they posed. Was she refusing to use her gift? He knew he was keeping both himself and Marduk shielded from her powers with his own gift, but could his proximity be hampering this interrogation? He pulled the field of his magic closer around both himself and the Strategos.

“Why won’t he answer?” Belisarius asked of the white-haired girl.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice wavering.

“If you are refusing to interrogate this man-”

“I’m not! I’m trying!” she wailed.

“Push him as hard as you can. He doesn’t need to survive, he only needs to give us answers.”

The girl let out a frustrated breath before redoubling her efforts. She reached across the table and grabbed the prisoner’s head.

“Who. Taught. You. The. Ritual? Speak!” she ground out, her body vibrating with the strain.

Grigori’s body began to tremble as well, the spasms involuntary, a battle of wills playing out before him. How could Grigori resist the commands of the mage before him? The reason silver-tongued mages had been kept was because no mage, no matter how skilled, wise or strong could repel the compulsion, at least none but a negation mage or one of the Unhearing Knights. Grigori was emphatically not such a man. The situation confounded Belisarius.

“Answer! The! Question!” she commanded.

Blood began running from Amethyst’s nostrils, his eyes rolling back in his head. The spasm redoubled in intensity. Blood trickled from his ears, and the red-haired mage screamed in agony. The silver-tongue mage released her hold, both physical and magical, before collapsing in her own seat, her breath ragged. Sweat beaded above her pale brown lips, and her hands shook. The former magister’s head lay on the table, his breath hissing between clenched teeth, his body limp.

“Someone more powerful compelled him. If I push harder, I’ll only kill him.” She sighed, weary.

Belisarius nodded to her knight, who bowed. He closed the loop of the magic-suppression collar around her neck and carried her from the room. A wheezy cackle hissed from between Grigori’s lips. Belisarius narrowed his eyes. A guard heaved him from his prone position so that the prince could inspect him.

“So, you wish to take your secrets to the grave?”

“Have you enjoyed my bastard, princeling? I had hopes she might kill you in a fit of temper. Imagine my shock!” He coughed up blood when he laughed, yet the smug grin on his face remained.

“Perhaps I shall let her do as she pleases with you. Were you aware that she planted hidden hazards throughout your holdings? One word from me, and your lands become no more than a toxic wasteland. There will be nothing left for anyone to inherit, except death.”

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