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“Escort this man back downstairs and stay there. I don’t want anyone leaving that room—or anyone even entering this wing—until we discover whoever is behind this little uprising. Legionary.”
He beckoned Eavus to follow. Eavus hurried behind.
“Shut the door.”
Eavus did. The prefect’s chamber was an octagon, spacious and open. Eavus took a guard position inside the room, but this was perfect. Now that they were alone, he’d be able to give the message properly. The timing wasn’t ideal, what with whatever was going on outside—but if the prefect and the Isfolj were on first names with each other, it was a decent start. Norbucum could be the jewel. The prefect had gone to his desk, pulled out paper and ink. Eavus swallowed, preparing.
“Legionary, I’m giving you this to take to the guards at the main city gates. Have them close the doors. No one in or out.”
Eavus’ mind went blank.
“Sir?”
“This note to the gate guards.” He pushed the letter towards Eavus and started on a second. “And this one to the tireni-at-watch. You’ll find him in the barracks. Damned if I’m going to give the Isfolj control over my city, but if they’re bold enough to ask, then it’s time this city remembers how we took it in the first place. If there is a new emperor, my first introduction is not going to be that I’ve let barbarians roll over Norbucum. Arnean, Isfolj, a damned stray dog. I don’t care who they are. If they’re not Aleterian, we take them out, you understand? We’ll need every man on duty. It’s going to be a bloody night.” He held the quick-scratched paper out with one hand, his other starting on a third.
Eavus didn’t move.
“Sir—I—”
Flairius’ eyebrow came up with his half-turn of his head.
“Legionary. That is an order.”
“Sir.” Eavus’ throat closed. His ankle throbbed. The words he wanted to say—it was suicide. Shut up, Eavus! But he pulled them out anyway:
“I will not, sir. These are innocent people.” He could feel his pulse thumping, like an offering. Here’s my neck. He pinched his lips to keep from taking his words back.
Flairius set down his quill. “What is your name?”
Eavus couldn’t get it out. “Ricaea Marceas. Sir.”
“Ricaea Marceas. House of Caea. You came with a message for me, didn’t you?”
“I did, sir.”
“May I have it?”
Eavus’ fingers flexed. They almost closed around the cylinder, but they didn’t. “Not yet, sir. Not until I can explain.”
“We don’t have time for explanations, Legionary. My city is rioting.”
“It’s important, sir.”
“Important.” The prefect nodded. It was a casual gesture, charming even. It made sweat run down Eavus’ spine. “It’s to do with…all this, correct? The Isfolj information was accurate?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You know what? I respect you, Legionary. You’ve traveled all the way from Lordinius, through enemy territory, only to arrive at my doorstep and refuse a direct order. That takes mettle. I see bright things in your future, Ricaea Marceas.” He pointed at him, then shifted his focus to searching through the keys on his belt. “I don’t have time for games today, but when I see an opportunity, I take it. How many cara propita do you need to go free?”
Was Eavus that obvious? “One, sir.”
“One.” He sounded impressed. “I imagine you hoped it would be from me?”
“I did, sir.”
“And the money?” Eavus’ pay voucher was in the cylinder, wrapped around the emperor’s instructions. Everything else, everything he’d ever saved, he’d spent on Revni.
“I…I don’t have it, sir.”
Flairius found the key, unlocked a drawer. “Spent it on whores, did you? Gambling? No matter. What’s the rate these days? 220? 230?” A gold bar thunked onto the prefect’s desk. “This is worth 250 at least.”
At least. Eavus had never seen a gold bar before. Caea probably had them, stored somewhere. This one was thin, like meat that had been pounded flat. Eavus surprised himself with how much he wanted to consume it.
