People looked away as he passed them, none brave enough or stupid enough to give him the black looks he had once become accustomed to. At first, when Fidele had announced him forgiven of his crimes and welcomed into the heart of Jerolin he had still received those looks, but as the days had passed and with them demonstration after demonstration that he could do as he wished without consequence the angry glares had turned away. Initially a horde of people complaining too loudly had been dragged to the dungeons, and that no doubt had helped to silence the complainers, but Lykos could still sense the animosity. These people were not cowed, yet. A stronger lesson was needed.
He passed a roped-off courtyard with bloodstains still on the flagstones. He had already begun the pit-fighting, on a small scale. A few contests in makeshift rings in the lakeside town at first, then moving to the stronghold. There had been an outcry, of course. Petitions had been sent to Fidele by the wainload, but, under his control she had just ignored them. And people had come, had watched, had bet silver and gold. A trickle at first, furtive looking, trying to stand in the shadows, but more had turned up with each bout. Soon he would spread the entertainment throughout Tenebral, but not until the arena on the plain had been finished. We will need more slaves soon, else we’ll run out of fighters.
The spoils of war would supply that need soon enough.
He found Fidele in her chambers high in Jerolin’s tower. She stared at him with such a look of hatred and contempt that he smiled – he had seen that look before, on the recently conquered, warriors he had made his slaves. In time the look would pass, would merge into other things. First would come despair, then acceptance, then servitude. He reached a hand into his cloak and her expression changed, became fearful. That made him smile as well.
‘Speak your mind,’ he said.
She opened her mouth, not trusting her voice. ‘My son will kill you for this,’ she breathed, beginning little above a whisper. She looked surprised that her thoughts had aligned with her words.
‘I don’t think he will,’ Lykos said. Soon enough he will have more on his mind than the governance of Tenebral.
‘Then I will kill you,’ she said, her voice rising, her back straightening, as if control of her vocal cords gave her actual strength.
‘Enough,’ Lykos commanded. Or your guards will hear.
A struggle took place within the confines of her face and behind her eyes. She was clinging to her freedom of speech, refusing to let it go. Her mouth opened, lips twisting, but nothing came out. A few more moments passed as Lykos watched, entertained. Then her shoulders slumped, her body sagging.
‘You will have a visitor soon,’ he began . . .
There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ Fidele called.
She was sat in a high-backed chair, wrapped in a cloak of darkest sable contrasting with her milky skin, her lips a deep red.
I shall have her when this is done, thought Lykos. He was standing further back, half in shadow. Deinon stood the other side of Fidele’s chair. Other Vin Thalun were hidden about the dark edges of the room.
Two men walked into the chamber: Peritus, the old battlechief, and Armatus, his childhood friend and also first-sword of the dead king, Aquilus. They were both older men, the wrong side of forty, Lykos guessed. Both had deep lines in their faces and more grey than black in their hair. They both had a reputation with their blades, though, and Lykos was not one to underestimate an enemy.
‘My lady,’ Peritus said, bowing to Fidele. Then he saw Lykos. A look passed between him and Armatus.
‘Welcome back to Jerolin,’ Fidele said to them both. There was little warmth in her voice. ‘How are things in the north?’
‘Quiet,’ Peritus said. ‘The giants’ raids have all but stopped. It was good to be home. I have returned early, though, because I am hearing strange things. About Jerolin.’ He paused, looking uncomfortable.
‘What things?’ Fidele said.
‘Where is Orcus?’ Armatus asked. His eyes had seen Deinon standing in the shadows.
‘I gave Orcus a leave of absence. There was illness in his family.’
He does not believe her, Lykos thought, watching Armatus.
‘What strange things do you speak of, Peritus?’ Fidele continued.
‘May we speak alone?’ Peritus asked, eyes flickering to Lykos.
‘No, we may not,’ Fidele said. ‘My son, your King, trusts Lykos, and so do I.’
‘You had a different opinion the last time that I saw you.’
‘Opinions change.’
‘But, the fighting pits. The dead, the boy dragged up from the lake – Jace. They were facts, not opinions. Lykos and his kind are murderers. You know this.’
Fidele stared at Peritus. Muscles in her face twitched. She opened her mouth but only a breath hissed out.
Lykos squeezed the effigy concealed in his hand and Fidele groaned.
‘Are you well, my lady?’ Peritus said to her, stepping forwards.
‘Stay where you are,’ Lykos said, moving out of the shadows.
Peritus froze, but Armatus moved forwards now. ‘The last time I was in Jerolin, the Vin Thalun didn’t give orders to the battlechief of Tenebral,’ he said.
‘Things have changed,’ Lykos replied. He smiled at the two men.
‘How so?’ Peritus said. There was an edge in his voice now, one that Lykos recognized. Of violence restrained.