Imperius Ch. 08

Author's note: This particular chapter involves no actual sex. If you want something with more immediate gratification, I recommend any of the other chapters.

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Magnus led the way through the camp, now clad in a suit of pristine Praetorian armor, more ceremonial than his usual attire. Whereas the original was sleek and refined in its simplicity, this one was crafted to a more imposing form. Large pauldrons adorned with dark gold filigree bestowed a regal, commanding presence, while the breastplate molded his chest into a vision of unyielding strength. A blood-scarlet cape hung from his shoulders, held in place by crests etched with his personal sigil—a twining ouroboros.

Lilah trailed some paces behind him, with Daegon at her back and Saphir at her side. The chain linking her shackles jingled as she moved.

Imperial soldiers around them were at work pitching tents and putting the camp back into order. Seeing the progress they had made over the course of barely three days gave Lilah a sinking feeling in her chest— a deep sense of how futile the escape effort had been.

The men watched Magnus pass with weary and respectful expressions, but when their gazes moved over to Lilah, she could feel the tone of their attention shift. After Saphir cleaned her up, he had dressed her in a loose, gauzy black robe which offered only the thinnest veneer of modesty. She might have been anxious in the face of these leering, hungered expressions at one point, but now her senses felt dull, her body sore and relaxed from Magnus' attention.

They reached a tent Lilah hadn't seen before, larger and more rectangular than the rest, off-white in color where the others were red. A pair of guards lifted the curtain for them to walk through. Lilah bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to distract herself from worrying about what lay ahead.

On the other side was cacophony.

An array of imperials stood in a loose semi-circle around the center of the tent, where guards were struggling with a captive in the throes of violent resistance.

"—The bitch bit me!" one of the soldiers was shouting, gripping his hand.

Lilah was not surprised to see Elspeth behind him with a feral expression, spitting fury at everyone and everything around her and fighting against no fewer than five guards who fought to wrestle a gag into her mouth.

The Legatus turned and acknowledged them. "Magnus!" he said, spreading his arms and speaking loudly over the racket. As he moved forward to greet Magnus warmly, Lilah took in the sight of the others in the tent. The three Praetors apart from Magnus were there, each dressed in a slight variation of the armor he wore, and each of them returned her glance. There was Cato, with his mocking green eyes, golden hair and light bronze skin. Across from him stood Ajax, taller than the rest, umber-skinned, and with a stern thoughtfulness in his repose. But the one that drew Lilah's attention the most was the woman. Ariadne, pale-skin and raven-haired, and somehow even more stoic than Magnus—a winter goddess, so striking that she was the only one Lilah didn't tear her eyes away from on instinct. And indeed Ariadne was the one who looked away first, addressing the guards who held Elspeth.

"Take her to the processing tent," she instructed, before lowering her hand toward something at her side. Only then did Lilah notice the panther tucked behind the woman's legs, shifting and licking its paw. "Keep her apart from the other captives. If I hear of her harming any of them, I shall hold you accountable."

They obeyed, doing what they could to contain the prisoner as they led her toward the opening of the tent. But the moment Elspeth noticed Saphir as she passed by, her struggles grew threefold and she threw herself at him, abandoned from any consideration for her bindings or captors. Nonetheless, they held.

"I take it she hasn't given us anything useful?" Magnus asked Ariadne, watching them haul Elspeth by even as she turned her face to snarl at him as well.

"Not unless you have a use for mindless belligerence," Ariadne replied, her voice almost void of inflection.

"...Not any more," said Magnus, with a sideways glance at Saphir. This seemed to infuriate Elspeth more, but Magnus only stared back, unflinching until they finished dragging Elspeth out of the tent. The small crowd that remained went quiet.

Hesiod turned his attention back to Magnus. "I owe you an apology, my friend. You warned me not to have the party." He put his hand on Magnus' back and led him near to a table close by. Lilah noticed, even amidst the oppressive crowding of the soldiers around her, that he had brought Magnus slightly further away from her than the other Praetors stood.

"And it seems that we also owe you for the capture of MacCrannach's regiment," Hesiod added, his voice turning brisk.

"—But not MacCrannach himself," injected Cato, standing with his arms crossed on the other side of the tent, his green eyes glinting as they moved from Magnus to Lilah. "I understand you failed to retrieve him. Foiled by your own pleasure slave, Magnus?" He tutted, the closest to openly mocking Magnus that Lilah had ever seen from anyone. Something about it made her even more anxious than before.

"It is curious," said Hesiod, his mild tone defusing some of the crackling tension Cato's barbs had introduced into the atmosphere of the tent. He looked Lilah over intently. "I was rather surprised to hear of your desperate gambit, my dear. Is this a product of war, or had there always been a rogue behind those starflower eyes?"

Lilah had no response for this, but Hesiod didn't wait for one. He motioned for Daegon to push her toward the center of the tent, before he moved to face her again.

"Tell me," he said, his voice lowering to a near whisper, "Why did you kill your commander?"

She swallowed quietly before answering. Every other time she had been the center of focus among imperials, her skin had felt electric with tension and fear. Now she only felt the slightest static. Even that much surprised her—before leaving Magnus' sky-ship she wouldn't have believed that she had nerves left to test.

"He had intelligence that could have been used against Illythiel if it fell into your hands," she said simply. "If he fell into your hands."

"One man, for the fate of a million?" Hesiod inquired with an artificially mild expression, searching her face. "Such cold arithmetic!"

"Isn't that expected, in war?" Lilah asked.

"For ones such as these, perhaps," Hesiod returned, gesturing to indicate the military officers that surrounded them. "But much less so from the lovely nurse they tell romantic stories about."

Lilah shrugged. "They would tell the stories less if they didn't idealize appearances."

He tilted his head curiously. "Is that what you think your renown comes from?" he inquired. "You being pretty?"

She lowered her head, a slight and solemn gesture, and looked at the plain black carpet beneath her feet. "There are other medics who do as much as I do and don't get nearly as much credit. It's how I look to them, I suppose, and the stories they like to tell," she said, her voice weary.

"Ah, yes. I've heard one or two in passing. Tales of romance, of adventure, of salvation, and friendship, and sex. I imagine very little if any of it is true. And yet they keep telling those stories. Do you ever wonder why?"

"Soldiers need inspiring stories to keep them fighting."

"To keep them killing. And remind them of what they're killing for..." Hesiod's eyes glinted with renewed intent. "Political considerations and logistics can put a weapon in a man's hands, but it's the story you tell him that will compel him to use it. So tell me, Miss Claremont, what story did you kill for?"

A shudder danced along her skin, and her throat felt tight as she tried to answer, "I...,"

"—Look at me, Miss Claremont," he interrupted, but his voice was strangely gentle, and when she obeyed, his expression was appreciative, as though he was pleased by her acquiescence.

"From now on, I want you to look at me whenever you speak."

There was a long moment of silence, but he seemed inclined to be patient. When she found her voice again, her throat had loosened, and the answer came more easily.

"I know how it feels to be a pawn in the destruction of your own country," she said. "I didn't want the same to happen to him."

Hesiod nodded, and walked to the table, pouring himself a drink.

"Did you know it was I who made the bid for Illythiel to join the Imperius peacefully?" he asked, looking into his cup.

She paused cautiously, before answering. He had been laughed at by more than one minister of the realm that day, or so the story went. "I did."

"Do you know how the leaders responded?"

"I know they turned you down."

"A delicate way to put their mockery," he smiled. "But I'm curious. Do you believe that the Illythian leaders should have accepted?" he asked, his tone curious and quite relaxed.

"It likely would have prevented a great deal of death," Lilah noted.

"Ah, but that wasn't what I asked. What would you have chosen to do, in their place?"

"I wouldn't have laughed at you," she acknowledged before steeling herself, "—but I would have said no."

There was a sigh from Hesiod. "Such are the perils of choice, it seems. When left to its own accord, it seeks only to further itself—in bold and daring measures. No matter the cost. Only once choice is removed does the prudent option make itself apparent. Wouldn't you agree?"

"No."

"Simply 'no'?" he inquired. "So certain, so absolute, for someone who hedged so carefully a moment ago. Would you not present a counter-offer? A trade deal, perhaps? Something that wouldn't have required sacrificing that oh so precious Illythian independence?"

The air within the tent seemed to become thicker with every word, but it seemed to not trouble Hesiod in the slightest. He might have been at a garden party, for all the stress he exhibited.

"Not if it meant allying with slavers," she said, in quiet contempt.

"Ah," he said. "That."

"Yes," she replied dryly. "That."

The tent was electric with tension now.

His eyes flashed with satisfaction. "There," he said. "Now I see the abolitionist fire in those eyes. Now that I know who you are. And now...you may look me in the eye and know who I am."

She did, and what she witnessed in him was something other than the avuncular cheer that she had recognized in him up until this point. There was a thorough perceptiveness there, and an implacable cunning, and it was this that sharpened in his eyes when he changed the topic.

"What did you shout at the behemoth?" he asked.

"I..." she tried to respond, but trailed off, utterly taken off guard.

"One of the slaves we recovered mentioned that you shouted at the behemoth," he explained. "—when you tried to protect them in their caravan."

"I..." Lilah's throat felt dry. "I told it to stop."

He raised his index finger, "But you didn't use the word 'stop,' did you?"

Lilah's skin began to surge with her awareness of the Praetors' sharp eyed gazes, hot and cold at the same time. She felt her eyes wanting to dart away from Hesiod's, frantic in search of a way to escape the conclusion she knew he'd already reach. She said nothing.

"You see," Hesiod continued mildly, "I thought I remembered your name from somewhere."

He accepted an electronic tablet from one of his attendants without even looking away from Lilah, but his next words were addressed toward everyone else.

"There is, of course, your reputation as a medic. The angel of mercy searching for her love on the field of battle ," he said, making a rolling gesture with his hand to indicate his own churning thoughts, "—but I had heard it some time before all of that. I just couldn't remember. Until... ." He patterned his fingertips against the surface of the tablet until a projection hovered in air: an image of a music box the size of a book, in colors of silver and gold and emerald green, depicting a willow tree etched into the surface of the metal in the interior lid. Mechanized figures of a man and a woman circled one another on a bed as green as an Illythian hillside. For something made of metal and paint, it had a strangely organic design.

"As you know, Magnus," he said, glancing back at the blank-faced Praetor, "your new slave has quite the glamorous background. But I didn't realize that it went further than just her military service." He gestured to the image in the air, "This is the work of Henry Claremont—a clockmaker, as he likes to introduce himself. But not just any clockmaker. He's one of the most renowned and talented artificers in the world. I came to admire his work years ago, when the man served in the Valencian court."

The image above the tablet changed, transforming into a depiction of another music box, this one depicting a ballroom, and a grandly dressed couple dancing.

"The Valencian emperor commissioned several of his most famous masterworks," said Hesiod, staring at the image with an expression that Lilah recognized quite well—barely veiled covetousness.

"I tried to bargain the emperor for one of the pieces," he said, his lips flattening in chagrin. "The man flatly turned me down."

His eyes shifted, hinting at the first sign of anger or resentment that Lilah had ever seen in the man, before they returned to hers and turned hopeful, "I don't suppose you inherited his artistic talent?"

She stared at him.

"Shame," he said, but then that cunning flashed in his eyes again. "There are quite many wonders that could be realized with such a brilliant gift. Figurines that dance with a life of their own. Musical instruments that play themselves. Behemoths that crush entire regiments to rubble."

Magnus straightened his shoulders, glancing slantwise at the other Praetors and what he could see of their expressions from his vantage point. Each of them flicked their attention from Hesiod to Lilah, a synchronicity that he had only observed in the three of them when they were presented with a promising tactical possibility.

"He would want to know that you would be safe from his creations. In case anything ever went wrong, he wanted you to be able to stop them. You. His daughter."

"You're only assuming that the behemoths are his creations," she protested.

The intent sharpened in his eyes. "But they are, aren't they?"

She spread her hands, her face expressively frank. "I don't know. I haven't communicated with my father in over two years."

He tilted his head at her.

"Is that so?"

"That's so," she replied firmly.

"Hmm," he nodded, and again that smile flickered on his face, softly. "On the subject of rare and notable talents, did you know that your own master has in his service a very gifted herbalist?"

She stiffened, and stared back at him, and then slowly, so slowly, her eyes went to Saphir, who looked back at her with a veneer of complacent calm.

"Even further, I've heard rumor that this herbalist possesses an exceedingly scarce and unique tincture that may be of some assistance to us today." Hesiod shifted then, drawing her eye again as he turned to face Magnus, who was watching the exchange with his usual implacability. "What would you say, Magnus? Would you consider this a good enough cause for him to employ his skills?"

When Lilah looked at Magnus, she saw that he held the Legatus' gaze, and the idea occurred to her that this entire exchange was as much of a test for him as it was for her.

"By all means," he told Hesiod, his voice deep and concise. Somehow, she sensed, even then, even though he didn't look back at her, his acute awareness of her eyes on him. And somehow, the sound of his voice still sent vibrations flooding deep beneath her skin.

"Well, then," said Hesiod, turning again to look at Saphir expectantly. Saphir nodded respectfully, and moved to the table behind them, but not before he glanced toward Lilah, exchanging a look with her that Lilah couldn't have applied a meaning to. He opened a small satchel at his belt, and though she craned her neck, she couldn't make out its contents.

Lilah didn't know exactly what was happening, but her heart was beginning to beat at a faster pace.

"Please," she said. "My liege, I'm telling you everything I know."

"In which case, there's nothing for you to fear," Hesiod responded.

"I wouldn't say 'nothing,'" taunted Cato, watching her with his arms crossed over his chest. He flicked a glance at Magnus, a smirk on his face.

Lilah's eyes shot at him for an instant but looked away at the sound of Saphir mixing something into water. When the slave turned to her with a cup in his hand, she drew back from him, and felt the impermeable wall of Daegon at her back, blocking her retreat.

To her surprise however, Saphir shook his head at him, and the giant moved away. She might have retreated again, but Saphir took ahold of her wrist with an adamantine grip. He drew her to him implacably. "Please, M—," she began, before Saphir tilted her head back and began pouring the liquid down her throat.

The texture was only slightly thicker than water. It tasted to her like something savory and vaguely earthy, like mushrooms or weak truffles, strange and yet almost comforting. And just as she swallowed the last drop, the world around her began to shift and turn to darkened, liquid glass.

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Magnus watched the light dim in Lilah's eyes, tearing his attention away only as Saphir addressed Hesiod quietly.

"May I have your permission to ascertain her condition, my liege?"

"Of course," Hesiod agreed. "You are, after all, the expert."

Saphir returned his attention to her, and she immediately stared into his eyes. "Tell me what you're feeling," he said.

"Everything's fading," she said, "—everything is melting into itself."

"Tell me your name."

"Lilah Claremont," she said without hesitation.

Her brows drew together in surprise as soon as she spoke, and Magnus could see a rush of alarm in that expression—the realization that she had spoken entirely without planning to, without deciding to do so of her own accord. She was absorbing the serum, experiencing the panic-inducing transition between controlling her own actions and the total lack of willpower and inhibition the serum induced.

"Stay calm, Lilah," Saphir said in a soothing voice. "You are safe, I promise you."

"Your promises are nothing," said Lilah, in a voice that would have sounded like she were talking in her sleep if it wasn't nearly tearful. "They've always been nothing."

"And what of the promises of your master," said Cato, cutting in, pouncing on her words as though they were prey. "Has he fulfilled the promises he's made?"

"Yes," she replied. "Every one."

Magnus could almost feel Cato's interest growing. "And what were those promises?" he asked.

"Do you have an accusation to make, Cato?" Magnus asked mildly, interrupting.

Cato turned and opted to ask his own question, "Are you afraid of what she'll say, Valerianus?"

The two stared each other down, and when Magnus didn't take the bait, Cato turned back to Lilah.

"Well?" he asked, his voice fervent with inquisitional spirit. "What promises has your master fulfilled for you?"

Lilah's eyes drifted to Magnus, lingering on his face as she spoke.

"He promised he'd fuck me," she answered plainly. "He promised he'd use every part of my body for his pleasure." Her gaze became more distant, as though staring into memories. "He promised he'd make me come for him, over and over. He promised no matter how I resisted, how much I railed and screamed and cursed at him, he'd make me forget everything but the feeling of him inside of me." She blinked dreamily. "And when I was tied to his bed—,"