Soldier, Brother, Sorcerer. Morgan Rice
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Athena replied, anger showing on her face. “Do you think you can tell me anything about my son that will shock me? Even this? He is my son!”
Thanos could hear the protectiveness there, iron hard and unshakeable. In that moment, he found himself thinking about the child he would never have with Stephania, and how protective he would have been toward their son or daughter. He wanted to think that he would have gone to any lengths for his child, yet looking at Queen Athena, he knew that wasn’t true. There were some limits past which even a parent couldn’t push.
“What about everyone else?” Thanos countered. “What will they do when they find out?”
“And how will they learn it?” Queen Athena asked. “Will you shout it to them now? Go ahead. Let everyone hear the traitor in the cage claiming that even though he was found standing over his murdered father, it was his brother who performed the deed. Do you think anyone will believe you?”
Thanos already knew the answer to that. The very fact of where he was told him the truth of it. To anyone with power in the Empire, he was already a traitor, and he had sneaked into the castle. No, if he tried to tell them the truth, they would never believe it.
He knew then that unless he escaped, he would die here. He would die, and Lucious would become king. What happened after that would be a thing out of nightmares. He had to find a way to stop it.
Surely even Queen Athena could see how bad things would be. He just had to make her understand.
“What do you think will happen when Lucious is king?” Thanos asked. “What do you think he will do?”
He saw Athena smile. “I think he will do as his mother suggests. Lucious has never had much time for the… dreary details of his role. In fact, I should probably thank you, Thanos. Claudius was too stubborn. He didn’t listen to me when he should have done. Lucious will be more malleable.”
“If you believe that,” Thanos said, “you’re as insane as he is. You’ve seen what Lucious did to his father. Do you think being his mother will keep you safe?”
“Power is the only safety there is,” Queen Athena replied. “And you won’t be around to see it, whatever happens. When the gallows is done, you will die, Thanos. Goodbye.”
She turned to go, and as she did, all Thanos could think of was Lucious. Lucious being crowned. Lucious as he’d been in the village Thanos had saved. Lucious as he must have been when he killed their father.
I will get free, Thanos promised himself. I will escape, and I will kill Lucious.
CHAPTER TWO
Ceres came out from the Stade borne on the shoulders of the crowd, into the sunlight, and her heart soared. She looked out at the aftermath of the battle, and as she did, a wash of emotions fought for attention within her.
There was the joy of victory, of course. She heard the crowd shouting its victory as it poured from the Stade, the rebels of Haylon alongside the combatlords, the remnants of Lord West’s forces, and the people of the city.
There was relief, that her desperate attempt to save the combatlords from Lucious’s last Killing had succeeded, and that it was finally over.
There were bigger reliefs, too. Ceres scanned the crowd until she found her brother and her father, standing together arm in arm with a group of the rebels. She wanted to run to them then and make sure that they were all right, yet the crowd was determined to carry her halfway through the city. She had to make do with the fact that they appeared to be uninjured, walking together and cheering along with the others. Amazing that they could still cheer. So many of these people had been willing to die to stop the crushing tyranny of the Empire. So many had.
That brought the final emotion: sadness. Sadness that all of this had been needed, and that so many had to die on both sides. She could see the bodies in the streets where there had been clashes between the rebels and the soldiers. Most wore the red of the Empire, but that didn’t make it better. Many were just ordinary people, conscripted against their will, or men who joined because it was better than a life of poverty and subjugation. And now they lay dead, staring at the sky with eyes that would never see anything again.
Ceres could feel the warmth of the blood on her skin, already drying in the heat of the sun. How many men had she killed today? Somewhere in the endless battle, she’d lost count. There had been only the need to keep going, keep fighting, because stopping meant dying. She’d been caught up in the smooth flow of the battle, carried along by the energy of it, with her own energy pulsing inside her.
“All of them,” Ceres said.
She’d killed all of them, even if she hadn’t done it with her own hands. She’d been the one to convince the people of the stands not to accept the Empire’s idea of peace. She’d been the one to convince Lord West’s men to assault the city. She looked around at the dead, determined to remember them, and what their victory had cost.
Even the city showed scars of violence: broken doorways, the remains of barricades. Yet there were also signs of joy spreading, too: people were coming out into the streets, joining up with the crowd that flowed down the streets in a sea of humanity.
It was hard to hear much over the yelling of the crowd, but distantly, Ceres thought she could hear the sounds of combat continuing. Part of her wanted to charge forward and deal with it herself, but more of her wanted to put a stop to it before it all spiraled out of control. The truth was that in that moment, she was too exhausted for it. It felt as though she’d been fighting forever. If the crowd hadn’t been carrying her, Ceres suspected that she might have collapsed.
When they eventually did put her down in the main square, Ceres went looking for her brother and her father. She pushed her way toward them, and reached them only because the people there seemed to step aside in respect to let her through.
Ceres hugged them both.
They said nothing. Their silence, the feel of their hug, said it all. They had all survived, somehow, as a family. And the absence of her dead brothers was felt deeply.
Ceres wished that she could stay like that forever. Just stay safe with her brother and her father, and let this whole revolution run its own way. Yet even as she stood there with two of the people she cared about most in the world, she became aware of something else.
People were staring at her.
Ceres supposed that wasn’t so strange after everything that had happened. She’d been the one at the heart of the fighting, and right now, between the blood, the dirt, and the exhaustion, she probably looked like some monster out of legend. Yet that wasn’t the way people seemed to be staring.
No, they were staring as if they were waiting to be told what to do next.
Ceres saw figures pushing their way through the crowd. She recognized one as Akila, the wiry, muscled man who had been at the head of the last wave of rebels. More wore the colors of Lord West’s men. There was at least one combatlord there, a large man holding a pair of fighting pickaxes, who seemed to be ignoring several wounds as he stood there.
“Ceres,” Akila said, “the remaining imperial soldiers have either retreated to the castle or have started to look for ways to leave the city. My men have followed those they can, but they don’t know this city well enough, and… well, there is a danger that people might take it the wrong way.”
Ceres understood. If Akila’s men hunted through Delos for fleeing soldiers, there was a danger that they would be seen as invaders. Even if they weren’t, they might be ambushed, split up, and picked off.
Yet it seemed strange that so many people should be looking to her for answers. She cast around, looking for help, because there had to be someone there better qualified to take charge than she was. Ceres didn’t want to assume that she could take charge just because her bloodline gave her a link to Delos’s Ancient Ones’ past.
“Who is in charge of the rebellion now?” Ceres called out. “Did any of the leaders survive?”
Around her, she saw people spreading their hands, shaking their heads. They didn’t