Chapter 12 - Sephara

Twelve

Sephara

Empyria, the Imperium

8th of Tournus

It was a typically overcast spring morning when Sephara visited Traian’s Arena. A thick blanket of fog suffocated the city, veiling the Empyrian Tower and pressing down on the streets, fostering a heavy, stifling atmosphere. It chewed on the arena’s upper arches, which loomed several dozen feet skywards, giving the impression of a building gently ablaze.

Rather than parade her family name and gain herself one of the private booths, she slid into the spectator benches that ringed the arena and, brushing elbows with commoners, looked down at the sandy spread of ground below. When public executions had been popular, prisoners had been armed with rusted swords and dented armour and thrust into this arena to be felled by paid mercenaries, feral animals or, occasionally, the Iron Wolf’s monumental stonehounds.

Not long after the campaign in Tharghest, prisoners-of-war had been slaughtered in their hundreds here. When this new campaign in Kalduran inevitably inspired that old bloodlust in Imperial citizens, Sephara didn’t doubt these arenas would be entertaining many more reluctant and short-lived guests. Today, perhaps half the seats in the venue had been filled; though no savage bloodshed and large-scale savagery would be on show today, Dexion’s bouts often commanded such interest. Glancing about at the eager faces around her, Sephara wondered why the Captain-General didn’t abandon his position and just host these fights full-time.

She scanned the arena and spotted the combatants waiting at opposite ends. Her eyes fell on the confident figure of Dexion Mendacium, standing tall and proud in duelling leathers dyed Praevin blue. He seemed to pay the raucous crowd no attention; he was likely familiar enough with their adoration to drown them out.

At the other end, Sephara was surprised to spy three separate figures, two of them noticeably bulkier than the third. She hadn’t been able to find out any information about who’d taken up Dexion’s long-standing challenge today so, when she narrowed her eyes and focused on the trio, her heart jolted with surprised recognition.

The slimmer man was her brother.

She’d had no clue. In fact, she’d chosen today to watch one of Dexion’s fights because she’d thought Kaeso attended a formal dinner with several of their Denjini allies and that her services as his bodyguard weren’t required.

“Arrogant idiot,” Sephara murmured to herself, marvelling at how her brother could think himself skilled enough to even stand against Dexion, let alone harbour any hope of winning. He’d received prestigious combat training, of course. Some of it had been under the mentorship of the Iron Wolf, and Kaeso wasn’t exactly a poor swordsman. Though their bout at Valerian’s estate seven days ago had almost ended in violence, and Kaeso had failed to bring any of his skill to the fight, Sephara knew he’d make for a difficult opponent if he could temporarily side-line his childish anger.

The other two with him were part of their father’s guard, men Sephara didn’t know well enough to judge. Though they’d allowed him to come here, so she labelled them lackwits.

The arena’s overseer, a grizzled man with an ex-soldier’s bearing, waited until Dexion and Kaeso had drawn near before he stepped between them and nodded to both in turn. Sephara noticed her brother’s two guards shadowed him and donned the same duelling armour of Boratorren blue—a few shades lighter than the Praevin colour—albeit it far less gaudy. Kaeso’s own armour had been commissioned for him by their father, created entirely for show and to indulge the young man’s overblown sense of self-worth. It featured a scene of stonehounds running rampant, their lupine jaws parted wide in slavering smiles as they chased down unseen prey. Sephara supposed Valerian hoped to evoke his brother in his son by clothing him in the same motif, the Boratorren house crest writ overlarge.

Dexion didn’t seem fazed by his challengers; he assessed the trio with an amused, indulgent smile.

The aged overseer stretched his arms out, aiming his palms at each combatant as if to hold them apart. “Captain-General Dexion Mendacium’s long-standing challenge has been taken up today by Exalt-Lord Kaeso Boratorren. This fight shall be to first blood, or to a yield—whichever comes first.” The overseer turned to Dexion, whose hand rested easily on his sabre’s pommel. “Exalt-Lord Boratorren has stated that your challenge never specified single-combat and brings two of his guard with him. Do you accept this?”

The amused smile widened and Dexion nodded. At least Kaeso wasn’t naïve enough to think he could prevail alone, and Sephara supposed some of her teachings must have stuck.

She assessed the combatants as they readied themselves. Kaeso had chosen two of his largest guards, those with an extended reach and the physical strength to support them. Her brother himself was a tall man, and years of elite training had honed him.

Dexion, standing before the three of them, slightly shorter than Kaeso and about half the bulk of the two guards, looked small and outmatched. Yet he held himself with confidence, and his ever-present smile suggested he hadn’t considered losing this bout.

When the fight began, Sephara had been focused on Dexion, and the sudden flash of action made her jump. Kaeso surged forward, his sword whipping out low and aimed at Dexion’s knees. Sephara supressed a gasp, certain her brother’s blade had struck true, only to watch Dexion dance backwards, quick as a lightning strike.

Before Kaeso could recover, his two guards moved around him and set upon Dexion, one to either flank. Sephara could barely keep up with the flurry of blows that followed.

The guards struck together, and Sephara thought that as quick as Dexion seemed able to move, at least one blade ought to find flesh. The Captain-General raised his sabre and took a step towards the assailant to his left, catching the man’s blade along the curve of his own. Dexion used the bind and the guard’s momentum to steer him at his fellow guard. They fell against one another, both moving awkwardly to avoid skewering the other, and in their distraction Dexion pranced backwards and met Kaeso, who’d tried to move up behind him.

Sephara couldn’t help but smirk as the Captain-General, without even looking, parried Kaeso’s overeager blow and knocked his arm away with a well-timed elbow. In the heartbeats it took for this exchange to play out, the two guards had disentangled themselves.

The three men surrounded Dexion, penning him in with the points of their blades, trapping him like a helpless animal. Sephara didn’t realise she’d clenched her teeth until her jaw started aching.

Again, Dexion moved too fast to track; he was all expert flourishes, a whirlwind of steel, a deadly dancer. She’d been told the Iron Wolf had moved with unnatural speed and ferocity during his prime, but this was something else entirely. Something supernatural, almost.

In a wild flurry of blows, Dexion ducked and slashed and kicked out, manoeuvring the two guards around so that, with a well-timed shove, he managed to barrel them both into Kaeso. The three men went down in a seething knot, Kaeso pinned beneath his heavier guards, his sword abandoned, his face flushed red with anger and pain. Though the crowd roared their appreciation, Sephara wasn’t shocked; Dexion’s victory had felt inevitable.

Kaeso and his guards hadn’t stood a chance. She doubted her uncle would’ve stood a chance, had he clashed with Dexion at his best.

As Kaeso struggled and his two guards tried to extricate themselves, Dexion swaggered over to the fallen huddle and nicked a shallow cut into her brother’s cheek. It bled lightly, but it was enough to end the duel.

The Captain-General, barely flushed from his performance, turned a full circle as the crowd bellowed for him. His eyes snagged on her and stayed there, the wolfish smile returning. He raised his sabre to her, a salute of sorts, then turned and strode from the arena, leaving Kaeso wide-eyed and huffing in the sand.

―

A few more bouts rang out in the hollow atmosphere of the arena, but none were as spectacular as Dexion’s earlier victory. Afterwards, when the crowds had dispersed and the sand of the arena floor raked over fresh blood, she waited in her seat, watching as the Captain-General paced around the arena’s circumference, stretching out his limbs and swishing his recently blooded sabre around him in practised arcs. He flicked a pointed glance her way, and she realised he lingered in the hopes she’d come and join him. She was about to stand and weave her way through the seats when another figure stormed onto the sand.

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Kaeso called out as he closed the distance. “Mendacium, you low-born dog!”

Dexion looked back at his challenger. He stilled his sabre and turned to face the younger man. Sephara, already seeing the direction this confrontation would take, shot to her feet and vaulted over the rows of seats in front of her.

“How dare you embarrass me in such a fashion? Do you have no respect for your betters?” The force of Kaeso’s shouting opened the shallow cut on his cheek, and he swiped the blood away with a fist. When he reached Dexion, he flicked the blood towards the man and spat at his feet.

Dexion looked down at his boots. “Usually, yes,” he replied calmly. “But I haven’t been in the audience of any of my betters today.” He waved a hand towards Kaeso’s face, and the mark of his defeat etched there in blood.

“You deliberately made me look a fool,” Kaeso continued.

“You needed no help with that, Exalt-Lord,” the older man replied, punctuating the title with a sarcastic curl of the lips.

Sephara braced her hands against the first row’s parapet, then levered herself into the ten-foot drop. As she landed, she threw herself into a roll and righted herself, then rushed over to the two men.

Her brother noticed her, turned towards her with a snarl. “S-Silvia,” he said with a slight stumble she hoped Dexion didn’t notice. “Did you see what this peasant did to me?”

“It looked like a fair duel to me, Exalt-Lord,” she replied in a forced deferential tone.

He thrust his blade at her. “I demand satisfaction for this slight,” he said. “Bloody this mongrel, and I won’t have to take this any further.”

He wouldn’t have to run to their father, he meant. Though, what Valerian could do about a duel whose rules Kaeso himself had bent by bringing along two guards, she didn’t know.

When she didn’t take the blade, Kaeso stepped forward and shoved it at her chest. “Exalt-Lord, is this wise?” she asked.

“He embarrassed me in front of a crowd of hundreds. Wise doesn’t factor into this,” Kaeso spat.

Dexion watched their exchange with an amused smile, sabre still in hand but not angled in a way that indicated violence. “Take your defeat with grace, Exalt-Lord,” he said. “If it smarts so much, train some more and come back and face me again another day.”

“Listen to him, Exalt-Lord,” Sephara implored.

Kaeso’s eyes skidded between the Captain-General and the blade still pressed to Sephara’s chest. His eyes glimmered with malice as he dropped it, then wrapped a hand around the front of her shirt and twisted it in his fist. She noticed he turned to the side as he did, lest she knee him in the balls again.

“Exalt-Lord,” she hissed as his fingers tightened, pulling the fabric taut around her throat. She hadn’t brought a weapon today, though she supposed she could overpower her brother if it came to that.

Before either of them could do anything else, Dexion’s sabre appeared at Kaeso’s throat, the sharp edge pressed against his flesh. “Unhand her,” he said. There was no sarcasm or amusement to his tone anymore, only cold, unbending iron.

Kaeso relaxed his grip but didn’t relinquish her. “I wouldn’t harm me any further if I were you, scum.”

“Oh, why’s that?” Dexion asked. “I could slit your throat and watch you bleed out right now and no one would ever punish me for it. Your father might try to have me arrested, but you forget I command the Praevin. The Caetoran might baulk at the death of such a noble son, but once Silvia and I explain it was in self-defence, the matter will be forgotten. You, Kaeso Boratorren, will be forgotten. I doubt anyone would even make the effort to remove your corpse from the sand, if I asked them not to.”

His words were firm and immovable. He didn’t threaten, he simply promised.

Clearly intimidated, Kaeso pushed her away. He bent to retrieve his sword and turned his narrowed gaze the Captain-General’s way. He wisely thought better of spewing whatever other insults he had lined up, instead snorting and spinning away, then trampling back over the sand and disappearing into the side of the arena.

Dexion snapped his sabre down to his side. “Are you okay?” he asked. His gaze softened when he looked to her, and she lifted a hand to her neck in response. Her brother hadn’t pressed hard enough to leave bruises as he’d done before.

“Fine,” she said. She shook her head, trying to displace the embarrassment of bowing beneath her brother in front of someone else. “No, not fine. You know, the worst thing is, I could beat him so easily.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Dexion said. “But, as the honoured gentleman said, we must respect our betters.” He sneered in disgust, and she found herself mirroring the expression. Her inability to fight back wasn’t for the reason Dexion believed, though it amounted to the same thing. Whether she was the commoner he knew her as or not, she couldn’t raise a hand to her brother because he was the man their father wanted to make Caetoran.

“Thank you for intervening. And for embarrassing him,” Sephara said. “It was good to see him sprawled on his arse.”

Dexion smirked. “That’s why I did it.” He waved his hand to encompass the empty arena around them. “Where else could I get away with drawing the blood of the nobility? If Kaeso challenges me again, I’ll do worse. Maybe cut off a finger or two. Be sure to watch.”

She chuckled at the image of her brother clutching the bloodied stumps of severed digits. “I absolutely will.”

“So, how did I do?” Dexion asked. She noticed that, as well as his trademark sabre, he had a plain arming sword sheathed at his hip, not there when he’d duelled.

“Want me to stroke your ego and tell you how impressed I was?” she replied with a raised brow.

He smirked, his handsome face turning roguish. “That would be nice.”

She dipped her head at him. “As much as I hate the man, if you’d accidentally killed my charge, I’d be out of a job.”

“The Praevin would welcome you,” he said. “You’d have to excel on your own merit, though, or I’d be accused of favouritism.” He extended the arming sword to her, and she took it without a word. “Perhaps I can start assessing you now?”

She gave no warning as she launched into a whiplash strike, and he gave none as he deflected it, his sabre snapping into her path. Their blades clashed with a sharp keening, and she pulled away before he could follow it up.

“Not bad,” he remarked. “Though a little predictable.”

They traded a few more blows, but Sephara knew he held back. She liked to think she possessed skill with a blade and Dexion did her a disservice with his restraint. In truth, she was probably only slightly less outmatched than her brother. Still, it was freeing to be able to fight, to strike without fear of being punished for hurting her opponent.

He managed to wrench her blade into a bind, apparently a trademark trick of his. Rather than force her into a stumble as he had Kaeso’s guards, he instead brought them closer. She tripped into him, colliding against the immovable muscled bulk of him as he held her upright. She felt the firmness of his physique through his duelling leathers and in the steady arm he wrapped around the back of her shoulders.

Suddenly, his closeness daunted her. The fierce blue of his eyes impaled her as he looked down at her; she became hyperaware of the way he’d spread his fingers over the back of her shoulder, almost as if embracing her in the midst of a slow dance.

Remembering the languid quality of Kesa’s touch, she raised a hand to Dexion’s cheek and smoothed her palm across the clean-shaven skin. For a moment disarmed, Dexion’s eyes flickered. Before he could say or do anything else, she pushed his head aside, unbound her blade from his, and leapt out of his hold.

“A cruel trick, Miss Barum,” he said, his grin crooked now.

“It worked, though,” she sniped back.

In response, he tore into a fresh round of attacks. When at last she pulled away, sweating and huffing, he remained perfectly composed. She ran her free hand through her hair, flattening the clammy strands back against her skull, then licked at her chapped lips. Dexion’s eyes lingered on her mouth as she did, his expression inscrutable. A faint pink flush scalded his cheeks, though she didn’t think that was from the heat or exertion.

“Did you come to me for information?” he said, looing up to meet her eyes.

Was she so transparent? Or maybe Dexion hoped to detract from his reddening face and the way his gaze had brightened when she’d touched him. “I came to watch you fight,” she said. “Any conversation we might have about matters of interest to my employers would just be a convenient tangent.”

He shook his head, though his smile remained fixed. “Novissa’s death is a dead end, I’m afraid,” he said. “The Caetoran, and every officer I had investigating, considers it resolved.”

“But?” she prompted.

“It seems Director Noster’s death isn’t isolated. There have been several other murders of a similar calibre in recent weeks.”

“How many? Who?”

He raised a silencing hand. “I can’t say. Not yet. The Castrian soldiers Nazhira Tyrannus moved into the city have taken over the investigation.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “To free the Praevin for other matters, they said.”

She accepted the answer, if only because to push him too much would be to make him suspicious of her. If she wanted to fulfil her uncle’s impossible task, she’d need Dexion’s influence.

She made a point of seeming to chew over her next words carefully, though in truth she’d rehearsed them numerous times already.

“I’ve got a theory,” she began. “I think the Drasken envoy might’ve been part of a cabal.” He shot her a quizzical look. “I was speaking with First Mistress Hult, and she mentioned in passing that the envoy was with one of her women for most of the day Novissa was killed. What with Noster being killed after the envoy died, and now these new murders, I started thinking that, maybe, he had a group of assassins with him. He was the leader, but they were his blades.”

She’d settled on a half lie. It was truth in that she’d visited Kesa, and their conversation had all but proven the envoy’s innocence. But a lie because she didn’t believe the envoy was involved at all, much less as the mastermind of a cabal of assassins.

She watched Dexion’s face as he digested her theory, though he gave little away.

He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion because a sternness entered his expression. “Not a cabal,” he said. “A cult.”

“A cult?”

“There were strange symbols on the dagger used to kill Novissa.”

“What kind of symbols?” Sephara asked, thinking of Novissa’s own dagger and the emblem on its pommel. She also remembered she’d been about to examine the blade in Novissa’s chest before Dexion had interrupted her that fateful afternoon.

Dexion waved a dismissing hand. “Archaic nonsense. I suggested to the Caetoran we hire a scholar to decode it, but he said it was a waste of time and money. Novissa and her killer are both dead, after all.”

Sephara nodded. Let him think she agreed with him.

“So, you think the envoy has other agents still in the city? Part of his cult?” she asked.

“Just a theory. Perhaps, when we conquer Kalduran, we’ll learn the truth.”

She let her blade dip tip-first into the sand, a sign of defeat. She wasn’t defeated, though. Dexion had made it clear what her next step needed to be: if he’d seen the dagger used to murder Novissa, that likely meant it was in his possession, or filed away by the Praevin.

Sephara needed to secure that dagger and, if possible, find details of whoever else had been murdered.

“Spar with me again, Silvia,” he said, fracturing her thoughts. “That’s the most fun I’ve had in a while.” He reached out for the sword and she extended it to him. He took it by the hilt, where she held it, and deliberately curled his fingers around hers. The brief contact inspired a furl of warmth along her forearm; the devilish smile he flashed spread that heat deep into her chest.

A genuine smile lifted her mouth as she slowly, teasingly, released the blade and dropped her hand. She let it serve as her answer.