VII. ASHENIAN MERCY

  Dusk had sulked into evening. Admrilia exhaled slowly through her nostrils. Tonight, the arena was packed from the floor to the rafters with nearly every sole in Aegtrys. Anyone who was anyone was in attendance march of mercy. It was the last event after a long week of festivals, parades, feasts, and hippodrome races before the Triumph officially left Aegtrys in the morning.

  Admrilia was seated at the very front of the Emperor’s box to the Conqueror’s left. Asho, at his right in his legionnaire uniform. The Conqueror himself dressed in his full regalia. Admrilia herself had donned her ceremonial neptori armor, her hair carefully woven through a circuit of silver.

  Admrilia’s jaw was tight as the trapdoors below the arena were opened, and a long line of shackled prisoners were walked out onto the packed earth by the palace’s centori. The arena roared with disapproval. Lilee squealed behind her. She heard her mother’s hush. Admrilia’s mouth formed a thin line. Her younger sisters should not be watching this, but they would have to learn sooner or later the traditions of the Empire.

  The prisoners were lined up in front of the Emperor’s box. There were perhaps fifty men in total, ranging in all ages and races. Their heads had been shaven, their shoulders bear. Admrilia’s dark eyes found Culus Caestus. The pirate king was staring right at her, his expression murderous. In the weeks he had been in her family’s villa, every look in her direction had been promising vengeance.

  The Conqueror stood. “In accordance to our god, it is time for one of our more somber traditions. As the Stormlord himself chose mercy over his siblings, we too, must see the value of life. May you prisoners find the mercy of your captors.”

  The procedure was simple. An announcer would introduce the prisoner, state to which general or senator he belonged, and belittle him in front of the jeering crowd. His crimes would be cataloged. Then it would be up to the prisoner’s master to determine if he would be granted Ashenian Mercy, or if he would die. It was tradition that most prisoners were kept alive for a decade, forced to denigrate themselves at the feet of their captors. Other prisoners, perhaps those who had proven their use to the Empire were spared for decades.

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  Either way, they would be dreading this night for years on whether they would live or die.

  The first prisoner was dragged forward, an ancient man of perhaps eighty, who was a servant of a Tadius senator. He was spared.Culus’ eyes did not leave her as the next ten prisoners were brought forward. Those who were spared fell to their knees crying with relief. Those who were not were quickly met with a centori’s spear.

  Her sisters were crying behind her. Little Hora sobbed. Admrilia tightened her fists. Soon Culus would be dragged forward and she would be expected to spare him, just as tradition dictated. Just as the Conqueror would like…

  Expect Culus could still betray her. The pirate king may not be able to talk, but he could still write. He could ruin her if he told the truth of how she had won the pirate islands. Her conduct would get her titles stripped, her honored revoked, and the Empire handed over to Asho.

  Culus was pushed forward. “Behold! Culus Caestus, triumph prisoner of the renowned Argenti, Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex. Newly captured during the blockade of the rebellious silver islands. Caestus is responsible for years of pirating and looting Ashenian merchant vessels, overthrowing the empire’s magistrates, and instigating a rebellion from the Ashenian Empire.”

  The stands roared at Caestus’ treason. They called for his death.

  She had a duty, a duty to the Empire.

  “Culus Caestus, may the Stormlord grand your mercy. Argenti, will he be spared?”

  Admrilia realized that it was the second time the Centori had asked her. The Conqueror turned. “Argenti?” He asked darkly. “What say you?”

  “I-” Her thoughts raced to a sharp, dark clarity. She turned to face the Conqueror's weathered face. It was clear. Culus Caestus was not a threat to the Empire. He was a threat to her.

  And he had to die.

  Admrilia fought to keep her voice neutral as she thrust her palm downward. “We grant no mercy. This prisoner dies.”

  Culus’ mouth opened, his tongue failing for worm words as the centori stepped forward. But his hands moved swiftly, his fingers rapidly forming signs:

  T R A

  The centori’s spear pierced flesh, and the pirate king fell.