Master of Hounds: Book 2 (PAPERBACK, LGBT)

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ONE

THE EMPRESS’ GARDENS were as fragrant and lovely as they had been the previous afternoon, when Caius Oppita—respected former legatus in the Alyrion army—had been summoned there to discuss Her Imperial Majesty’s suspicions that one of her sons was plotting her downfall.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Caius was the one doing the summoning. The fact that he had been granted an audience so quickly spoke to the depths of Empress Stasia’s misgivings about the situation. Though, to be fair, she’d been the one to ask him to report back to her if he acquired any new information, and had offered to compensate him handsomely in exchange for spying for her.

Taking her up on the offer had been the last thing on Caius’ mind, once he’d managed to politely extricate himself from their previous meeting. Now, everything had changed during the course of a single evening. The foundations of his life had shifted, and he’d barely survived the resulting collapse.

An attack that he’d assumed to be directed at his lover had in fact uncovered betrayal on two fronts. Decian, the condemned imperial bastard Caius had saved from execution in a moment of insanity, was actually a murderous pagan shape-shifter—some kind of slavering hell-beast that could tear men’s souls out by the roots, killing them instantly. As if that wasn’t enough, the assassins Caius had assumed were sent after Decian had, in fact, been sent to kill him.

Despite a lifetime spent in service to the royal family, someone in the palace wanted Caius dead. He had some very particular ideas about who that person might be, and after their conversation the previous day, Caius intended to discover if the Empress Stasia’s suspicions mirrored his own.

As before, the empress awaited his arrival in the center of her private gardens, seated on a bench and surrounded by exotic blooms.

Jules, her trusted pageboy, cleared his throat as they approached. “Legatus Caius Oppita, Your Majesty.” He bowed low, gesturing for Caius to approach.

Stasia didn’t rise, but her eyes widened as she took in his battered appearance—his bruises and scrapes courtesy of a vicious fight against six armed men in a dark alley.

“Legatus,” she said, unable to keep surprise from coloring her tone.

“Empress,” he replied, managing a stiff bow that sent his various injuries clamoring. “We need to speak. Privately.”

It was not the way a palace advisor spoke to the wife of the emperor. Indeed, the correct response to such presumption would have been for her to rebuke him and have him removed from her presence. Perhaps she saw something in his expression, though, because her delicate brow furrowed. She turned to the young servant with a wave of dismissal. “Leave us, Jules.”

Jules bowed again, even lower than before. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, and slipped silently away.

Caius waited until he heard the door to the palace open and close. When he was certain they were alone, he returned his attention to the woman who had wed an emperor and borne him three duplicitous sons.

Stasia examined his battered face with the distaste of one who rarely had direct exposure to violence or its aftermath. “Legatus, are you quite well?” she asked.

“Someone inside the palace means to assassinate me,” he told her without preamble. “Last night, they nearly succeeded. I suspect Princep Kaeto.”

She drew in a sharp breath, the small noise escaping her control. “What evidence do you have to support this claim?” she asked.

“None, as yet. It is supposition only,” he replied in a crisp tone. “Kaeto seeks openly to suborn his older brother’s support among the clergy and the nobles. He might reasonably assume me to back the rightful succession to the throne, which would make me an obstacle in his eyes.”

“That is pure conjecture,” Stasia said, but something haunted lurked behind her gaze.

He pressed on—reckless in the grip of the cold rage that had overtaken him after the events of the previous night. “Kaeto has also been systematically executing all of your husband’s illegitimate sons over the course of the last several weeks. According to Bruccias, he has done so without consulting his father or elder brother. It’s clear he is intent upon removing as many potential barriers standing between himself and the throne as possible.”

The blood drained from Stasia’s face as he spoke.
He regarded her intently. “I would appreciate any information you might have to either support or refute this.”

For a long moment, he thought she would not answer.
When she did, her normally melodic voice was hoarse. “I suspect Kaeto of plotting to remove me from my husband’s good graces.”

Caius stared at her, taken aback. The empress had been married to Constanzus for twenty-five years, with never so much as a hint of scandal against her name. Did Kaeto truly think he could poison the emperor against her with whispers and rumor?

Stasia looked positively ill. “Constanzus is not the same man I married. The curse that has stolen his health and his wits has also made him endlessly suspicious of those closest to him. I believe, as you do, that Kaeto is working to remove obstacles standing in his path to the throne. He may perceive that my absence from the field of play would weaken Proclus’ position, as I—like you—would support my eldest son in the succession.”

Caius did not, in point of fact, support the idea of Proclus’ drunken arse getting anywhere near the throne, but it seemed impolitic to say so, under the circumstances. “Then it appears we are in accord. Do you have any solid proof of Kaeto’s betrayal?”

“No,” Stasia said distantly. “He is canny, and he knows I am watching him closely. It will be up to you to acquire evidence against him to present to the emperor, Legatus.”

Caius nodded, secretly doubting that the emperor would be of much use to either of them in his current state. “I have already requested and received cart blanche to investigate the failed attack on my person last night. I will assist you in this matter, Your Imperial Majesty, but information must flow in both directions. I require any evidence you are able to uncover, as well.”

Stasia still looked like someone who wasn’t ready to have her worst fears confirmed, but she nodded in turn. “As you wish, Legatus. Please keep me informed of your progress. You may do so through Jules—he is trustworthy.”

No one in this damned pit of vipers is trustworthy, he thought. But aloud, he only said, “Very good, Your Majesty. In that case, I will take my leave. You may expect a report from me as soon as I have new information.”

* * *

Caius spent the rest of the day watching everyone in the palace like a hawk, for all the good it did him. Proclus, the eldest son, made an appearance after midday had come and gone—bleary-eyed, and looking as though the light streaming into the meeting chamber pained him terribly.

With the Council of Amarius convening two days hence to determine the Church’s stance on the disposition of pagan heretics, things were in a state of controlled chaos. All but a handful of the religious dignitaries on both sides had already arrived in the capital. Because the Church had refused to hold the ecumenical council within the palace grounds—on the basis that doing so would damage the appearance of independence from the crown—it had become necessary to assign additional security forces in the city to protect them.

Aelio, the tribuni of the palace guard, was at his wit’s end. Laurentin, the tribuni of the city guard, had shown up at one point in the proceedings to shout at everyone, because his forces were overextended between trying to protect the dignitaries and trying to protect the city itself. With pagan protesters marching in the streets, Amarius was quickly approaching a crisis point.

Caius could barely bring himself to care about any of it. At least, not until Proclus and Kaeto butted heads in an uncharacteristically public matter. At that moment, Caius became all ears.

“Just kill the bloody protesters and be done with it,” Proclus said, as though he found the entire situation tiresome beyond all bearing. “That will be the ultimate outcome once the Council has talked itself out, will it not? I fail to see the point of letting this pagan rabble burn the city down while we wait.”

Kaeto turned to his older brother sharply. “As you have missed all but a handful of the daily briefings on the situation, Brother, you may not be fully apprised of the nuance. If the protests erupt into violence, half of the city will rise up against the other half.”

Proclus gave Kaeto a look of utter boredom and covered a yawn. “You overstate the matter. Besides, that’s what the bloody guard is for—putting down dissent. You are too timid, Kaeto. You always have been.”

Watching the exchange, Caius had to suppress a familiar lurch of nausea at the thought of what the future of the Alyrion Empire would look like once Constanzus was gone. That evening, he took himself back to the peace and quiet of his house with a sense of real relief. Not that his home didn’t hold its own ghosts these days, but his body ached with injury and strain, and his mind ached with the weight of everything he’d learned.

Tertia, his house slave, was waiting for him when he arrived. The smell of cooking food wafted from the kitchen. Her eyes widened when she took in his battered appearance, but—rather unusually, for her—she said nothing about it.

“You’re back late,” she offered in a neutral tone.
“And you’re here late,” he retorted. A frown furrowed his forehead as he noticed the gray cast of her complexion in the firelight. “Are you well, Tertia? You look ill.”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I made you roast fowl and preserved vegetables for dinner. Shall I serve you before I leave?”

Cauis’ appetite had been thoroughly spoiled by the events of the past couple of days. However, he’d also been a soldier for nearly half his life. He had learned early and well the importance of fueling the body, even during hard times.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. After a pause, he added, “And regarding that unpleasantness yesterday, I might have spoken too soon when I promised it would be dealt with. It’s still nothing that should concern you directly… but you might want to take extra care, just in case. In fact, should you wish to take a few days off and lie low, I would encourage you to do so. Especially since you do, in fact, look rather unwell.”

At his words, she looked even more unwell, but she lifted her chin in response. “Worry about yourself, Legatus. I’ve work to do, and I’ll do it as I always have.”

He watched her for a long moment. She didn’t back down, though she did seem reluctant to hold his gaze. Not for the first time, he found himself acutely aware of the difference in their stations, and he wondered what unseen pitfall of protocol he’d stumbled across this time.
“As you like,” he said eventually. “Dinner sounds good. I’ll go clean up and be ready to eat shortly.”

“You do that,” she murmured, and turned back to the kitchen.

After retiring to his room to splash water on his face—in the vain hope of washing away the stench of palace politics and intrigue—he returned to find the table set and Tertia gone. Perhaps she’d taken his words to heart after all, and would rest at home for a few days. Alternately, perhaps she was merely finished with her work and had no desire to spend more time in his presence than necessary.

He ate, barely tasting the fowl or the vegetables, and washed it down with a goblet of full-bodied red. It was the same vintage he’d shared with Decian on their last night together. Now, it tasted bitter.

Irritated with himself, he thrust the unwanted memory away and tried to focus on the task currently before him.
The brief skirmish between Kaeto and Proclus today had been… interesting. It was no secret that the pair hated each other. However, for that hatred to bleed through in such a public setting was unusual. Even more unexpected had been the thrust of the exchange itself. Kaeto had shown little else but contempt for the pagans in the capital. Yet his words today had demonstrated a more nuanced understanding of the consequences to political security in Amarius, should the radical wing of the Church hold sway during the upcoming ecumenical council.

Perhaps that should not have surprised him, though. Kaeto had never been lacking in intelligence—only in moral character. Meanwhile, his older brother demonstrated all the political nuance of a drunkard set loose in a brothel. While both Kaeto and the Empress might believe Caius’ support lay with Proclus, they were mistaken. At this point, if someone had held a knife to his throat and demanded he choose a side, he’d probably throw his support behind Bruccias, the youngest. While there was a difference between diplomacy and self-serving oiliness, it wasn’t quite as wide a gap as either cruelty or idiocy.

He knocked back the rest of the wine, grimacing. How was it possible that the same man who had sired Decian had also sired the three abhorrent princeps?

With a growl of irritation, Caius pushed away from the table and stood. Thoughts of Decian were the last damned thing he needed right now. The young man’s facade of good-natured innocence covered the soul of a monster. And Caius had allowed that… that creature into his bed. He’d kissed lips that had later been stained with human blood.

He paced restlessly through his house, trying to dislodge the memory of the previous night.

What are you? Caius had demanded, standing in that fateful mud and blood-soaked alley, amid the carnage of dead and dying assassins.

I don’t know! The ghost of Decian’s voice rang in his memory. That’s what I’m trying to tell you! That day in the kennels… that was the first time it’s ever happened. And this was the second! Caius—I don’t know what this is!

An unpleasant knot tightened in Caius’ gut. As he had done at the time, he pushed the anguished words away, refusing to consider them. How could a shapeshifter reach the age of twenty-six without knowing exactly what sort of abomination lived inside him? Shifters were cold-blooded killers—every goddamned, miserable one of them. His father had learned that lesson the hard way, and so had Caius, long ago on an Eburosi beach.

The only good shapeshifter was a dead shapeshifter.
So why didn’t you kill him?

The nagging internal voice prodded at him; its presence as irksome as a blistered heel during a long march. Caius had no answer beyond the obvious—that he was a sentimental fool. Heading for his bedroom, he attempted to refocus his thoughts on more immediate matters. He needed a plan to outwit Kaeto and expose his machinations to the court.

Hours later, stomach still churning, he drifted into a restless sleep despite having made very little progress on the matter.