A stout wide man, a man he knew well, limped into the room. His stepfather used an alabaster cane; the man used any prop he could to prove he was worthy of power. Stenton Vale, of Tarth wasn't but ten years older than Ragnar but he made a pretense of being worldly. Since he was deposited here twenty years ago, Ragnar had not known the man to set one well-manicured toe outside the walls.

Ragnar didn't want to seem eager for news, but he had no choice. "How is my sister? Is she safe? Is she well?"

"Your sister is being sent to Tarth. She will live in a cloister of the Asterenes. She will lose all the privileges of rank, but the sisters will never mention her condition. She will live a life of service; I'm told it isn't much of a life but when it is over one has a sense of order and purpose. It may be more than she deserves."

Ragnar wondered at the man. When Ragnar was a child, this buffoon had brought a troop of street performers into the palace to entertain Terra when she was sick. Ragnar watched a man throw a diviner's card so hard it cut deep into a lemon. Ragnar gave the man a pile of lucre to learn the knack of it. He'd always thought it had been a bad bargain until now.

"What of Riccard? Did he reach Thermica?"

"Did he reach Thermica? Of course, he did. He's home with his army. Your clumsy attempt at assassination was so blatant it was taken as a greater insult than the act itself. Terra was promised to him. She is about to give birth, so Riccard can't pretend she's a virgin, even if he wanted to. Poor Landrey you couldn't have picked a worse assassin. They cut Landrey's beard off, beat him within an inch of his life, and left him for dead in the jungle. How he made it back here I'll never know." Stenton leaned forward. "Do you want to know what happened when Riccard reached Thermica? Do you think he sent back a letter of thanks, a royal note praising the virtue of our women and the honor of our prince?"

"It's to be war then?"

"War? Are you mad? It's to be subjugation. We are no match for them, our only hope is to sue for peace to offer tribute until the disgrace is propitiated."

Stenton was right, assassinations, coups, royal marriages, alliances, secret pacts, that was the art of ruling, a subject Ragnar groped at, but couldn't grasp. He did know enough to see that Stenton must have persuaded his Royal wife to see the benefits of subjugation, after all Tarth stood to gain if Galleria paid tribute, they'd make sure they were the ones financing the debt.

"Am I to be sent to the Asterenes, to learn purpose and order? Or is it exile? Perhaps you will sell me as a ward to be humiliated in Thermica?" Ragnar studied the man. "The great game then? Will I be made to fight men for sport?"

Stenton shook his head. "I warned you. I have always told you that your father's legacy was not one that should be followed."

"He was killed holding the wall."

"He died by a manticore. He wandered out into the jungle strung out on pit."

"That was later; it was the wall that killed him."

"If you want to be poetic, fine. It was the wall, the never-ending battle with the creepers, the skirmishes with Thermica, the empress and her constant betrayals, her constant failure to intercede. Fine, just remember boy, if that's the way you see it then what was it that killed you? If the wall killed your father, then you died by your sisters..."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Ragnar put the shard of clay right into the man's left eye. If the man toppled forward, he could slit the bastard's throat, but he fell backwards, and the pages threw themselves onto him in a parody of human devotion.

____________

The next person to come into the room was the Scion herself.

"Well, your father is still alive, he'll lose his eye, and he'll have to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life. I can't tell you how obnoxious that is going to be. You won't have to deal with it though because you are going to be dead."

Ragnar shrugged; he held up another one of his shards. "Do you want one too? Maybe it will catch on. Royals will be gouging out their eyes all over the empire because only a peasant has the gall to have both his eyes."

The Scion set the chair back to rights and tucked her tight skirt under her as she sat. "Have you reconsidered my offer?"

"What offer?" Ragnar asked still fingering the shard of pottery.

"You said you were tempted. No, wait, you said that I was not known to take a lover, you said it would be 'an honor'."

"You're offering me a farewell tryst?"

The Scion re-crossed her bare legs. "Why not, have you got anything better to do?"

"How much time do I have?"

"You have all night."

"I mean until I die."

"Noon tomorrow. They are going to march you through the city, then I'm afraid your little trick with the shard will come back to haunt you."

"He wants to see me suffer?"

"Each of your limbs will be removed and cauterized, then your intestines will be unwound, then you will be pitched into a boiling cauldron until you die."

"I hope this isn't your idea of foreplay."

"Well, there is some leverage that I can use on your behalf. I like to think I still have some power in this miserable little kingdom."

"What will all that power grant me?"

"If the Royal mother's lover still had both his eyes, then I may have been able to offer you exile. Now, I can only offer you a quick death."

"Why did you lie to me? Why tell me the gate was open?"

"I didn't lie; Landrey will open the gates, just not today. Your sister will be given to the new queen, just not today. It was your own impulsiveness that made you assume it all had something to do with you."

"So, I'm just a young bull that you've led to the slaughter?"

"You were dead anyway. The minute you let Terra handle your cock, your fate was sealed. Tomorrow you will be forever known as the 'Sister Fucker'. It means your death, but if it is any consolation, you will be remembered for many generations to come."

"I never even liked her." Ragnar said biting his lip. "Why should I have to die? She came to my bed."

Ragnar could have cried. He could have emptied his poor wronged heart to this woman but when he looked up she had uncrossed her legs and was running her hand up her skirt.

Ragnar set down his shards and stood before the bars, his despair burned away, replaced with a supernatural lust. She smiled, licked her lips, lifted her skirt. She turned and pressed against him hungry for his firm embrace. No bars could keep him from satisfying the inhuman desire that pulsed through his body.

When they were finished, she smoothed her skirt and collapsed back into the chair. "Let's conclude our business. I will bear your seed. Do you have any preferences for how it will be named?"

Ragnar knocked his head against the bars. He should have known she had some deeper motive. "Will it be a boy or a girl?"

"A girl, to match the one your sister will bear."

Ragnar sat back down in the straw. "Name her Sorrow because that is how I felt when I heard of her."

The Scion got up and called for the guard. When he came, she told him to leave the prince alone for a while.

Ragnar looked down at his shards; he took one of the sharpest and pressed it to his wrist. Then he threw it at the wall and tried to pray because as a child he had been told the gods sometimes took pity on people that were betrayed by all that they knew.