Rebel, Pawn, King. Morgan Rice

no time for weakness of any kind,” he whispered. “They prey on anyone they can, because the ones up at the fortress don’t give them anything.”

      “They’re prisoners?” Thanos asked.

      “We’re all prisoners here,” Herek replied. “Even the guards are just prisoners who rose to the top, and who enjoy the cruelty enough to do the Empire’s work. Except you’re not a prisoner, are you? You don’t have the look of someone who’s been through the fortress.”

      “I’m not,” Thanos admitted. “This place… it’s prisoners doing it to other prisoners?”

      The worst part was that he could imagine it. It was the kind of thing the king, his father, might think of. Put prisoners into a kind of hell and then give them the chance to avoid more pain only if they ran it.

      “The Abandoned are the worst,” Herek said. “If prisoners won’t submit, if they’re too mad or too stubborn, if they won’t work or they fight back too much, they’re thrown out here with nothing. The wardens hunt them. Most beg to be brought back.”

      Thanos didn’t want to think about it, but he had to, because Ceres might be here. He kept his eyes on the group of feral prisoners while he continued to whisper to Herek.

      “I’m looking for someone,” Thanos said. “She might have been brought here. Her name is Ceres. She fought in the Stade.”

      “The princess combatlord,” Herek whispered back. “I saw her fight in the Stade. But no, I would have known if she’d been brought here. They liked to parade the new arrivals in front of us, so that they could see what was waiting for them. I would have remembered her.”

      Thanos’s heart plunged like a stone thrown into a pool. He’d been so sure that Ceres would be here. He’d put everything he had into getting here, simply because it was the only clue he had to her whereabouts. If she wasn’t there… where could he go?

      The hope he’d had started to drip away, as surely as the blood from Herek’s feet, where the rocks had cut them.

      The blood that the Abandoned were staring at even now, following the trail of it…

      “Run!” Thanos yelled, urgency overcoming his heartbreak as he dragged Herek with him.

      He scrambled over the broken ground of the rocks, heading in the direction of the fortress simply because he guessed it was a direction those following wouldn’t want to go. Yet they did follow, and Thanos had to pull Herek along to keep him running.

      A spear flashed past his head, and Thanos flinched, but he didn’t stop. He dared a glance back, and the lean forms of the prisoners were closing, hunting them as surely as a pack of wolves. Thanos knew he had to turn and fight, but he had no weapons. At best, he could grab a rock.

      Figures in dark leathers and chain shirts rose from the rocks ahead, holding bows. Thanos reacted on instinct, dragging himself and Herek to the ground.

      Arrows flew overhead, and Thanos saw the group of feral prisoners fall like cut corn. One turned to run, and an arrow took her in the back.

      Thanos stood, as a trio of men walked toward them. The one at their head was silver-haired and angular, putting his bow across his back as he approached and drawing a long knife.

      “You are Prince Thanos?” he demanded as he got closer.

      In that moment, Thanos knew he’d been betrayed. The smuggling captain had given up his presence, either for gold or because he simply didn’t want the trouble.

      He forced himself to stand tall. “Yes, I’m Thanos,” he said. “And you are?”

      “I am Elsius, warden of this place. Once they called me Elsius the Butcher. Elsius the Killer. Now those I kill deserve their fate.”

      Thanos had heard that name. It had been a name that the children he’d grown up with had used to try to frighten one another, that of a nobleman who had killed and killed until even the Empire had thought of him as too evil to allow to stay free. They’d made up stories of the things he’d done to those he caught. At least, Thanos had hoped they’d been made up.

      “Are you going to try to kill me now?”

      Thanos tried to sound defiant, even though he had no weapons.

      “Oh no, my prince, we have much better plans for you. Your companion, though…”

      Thanos saw Herek try to stand, but he wasn’t quick enough. The leader stepped forward and stabbed with brisk efficiency, the blade sliding in and out of the other man again and again. He held Herek up, as though to stop him dying before he was ready.

      Finally, he let the prisoner’s corpse fall. When he turned to Thanos, his face was a rictus that had almost nothing human about it.

      “How does it feel, Prince Thanos,” he asked, “to become a prisoner?”

      CHAPTER SIX

      Lucious had come to love the smell of burning homes. There was something soothing about it, something that built excitement in him too at the prospect of everything that was to come.

      “Wait for them,” he said, from his perch atop a grand charger.

      Around him, his men were spread out to surround the houses they were burning. They were barely houses, really, just peasant hovels so poor that it wouldn’t even be worth looting them. Perhaps they’d sift through the ashes later.

      For now, though, there was fun to be had.

      Lucious saw a flicker of movement as the first people ran screaming from their homes. He pointed one gauntleted hand, the sunlight catching on the gold of his armor.

      “There!”

      He heeled his horse into a run, lifting a spear and throwing it down at one of the running figures. Beside him, his men caught up with men and women, hacking and killing, only occasionally letting them live when it seemed obvious that they would fetch more in the slave markets.

      There was, Lucious had found, an art to burning out a village. It was important not to just rush in blindly and set light to everything. That was what amateurs did. Rush in without preparation, and people just ran. Burn things in the wrong order, and there was the possibility that valuables would be left behind. Leave too many escape routes, and the slave lines would be shorter than they should be.

      The key was preparation. He’d had his men arrange themselves in a cordon outside the village well before he’d ridden in wearing his oh so visible armor. Some of the peasants had run just at the sight of it, and Lucious had enjoyed that. It was good to be feared. It was right that he should be.

      They were on the next stage now, where they burned some of the least valuable homes. From the top, of course, flinging torches into the thatch. People couldn’t run if you fired their hiding places at ground level, and if they didn’t run, there was no entertainment.

      Later, there would be more traditional looting, followed by torture for those with suspected rebel sympathies, or who might simply be hiding valuables. And then the executions, of course. Lucious smiled at that thought. Normally, he just made examples. Today though, he was going to be more… extensive.

      He found himself thinking of Stephania as he rode through the village, unsheathing his sword to hack left and right. Normally, he wouldn’t have reacted well to anyone rejecting him the way she had. If any of the young women of this village tried, Lucious would probably have them flayed alive, rather than simply sending them to the slave pits.

      Stephania was different, though. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful and elegant. When he’d thought that was all she was, he’d thought nothing of the idea of simply bringing her to heel like some glorious pet.

      Now that she’d turned out to be more than that, Lucious found his feelings changing, becoming more. She wasn’t just the perfect ornament for a future king; she was someone who understood the way the world worked, and who was prepared to scheme to get what she wanted.

      That was a big part of why Lucious had decided to let her go; he was enjoying the game between them too much. He’d