Chrosoes threw back his head and laughed, a long echoing sound. He thrust the heavy sword into the ground, point first, and flipped a length of cord from his pocket around Shirin’s wrists. She struggled furiously, but it was too late. Jusuf rushed to the bottom of the steps but did not throw himself up the height. Thyatis began sliding her blade out of its sheath, her breathing even and slow. The sight of Shirin’s face twisted in pain excited a trembling in her hands. Anger flared in the back of her mind, a dull red coal growing steadily brighter.
“Your oathbreaking brother is dead,” crowed the King of Kings. “He fell at Kerenos, pierced by many spears. His body was carried from the field upon a shield of the House of Asena, born aloft by a hundred lances.”
Shirin cried out again in pain and stumbled to her knees, her hands bound tightly behind her back.
“I’ve no time for a hobble, my wife, but this will suffice.”
The King of Kings plucked the sword from the ground and spread his feet wide. “Come then, thief, and steal my property if you can.”
Jusuf, his face bleak, moved to launch himself up the steps, but Thyatis called out in a clear, strong voice. “No, Jusuf, I forbid it.”
Chrosoes whirled, dropping into a guard stance. His mask gleamed in the lanterns, his eyes murky pits.
Thyatis stepped down off of the circular platform and the water-steel sword moved lazily in her hand. “We have no quarrel, Chrosoes King, if you will let the Lady Shirin choose her own way.”
“A Latin Roman?” the King of Kings wondered, circling to the left. “And a woman! What strange days are these? Are you Jusuf’s pet? He always loved exotic things.”
“I am no pet,” Thyatis answered, her feet light on the ground, matching the movement of the Persian. “Jusuf is under my authority. Will you let Shirin choose her own way?”
“No!” the King of Kings thundered his voice harsh and metallic. “She is my property, given freely in marriage by her family. Where I go, she goes. Neither you nor this dishonored whelp will steal her. If you desire her so much, come and let us gamble in blood for her.”
“I will not kill you, King of Kings. I promised Shirin that I would spare your life.”
“You promised her?” Chrosoes’ voice was incredulous. “A possession cannot promise another possession! Does the hawk promise the hound? Does the ox hold the sheep to account for its honor? Your words are meaningless.“ He turned away in disgust.
“Do you think that she would not choose you, if you asked her?” Thyatis’ voice was sharp.
Chrosoes stopped, shocked, looking down at Shirin, who had struggled to her knees, the long gown torn off of her shoulder, revealing the curve of her breast. Her hair was a tangled mess and mud from the soft earth was smeared on the side of her face where she had fallen.
“Why would she choose to come with me?” he whispered, a thick-fingered hand going to the mask of beaten gold on his face. “Who would choose a monster, disfigured, unworthy to be a king?”
“You are a king, my love,” Shirin said, her eyes filled with tears. “You have always been a great ruler, mighty and proud. Please, there is no need for more blood to be spilled.”
“You would not choose me,” he said distantly, his fingers brushing against the crown of her hair. “I am a ruined thing, fit only for dark places.”
“No!” Shirin wept. “I do choose you. I have always chosen you. When I look at you, I see the face of my husband, my love, not just the flesh of your body.”
Chrosoes turned away, his fist tight on the hilt of his sword. Thyatis stood only feet away, her knees slightly bent, the water-steel blade pointed away and to her left.
“See?” she said, her voice soft. “Ask her! She will choose you. Then Jusuf and I will stand aside and you can go to the water gate. The night is dark and the Romans have no boats. You can get away on the river…”
The King’s sword rose, its edge glittering. The red glow in the sky was spreading and, very faintly, Thyatis could hear a great murmur of thousands’of men shouting and screaming. The Roman army was loose in the city.
“You mock me,” Chrosoes grated. “It is a lie! No Roman ever spoke truth to me, save one, and he is dead for long years. Only lies and deception and murder spring from your hateful stock.“
Thyatis’ right foot slid back on the wet grass and her body turned, subtly, into line with her sword. Her mind cleared and she became aware of a thousand tiny sounds in the garden: the soft mutter of birds, the tink of Anagathios descending a rope at the base of the garden, the harsh breathing of the man facing her.
The King’s sword blurred overhand and Thyatis was in motion, a burst of fire jolting her blood. The heavy saber rang like a.bell on the base of her blade and she slammed her shoulder into Chrosoes, locking sword to sword at the hilt. The King grunted and Thyatis sprang back, her upper arm numb. He was a like a mountain. She could barely hold onto the hilt of the sword, her fingers were so stunned by the shock of his blow. Chrosoes shouted and leapt forward, sword slashing.
Thyatis leapt back, the tip of her blade flicking his stroke aside. Chrosoes pressed, raining blows upon her like a summer storm. Her defense was a blur of glittering steel, fending off each attack. Her arms raged at her in pain. Every stroke was a hammer blow to her upper body. She gasped for breath, giving ground. Fine cuts welled blood on her shoulders and arms. Chrosoes laughed, a high wild sound.
Thyatis spared a breath to shout. “Jusuf! The gate, get to the gate!”
The Khazar paused at the top of the steps, his hand reaching for Shirin. He looked over his shoulder. The Kha-zars, precious bundles strapped to their backs, were climbing down the mossy wall of the garden on long ropes.
Shirin hissed angrily at him. “Get my children out, you oaf!”
Jusuf turned on his heel and bounded down the steps, taking them three at a time.
Thyatis dodged sideways, feeling the air part where her head had been. She kicked out, catching the King of Kings’ knee. Her boot bounced away, but he gasped in pain and switched stance to put the injured leg behind him. Thyatis gulped air and fell back a step herself.
“A Roman relying on skill in battle?” Chrosoes voice was mocking. “It is an age of wonders!”
Thyatis settled her grip on the sword, both hands wrapped around the long hilt. Her palms were slick with sweat, but the wire and leather were like an old familiar glove. She feinted at the King’s shoulder, her blade flashing like summer lightning. He beat the stroke aside and bulled in, howling a war cry, catching her in the chest with his elbow. The iron rings of her vest crumpled around the blow, but the leather backing swallowed most of the force. Dampness spread under her armor. Thyatis flew backward into a sapling.
The tree cracked and she spilled to the ground. The water-steel blade slithered out of her hand, and she rolled up off of the ground, hands wide. The King of Kings circled around the tree, his boot kicking the gleaming shape of the blade away across the grass. Thyatis crouched down, scuttling to one side. He attacked again, laughing in joy, the heavy blade whirling around his head.
She ducked away from the saber twice, then kicked at his bad knee again and had to backflip away from his counterblow. She found herself balanced on the brick wall that divided each terrace, wavering, her arms outstretched. Chrosoes laughed again and blinked sweat from his eyes. The mask had been knocked askew and he took the moment to tear it off of his face. It sailed into the rosebushes.
Thyatis’ eyes narrowed, seeing him fully in the glow of the lanterns. He had been very handsome once, with a proud nose and full strong lips. His eyes were dark, with long lashes and his cheekbones would have made many a Roman matron swoon and bat her eyes at him. Now he was terribly scarred, with one eye almost closed by the ravaged tissue. His beauty was marred, shattered by glassy skin and ridges of tormented flesh.
“You see!” he howled, seeing the flash of repulsion in her eyes. “Nothing like a king!”