Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 961: Throw of a dice(5)

"How did your first acquaintance with that widow go? We have a great deal riding on this, you know." Julian’s voice echoed through the tent, thin and dry as old vellum. He didn’t bother turning around; his back remained hunched over a sprawl of maps and ledgers, the candlelight casting his hooked shadow against the canvas like a predatory bird.

"If I were anyone else, things might have turned bloody, do I need to remind you that our presence here is to be unkown of?The last thing we need is you calling my name for the whole camp." Tiberius remarked, his voice steady despite the prickle of unease at his nape.

"There are only a few souls permitted to bother me personally, Tiberius. I would recognize your light, almost girlish step in a crowded cathedral." Julian finally shifted, though only to dip his quill.

Tiberius ignored the barb.

He did not have girlish steps.

He reached out, his fingers brushing aside a stack of reports on the desk to reveal a series of logistical charts. He began to skim them, his eyes darting over the numbers. Julian made no move to stop him, seemingly buried in his work, yet Tiberius felt the weight of a gaze of a single eye, aking to that of a snake watching from the tall grass, waiting for the slightest tremor of a leaf.

"You still haven’t answered my question, dear boy." Tiberius’s shoulders shuddered at the endearment. It was a term used for favorites and victims alike in Julian’s world. "How did your first meeting with your future wife fare? Did the spark catch, or was the air too damp with regicide?"

A cold sweat broke out across Tiberius’s ribs. They had been seemingly alone by the fire. He hadn’t lingered long.

Did they hear us? He wondered. Julian’s web was vast; he trusted men only as far as his arm could reach, and Tiberius was no exception. How many agents were trailing him? Did Julian know of his silent displeasure, did he know of his intentions?

In one sudden, suffocating moment, the courage Tiberius had summoned to act for his own sake withered away like sand in a gale. He felt small, a puppet realizing for the first time just how many strings were attached to his joints.

"Is this your paternal instinct speaking?" Tiberius spat, masking his fear with venom. "Are you worried for me now? Do you wish me good tidings and a happy family? Perhaps you’re eager to know how long before a grandson blesses your tired eyes?"

He watched Julian for a reaction. Was this the spymaster’s way of telling him he was never truly alone? Was it a threat, or a subtle suggestion to stay within the lines drawn for him?

"If my actual son were to hear you, he would be truly crestfallen. I haven’t laid eyes on the boy for eleven years, after all." Julian sighed, a sound so weary Tiberius couldn’t tell if it was born of genuine sadness or irritation. "Eloir has gone through the worst of his late Imperial Majesty’s whims. I believe she deserves some rest after such a performance, shouldn’t she? A quiet life with a... poetic husband."

Tiberius hesitated, his hand hovering over the table. "Why do you care? Has your heart finally begun to ache for the injustices of the world?"

They both knew the lie. Julian’s heart was a myth, a hollow space filled only with the clicking of gears and the rustle of secrets.

"Only because I deal in the shadow doesn’t mean I relish the things I am forced to do," Julian murmured, finally turning. His eye was a dark, unreadable pit . "Even a man like me finds warmth in knowing justice was delivered. We all want the hero to get the happy ending in the story, Tiberius. It makes the world less... cold."

"Except she only got half of the justice she sought," Tiberius countered, his voice sharpening. "The other architect of her misery, her own father, still stands. Or did that little detail skip your brilliant mind?" 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Julian met the question with a slow, thin-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Landoff is still useful to the state. We cannot burn every bridge before we cross it. Besides," Julian leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we were lucky to get our hands on the Shaman’s survivors before Mavius could truly utilize them. It was... illuminating, to extract all the information we could from those wretched things."

A sharp pang of fear tumbled through Tiberius’s gut, cold and heavy.

"I hope you are not thinking of making use of them?"

Julian turned to him slowly, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated bewilderment, as if Tiberius had just suggested they set the moon on fire. "Dear Gods, no! Since Romelia first ventured away from the Fingers, it has been our duty to banish those ugly practices from the lands sworn to us by the Star. I would never betray the Empire so, not to mention just how monumental a stupidity it would be."

He leaned back, the wood of his chair creaking like a hanging man’s rope. "If it were not us plunging the dagger into Mavius’s back, it would have been one of his own retainers soon enough. The man publicly announced to the world that he walked hand-in-hand with black magic. What did the fool think would happen? That the High Lords would simply look away? That the Church would forget and act as if it never happened?"

Julian scoffed, a dry, rattling sound. "The Shaman was only useful for the data he yielded, the specific nature of the ’treatments’ he performed on the fool. He was smart enough to hide certain physiological details from his previous patron. Details I was happy enough to share with our newest ally, gaining his cooperation in the meantime...."

"What details?" Tiberius asked, his mind racing.

"The Imperator was infertile," Julian whispered, a predatory glint in his eye as if relishing in showing his genious to the pup at his side. "A side effect of the ’rejuvenation’ the Shaman promised. Mavius was a dead branch on a dying tree."

Tiberius blinked, trying to reconcile the clinical coldness of the information with the chaos it had wrought. "And Landoff... he really believed you? Just like that?" He tried to imagine the scene: a faceless agent slipping into Landoff’s quarters, whispering that his son-in-law’s seed was dry, and vanishing into the night.

"He normally wouldn’t have," Julian conceded, "but the seeds of suspicion had already sprouted. It had been two years, and not a single maid who laid with the Imperator had borne a child. Landoff is a man of simple, singular ambition: he wants his blood on that purple chair. The last grandson he had, he allowed to be snuffed out by his own hand’s negligence. Now, he hopes for a second chance through us."

Julian stood up then, smoothing the front of his robes. The transition from cold strategist to prying elder was seamless and jarring. "But enough of the dead. Tell me, did it seem as though Eloir was... pleased with you? Did the ’sun of youth’ find its mark?"

Tiberius stiffened. He knew...how?

"Why the insistence on her temperament? What need is there for her pleasure? We have the contract, we have the bloodline, and eventually, we will have a child. Is that not the extent of your design?Does her happiness fall in your plans?" He fought his insecurities away by changing the subject...but he knew it was like throwing salt on a fire.

Julian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes; it remained a thin, parchment-dry curve.He was kind enough not to press his earlier jab.

"I would say the interest in her happiness should be yours alone, Tiberius. After all, you will be the one sharing a bed with a woman who just made a butchery of her last husband. It would be a shame for the new reign to end in a bloodstained pillowcase.Once was more than enough for history books..."

When he saw that Tiberius remained stony-faced, the mask of the jester fell away, revealing the cold iron of the Spymaster underneath.

He sighed.

"Landoff is a liability. ’’ He declared ’’He is too unruly, too driven by a desperate, grasping greed to be truly controlled. He has no sons, and his nephew Willios will fall into Alpheo’s hands by week’s end and if by some miracle he escapes, we shall simply arrange for his throat to be opened elsewhere. When the old Lord finally expires, Eloir is the sole heir. It is in our absolute interest to have the local powerbase bound to us by more than just fear."

Ours.

Almost as if hearing him he turned and looked at him intently.

"You have a pleasant enough face. A strong chin, a gaze that suggests depth. It is... unfortunate about the softer, more feminine edges of your features, but perhaps she will find that a refreshing change from the boorishness of her late husband. Pamper her. Offer her a shoulder to weep on, or lick her feet if she demands it.

Treasure her, or at least act the part with the skill of the poet you claim to be. I don’t care for the method, only the result. When the father dies, perhaps even by her hand, given her recent appetite and their history ,she must find in you the anchor she requires to keep from drifting away from our port."

Tiberius felt the invisible collar around his neck tightening.Was there anything that wasn’t controlled by his strings?

"Your previous patrons wished to castrate you and bury you in a monastery," Julian reminded him, his voice suddenly dropping into a lethal, sub-zero chill. "Is it truly such a bore to make use of the parts they intended to take? It seems to me I am doing more than enough work for the both of us to see you on that throne. Do not make me regret the investment.Especially when all that is requested of you is to put a child in her."

To his great shame, Tiberius could only offer a sharp, curt nod of consent.

The bastard of the Emperor, reduced to a stallion in a political stable.

Julian was about to speak again, perhaps to deliver one last barbed piece of advice, when he abruptly snapped his mouth shut. His head tilted like an owl sensing a mouse in the brush. His eyes darted toward the heavy silk of the tent flap.

"Enter," Julian commanded, his voice regaining its sharp authority.

A man stepped inside, moving with the silence of a shadow. Tiberius watched him with a flicker of bewilderment; he had heard nothing, yet Julian had sensed the man’s presence from a dozen paces away. The intruder was a lean, weather-beaten agent with eyes that seemed to have seen too much.

"Meneo," Julian said, his tone easing slightly. "I thought I made it clear I desired privacy for this conversation."

Meneo didn’t even glance at Tiberius, treating the future Emperor as if he were merely part of the furniture. He bowed low to Julian. "My apologies, My Lord. I would not have intruded had the wind not brought such urgent news. The riders from the pass have arrived."

Julian reached out, his long fingers snatching the sealed scroll from the agent’s hand. He broke the wax with a practiced flick and unrolled the parchment. Tiberius watched as the Spymaster’s eyebrows rose higher with every line he scanned.

Julian turned to Tiberius, the letter fluttering in his hand like a dying bird.

"Oh, dear," He purred. "The Fingers have fallen. The wolves are officially inside the fold."