Fallen City by Adrienne Young - 43

I knew where I’d find him.

My boots hit the marble in a steady, heavy rhythm that pulled my vision back into focus as I made my way up the Tribunal Hall. There wasn’t a single Magistrate portrait hanging now, the walls bare for the first time in a hundred years. The stillness that had come over me when I saw Maris was already fading, the feeling returning to my fingertips, the heat setting fire to my blood as the entrance to the Forum appeared.

Two of Roskia’s legionnaires were posted outside the open doors, and they nodded as I passed the threshold, only briefly eyeing the blade in my hand. I didn’t stop when I saw Roskia sitting before the window in the Consul’s chair. A soft smile lifted his lips at the sight of me, and when he spoke, I couldn’t hear him. The only thing resounding in the room as I stalked toward him was my own breath. My own heartbeat.

Alarm lit on his face when I was only steps away, and he shot up from the chair, his hands going to his belt. But I already had my blade at his throat, one hand clutched to the collar of his breastplate as I walked him backward toward the window.

His feet dragged clumsily and he caught himself on the shutter as I pinned Roskia to the ledge. I looked down into his shocked face with an emptiness inside me that I’d never felt before. The pit in my soul was like the drop down to the river behind him, over a hundred feet below.

“What did you do?” I growled.

Roskia met my eyes, his hand closing over my wrist to keep himself from falling. “I did what you didn’t have the guts to do,” he said through clenched teeth.

Behind me, the sound of more footsteps filled the chamber and the air grew warmer. From the corner of my eye I could see Roskia’s legionnaires filing in to see what the commotion was. None of them had drawn a weapon but I didn’t doubt there were some who would if I let Roskia fall to his death. There had to be at least one or two who would kill a Centurion. For a moment, it was a welcome thought.

Roskia smiled, as if he could hear the words flitting across my mind. “We were headed to this moment the day you turned against the Citadel and took half the legion with you. I knew it.” His eyes cut to the legionnaires behind me. “ They knew it. The only one who didn’t,” he breathed, “was you.”

I let him go, nausea rolling in my gut.

What Roskia hadn’t realized was that I had known. I had seen it that night at the front when two of our cohorts were ambushed by the Loyal Legion and scores of our soldiers were slaughtered. After the first few battles for the Lower City, there hadn’t been a legionnaire among us who didn’t want every head left in the Forum to roll. And Roskia had been willing to lead them.

The next day, he’d orchestrated one of the bloodiest battles of the rebellion. Not long after that, Magistrates who’d been caught trying to flee the city slowly started appearing on the bridge, their bodies drained of color.

“I did you a favor, Matius,” Roskia chided. “You should be grateful.”

Demás lowered his sword as Roskia righted his balance, and I stepped backward. “You will not take another life on this side of the river without an order,” I said hollowly.

Roskia straightened his armor, brushing the shoulders of his cloak. “Understood, Centurion.”

The smug look on his face only confirmed that he wasn’t worried about being held accountable for what he’d done. He knew as well as I did that Vale would have to save face if he was going to keep the confidence of the New Legion. The truth was, they would be happy to believe that Vale ordered the executions himself. Proud, even. Roskia’s twisted words were a heavy, undeniable truth.

I did this.

“Commander! Commander!”

The faint shouts echoed down the hall, signaling that Vale had arrived, and Roskia’s smile widened. We looked at each other, and I imagined that we were both playing out exactly how this next part would go.

“Commander Saturian.” Roskia feigned a respectful tone as Vale entered.

Outside the Forum, the entire Citadel was coming alive with the sound of voices and victorious shouting.

“Welcome to your Citadel, Commander Saturian.” Roskia’s hands lifted out into the air.

“Leave us,” Vale ordered, not blinking.

Demás and Asinia instantly stepped forward, obeying without hesitation. The legionnaires in the Tribunal Hall disappeared from view as the doors closed, and suddenly we were alone.

I studied Vale’s face, trying to read him. After walking through the Citadel, where the bodies of the Magistrates were hung like festival garlands, Vale looked—maybe for the first time since this all began—truly scared.

“How could you possibly think we would let this stand?” My voice deepened.

“This victory belongs to the New Legion. To the Lower City,” Roskia said.

“All you’ve done is re-create us in the Magistrates’ image.”

“I don’t think they see it that way,” Roskia said, letting the silence draw out by way of explanation. We could still hear the echo of celebration. “There wasn’t a single man out there who hesitated to strike the names of the Magistrate families from the canon of this city’s history.”

Beside me, Vale said nothing. His patience had always worked in his favor, but I could see him struggling to weigh his options. He had very few.

“No sign of Casperia, though,” Roskia said calmly. He didn’t look at me, but a grin lifted on his lips. “That is her name, isn’t it? Casperia?”

My hands curled into fists at my sides, the black hole within me expanding.

“What I haven’t told the men out there”—he paused, eyes sliding to meet mine—“is that you should be hanging up there, too.”

“Roskia.” Vale’s tone was a warning.

“You thought because I was lowborn I wouldn’t recognize her, right? You think my life has been so insignificant that I wouldn’t know the daughter of one of the vilest Magistrates ever to taint this Forum?” He took a step toward me, his smooth orator’s tongue inhabiting the words. “I knew exactly who she was the moment she walked out of your tent.”

I was seething now, summoning every ounce of will I had not to put my hands around his throat.

“I assume you have her. Otherwise you’d have driven that sword into my chest the moment you walked in here. I have to say, Matius, I’ve always wondered what Magistrate tastes like.”

The thread holding me together snapped and I moved toward him, arm heavy at my side and ready to swing.

“Matius.” Vale’s voice was missing its fervor, as if he were trying to decide whether to stop me. But I ignored him, bringing my fist down hard across Roskia’s face.

Blood spattered the white marble as his head whipped to the side. He was smiling again, this time with blood smeared on his teeth.

He spat at my feet, taking his time to wipe it from his chin. “Do you have any idea what those legionnaires would do if I told them that you’re her husband ? That you lied to protect her? That all this time, you’ve been shielding the Citadel District because your own loyalties are divided?” Roskia’s eyes searched mine. “What’s worse is that our own Commander condoned it. He even allowed you to poison his ear with compassion for the very people we waged this war against. The only reason there’s an enemy outside our gates is because you allowed the Consul the time to enact this strategy. He should have been dead months ago. We have fought tooth and nail through the bowels of this city only to find an enemy outside our door.” He pointed to the window, where the gates of the city lay in the distance. “I did you a favor. You would have lost these men by morning if you hadn’t given them some justice.”

What was so sickening about it was that I knew, deep down, that he was right.

“The moment we find the Consul and string him up with the others, that will be all the fire the New Legion needs to defend this city from Valshad. It will douse this fire in oil.” Roskia was so proud of himself that he looked like he might cry.

“He’s in the catacombs,” Vale said, voice deadened.

Roskia’s expression faltered. “What?”

“The Consul. If you want him, you can go down there and scrape up his blackened bones from the smoking granary. He’s dead. The Priestess Ophelius, too.”

My lips parted, his meaning sinking in.

“The moment you crossed that bridge, the Consul locked himself in the granary and set fire to it.”

Vale came to stand in front of Roskia, leaving only inches between the toes of their boots. “You didn’t save this city, Roskia,” he said lowly. “You just starved it to death.”