X. Londo

The first thought that came to him when Shiv'kala flicked his hand was I am growing tired of conversing on my knees. The second thought was rather less coherent, and mostly involved attempting not to cry out as his legs gave way.

He supposed he should be grateful to be on his knees and not in some other, less dignified position. The Drakh permitted him that much these days. Not out of any pretense at courtesy, of course. To say his health had grown delicate would be a sad attempt at understatement, but at least they were making an effort to treat him like the breakable toy he had become. They still made his Keeper… intervene, on occasion, but it was merely a reminder of who was in charge. It would not suit their plans to have him dying just yet, it seemed.

Good. It did not suit his own plans either.

"Enough," Shiv'kala said. The Keeper's hold eased abruptly; Londo slumped forward, scrabbling for control.

Shiv'kala moved closer, looming over him, and not for the first time Londo wondered if the Drakh was looking older too. He had long been the pinnacle of restraint, but these past years he'd grown more erratic. Becoming impatient, Londo thought. Certainly the Drakh had done less well than they'd hoped. Their first attempt to destroy Earth had been unsuccessful, forcing them to deploy the virus they had intended for Minbar instead. Then the humans had worked their magic and found a cure. Londo had borne the brunt of the Drakh's anger, but he'd still savored the sweet taste of their defeat.

For now, though, Shiv'kala's eyes betrayed nothing. "You must enlighten us, Londo." His voice was low and dangerous, a hunter closing in on prey. "It has come to our attention that the Centauri people are no longer as… impotent as we desire them to be. You have heard of a movement called the Resistance, we take it?"

That was dangerous territory, and Londo chose his answer carefully. "Every world half as shattered as ours has a movement called the Resistance. It does not mean someone is doing any resisting, or being efficient at it even when they try."

"But this movement is efficient, we are told." Shiv'kala narrowed his eyes. "And hardly as desperate for funds as might be expected. Perhaps you can tell us why."

He has learned, Londo thought, a chill passing through him. The first time he spoke to Shiv'kala, the Drakh had been austere and literal-minded, but no longer. Londo scowled, pretending ignorance. "I do not know what you mean."

Shiv'kala smiled – something else he had never done those first few years. "Shall I tell you where this Resistance meets... to refresh your memory? Their base is a shelter in the capital, in a residence belonging to House Mollari. A shelter we allowed to continue at your request, I do believe. Is this how you repay our generosity?"

"I know nothing of this," Londo protested, even as he realized it was no use. The Drakh weren't just guessing. They knew. They had operatives outside the palace now: other Drakh, and Keepers to do their bidding. Londo had suspected it for years, although he hadn't been certain until he heard about the telepaths – wherever a telepath was killed, he did not doubt the Drakh were walking. Not that the killings would expose them. Every day people were murdered in the streets.

"You know nothing, you say?" Shiv'kala's smile had turned predatory; it frightened Londo more than any display of rage ever could. "You do not know Sylvio Deradi and Lysandra Jaddo? Both of them are close to you... or so our sources would have us believe."

"Lysandra runs the shelter," Londo said thickly. Lying was no option; if he claimed not to know Lyndra, the Drakh might well decide to put it to the test. "But she is family! She would never betray me." That, too, wasn't a lie. It wasn't betrayal to serve the people at the expense of the Emperor. He had done the same in Cartagia's day. "Sylvio Deradi I have never met. He is a poor man, coarse and common –"

"Yet he leads the Centauri Resistance." Shiv'kala's voice had dropped to a whisper. "And you are funding them, Londo. I would not advise you to deny it, or to claim you did not realize what you did. You would find yourself... regretting it." He waved his hand again, vaguely. Londo gasped and dug his nails into his palms. "They must die," the Drakh continued, as if nothing had happened. "The Jaddo girl, and her husband too."

"Not the girl! She is no threat to you. Killing her will accomplish nothing, it is her husband you want!" Londo realized what he'd said a heartbeat after the words were out. Great Maker, had he sank as low as that – to discard one life for another, on a whim? But he must. He had promised Urza to keep his family safe. "Without Deradi, the Resistance will be crippled," he pressed. "You do not need to kill his wife as well."

The Drakh studied him intently. "You are right, of course," he said, after a moment. There was a glitter in his eyes that made Londo's stomach turn. "If the girl is so important to you, it would be a shame to dispose of her... yet. We will spare her, in case we ever have cause to question your loyalty again. But Deradi must die. And you will give the order. To prove your –" He chuckled, "– obedience."

Londo clenched his hands into fists. It was a small price to pay. No price at all, in fact, knowing Sylvio Deradi's life was forfeit whatever he did. So why did he feel like a monster anyway?

"Kill him," he said. He even managed to make it sound convincing.

"As you wish. We will take care of it." Shiv'kala extended one hand from the folds of his cloak. "Ask, and I will help you to your feet." It was a ritual they'd had for years; Londo's answer was always the same, yet the Drakh kept on asking. Another habit he picked up from me.

"No," Londo said, and averted his head.

The Drakh chuckled again and stepped into the shadows, leaving him alone and on his knees.

For a while, Londo heard nothing. He was braced for disaster the next time Timov returned from the shelter; then later, when reports came in of protests in the streets. But nothing happened, not then or for several weeks after. By the time Vir came to visit from Babylon 5, the Drakh still had not acted, and doubt was starting to creep in. Perhaps they had been goading him. Perhaps they didn't truly believe Sylvio Deradi was a threat.

He had convinced himself to the point where, the night a guard came to tell him he was needed in the throne room, his first response was irritation, not fear. He was tired; even the short walk from his chambers exhausted him. He gestured at the guard to open the door to the throne room, then froze in place as he stepped inside.

"Timov? Great Maker, what..."

She was sitting on the steps at the base of the throne, her robes in disarray. Crying. Timov was crying. Dry, breathless sobs shuddered through her, muffled behind a sleeve. Vir was kneeling beside her, but at Londo's approach he got to his feet.

"Vir?" Londo said. "What is the meaning of this?" He had meant to sound commanding, but the sight of Timov had caught him off-guard.

"Londo, there's… there's been some bad news." Vir took a step towards him. "Lyndra sent me a message. Her husband, Sylvio… he went missing last night. They found him this morning with his throat slit."

Londo didn't know what he had expected to feel; guilt, perhaps, or anger or regret. But when he reached inside himself, he came up dry. "Great Maker," he muttered. The words fell from his lips like so many slick, sickening lies, but even they didn't make him feel anything.

It only dawned on him when he met Timov's eyes.

He had never seen Timov cry in his life. A decade ago, he wouldn't even have thought her capable, and even now he could barely believe it. She was close to Lyndra, yes, but not to Lyndra's husband. She would never shed tears for a man she had barely spoken to. Only for…

"No," he croaked. "Vir –" Tell me it isn't true.

"Londo, I'm so sorry," Vir said softly. "Sylvio wasn't alone. Urza's son was with him. Noro. They killed him too."

He would not break, Londo told himself, even as he felt the Keeper stir on his shoulder. He would not give the Drakh the satisfaction. Somehow he made it to the throne without assistance, swatting away Vir's outstretched hand. He felt sick enough to vomit, but he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed and swallowed until the nausea turned to rage. They tricked me. They made me beg for Lyndra's life, but not for the lives of the children. They'd changed the rules on him, and because of it, he'd failed Urza a second time. He might as well have plunged the blade into his friend all over again. They will pay for this. Great Maker, they will.

"Londo." From somewhere, Vir's voice drifted in. "There's another thing you have to know. I should have told you before, but I didn't… Lyndra asked me not to…"

"It's all right, Vir," Timov said faintly. "He knows."

Londo opened his eyes just in time to see Vir's apprehension turn to shock. "Wait, what…" Vir sputtered. "You knew about the Resistance? Both of you? I – I thought –"

"You thought if Londo knew, he would have no choice except to stop them." Timov's eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, but she was on her feet, straightening her gown with sharp, angry tugs. Londo didn't think he'd ever loved her more than in that moment, rage and tears and a fierce kind of pride mingling on her cheeks. "I'd tell you not to underestimate my husband, but then I made the same mistake. Londo has been supporting the Resistance, Vir. He even used to fund them, until the Centaurum found out."

Not the Centaurum, but close enough. Londo forced himself to steady his breathing. It wouldn't do to let Timov fight his battles for him; not when she was hurting more than he did. "It's true, Vir," he said. "These days, the Resistance feels more like an ally to me than those whose meddling I tolerate at court. I still care about our people… even if they do not believe it."

Vir's mouth had fallen open. He closed it and swallowed, the sound painfully loud in the too-empty space. "Gods, Londo. I – I didn't know –"

"If I could be trusted?" Londo snapped, wincing at the harshness of his own voice. "Good! The walls have ears here, Vir! You must never trust me unless I tell you to, perhaps not even then. Urza trusted me with his family's life, and look where it led them!" His stomach turned; he spat out the words only to keep from gagging on them. He still did, though: something wet and sticky lodged in his chest, and he doubled up coughing. He almost relished it, just like he relished the guilt washing over him: his faithful companion, threatening to choke him by day even as that other companion did by night. Recently, he had been dreaming his death dream more and more often. It did not feel like a bad thing.

"It's not your fault," Timov said, surprising him. For a moment it was all he could do not to scream at her. Great Maker, you know nothing! You'd never trust me again if you knew what I did! Instead he dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief, blinking down at the ugly little specks of red against white. Which was ever so fitting, really. Blood on my lips as well as my hands.

Timov and Vir exchanged harried glances, and Londo forced himself to breathe deeply before he dared to speak at all.

"Well, Vir. Let us hear it. What made you decide to tell me about this Resistance? If you made Lysandra a promise, I did not think you would break it lightly."

"I wouldn't," Vir said. He squared his shoulders, and somehow all the unease flowed out of him when he did. He is still the ambassador of the Centauri Republic, Londo thought. I tend to forget that when he is here. But Vir had not forgotten, it seemed. "You said the Resistance is an ally, but they have no love for you, Londo. I know. I've been out there."

"You've been to the shelter?" Timov sounded stunned. "Today?"

"Yes," Vir said. "They know me there. Lyndra trusts me, and I've… I've got friends there." He exchanged a look with Timov that was impossible to read. "Lyndra doesn't want violence, but she can't control the people with Sylvio dead. He was the only thing that kept them in line, and now whoever killed him and Noro made martyrs out of them both. This whole thing is a tinder box waiting for a spark, and the moment it blows... They'll come for you, Londo. You need to be ready… or the mob will tear you to pieces, and the whole court along with you."

Londo nodded, the words trickling through as if in a dream. Dimly, he wondered how it could be that people still trusted Vir, despite his obvious ties to the court. Something told him the answer might be simpler than it seemed – that they trusted Vir simply because he could be trusted – but while that would matter a great deal one day, it didn't right now. What mattered was that Vir and Timov were on his side. He would need them before this was over. If this was where the end game started, it would take all his strength to see it through.

"I'm ready," he said, and prayed he was right.