INTERLUDE TWO
“Iheard a rumour that a couple of legates are in the city.”
Caius glanced up from the scroll in his hand. Velthur stood before him in full Rasennan armour and a purple cloak.
“So what if they are?” He glanced back at the rough parchment detailing the latest slave rebellion in Bruna. Despite having read it multiple times, an instinctual feeling gnawed at him, suggesting that he might have failed to catch something vital.
Some crucial detail.
Bruna’s arena had agreed to send fighters and wild animals for Kisra’s festivities. Yet, in an unexpected twist, Achaean rebels had liberated all the slaves and set the building ablaze, igniting a full-blown uprising across the city.
The event had occurred just days after Sagar had announced the Omega’s return.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“I’ll admit,” Velthur said, “I was surprised to hear that two of the military leaders commanding thousands of our men had snuck into the capital without the Senate’s knowledge.”
Caius tossed the scroll to the slave waiting on him and pushed to his feet. He strode past Velthur towards the palace library, and his lover fell into step beside him. Two more guards with purple cloaks followed at a distance.
“The Senate will understand when they hear about the Western threat at our next meeting.” No one would dare question his judgement once he told them he was following Laran’s will. Or more precisely, Sagar’s orders. Those who did would conveniently disappear, just like all the previous voices of dissent. “Besides, I have called for two of our most trusted senators to be present during our talks this morning.”
“Let me guess”—Velthur’s lips curled into a smirk—“Perperna and Sanquinius.”
Caius hummed in agreement but said nothing else as they approached the library where his guests awaited. It was the only meeting place he trusted within the palace since no one was allowed inside without his permission. The last slave who’d entered by mistake had been caught rummaging through the stored scrolls and executed within the day, along with his family.
Inside, an enormous hand-painted map of the Western tribes lay sprawled across the library floor—a masterpiece of cartography that Caius had commissioned during his first campaign against the Rebel Queen. Unfortunately, once laid out, the map hid more than half of the glossy marble floor beneath it. Caius had plundered many valuable relics from Megara, but he took special pride in the library’s white marble slabs, featuring a central mosaic motif of dolphins. He’d had them stripped from the royal palace after being washed of blood.
Olive trees swayed in the breeze, obscuring the library windows and keeping the room cool even at the peak of summer. The fragrant scent of roses and jasmine wafted inside, concealing the musty odour of papyrus scrolls lining the shelves. The two senators, Perperna and Sanquinius, stood close together, admiring the map sprawled at their feet.
Quintus Ancharius, the respected, battle-hardened legate of the Sixth Legion, stood in an elegant white tebenna with a light green geometric pattern, inspecting a collection of scrolls. Nothing in his elegant posture betrayed his position as a military commander.
Tarxi Tarquinius, on the other hand, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The silver-patterned black tebenna and silver bracelets did little to hide his dangerous nature. The young legate, distantly related to Caius, stalked about the room. His cold, calculating blue eyes fixed the two senators with unsettling calm, like a snake observing its prey before going in for the kill.
“Greetings, friends.”
At once, all heads turned to Caius, and they saluted in respect.
The Emperor skirted the map covering the floor and clasped arms with both legates. “Tarxi, Ancharius, I trust you are both rested after your long travels back to the capital.”
“We are,” Ancharius answered. “The newly built northern road cutting through Rasenna is a stroke of genius. It shortened our travel time by several days at least.”
“The Tarquinian Way, they called it.” Tarxi leaned against one of the shelves, arms crossed. “How quaint. Our ancestors would be proud, cousin.”
Velthur stiffened at his brazen familiarity while Caius arched an eyebrow in warning.
“It’s our friends at the Senate who deserve our gratitude,” he said with polished eloquence. “They are the ones who financed the construction, and I hope we will continue this way, growing not only our trade network within the Empire but also improving our roads.”
Perperna bowed his head in agreement. Tarxi’s mouth twisted into a smile that was neither friendly nor sincere.
“What news of the war in the North, my friends?” Caius focused on the map. It outlined the Suebi Lands to the north, where the main fight with the Ice Kingdoms took place every winter. Romilda had sent him several messages already, but his other two legates weren’t aware of their correspondence.
Caius liked to keep them on their toes. It made betrayal easier to catch.
“Have we finally reasoned with the barbarians from the Ice Kingdoms?” Sanquinius drawled, circling the map. “Have they capitulated before the might of Rasenna?”
Tarxi’s smile sharpened. “Not quite.”
Sanquinius flushed under the legate’s piercing blue stare. Tarxi, from the same Tarquinia clan, was unnervingly handsome for a soldier, but his cold eyes were those of a killer.
“The northern barbarians coordinated their attacks all through the winter and, without Romilda’s quick thinking and Dalmatius’ Black Helmets, we would have lost more ground than we did,” Ancharius said. “Laran be praised, the borders are safe, and the enemy has retreated until the end of the summer.”
“Laran be praised,” Perperna and Sanquinius echoed.
“The day will come when Rasenna and her allies will travel north to crush those insolent kings, but it is not today.” Caius turned his attention to the green lands beyond the Souconna River. “Laran would have us go west.”
Perperna’s head snapped up. “The Western Lands?”
Caius anticipated a similar reaction from the Senate. The legions hadn’t encroached on the Western tribes’ territories since the fall of the Rebel Queen.
“The augurs were clear. Laran wishes us to go west.” He had dreamed of this day for years, and now with Sagar’s warning about the Omega’s return, it was time to act.
At last, the day had come when his army would journey to the Western Lands and crush the tribes. Achieving a swift victory would solidify his image as a saviour in the hearts of the people across the Empire.
“But what about the treaty?” A sheen of sweat covered Perperna’s brow.
The senator looked to the two legates for support, but neither spoke. They were just as eager to head west.
It was Velthur who answered with a scoff. “Western scum broke the treaty five years ago when they sailed in from the sea and attacked our coastline. Hundreds died at Velch, and Turan has not been seen since. There have been no Gifts from her, either.”
Caius swallowed back a smile. The unfortunate raid on the coastal city had killed Turan’s priestesses, destroyed her temples, and renewed the Rasennans’ fear of the West, aligning right with his scheme.
He pointed at Velch on the map at their feet—a rich port city that brought goods from around the Great Sea and was renowned for its fine craftsmanship. The Western barbarians had raided its stores of bronze and gold and then burned the city to the ground. “The Caelia clan was particularly hit and has been clamouring for vengeance ever since. The Senate might have forgotten their grief, but Laran did not.”
Perperna gave a troubled, sidelong glance at Sanquinius, but his fellow senator kept his attention on the map when he answered, “This is all very well, but if we want the Senate to approve the breach of the treaty, then we must give them a good reason. An imminent threat.”
“Our network of spies has confirmed that the tribes are regrouping.” With an air of indifference, Tarxi stayed by the shelves, one hand tucked inside his tebenna. “A certain Volcos from the Tribe of the Ancients has been appointed chief.”
“Chief?” Perperna’s hand shook as he dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. He had reason to be anxious. Tarxi’s network of spies was never wrong. “Chief of what? His tribe? Be more specific.”
A shadow crossed the dark-haired legate’s face, and his eyes flashed.
But it was Ancharius who answered, “Chief commander of the Western tribes. Most of the other chiefs have pledged allegiance to him already.”
A tense silence descended upon them. The senators traded incredulous looks.
“But,” Perperna sputtered, “there hasn’t been a chief commander since… since—”
“Since the Rebel Queen,” Ancharius finished for him.
Sanquinius’ paled. The senator had only been a child when Andrasta was defeated at the Battle of Kendrisia, but every Rasennan knew of the war against the allied Westerners and Achaeans. Andrasta, her lover Kallinos, and King Pandion were names that still evoked awe and fear.
“The Senate must be informed at once.” Sanquinius’ firm tone broke through the ensuing silence. “If our enemy is preparing to attack Rasenna again, then, of course, we will approve whatever military action you deem necessary.”
Caius smiled at his quick change of tune. Sanquinius had always been the more pragmatic of the two senators. “That is the very reason I invited Legates Tarxi and Ancharius to the capital. The more we know about this Volcos and his plans, the better prepared we can be. We will strategize together, and I will announce my plan to the Senate at our next meeting.”
He gestured to Velthur, who stepped up and dropped a leather pouch full of coins in the senators’ hands.
“Until then, I expect you to spread the word about the Western threat throughout Kisra. I expect the Senate to be shaking with fear by the time I address them. Be sure to seek out your Caelia friends. They, especially, will wish to seek revenge upon the Western barbarians.”
Perperna hastily pocketed the pouch and bowed his head. “Of course, Imperator.”
The commander of the guards rapped his knuckles on the library doors, and they opened at once.
Caius walked the two senators out. “Velthur will escort you to the courtyard for some refreshments. I will join you shortly.”
His lover’s lips pressed into a tight line. He disliked keeping watch over the two men but held his tongue as he walked out, motioning for the senators to follow.
The doors shut with a heavy clank, and Caius strode back towards the map. The two legates snapped to attention, taking advantage of the little time they’d been afforded without interruptions.
Caius faced Ancharius first. “Any word from the Blood Wolf?”
“None. He will send word once he has tracked his prey.”
“Is he still tracking the little Megarian boy who got away?” Tarxi asked, picking bits of lint off his black tebenna. “How many years has it been?”
“The little Megarian boy,” Caius said through his teeth, “has grown up and gathered a large group of sympathisers, Megarians and Achaeans alike. They are getting ready to strike. One of them, an Achaean girl it seems, started the latest slave rebellion.”
Tarxi raised a brow. “The one in Bruna?”
“The girl’s name is Alena.” Ancharius retrieved a scroll from his folds. “Dalmatius sent word. It seems this girl started the rebellion when she came searching for her sister imprisoned within the arena—Dalmatius’ latest recruit.”
“A young girl brought down the largest arena in the Noric province?” Tarxi gave a low whistle.
Caius took the scroll and skimmed over its contents. The rebellion had been contained, but not before the slaves had butchered the arena master and killed several nobles.
His jaw tightened.
Alena.
According to Dalmatius’ scroll, she hadn’t been Gifted with magic, yet a bad feeling settled in his gut.
“The Ninth Legion quelled the rebellion in Bruna, but it has already spread to the surrounding villages and cities,” Ancharius said.
“Legate Numesie should remain in the Noric province and snuff out any sign of rebellion.” Caius crushed the scroll in his fist. The girl and the Megarian boy needed to be dealt with before they ruined his plans. “The Blood Wolf can handle the girl. Tell him to kill them both. If Dalmatius has the girl’s sister, then she should be easy to track.”
Ancharius peered down at the map splayed at their feet. “What about the attack?”
Caius stepped onto the map, his sandaled feet trampling the Western Lands as he studied their borders. The Green Mountains Tribe, Sagar had said. He knelt over the territory painted in bright greens and blues and tapped his finger on the map. “Here. This tribe isn’t too far from the border. The Westerners are superstitious fools. If we win a battle here, the other tribes will see it as an unfavourable omen and desert Volcos’ army.”
A few grey strokes depicted the tribe’s hillfort. A small inconsequential dot on the map. Standing above it, Caius felt like the ruler of the world, deciding the fates of thousands. And soon, the plans he’d meticulously set into motion decades ago would turn him into something more.
“Ancharius.” Caius looked into the Sixth Legate’s stern face. One of his most trusted commanders, who’d followed him into battle for years. “Tarxi and Claudius’ Third will join you in the attack.”
Ancharius’ bushy eyebrows knitted together. “Three legions? Will it be enough?”
Caius lifted the crumpled parchment in his hand. “If Dalmatius is right about his new recruit, then it will be. It will be more than enough.”
“My lord, your son is ready.”
Caius shifted his attention from the slaves rolling up the heavy map in the library to Plecu, standing in the doorway.
“Very well. Lead the way.”
The slaves filed out, and the Tarquinian guards locked the doors behind them.
Caius followed his master of the house through the palace, his leather sandals slapping on the mosaic floors. They climbed up the limestone staircase towards the private quarters, and Plecu stopped before a door.
“Keep everyone out,” Caius ordered. He slipped inside the small chamber containing a bed, a set of couches, and a table with a bronze mirror.
A boy, almost a man, on the cusp of his sixteenth birthday, waited by the open balcony windows, staring at the gardens. Over his pristine white tunic, a purple tebenna embroidered with gold wrapped his waist and shoulders.
As though sensing Caius’ presence, the boy jolted and then averted his gaze. He resembled Caius in almost every way, from the dark brown locks curling at the base of his neck to his thick eyebrows and bronze skin. The boy was too lithe, his limbs too weak, but it was nothing a few weeks of full meals at the palace couldn’t fix.
Caius nodded in appreciation. Sagar had done well.
The boy remained rooted to the spot, his shoulders hunched.
“Don’t slouch,” Caius said sharply. “Stand up straight. You are the Emperor’s son, now.”
At once, the boy did as he was told. “Yes, Father.”
Plecu and Sagar had spent days teaching him manners befitting the Emperor’s son. They’d also beat the southern tilt out of his words that betrayed his true nature as a shepherd’s son.
The boy, now named Arruns, would remain by Caius’ side during Kisra’s festivities and make his first official appearance at Laran’s arena.
“Look at me.” Caius waited for the boy’s wide gaze to meet his. “You will obey me at all times tomorrow. You will not speak unless spoken to, you will not ask questions, and you will not leave my side. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Father.”
Caius observed the boy’s stance and then his tebenna, readjusting the rich, silky cotton wrapped over his shoulder. “Do not forget that as my son, you represent the power of Rasenna. The future of our Empire. You must stand tall and proud, and you must never, ever reveal who you truly are.”
“I understand.”
Caius lifted Arruns’ face. A blend of determination and unease churned within the youth’s dark brown gaze.
“How’s your Koine?” Caius asked.
Arruns mumbled a few words.
“Not good enough.” Caius clenched his jaw. He’d need to have a word with the boy’s tutor. “Every Rasennan noble son your age is fluent in Rhaetic, Koine, and at least one other language of the Great Sea. You must be diligent and catch up. Practice reading the texts out loud every day. Have you met the Empress?”
“Yes, Avidia introduced us.”
“Good. I suppose you have questions.”
The boy faltered. “I… er—”
“Spit it out,” Caius snapped. “The Emperor’s son does not stutter or whisper. You may ask what you want.”
Arruns bit his lip but kept eye contact with him. At least the boy wasn’t completely spineless. “The Empress…” He paused before squaring his shoulders. “She did not seem well when we met. Her mind appears afflicted. What happened to her?”
“The gods cursed her.”
Caius wasn’t sure why he spoke the truth. Very few knew of the Empress’ condition. He had kept her away from the public eye and even the palace slaves, save for her handmaidens. But if the boy was to be the Emperor’s son, he could keep her company. “You may visit her chambers daily and read to her in Koine. She will enjoy it.”
Arruns nodded. “Why did the gods punish her?”
A bitter taste filled his mouth. “They’re not punishing her. They’re punishing me.”
“But why?”
A dark chuckle escaped him. “Because she was never mine to take.”
Arruns blanched, and Caius stepped closer, towering over him. “I will see you tomorrow for the games. Remember, your parents’ and siblings’ lives depend on your performance at the festivities. Do not disappoint me.”
The boy swallowed audibly but did not drop his gaze. “Yes, Father.”