Interlude 2 #2
Caius allowed the uproar to grow, feeding on it, before lowering his voice to a knife’s edge. “We must stop them. Now. Before two enemies become one.”
The chamber thundered with assent.
“I propose,” Caius continued, his tone sharp and commanding, “that we break the peace treaty forged after the Battle of Kendrisia and march into the Western Lands. The Third Legion still holds the hillforts of the Green Mountains, and I will send the Sixth and Fourth to reinforce them.”
A senator in white rose to his feet. “But what of the river gods, Imperator? They have always protected the borders.”
Caius’ eyes gleamed, a thin smile curling at the edge of his mouth.
He spread his hands as if unveiling a secret.
“Laran has already answered us. He has rewarded our faith, our sacrifices, with a gift—a warrior. Chosen by the god himself, she will lead our legions into battle and deliver us victory.”
A hush fell for a heartbeat, then voices rose anew, this time laced with rapture. The scent of incense seemed to grow stronger, the chamber alive with praise to Laran.
Then Cilnius rose from his bench with deliberate calm, unrolling a parchment for all to see.
“And yet the Achaean gods have answered as well.” His voice cut through the fervour like steel on stone.
“I received word from soldiers in the Twelfth who survived the attack. It is written here—a girl with the Omega Mark. A girl prophesied to destroy this Empire.”
Caius’ jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he glared at Velthur. How in the gods’ names had Cilnius received news from the Twelfth?
“She killed the Blood Wolf,” Cilnius pressed on, his voice swelling with conviction, “and seized his Gift.”
A ripple of shock coursed through the Senate benches—murmurs, curses, the scrape of sandals against wood.
“And then at Dodona, she struck again. Twice Gifted now by the gods themselves, she laid waste to the Twelfth Legion.” Cilnius thrust the parchment forward like an accusation. “And yet you—Imperator—neglected to share this crucial detail with your Senate. What else are you hiding?”
The chamber stilled. Benches creaked as every eye fixed on Caius.
“Yes—it is true. The girl was Gifted by the Achaean gods, but they are weak. We have destroyed their temples and priests.” Caius spread his arms wide, gaze taking in the rows of uneasy faces. “The girl’s magic was strong in Tiryns, but we will defeat her in the Western Lands.”
Murmurs stirred among the senators, uncertain yet listening. Cilnius pounced on the hesitation. “You gamble with our lives, Imperator! With the Empire itself! This girl apparently brought an army of hounds to defeat our legion.”
Senator Sanquinius rose, his crimson-edged toga sweeping the floor, and fixed Cilnius with a scornful look.
“An army of hounds?” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “Tell me, Cilnius—are we to tremble before a kennel?”
Laughter rippled through the benches.
Sanquinius raised an eyebrow as if presenting the absurdity to the chamber.
“Would you have us cower before a slip of a girl and her dogs?”
The laughter grew louder—senators chuckling, nodding, stamping their feet in approval. Sanquinius let them enjoy the mockery, then drove his words like a nail.
“Better to trust in Laran’s will and the strength of our legions than cower before Achaean superstition.”
The chamber thundered with assent, and Cilnius’ protest was drowned beneath it.
From his place at the rostrum, Caius sat back on his high-backed chair, a thin smile tugging at his lips. He hadn’t needed to convince them. His allies were doing the work for him.
“Laran’s Chosen will prevail!” Sanquinius cried, his voice carrying like a trumpet call. “Rasenna victorious!”
“Rasenna victorious! Rasenna victorious!” the Senate chanted, a pounding chorus that made the chamber tremble.
Perperna seized the moment, rising to his feet. “Then let us act, senators! Let us send the legions west before the enemy grows stronger!”
Beside him, Sanquinius raised his hand. “All those in favour?”
The response was near-unanimous. Hands shot up in waves across the benches, a sea of approval, their decision sealed in fervour and smoke.
Caius leaned back, silent, the corners of his mouth curving with restrained satisfaction. He hadn’t needed to argue, hadn’t needed to beg—the Senate had given him his war gladly.
By the end of the summer, the Western-Achaean alliance would lie broken in the dust. And all whispers of the Omega would scatter like ash on the wind.
Caius stood at a long cedar table, a half-unrolled map of the Western Lands before him, its edges held down by bronze weights shaped like lions’ heads. The library was cloaked in the dim gold of afternoon, shafts of light spilling across towering shelves laden with scrolls.
Velthur entered quietly, his sandals slapping on the mosaic floor. To his credit, he didn’t flinch at the sight of the white marble slabs featuring a motif of dolphins torn from his family home.
“Message from Dalmatius,” Velthur announced, producing a scroll from his belt.
Caius looked up sharply, hand outstretched.
“Finally.” He broke the wax seal and scanned the lines with hungry eyes.
At last, Laran’s Chosen was in his grasp and being brought to Kisra.
A thin smile ghosted across his face. “Prepare the cells beneath the temple. Dalmatius will arrive by nightfall with our new guests. Make sure Sagar is ready.”
Velthur inclined his head. “I’ll see to it.”
Caius set the scroll aside and turned back to the map, his gaze narrowing on the Rodanos River. “Any word on Cilnius, and how he found out about the Omega?”
“No,” Velthur replied. “It could have been any number of deserters who slipped him information—soldiers trading loyalty for protection, or coin.”
Caius’ fingers drummed against the cedar table, his jaw tightening.
“Interrogate his mistress. His lovers. His slaves. Tear apart his summer house brick by brick if you must. If deserters are hiding there, I want them dragged into the light.” His voice cooled to a blade’s edge.
“I doubt Cilnius would be so reckless, but we will leave nothing to chance.”
Velthur gave a single, measured nod. “As you wish.”
Caius moved away from the cedar table, the folds of his tebenna whispering across the marble floor.
He crossed the space between them slowly and let his gaze linger on Velthur—broad-shouldered in his polished armour, the deep purple of his cloak falling in sharp lines that set off the hard planes of his face. Handsome, loyal, formidable…
A wry smile tugged at Caius’ mouth. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me yet about the Omega.”
Velthur’s gaze held steady, though the corner of his lip quirked. “You said you would tell me about your plans—or in this case your secrets—when you were ready.”
“Perhaps I am ready now.” Caius stopped just before him, their shadows mingling in the lamplight. His voice lowered, intimate, probing. “Tell me—what do you know of the Omega from your time in Megara?”
Velthur’s fingers trailed over Caius’ chest, reaching for the gold pin that held his tebenna. “A mythical warrior Gifted by the Twelve, sent to eradicate evil, I believe my father once said.”
Caius gave a curt nod, and Velthur unfastened the clasp, letting the heavy folds of Caius’ mantle slide from his shoulders.
“He was obsessed with Andromeda’s story,” Velthur continued, his fingers teasing the edge of Caius’ tunic, skimming his bare chest beneath.
“He even invited her descendants to Megara to join his council.”
Caius’ lips curved faintly. “Somewhere among these shelves,” he said, “I once found a record of Andromeda. She fought with the Romans against King Tarquinia. She lost.”
Velthur’s brows rose, intrigued. “Really? I don’t think even my father knew what became of her.”
Of course, he hadn’t. None besides the Emperor knew the truth. All written records mentioning Andromeda within Rasenna were destroyed after the war. The great prophet Tarkis, one of Laran’s chief priests, had made sure of it.
Caius’ smile thinned. “The Omega’s true mission is to kill me.”
Velthur stiffened, his hands pressing slightly into Caius’ sides.
“To bring down the Empire and destroy everything we believe in,” Caius continued, letting his hand drift over the hard curve of Velthur’s breastplate before sliding higher, settling at his throat. The pulse there jumped beneath his thumb. “It’s the Achaean Twelve’s way of revenge.”
A shadow crossed Velthur’s face. “I won’t let that happen.”
“I know you won’t,” Caius murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against the strong line of Velthur’s throat.
His lover did not flinch. He stood still as he always had, offering himself without hesitation.
It sparked in Caius the same dark thrill he’d tasted years ago when Velthur first appeared before him, hungry for purpose and cunning enough to seize it.
“I knew the moment you came to me in Megara with your plan. I knew then, as I know now, that you had chosen power above all else—and that you would never disappoint me.”
“Of course.” Velthur dipped his head, tension alive in his body, a blade sheathed in obedience. “Tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it. Anything for you, Caius.”
A faint spark of heat stirred in Caius’ chest at the pledge. His lips curved, sharp with satisfaction. “You always know how to please me.”
His hand shot up, fingers closing hard around Velthur’s jaw. He tilted his lover’s face, and Velthur’s gaze snapped to him instantly—obedient, yet burning. His steadiness even under pressure stoked Caius’ desire as much as his pride.
“Once Laran’s Chosen is under our control, I will need you to join Dalmatius and the Sixth. Go to the Western Lands and find the girl for me.”
Caius didn’t give him a chance to respond. His grasp tightened, holding Velthur in place as he pressed his mouth to his with sudden, possessive force. The kiss was sharp, commanding—no tenderness in it, only fire and control.
Velthur smiled against his lips, breath hot between them. “As you command, Imperator.”