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A justifiable wrong makes a right in someone's eyes.
- VITAJIE CESAS, THE MINOTAUR-ASSED
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"I DIDN'T DO IT."
The praetor of the Romulus Army looked at the Patrician who was protesting with a bland smile.
“Of course, you didn’t,” remarked Julian Romanus dryly. “Only stupid people would kill the leader of a side when we need their help. And you may be many things, Alberta, but you aren’t stupid.” The patrician raised her eyebrows in response, as the boy-praetor forged on, “But you're greedy. Ambitious. And that makes all the difference.”
Alberta Cassia’s eyebrows stayed raised. “We are all greedy, young Marius,” she responded. A pause. "But still," she said lightly, "I didn’t do it."
The praetor’s bland smile was still on his face, as he suddenly lunged out, the Patrician’s throat suddenly in his hand.
“Obstinate,” Julian observed. He squeezed tighter, the Imperial Guards that were positioned around the Patrician remaining still. “If you were my subordinate, Octavia, you would’ve been hanged and your corpse quartered for deserting - you Patricians would not dare to even think of what happens to those who commit treason.”
The Patrician laughed - or at least attempted to hack out a cough that sounded similar. “You young military folk could never get the ways of our bloodline.”
“The Cassia bloodline of tricksters, thieves, and thugs,” the praetor said mildly, his hands like a vise close to crushing the other’s throat. “You’re in someone’s pocket, Octavia. And if you don’t tell me, well - I’m sure my father will be happy to hear about this.”
Alberta Octavia laughed again, but it was even more of a rasp. “Who’s to say that he doesn’t already know?” she mocked. “The only reason why you’re here because he took care of Hortensia, and someone needs to do the great Marcellus’ dirty work - it’s sure not going to be Titus.” Her eyes were hard. “I’m in your father’s hands, Marius, but your father is in his own.”
Julian shook his head. “You’re trying to save your own skin, Octavia.” The Hero released the patrician’s throat, and the older woman gargled as she fell to the ground. “My father doesn’t need hands.”
The praetor had learned - the hard way - that Marcellus Amadeus Romanus only needed himself. If Julian’s father couldn’t run he would walk; if he couldn’t walk, he would crawl; and if somehow the Consul Romanus ended himself up in a situation where he couldn’t crawl - which Julian doubted - the boy-praetor knew his father would find some way, some how to survive.
Julian’s father was the worst type of monster - the kind you couldn’t defeat.
Alberta laughed. “You have that much faith in your father, lad?” Lad, not Marius. She was trying to get under his skin by pointing out his age. “He still is in someone’s pocket,” the patrician added, massaging her throat. “And I could tell you, if-”
“If you don’t stop talking about my father,” the praetor said diplomatically, “I’ll wipe out your Branch and your bloodline.”
“Sensitive, aren’t you?” asked the patrician after a pause. The fear flickered like candlelight, rippling across her expression for a semblance of a second before disappearing, but Julian noticed. He always noticed. “They say you’re a monster like your father,” Alberta commented conversationally, “the King of the Battlefield, The Minotaur Slayer - some even call you the incarnation of Romulus himself.”
The praetor blinked. “Does it matter, what they call me?” he asked, somewhat honestly. For a moment Julian felt his own facade drop, but then he pulled it up again. “The only thing that matters,” he said, “is what is best for House Roma, and the Republic. And if you threaten that, I will kill you.”
“Then why haven’t you?” the patrician mildly challenged. “If you’re so loyal to your father’s wishes, then-”
“It’s not my job,” Julian interrupted, “to retrain dogs that go rogue.” He smiled. “It’s the noose’s.”
The Patrician Cassia’s small smile faltered. “You can’t kill me,” she stated. “I can only be punished legally after the Imperials find me guilty. I’m still of use to your father, Marius, the fact that you don’t notice that doesn’t mean-”
The boy-praetor felt a familiar feeling bloom in his stomach.
Sympathy.
“He doesn’t need you,” said the praetor, “anymore than he needs me. You’ve served your purpose, riled up the Imperials. You’ve provided an excuse, a casus belli. That’s all you’ve done, and you’ve finished your job.”
Alberta shook his head, but Julian could see cracks. “You don’t understand, lad, you’re part of a much bigger game than you know of-”
Julian could’ve smiled. “You see what they see,” the Consul’s son said. “A general who can only defeat monsters and hold forts. But I am still a general of the Roma Republic, Octavia. You have not seen the battlefields I have fought in.” He smiled. “Diplomacy,” the praetor said, “is but a nice break.”
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I had a lot of things to think about.
Getting loyal henchmen was one of them.
“Macedon, my good man, d’ya mind if I kill Narkisa?” I asked him. Narkisa’s eyes at once startled, like a rabbit, before they darted to the door. I went on, “Glory and ruin is a small Oath, after all - it only dishes out bad luck in future ventures, not like a Godsworn Oath. ‘Kisa took it and still snitched on me, so there’s that.”
Macedon looked nervous too, but the gangly man licked his lips. “You should do whatever you feel like doing, Your Highness,” he said, graciously. “Right now, though, our homeless information system’s been jittery, ‘specially since Aen, their leader, got bought over by Evlogia. And, uh, Xanthe killed him, so our numbers have taken a hit.”
I lifted my robes and drew my dagger. I examined it. Probably sharp enough to kill almost instantly - I looked down its blade and towards Narkisa’s throat. The glance was subtle, but the tension in the room reached its peak.
“I see,” I drawled. “Now that I’m in the employ of my sister, I expect to see more recruits. The best route our information agency should take is expanding, and bolstering our numbers. It won’t do to have too many disloyal employees, though. I trust you’ll take care of that, Mace?”
The lanky con man gave a hesitant nod. “The most thing we’re in need of at the moment, Your Highness, is coin and influence - I’m not saying that just because I like money,” he added hurriedly, “but because if we need loyal employees and expand into the real underworld, our coffers need to be filled. The amount Your Highness conned - erm, obtained from the Marksmen can only extend so far.”
“Drachmas talk,” I said simply in response. “But loyalty does, too.” I considered the problem. “Let Mercy take care of it. Win over an influential street urchin or two, calm the masses. Tell them that we’re building an Empire for the people, or whatever floats their fancy.” I shrugged. “Motivational speeches aren’t my forte, but we need young blood. Foolish blood. Old homeless people won’t cut it, if we’re going to do as big a renovation as we’re planning.”
Macedon processed the information. “Financial expansion,” he summarized. “We’ll have to take more jobs, and lessen the exclusivity, but we need to build a reputation as an organization.”
I nodded. “I expect to have a somewhat established foothold by the end of this Dayhept - we need to do this fast, without delving too much in politics. Then we can schedule a meeting with my other sister, and see if we can strike a partnership with the brothels. Make sure to research well on the pleasure district’s market, if you have time.”
“It’s a bit tight,” Macedon said.
“I’ll be sure to detect any financial discrepancies, by the way,” I added, brightly. “I’ll be going over the accounts every Dayhept, very, very closely - after this Dayhept, and if we don’t make it, of course.”
“It’s not tight at all,” Macedon corrected himself with a grin on his face. “We’ll make it work.”
“Good,” I replied, lightly. I still made a mental note to monitor his embezzling. “Make sure to find me good lieutenants - they don’t have to be clean, just efficient. I trust you to see it to the end, my good man. You won’t let me down, I expect.”
Narkisa was jittery, and I ignored Macedon’s reaction as I turned to her.
“‘Kisa,” I called cheerily. “You made a gamble on me not finding out you sold me out to the very people I told you infiltrate. It failed. I’m going to kill you now.” The infiltrator didn’t reply, instead running towards the nearest window, and I snorted, amused, as I held the hilt of my blade lightly. There. Letting go while angling my wrist, the dagger planted itself in her neck as she reached the windowpane.
I turned to my newly inducted lieutenant. “Lyssa, my dear, could you call a maid to clean the mess?” I didn’t bother to look at the spreading scarlet blood. Sometimes, the blood reminded me that I had gone towards a path where setting foot on it was a point of no return. Other times, it was just annoyance.
Alyssa looked slightly unnerved, but she did nonetheless.
“Mercy,” I said, “contact Timmy, schedule a meeting for tonight. Send Alyssa to learn the ropes with Macedon - she’s smart, knows numbers, and is a quick learner. A crash course, and she’ll be back as my administrative assistant after Timmy leaves.” Mercy nodded, as I continued, “As for my need for an infiltrator, it’ll be dealt with later. I need a foundation I can hold to throughout the investigation and that’s the biggest priority right now, Mace.”
Macedon nodded, before grinning. “Of course, Your Highness. I won’t let you down.”
I dismissed him with a wave, and he exited the room.
“Mercy, what’s the update on the Guard Captain?” I asked, massaging my forehead but keeping my voice low.
Mercy shifted. “Sir Lazarus is using his connections to try and reinforce a positive impression of you amidst the Regiment, but it isn’t working,” she admitted. “Lazarus is a part of the more influential Brigades, but the Captain isn’t budging - he doesn’t even attend gatherings, apparently. Antisocial, stubborn, sharp-tongued, and good with a sword.”
I closed my eyes. “Just like Rayan.” I barked a laugh. “Well, as they say - like father, like son.” Lionel Moreau was going to be a tough nut to crack, especially since I had indirectly killed his son. “Any weaknesses?” I asked. “Money, courtesans, alcohol, gambling? Any bad habits, at all?”
“He’s apparently very disciplined,” remarked Mercy. “Trains at five in the Daystart, on the dot, for an hour. Says it’s his warm-up. Apparently talks about his wife a lot, but she’s also good with the sword, retired Guard. Kidnapping her wouldn’t work, either.”
I shook my head. “No, Imperial law says that a joint investigation, by both the Palace Guard and a member of the living Imperial family in the case of the absence of a Glory Prince, needs to be conducted. Unless the verdict is unanimous on who the culprit is, we can’t pin it on the Republic.” I turned to my right hand. “Speaking of which, how is Mari?”
“The praetor is currently at the Patrician Cassia’s Residence,” Mercy said slowly. “If you need me to-”
I waved her off. “Don’t worry, he’s not cheating on me. He’s probably keeping them in check, sorting out some politics on their end.” A pause. “Everything relies on the investigation going well - well, not just us trudging through it. Right now, for you and Timaios, Lionel Moreau is the biggest priority.”
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My sister was beautiful. Sometimes I forgot that fact - not that it was very hard to forget. Those golden Eurusan eyes were similar yet different to the Duchess Marksman’s, glittering with allure instead of the promise of a plot. Bronze skin, dark hair like braided strands of licorice - they sang tales of her beauty, but she was so different from Arden that it made it hard to think of her as another Aphrodite’s Chosen.
She looked beautiful, across from me.
“You look nice,” I commented, smiling.
Josie squealed. “See,” she said, gesturing to the serpentine neckline of her new dress, “it’s the Gorgonian neckline that makes my eyes stand out, doesn’t it? Patrician Cassia had ever-so-interesting fashion choices - it almost makes me regret that she killed Father. She would’ve loved Cerenia’s boutique.”
“Right,” I agreed. “But, Josie, I’m here for business.” I smiled apologetically. “Maybe we can talk about the Gorgonian hemline another time? And go shopping for dresses?”
Josephine took me up on my offer. “Alright then, next time,” she conceded. She leaned back, snatching up a sandwich. “You want to expand into the Underworld, don’t you? Need pointers?”
“I was looking for a partnership, when we’re more established,” I admitted. “You are the Josie of the Pleasure District, right?” I already knew the answer to it, but still my sister laughed.
“You’ve caught me,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “I do own more than half the brothels in the Lower Quarter, so this isn’t the first time I’ve been given an offer. I would accept it, given the fact that you are my favorite sister, but business is business. Especially in times like these - you know how these social seasons work - I’ve got a lot of my plate; I don’t think I can necessarily take on a large operation.”
“That’s the thing,” I said. “It doesn’t need to be a large operation. Transfer ownership of one brothel - doesn’t have to be the best, just well-known and well-frequented - to me, and I’ll pay you the sum worth it. A simple transaction, no more, no less.”
Josie tilted her head. “There are Underworld politics, too,” she pointed out. “And wouldn’t your expansion in the criminal underworld raise a few eyebrows, especially from the dear Captain you’re meeting next Daystart for your investigation?” Still, her eyes were shrewd.
“A hundred gold drachmas,” I put forward.
She shook her head. “For that, you’d only get a lower-tier business. Make it two hundred.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“A hundred and fifty,” I conceded. “It’s a large concession, Josie - and half your staff, of course.”
“A hundred and fifty and I take all my staff,” she said sternly.
“A hundred and seventy five and all your staff,” I corrected.
Josie pouted, but conceded. “Fine. Take the Carnival.”
“I’m not whoring out children. Besides, you don’t even own that anyways.”
“The Virtuous Wife.”
“A Fisher tavern?”
“Emerald Seas,” Josie offered.
I took the deal. “Alright. The deal is struck.”
Josephine chomped on the sandwich. “The deal is struck,” she said, shaking my hand.
I brought out a contract from behind me, the script already printed. I just added ‘Emerald Seas’ to a blank, ‘a hundred and seventy-five drachmas’ to another, and slid it forward across the desk. I had already expected that she would concede all her staff, so there was that. “Sign on the line,” I said, offering her a quill from where I had taken it the moment the negotiations began.
“Alright. Binding Oath?” Josie asked, coyly. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow as if expecting me to say something.
“I do trust you,” I lied, “but like you said, business is business.” I gestured for her to speak an Oath first, letting her choose the caliber of it.
My sister first brandished her quill, letting the tip skate across the parchment in an almost indecipherable swirl, as she handed it to me like a baton. “I, Josephine Williams Queenscage, swear to uphold my side of the terms as per this agreement, through glory and ruin.”
I reached for it. “And I, Seraphina Marksman Queenscage, swear to uphold my side of the terms as per this agreement, through glory and ruin.” My Ability could feel the contract tighten, and I gave a nod. The negotiations had been easier than expected, the contract being signed before the main seared veal course. That meant she was planning something, and I knew that with or without my Ability.
“I heard,” Josephine said after a long while in which the maids set the table, “that you had a lover in the Cage.” She said the last word with disdain, her hands delicately gripping the silverware.
Ah. There it was.
I shrugged. “I don’t necessarily know if you could classify Cas as a lover,” I replied carefully, “but it is the closest label. Partner, would be more apt, perhaps, but our relationship is vague.”
“Did you love him?” the Princess asked quietly, the glint in her eyes showing her likely maliciously-rooted interest.
“Probably.” I said this while slicing the veal and popping a portion in my mouth, giving a pause after the action to consider the word. “He died for me, as I’m sure you’d know. He was the closest approximation to my first. Love, I mean.” Love was a complicated word.
Josephine smiled. “You let him see the real you, didn’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question, and my Ability could pick out the shades of melancholy in my sister’s words. Love was tricky, and I had no doubt - considering Josephine’s past - that, for her, the definition was warped. The same way it was for me.
“That, I did,” I replied lightly.
What was her angle?
She had dropped her Act, so I did away with the pretences, visibly trying to see this from all perspectives. My Ability darted like one of those small twitchy fish, poking at Josephine’s words and trying to weasel its way into some weakness, some corner.
“Was it a mistake?” my sister spoke, breaking the silence that followed. “Not playing along, for once? It always ends up in tragedy, doesn’t it, because then the Act seizes you and you use them, and then they die. But, in the end, they say that they regret loving you.”
“Love makes people fools,” I agreed. I couldn’t imagine dying for someone, living for someone other than myself - if that made me selfish, arrogant, for not wanting to be forgotten, then I was selfish, arrogant, and terribly insecure about attention. I played at being a power-driven Chosen of ambition, but I was, in the end, a fool. A blind fool, who had never been loved.
And so I said that love was a weakness, because I had never known it. “Sometimes,” I corrected, “it doesn’t. But very, very rarely.”
“Very, very rarely,” said my sister, lightly. Josephine smiled. “It depends what you classify a fool, though.” A pause. “If I don’t overstep,” she continued, "I don’t think you loved him very much. It's hard to tell, between the Acting and not - first love is usually made up of more the newness of the feeling than the actual feeling, too."
I paused.
“Maybe,” I conceded.
We ate the rest of our meal in strangely comfortable silence.
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I spent the next hour thinking. Again.
A Tome between my hands, this time I thought about the political nuances of the Imperial investigation. Established back even before Lysimachos’ age, forty years after the Queen’s Cage was established, it was a precarious thing that happened rarely, if at all - the rarity of an Emperor dying without an Heir Designate was, apparently, accredited to most Chosen’s lust for power.
But, if I followed that logic, then six Chosen would’ve just meant more clashing desires, and Greta would’ve won a long time ago.
No, I corrected my mindset. I wasn’t playing against Greta, I was a piece in Greta’s game, and I had to Act like it. A good piece would have a good foundation - and thus was the expansion - and I need to convince the Captain to share my verdict.
Greta hadn’t told me who to blame, but it was fairly obvious that Patrician Cassia being found guilty behind the spies would give my sister leverage over the Republic. Stakes, was what she needed - no, she probably already had plans for those.
The spies were likely sent by Patrician Cassia, who was, in turn, sent by the Consul Romanus of the Republic; I need to find a way that wouldn’t uncover the Consul or Greta’s influence on the Emperor’s death while using Alberta Cassia as a scapegoat.
How? I asked my Ability.
Technically, our “investigation” would consist of collecting clues, interrogating suspicious individuals, and discussing culprits like good detectives did. I need to find a way to make the Captain think that he won, by seizing a person so morally reprehensible and against his disciplined lifestyle, the obvious culprit. But, in the end, after spending a good amount of time proving their guilt, the ‘shadow behind the scenes’ culprit would reveal herself.
After being proved wrong once, most people wouldn’t hesitate to take the easy way out. There had to be some ego at work behind the Captain’s discipline, a possible feeling of moral superiority over the lecherous and sleazy?
Something to exploit.
I set down my book.
The existence of Orion’s family and how Greta the Great would use it to force him to stabilize the Imperial Army; Cyrus’ revenge against the Republic; Greta’s desires and ambitions of creating an Empire, a continent that sounded almost ironically like an idealistic dream. A conqueror’s ideal, a Hero’s wish.
My Ability was tentative, latching onto the concept as I pushed it off. No, that wasn’t what I was here for.
The Imperial Records was a great structure, one of the best collections of knowledge in the Empire rivalling even Anthinon’s Athenaeum, the Library of Alexandria in Eurus. Inevita’s Library was a respectable collective, housed in my very own ducal manor, but not a renowned one. Still, most books passed through my vision had familiar titles.
The Trickster’s Pomegranate, the Myth of Hades and Persephone.
A Cupbearer’s Allure, the Tale of Ganymede. Europa, Callisto, the many Tales of Zeus’ infidelity. The Three Sovereigns had their fair share of straying from their wives, apparently, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades’ endeavors filling many scrolls in the Myths and Tales section. But that wasn’t what I was looking for.
I walked through the sunlit aisles, the Librarians giving me polite nods of acknowledgement as I passed. It was unnerving, that - most of the ones back in Inevita had ignored me or tried to poison me. A pleasant surprise, one I had gotten used to.
Turning a corner, I finally reached the Analyst section. Organized based on authors, Aquila on the left and Icarus on the right, Calimeris sparsely populating the ranks. Iraklidis was written on some of the spines, familiar and famous titles among the restricted ones. I ran my finger along the rows, my Ability letting me know when to stop before I did.
Annals of the Imperial Army, said an Iraklidis book.
I pulled it out.
Holding it a distance from me and blowing the dust off, I brushed off the remains and started reading, automatically flipping to the more recent pages. The Librarians took Annals and were obligated to fill them - different from Studies and Analysis, Annals were. My Ability conducting plans as I skimmed over the words, I smiled.
At least this was familiar.
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Writing things down had never been a strong suit of mine. For one, my paranoia of the paper being found scared me. But the need for my thoughts to be on parchment overpowered it, and I wrote down a Republic.
Then I wrote down, Empire.
And then I found my Ability only messed things up, so I crossed out the political information and opted for an Analysis instead. Analyst Seraphina Queenscage had never sounded right, but it had the ring of a childhood dream to it.
I was interrupted by a patrician’s entrance, my lady-in-waitings opening the door.
“Ah, Patrician Summanus,” I said, dropping my quill. I gestured towards the chair opposite me. “Please, take a seat.” I was expecting his arrival.
The old man was nearly fifty, snow-white hair over a weathered face with a usually malicious grin. The diplomat was now frantic, his violet robes hanging tattered on his frame contrary to the neatly pressed outfit of before. “What do you know?” he demanded. “Tell me what you know!” He flung the papers in his hands towards me, the official inked documents falling to my Residence’s carpeted floor.
I raised my eyebrows. “Please, take a seat,” I repeated. I met the eyes of Alia and Alyssa to calm them. There wasn’t much he could do to harm me.
Titus Severan Summanus huffed. “You’re blackmailing me, aren’t you?” he demanded. “You know that-”
Before he finished his words, I withdrew my dagger and hurtled it, the blade conveniently - as calculated - passing a few inches shy of his head. It implanted itself in the wall, sinking into the ivorstone to its hilt.
“Take a seat,” I said again, calmly. There would not be a fourth time, and so the patrician sat. I continued, placidly, “I have a deal for you.” I nodded towards the table. He saw the glistening blue-green seal of an invitation on one side, a contract on the other. My parchment was quickly hidden, the quill slid across the surface.
Titus scowled, a much better expression than when he was flirting with people half his age. At least he knew the time and place to ogle. “What is it?” he snapped.
“I’m blackmailing you.”
“I know that, but what are you blackmailing me out of?”
“I won’t snitch on your human trafficking ring,” I replied, “if you promise me two things.” I raised two fingers. “One: you’ll accept the invitation to the re-opening of the Emerald Seas, and show up as the time designates it.” I nodded towards the blue invitation. “Two: when anyone accuses you of something, you blame Patrician Cassia.”
The Patrician Summanus shook his head. “That’s practically declaring war on Branch Cassia!” he snapped. “I may be a good-for-nothing, but I at least know that, alright?”
I smiled. “What if Branch Romanus joined you?” I asked. “You could overpower Cassia’s influence, could you not?” Julian hadn’t agreed, not yet, but I was willing to give him Imperial support to pin everything on Alberta.
Titus eyed me suspiciously. “Romulus’ descendants?” he queried. “That lad, Patrician of Gloria? The King of the Battlefield, the Praetor? You have him under sway?”
I shrugged. “I’m engaged to him,” I said. It didn’t matter that they were behind Cassia in the first place. “But all you need to do is blame Cassia. It doesn’t matter if it’s a spilled vase, or a Servant’s murder, all you need to do is direct suspicion to the individual Alberta Octavia Cassia, not the Branch itself.” A pause.
“There will be people interrogating you, and people who don’t believe your accusations, but if you don’t-” I shrugged again “-the Branch Summanus will forever be tainted with the stain of smuggling Imperial children into the Republic.”
The Patrician licked his lips, as he said, rubbing his hands together, “No need to be so hasty. I can do it. I can blame Alberta.”
“Swear on your Gods, Jupiter and Saturn,” I responded nonchalantly. “Then we’ll talk.”
It was almost amusing, how quick Titus Severan’s face paled. “Come on, now,” he pleaded, only reinforcing my Ability’s conclusion that he had been planning to sell me out to Alberta. Julian’s name not being satisfactory said something, and I planned to follow it up later. After I made the mental note, I pressed.
“I’ve heard how strict the Republic’s social norms are. If the public ever suspect that you’ve committed treason - well, at least, treason in their eyes - and if they band together, how do you think Branch Summanus can hold out against pressure?” I asked. “How long do you think it’ll be before some other Branch gets elected to the Senate, and the others turn against you?” I smiled. “You may seek pleasure, Patrician, but you cannot find it on your way to the metaphorical noose.”
The old Republica man chewed on his lips.
I continued, “Your lineage, built up for centuries, all crumbled because of the irrational Cassia. Promises are fragile, especially ones made in the name of politics - the Republica Branches will save their own skin, you and I both know. This is just an agreement, I’m asking of you - no more, no less. A deal.”
A long silence, but I had him hooked.
“I will Swear on my Gods,” he conceded finally, before his eyes narrowed, “if you Swear on your own.” He said the words as if it would have an effect on me, and frowned as I merely shrugged.
“A deal’s a deal,” I said. “But you will show up on that time and date, at the Emerald Seas, correct?” I waved his suspicious expression off. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. Just show the invitation, and you’ll get a good old Imperial brothel show, alright?”
“Swear,” Titus pressed.
“Alright, alright.” I threw up my hands. “I Swear, by the Gods, to uphold the vocal agreement between I, Seraphina Marksman Queenscage, and Republica Patrician Titus Severan Summanus, through glory and ruin.” I waited for his turn.
After scanning his surroundings and eyeing my bladehand, the Patrician finally took his chances, “I Swear by all the Gods, Jupiter and Saturn, to uphold the vocal agreement between I, Titus Severan Summanus, through glory and ruin.” A low grumble, but a grumble nonetheless.
“I look forward to doing business with you,” I spoke, smiling cheerfully as I shook his hand. “You and your seventeen - and counting - illegitimate children.”
Titus muttered something under his breath but still stormed out of the room. I had gotten what I wanted.
Still, I turned to Alia. “Could you be a dear, Lia, and collect all the papers on the floor? And send them to Mari?” The lady-in-waiting nodded without asking me if I wanted to send a message. Efficient.
Mari would know what to do.
Titus was probably too busy trying to find a loophole out of the arrangement for himself, than stopping to consider what loopholes I could exploit. It had been the plan in the first place - Greta wanted to build an Empire, and I would help her. Exposing the Branch Summanus and the Branch Cassia would weaken the Republic, and even though Julian knew that, it would still get his country out of a sticky situation.
It had benefits all around. But I still had the ability to stop it, stop them uncovering the morally wrong children trafficking ring. An Empire where its people could trust - did i want that, like Greta? I didn’t want anyone to grow up like me, desperate to be remembered and loved. That’s a start, my conscience whispered.
Oh.
When had it come back? I asked myself. I wasn’t going to be punished for missed opportunities or mistakes, I wasn’t that child anymore. I could defend myself, I could be powerful, I wasn’t-
The nightmares made you desperate, it said. I could hear my Ability challenging it - morals were a mere construct, after all - but I listened, for a while. It was nice to hear it, after the long while it had gone. Sure, it surfaced sometimes, but it was warm. It reminded me of the better parts of my childhood, curled up with a book in the Inevita Library. Back when knowing and learning things was fun.
Do you want other children to feel your pain? my conscience asked. The sneers, the whips, the fear. It wasn’t fun.
No. It wasn’t.
You got your first taste of power, and you think it’s fun. If it isn’t fun for others, is it really, fun?
I wasn’t sure.
All the blood, the death, the deals, the lies - it’s familiar, but is it really fun?
I slammed it down - I was finished listening.
All I needed, now, was to meet the Captain of the Guards, and everything was all set.
But that was for tomorrow.
“Lyssa,” I said, “take the copy of the Emerald Seas ownership contract and get it to Macedon - he’ll have some jobs for you, but do keep a close eye on the accounts.” I looked at her meaningfully. As the lady-in-waiting disappeared with a nod, I was alone.
Technically alone.
“Mercy, is Timmy here yet?”
“He’s scheduled to arrive at your private Residence for dinner in a few minutes. Should I reschedule at another restaurant?”
“A silence.
“Are you alright, Your Highness?” my assassin asked. Her voice was devoid of anything resembling warm concern, but still she knew something was up. Ah, Xanthe. Always too observant. Like her brother, my conscience whispered.
“I don’t think I loved your brother,” I said finally. Not exactly what was on my mind, but an equally shattering conclusion. “Josephine said it sounded like infatuation, not love. I don’t think he loved me, either, so now I’m pondering on the meaning of his death.” I sighed. “Maybe I owe it to him to build a new Empire. Or maybe I’m using him as an excuse to feel like a better person, I’m not sure.”
A bit much to unload, I knew, but Xanthe had proved nothing but loyal. The closest thing I had to a friend, even if she was technically my subordinate.
“Cas never liked debts,” Xanthe, not Mercy, replied.
I smiled, faintly. “Yeah. He was the perfect partner.”
Powerful, intelligent, efficient, adaptable.
I closed my eyes. “I miss him.” He had been one of the only people I could ever trust to come through in the end, with that all-teeth grin and the blue eyes glimmering with mischief. I trusted him - maybe not enough to be classified as ‘trust,’ but I still did. “You miss him too, probably,” I added, to not seem insensitive.
“I don’t,” said his sister, probably. “He was a burden to my job offers.”
I didn’t want to pretend like I knew him better than his sister. “Probably,” I conceded with a laugh as I felt a knock at a door, and Timmy’s arrival.
Dinner.
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