Ceres stepped onto the rickety ladder that led to the roof, his footsteps barely audible against the backdrop of the bustling slum below. As he ascended, he spotted Udit perched at the edge, her silhouette outlined against the night sky. She sat with her back to him, cross-legged, her posture tense yet contemplative. The distant glow of the city lights reflected off her glossy hair, casting a faint halo around her form. He couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts were swirling in her mind as she gazed out over the labyrinth of shanties and alleyways sprawling beneath them.
He settled down beside her, the worn surface cracking slightly under his weight. The night air enveloped them as they sat in silence, while the rest of Dharavi went about its business. He didn’t need to speak to understand her turmoil; the tension in her shoulders and the way she avoided his gaze spoke volumes. So they sat together, letting the weight of the moment hang between them like an unspoken question, each lost in their own thoughts but finding comfort in the other’s presence.
“I’m mortified,” she admitted finally.
Ceres shrugged. “Given the circumstances, it could’ve been worse.”
“He’s usually not so…abrasive.” Her lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Although friendly might not be the right word, either. This wasn’t the first time we’ve had to deal with people like that,” she added, after a minute. “Just the worst. You have to learn to stand your ground, to survive here.”
“That,” Ceres said, “I understand.”
She threw her hands up in frustration. “He’s judging you, without even knowing you!”
“He’s aware I infiltrated his sanctuary and ended four lives,” Ceres replied, his voice burdened with the weight of his deeds. Admitting a lack of affinity for killing was uncommon for an assassin but, truth be told, he felt neither pleasure nor pain in the act. It was a task executed with detached precision, devoid of emotion. And while he harbored no regret for dispatching those men, knowing that they’d reaped what they’d sown, he couldn’t shake his remorse for the collateral damage inflicted upon Udit. He’d never intended to shatter the tranquility of her home.
“You saved him,” she whispered, gazing into the darkness.
“He’s been through a lot,” Ceres acknowledged, although he couldn’t quite fathom why he was defending the man. Mohan’s idea of a wild night out was probably reciting hymns by candlelight. He made even the ascetics Ceres had met seem like circus performers. “He almost lost his children, tonight, and that’s enough to send any man for a loop.”
Her sigh carried the weight of resignation. “You always have a way of pointing out the obvious.”
In the dim light, his gaze pierced through her façade. “And I’m no father’s ideal match, for his daughter.”
A wry chuckle escaped her. “I, on the other hand, just love a walking red flag.”
Ceres couldn’t help but smile in return. “Then you’re in luck.”
A passerby cast a fleeting glance their way as he briskly traversed the street below. “Here,” she began, her voice tinged with a hint of regret, “there's no true solitude. I can try to convince myself otherwise, but….” Her gaze locked with his, searching. “Is it any different on Brontes?”
He nodded. “In the mountains, you can travel for weeks without seeing a single soul.”
Sniffing, she brushed a tear from her cheek. “That sounds incredible.”
A surge of unfamiliar emotions washed over him as he watched her, a desire to reach out and pull her close, to offer some semblance of comfort in the face of her distress. Beneath that impulse, though, lurked a sense of unease—along with the disquieting realization that he, like any man, was susceptible to such vulnerabilities. How could he feel such a strong connection to someone he’d only known for two days? His life had been content, his identity secure, his loyalty to the Brotherhood unwavering. His allegiance to the Brotherhood, indeed, remained steadfast…but, for the first time, he thought that there might be more. That, in his heart and mind, the edicts of the Brotherhood might coexist with a life of his own. The idea both excited and terrified him, like stepping into the unknown depths of a cavern, unsure of what lay beyond in the inky black.
She bit her lip. “Can I ask you something about yourself?”
He nodded, intrigued. “Of course.”
“Is it possible for you to…change your mind?” Her gaze dropped. “I’ve heard rumors, about the Brotherhood’s…methods,” she ventured, her tentative inquiry laden with unspoken implications.
Her voice carried a tremor of uncertainty as she broached the subject, her words hanging heavy in the air between them. Despite the gravity of her question, Ceres found himself drawn to her courage, in daring to explore what was to most a forbidden topic. “You're asking about free will,” he replied, his voice measured. “Whether I’m truly in control of my own thoughts and decisions.”
Her hesitation was palpable, her gaze searching his for reassurance. “Dharun mentioned…conditioning.”
With a subtle nod, he encouraged her to continue.
“That the Brotherhood somehow shapes…reshapes its members,” she finished.
Her allusion to brainwashing sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the insidious methods employed by the Brotherhood to mold its members—and of the invisible chains that bound him to its will. He held her gaze, recognizing the fear and uncertainty mirrored in her eyes. “Our training does change us.” His voice was soft. “We become both more and less than who we were before.”
Her words were a fragile thread hanging in the air, barely audible. “I spoke to Dharun,” she murmured. “He talked about a transformation, and how whoever you were before…how that person vanished. Struggling against the urge to do what he was told, whatever he was told, it shattered his mind. He’s in agony, all the time, resisting the relentless tug to return. But he can’t, now, because he knows it’s wrong.” Her gaze bore into his, searching for answers. “Is that true?”
He felt a chill settle over him at her description, a stark realization cutting through him like a blade. The truth they dared not confront lay bare before them, a specter haunting their every interaction. It was a subject shrouded in silence, a dark undercurrent beneath the facade of their daily lives. Yet, in the hushed intensity of their exchange, the weight of reality bore down upon him with crushing force. His training, a sinister force lurking within the depths of his psyche, had irrevocably transformed him. The Ceres she knew, or thought she knew, was nothing more than a mask.
He reached out, grasping her hand in silent solidarity, their shared understanding binding them together in the face of a circumstance they couldn’t escape. “This is who I am,” he said. “I was the boy who wanted to make this choice, before I became the man who had.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Life changes people, with or without the Brotherhood.”
She pondered his words. “Why did you join?”
He didn’t want to talk, not now. His hand traced the delicate curve of her cheek, instead, with a tenderness he hadn’t known he possessed. He yearned to offer her solace, to be the anchor she so desperately needed in the storm of emotions raging within. Leaning closer, his heart pounded in rhythm with hers, two halves of the same soul seeking reunion.
Their lips met, and he lost himself in the intoxicating whirlwind of sensation; he was overwhelmed by the taste of her, the scent of her, the warmth of her against him. Her hesitant response ignited a fire deep inside, consuming his doubts and fears in a rush of need. He longed to take her into his arms, to disappear into the depths of her embrace, but he held back; the trust between them was new, and fragile, and he didn’t want to scare her.
As their kiss deepened, though, their barriers crumbled. For one brief, glorious moment, they were lost in each other; the world around them seemed to fall away, as they surrendered to the pull of desire. Yet, even as they danced on the precipice of passion, a shadow of doubt lingered…a silent reminder of the challenges ahead. And when she pulled back, her eyes downcast and her hands trembling, he felt the sting of her rejection pierce his heart. “I’m still a man,” he whispered, his voice a plea. “I’m still capable of love, whatever else I am.”
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“It’s not that.” Her lower lip quivered with emotion. “I mean, it is, but…not like how you think.”
Silence stretched between them, as he waited for her to continue.
Finally, she did. “You said I didn’t understand men, back at the café. But I do.” She pulled her knees close to her chest, her gaze fixed on the sprawling maze below. “There were three of them. I was walking home from a friend’s house when…it happened.” Helplessly, she gestured, struggling to find the words. “One minute, I was wondering what I could barter for cabbage and the next I was in some kind of warehouse, hogtied on the floor.”
“Someone knocked you out,” he stated, his voice tight with anger.
“They…did what they wanted.” Her tone was hollow, devoid of emotion, as she relived the nightmare. “Sometimes one by one, sometimes all at once. The spared me, only because they thought I couldn’t identify them. Their faces were masked,” she added harshly. She began to speak again, but the words caught in her throat, her composure shattering as tears streamed down her cheeks.
This time, when he pulled her close, she let him.
Her shoulders convulsed with sobs, her tear-streaked face buried in the refuge of his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. He could feel a seething storm of fury and revulsion rising within him, as she unraveled the horrors she’d endured: fury at the cruelty inflicted upon her, and revulsion that such vile beings paraded as men. She was birdlike, almost ethereal, too delicate to confront this abyss of inhumanity; even if she hadn’t been incapacitated, she’d have stood no chance against these monsters. He understood her reluctance to connect, now, to let him touch her—and knew, too, that she was the bravest person he’d ever met.
Handing her a rag, he watched as she blew her nose, her fragility juxtaposed against the steel in her resolve. “I work at the hospice,” she managed, regaining her composure. “When I’m not bedeviling strangers with flatware, that is. These men…they’re with one of the shipping companies. They collect the charitable donations and bring them in, from other parts of the planet. Even from off-world.” She stared down at the poor excuse for a handkerchief. “I still see them, once or twice a month.” Looking up at him, her eyes beseeched understanding. “And they still don’t know that I know. If my father finds out…he’s not a young man.”
What she meant was that her father would accost them, and end up dead. He might be an idiot, but Mohan’s courage matched his daughter’s. She wasn’t just safeguarding herself, but also her sisters and mother from enduring what she had—from what’d almost happened again, tonight. Ceres was gladder than ever that he’d killed those fools, and only wished he had Udit’s original attackers in front of him. Lawless holes like Dharavi attracted the kind of self-aggrandizing braggarts who mistook arrogance for strength, rudeness for confidence, and bullying for leadership. “I know what it’s like to feel powerless,” he said, his voice quiet. “I had parents, once, and three younger brothers.”
She absorbed this revelation, her expression thoughtful. “You mentioned being raised in a palace?”
He drew a deep breath, preparing for her reaction. “My father was the emperor.”
He’d kept this part of himself locked away, reserved for the sacred confines of confessionals during the grueling trials of his training. The Brotherhood of the Dragon held confession in high regard; it was one of the first lessons ingrained in him, that his secrets belonged to his brothers. When he confronted his weaknesses, his doubts, his fears, he overcame them—and gave the order the keys to his mind. Those who resisted, who refused to confess, were punished; those who complied, who bared their souls, were rewarded with approval and advancement. His ego, the sense of self that said no, had long been the enemy.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait—the emperor? Caracalla?”
He nodded. “He wasn’t the man the papers made him out to be, especially during the trial. He was decent, and kind. He wanted everyone to love him and, more importantly, to love my mother, so he forgave things he shouldn’t have. He thought he was securing the throne, for me.” A bitter chuckle escaped him, its sound like the rustling of leaves on concrete.
“What happened?” she probed. “Really?”
He wondered how much she understood, about the intricate web of Empire politics. She possessed an education surpassing that of most court dandies, but she’d grown up far from the scheming of the capital. “The power of the senate is supposed to be absolute,” he explained, unable to hide his own cynicism. “In practice, however, the emperor has to compromise. Even so, when my father took power he instituted a number of reforms.”
“What sort of reforms?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Reforms that endeared him to the commoners,” he replied, a shadow passing over his features. “But less so to his own class. He inherited a bloated Senate, swollen to nearly a thousand members by his father, Nevus, in a bid to consolidate his own power. My father trimmed it down to six hundred, and later, to five hundred.” He recalled the whispers of his childhood, the sudden chill in the air as trusted allies turned their backs and mentors vanished, leaving behind a void of betrayal.
“Next,” Ceres continued, “he changed how one became a senator. The position, he said, shouldn’t be inherited. Men, provided they met the requirements, should instead stand for election.”
Udit’s brow furrowed in concentration. “What were the requirements?”
“That a man be a citizen of free birth, have been convicted of no crime within the Empire, and own property worth at least one million darics.” He sighed, remembering. “My uncle, at the time, led the senate. As First Citizen he had significant prestige, but even his power proved futile against my father—his older brother—or the influx of these new senators. He’d spent years maneuvering his cronies into influential positions, only to watch helplessly as his influence waned.”
“Hold on.” She held up a hand. “Your father, mother, uncle—all under the same roof?”
A wry smile played on his lips, at her stunned reaction. “My parents were twins, my father the older by exactly one minute. My uncle, Galen, came along five years later. He resented my parents, both of them, from the beginning—for their obvious closeness to each other, and for his belief in their father’s favoritism. Which was, I might add, entirely unfounded.” But whatever Galen had, it’d never been enough and someone else had always been to blame. “So he staged a coup.”
She squeezed his hand in a wordless gesture of support.
“It was only an accident that I wasn’t home, when the guard broke into our private chambers.” He lips firmed into a thin line. “I’d gone out, that night, with friends.” In recounting his past, he felt the weight of his years bearing down on him, as though he were about to turn two hundred and eight. “There were murmurs among my father’s allies, of banishing Galen. But my father vehemently opposed it. He insisted that whatever plagued Galen…it would pass. That he could somehow be reached, made to see how much his family loved him, and come back to us.”
Udit’s features contorted with anguish, as though his pain were her own. “You were—what, sixteen?”
“I couldn’t trust what remained of my family.” His words cut through the air, like a sharpened blade. “I didn’t know who was on Galen’s side. I couldn’t trust my friends, either, or their parents.” He halted, unsure of how to continue. “I’d known my father had enemies, but I’d had no idea how many, or how bitter. So I sought asylum in the only sanctuary beyond the emperor’s grasp—any emperor’s grasp. The one place where I knew I’d find refuge.”
“And that was the Brotherhood,” she finished.
His gaze turned evaluating, as he studied her. “The leader of our order asked me what I wanted, that first night. I told him, vengeance.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t know what I thought would happen, then, but nothing did. Not at first.” One of the order’s initiates had fed him and then brought him to the bleak, desolate cell that would become his chamber. That first night within the citadel’s confines was spent in solitude, eyes fixed on the barren ceiling above, consumed by a seething hatred. “I attended my parents’ trial, disguised, and later on their execution. My brothers….” His brothers had vanished, as if swallowed by the palace’s dungeons. Rumors circulated, of Galen’s hand in their disappearance, but their bodies were never recovered.
She turned to face him, her eyes aglow in the dim, violet-tinged haze that masqueraded as night in urban sprawls. Within those shimmering depths, there was no trace of pity—no, it was something far deeper. It was understanding, a recognition that transcended words. And acceptance, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous path that had led him, as a teenager, to join the most enigmatic and feared organization in the known universe.
He was kissing her again before he even realized what he was doing, and she was kissing him back. She was, undoubtedly, reacting to what had for her been a very traumatic experience; he was taking advantage of her fragile state. And yet, as her arms encircled his neck and he felt her small, warm body pressed against his, he knew that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.
It wasn’t possible, but it was true.
In the tender exchange of nibbles and gentle tugs on his lip, he felt a surge of passion coursing through him. She leaned back against the rooftop, her hair cascading like a veil around her, her gaze open and vulnerable. It was a sight that stirred emotions he dared not name, her trust in him a precious gift he vowed to cherish. With a hunger he could scarcely contain, he sought out her lips once more, parting them with a fervent urgency. In that moment, he yearned for more than just a kiss, longing for a deeper connection that transcended the physical.
His hands caressed her with a gentleness born of reverence, one on the back of her head, the other tracing patterns along her spine. Yet, beneath his touch, he sensed her fragility, her delicate frame stirring a protective instinct within him. With great effort, he pulled back slightly, his voice thick with an overwhelming need as he whispered, “I want you.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desires and unspoken promises. And when she echoed his sentiment, her eyes mirroring his own passion, he knew that they were bound together by something more profound than mere physical attraction. She ran her fingertips across his cheek, like she was touching another being for the first time. “I want you, too.”
“Come with me,” he urged her. “Back to the hotel.”
With a hesitant nod, she surrendered.