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.”
