“Rottinggods.” Another flash of fury at his contemptuous defiance, even faced so plainly with his evils. I put all of my disdain, all of my disgust into my words. “Do you evenregretit?”
I don’t know why I ask, but I can see the answer in the way that Quiscil immediately evaluates. He’s wondering whether I’m going to prefer the lie or the truth. Wondering how much his pride is worth in the response, here in front of his peers.
“No,” he says suddenly. Angry. As if the frustration of his unfamiliar helplessness has been building inside of him, pressing against the silence until he can no longer contain it. “No, because I acted for the good of the Republic. When we arranged the attack on the Iudicium, I chose to sacrifice for something greater.Sacrifice, you gods-damnedtraitor. Something you will never understand.”
Diago growls now as my fury, barely contained, stirs and presses again. “My frienddiedbecause of you.”
“He was on your team, under your command, and you’re alive. Who is more to blame?”
I don’t know why he says it. A powerful man unaccustomed to not being able to speak his mind, I suppose. So used to being immune from consequences that he cannot fathom being in danger. But he puts such a sneer into it. His voice drips disdain.
Diago leaps forward.
I don’t even have time to comprehend what’s happening before Quiscil’s scream is being cut short. Blood arcs in a fine red mist. There’s a terrible gurgling beneath the rabid snarl, barely audible amidst the panicked shrieks of the other senators who are scrambling away.
But Diago is among them.
He is among them, and caught between my own horror and white fury andthe abrupt, painful loss of so much Will as men die, I do not know if I can stop him. Or if I want to.
Shouting, screaming. Desperate pleas that suddenly remind me of nothing so much as the naumachia and I recover myself enough to shout out for Diago to stop, but it’s either drowned out or ignored. A Tertius runs forward and slams his hands against the stone circle on the floor, hope fading to sheer terror as he realises his Will isn’t returning. His face explodes beneath teeth and claw, and I groan at both the horror and the painfully sudden loss of energy within me, a part of me ripped away with the kill. I am on my knees. Diago tears another throat effortlessly. Snaps a neck. He stalks around the room with deliberate, terrifying efficiency.
In the background, I can hear Ostius laughing.
It’s over in less than a minute. I kneel there, stunned. Surrounded by pooling blood and the last gasps of Dimidius Werex. The room is a crimson painting of splayed limbs and glassy stares. I half expect Diago to turn on Ostius or myself, but as soon as he’s done he simply stops. Lies down on a clean patch of floor. Red coats his muzzle.
“Why?” I gasp it from the floor at Ostius, who’s surveying the chaos with a childlike grin.
“Ask yourself, my boy! I had no hand in this. A man of my word,” he adds with a pleased nod. “Of course, I’m going to have to get a little creative now. Can’t have teeth marks. But otherwise … yes. This will do nicely.”
I barely hear him. Just watch Diago numbly. He’s never been out of control before, and he choosesnow? “This is a disaster.” My voice is hoarse. I went from having more power than I could handle, to being a Sextus again and it is … like needing air. Every limb is heavy; my vision’s blurred and I can barely see from tiredness. “They’re going to think this is a coup.”
“They most certainly are. But by who? Religion and Governance? The Quartii? Who knows?” Ostius chuckles as he busies himself, dragging mangled corpses out through the archway, deep smears of red in their wake. “Speaking of the Quartii—give me a hand? Oh. Hah,” he adds, realising who he’s talking to. “We have two, maybe three minutes before at least some of them try to get in and find out what is going on. And they areratherstrong now.”
Vek. He’s right. The instant these men died, all the Will that was being ceded to them would have reverted to the highest remaining points on Military’s central pyramid. I stagger to my feet. Still helplessly weak by comparison to a few seconds ago, but head clearing. “What are you doing?”
“Your wolf doing the dirty work was fun, my boy—the looks on their faces!—but it does end up being ratherobvious.” He draws his blade. “Thankfully Diago left Uncle’s face alone, at least.”
With a few sharp, hacking motions he severs Exesius’s head from his body, cutting above the gaping open wound where Diago’s teeth tore out his throat. My stomach twists and heaves threateningly at the sight, but Ostius barely pauses once he’s done, grabbing the head by its hair and placing it carefully in the very centre of the stone circle on the floor. He gently arranges it so that its wide-eyed stare is directed at the entrance, and then dips his finger in the deep pools of blood and scrawls something next to it before standing back and admiring his handiwork. “Lovely.”
I stare down at the crimson Vetusian, written in an arch above Exesius’s staring head.Mors vincit omnia.
I don’t understand but I’m numb, in shock. All I know is that we don’t have time for questions. I join Ostius in dragging corpses out of the room and through the corridor beyond, to the point where we came in. They should be heavy, but I am still a Sextus and my senses are normalising. It is like shifting feathers.
Ostius grabs two.Thrum.Thrum. When he reappears, the bodies are not with him. He grabs two more.Thrum.Thrum.
Soon it is just me, and him, and Diago.
Ostius looks around at the ugly dark smears that coat the stone, nodding with the satisfaction of a man who considers his job well done. He crouches down and places a hand on Diago’s head. “Do you sense any Quartii outside yet?”
I pause. Shake my head. It’s only been minutes.
“Good. Mask back on, then, my boy. There’s an alley to the left as you leave the Basilica. I’ll meet you. Don’t get caught.”
“What?” I step forward, the motion half confusion and half panic as Ostius gives me a cheerful salute.
Thrum.
I stand there. Alone.
