《A Dream of Byzantium》


 Prologue

Closed


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    crossing

 Chapter 1

    usually have


    outside of


    instincts


    had been


    and made sense


    woke up


    stola


    to try and find fault in


    in some cases a common motif was shared


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    its ascent


    comfortable


    prompted


    that


    that


    if


    woke up

 Chapter 2

    It was a phrase she had heard enough times in the milieu of liberal politics, and she never paid much mind to it, but now she was questioning what had led her mind to conspire such a vivid, gruelling depiction of a boring service job nine-to-five? Was she so domesticated that she could only dream of labour?


    "You''ve done great, lassie," Felicia said with a smile when she saw Ophelia come in with a basket full of clean glasses from the backyard. "I thought a princess like you would have trouble with this sort of thing, but it seems like you''ve been doing this for years!"


    Ophelia thought that perhaps the dream wasn''t quite about labour, but of a life where she was actually acknowledged by the people around her. Normally, upon meeting her, people had made very little effort at continuing a conversation past the opening lines, somehow catching that unheard directive of the universe that she wasn''t quite supposed to be in the room. But since she had arrived in that strange world, people talked to her normally, and even seemed interested in her. It was daunting, and a bit exciting.


    "I''m not a princess," she corrected her new boss.


    "Oh?" Ophelia looked into the cauldron by the fire; she''d been told earlier that by the end of the night they could scrape what was left and eat it, and if it was too much, leave it for the next day''s breakfast. She served bowls for the three of them.


    "Oh, get us some more," Felicia said. "The Phrygians wanted to have some food before heading out."


    The new employee did so dutifully, and the elder woman ushered her and Lucio back into the main room of the tavern with the bowls. It had emptied out naturally as the fishermen and the merchants went back home to retire for the night. Only the guests of the inn were hanging about with her hands still full of ale, and this time they were all to join for supper.


    "I hope you slept well," said the tavern owner in a heavy Phrygian accent as she took a seat next to Ophelia, across from Phobos and Aristides.


    "It would have been better with a woman by my side," complained Ajax, which earned him some stern stares from the leader of the troop.


    "You''ve moaned enough, we''ll go after this," the small warrior said. "Are you coming, Il?"


    "I''ll go for the drink, I''m not in the mood for that."


    "Where are you going?" asked Ophelia, more so for the sake of the conversation than out of any real interest.


    "Maybe the princess would like to come," Ajax replied slyly. "She can recommend some women, perhaps?"


    Ophelia was a bit lost and it showed in her face, which prompted a few laughs around the table. "They''re going to a brothel," explained Remulus, trying to be helpful. Ophelia pulled a face. Ajax smiled.


    "Is it not something that the people of Londinium do? Perhaps their men carry their wives in their pockets?"


    "They don''t," Ophelia answered, "and they certainly do go to brothels. But are you not afraid of catching disease?"


    "Disease?" Ajax snorted. "Warriors don''t live long enough to worry about that."


    She turned inquisitive eyes towards the rest of the men, landing on Phobos last. "Are you not going?"


    "I''m too tired," replied Remulus.


    "I''m too old," smiled Aristides.


    Ophelia was curious about the stern prince''s response; he refused to meet her eyes as he answered, "I don''t enjoy those places."


    "Lord Phobos hates merry company," Ajax interjected. "He''d rather spend time sharpening his swords."


    He snickered at his own innuendo, followed by Ilmarinen and even Remulus. "You can keep him company if it worries you, lady," quipped the former, looking for all intent and purposes like a teenager trying to be witty.


    Ophelia had but a moment to find a way to put into words what she was thinking. Somehow the stars aligned and she rebutted them with an "at least with him I''ll be able to walk out of bed without suffering for it", which earned her some whistles as Ilmarinen shrank back into his seat. He clearly was not expecting a comeback at all.


    "Hibernian women sure are all that they''re said to be," Ajax said over the rim of his glass, appreciatively. Phobos, however, had had enough of the schoolchildren talk, and cut through drily with a warning: "with the way you''re talking one would think the war was not over. Do what you must, but remember there are many eyes watching, and we don''t know when we''re going to come across an ambush."


    "In foreign lands one should never spend the night in the bed of a foreign woman," Aristides interjected, looking pointedly at Ajax.


    "Do you want me to come snuggle you, old man?"


    The good-natured bickering continued for some more time. The trio of would-be lovers soon made a hasty exit, trying as they would to add more men to their cause. After that things seemed to die down; Remulus retired for the night, and Lucio soon followed as well. Phobos, Aristides and Felicia remained in their seats, wanting to catch up. Ophelia just sipped at her ale, silently listening in, not really feeling tired enough to sleep.


    She learnt then that Aristides and Felicia had known each other for a long time; the tavern owner had been briefly married to a cousin of his who had passed away due to a plague some fifteen years before. Although far from the Phrygian kingdom, she still kept regular correspondence with her husband''s family, and had been watching the developments with some concern. From her limited place there was little she could do but offer them some sanctuary; it was a risky move given that the exiled prince was a person of interest to the Elysian authorities, which held in writing absolute control over the government in Caudiceum.


    "My Phrygian is going rusty," she complained, winking at Ophelia. "It''s good you can speak so fluently, I''ll be able to keep practising it. But, how did you come to learn it?"


    The topic kept coming up, and Ophelia just felt embarrassed that she had to keep lying. Wasn''t that such a clich¨¦ trope in fiction? A comedy of errors and misunderstandings, one building on top of the other, like a castle of cards that will fall at the smallest breeze. Aristides commented something about the mysterious tutor she''d somehow gained in the last day, and she felt like she couldn''t take it anymore.


    "I didn''t have a tutor," she said, suddenly. Three pair of confused gazes rested on her. "I went to school in London, I had teachers¡­ I''m not a princess or anything like that; I simply appeared here, and as far as I can tell, this is a different world from the one I am from."


    "What a strange joke," Phobos said dryly, "is there a punchline?"


    "There''s none," Ophelia raised her eyes, somehow sick of her lack of answers. "I don''t know how I ended up here, or how is it that I can speak your languages. I certainly couldn''t understand you when you picked me up."


    "So you''re saying you''re¡­ from another world?" Felicia repeated slowly.


    "I think so, yes. At first I thought I might have gone back in time, but this is too different from the history I know."


    Aristides and Phobos remained sceptical, but it was clear that they weren''t going to pursue the matter. Perhaps the princess was an eccentric and liked to invent stories; perhaps it was a ploy to claim innocence of some perceived charge in the future. Her endgame was unclear to them, not that it mattered: their paths would soon diverge.


    "Well, if anything, you do look the part at least!" Felicia commented, and answering Ophelia''s confused look, she said, "your hair and your eyes are not quite the right shade, you know? It''s like they''re lacking some vibrancy to them. And that clothing you''re wearing¡­ it''s all strangely adorned, and the material is unlike any linen or wool¡­ or cotton I''ve seen."


    The matter died after that, and the conversation soon followed. By ten, they had all retreated to their quarters. Felicia''s words, however, were fresh on her mind as she laid down. Closing her eyes, she recalled her companions, and her boss herself. She had noticed it, of course, but wasn''t yet ready to surface it as a thought in her head: their appearance, while not terribly foreign to a Londoner like her, still had some uncanny differences to what she would perceive as normal. The chief ones were the vibrancy of their colours: their eyes were all rich hues, almost on the edge of looking synthetic to her. Their hair, similarly, might look normal under moon or candle light, but once the sun had come out it appeared equally out of place, with a sheen and an undertone that seemed more like an artifice than a natural gift.


    It was why she had been forced to speak out loud what she hadn''t yet quite admitted to herself: that she wasn''t in a dream, but had somehow landed in another world. But now that it had been said, she felt strangely at peace. It was good, after all, to know she wouldn''t wake up again in the discomfort of her life in London.


    -


    "Ophelia, come here," Felicia said the next morning as her new assistant churned the butter for breakfast. It would be another half an hour until the sun rose, but she had been feeling strangely energised since she had woken up.


    Ophelia cleaned her hands with her apron, and followed her boss to the backyard. "I thought it''d be better to let you know now," she said gravely. Outside, the few chickens and the lone pig they kept for the winter butchering were walking around, looking for food. "Something terrible happened last night with the Phrygians. A scuffle happened, and Phenos was stabbed to death in a fight. Ajax disappeared, and has yet to return. Ilmarinen was the only one that came back."


    It took a moment for Ophelia to register who she was talking about. It was almost ironic that things had transpired that way, and only because of his death she''d finally learnt the last Phrygian warrior''s name. She felt strange: they were not quite comrades, as they''d known each other for just one day, and they''d met in such circumstances that it wasn''t inconceivable to her that she''d soon learn of tragic news from them. Still, she felt oddly shaken, as if certain pre-conceived notions she''d nursed had been pummelled down into dust inside her chest. Perhaps, used as she was to her modern life, she had actually thought that none of them could truly die¡­ so soon.


    She''d learnt before, when her dad had died, that it was a very human thing to think of one''s life as a script for a movie, or a treatment for a novel. Things happened as a set up for the next thing, or to serve as a way for a character to learn something. It was easier for someone like her to divest everyone else of their agency and think of them as nothing but cannon fodder, secondary leads whose actions intertwined with hers to move the plot forward. It gave one the illusion of control, that if one were to follow fiction-logic, things would turn out okay.


    There was no such thing. There was no reason behind it all; things just happened. Her father''s misdiagnosis and the slow year and a half of cancer treatment that went nowhere, and a sudden collapse the day before he was due to be interned; there was no rhyme or reason at all, no closure. No one could explain why the man that had sacrificed so much to raise his only daughter alone, the loveliest father, had been consumed by the agony of a body that slowly ate itself to the point his mind had almost surrendered to it. She had been left with nothing but silence; she hadn''t been able to tell him she loved him, or that she would miss him.


    It had taken her two years to come to terms with her father''s death. Underneath it all, she had learnt in the end, was her absolute refusal to acknowledge that there was no price she''d earn for her suffering. The universe would not trade her dad''s death with something that would take her mind off it: she was now by herself, and that was it. She had a handful of pictures, a dead facebook account and endless memories of the time they''d spent together.


    Ophelia''s first question was going to be if everyone else was okay, but she stopped when she realised how stupid it was for her to ask that. They''d already lost one member in the party, and although her appearance was enough of a novelty to distract them, it certainly still remained in the back of their minds. Perhaps they had talked about it as they laid down in the morning, perhaps it was a warrior''s code not to dwell too much on what would be their ultimate fate. They were all playing a dangerous game, after all, and it was only expected that they''d be risking their lives in it.


    "What are the rest doing?" she finally asked.


    "Aristides is taking Phenos'' body to the sea. Phobos has gone with Remulus and Ilmarinen to the place where the fight happened to try to find the culprits."


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    "Do they not hold funerals for their dead?"


    Felicia shook her head. "Phrygians believe that the body should be returned to nature after death. They normally transport their dead outside of towns or cities, and let them rot in the wild, or throw them into a body of water. There''s not much ceremony; they have this strange conviction that once the body is consumed by the earth, the person becomes one with the land."


    "How comforting," Ophelia''s eyebrows rose in admiration. "I guess that explains why they were so blas¨¦ about their mate dying yesterday¡­ is there anything we are meant to do?"


    "No¡­ I just wanted to let you know, since you''ve been travelling with them."


    After the initial breakfast tasks Felicia showed her how to wash the bedding, which gave her a newfound appreciation for washing machines. It was time consuming and required its fair share of strength, but she found it strangely peaceful. Around mid morning, she had only had a quarter of it left, and after emptying the buckets with dirty water, she walked to the small stream that ran next to the tavern to collect some more. She caught sight of Aristides and Phobos going in for a drink, followed by the two surviving members of the party. She wondered if it was all right for her to go in and give her condolences, but after some minutes of hesitation and false starts she put it off for later, as their paths would inevitably cross.


    It was around lunch time when she finally had some time to rest. She grabbed some bread and jerky from the kitchen and went up the stairs to find some quiet. Her leather sandals had been soaked after the activities of the morning, so she left them drying in the sun before getting inside: she moved like a mouse, barely making a sound on the normally creaky wooden floors. As she passed by the guest rooms, she heard Ilmarinen''s voice, speaking in a hushed whisper.


    "Ajax should''ve given them the signal by now," he said. "Go to the temple, you''ll find one of their men. Bring him back to Lord Phobos, say that you''ve found a witness."


    "And then?" Remulus whispered back.


    "The witness will claim he knows where the murderers are and where Ajax is being held. He''ll take us all to where the rest will be waiting."


    There was a minute of silence. Ophelia felt like something had dropped in her stomach. "Don''t worry, brother, there''s too many of us and it''s just the two of them."


    "Are you sure? He always has allies in strange places¡­ And you know him; even if we outnumber him, he''s still the greatest warrior in Phrygia. He has killed three Knights of the Black Sun by himself."


    "What is this, Remulus? I thought it was you who said that those three kills had been pure luck. Are you going to change your mind now, when you''re so close to finally going back home?"


    Ophelia decided to make her exit then, thinking that there was no telling when they would leave the room. Unfortunately, it is when someone purposely doesn''t want to make noise that life decides to sabotage them, and she was no exception: she turned around, walked a few steps, and clumsily knocked over a broom she had left a few hours earlier.


    "Who''s there?!" Remulus'' voice came from within the room. Ophelia, of course, didn''t bother replying; she simply dashed downstairs. "It''s the hibernian!" she heard him shout behind her.


    She''d thought to hide in the relative safety of the hall downstairs, but Ilmarinen had started shouting "thief! Thief! Get her!", so she snuck towards the backyard, away from people. It was instinct, an irrational impulse; later she''d wonder if it wouldn''t have been easier to simply confront them in front of everyone.


    There was a problem with her plan, however, and it was that her two pursuers were fit warriors and she was someone who hadn''t run since finishing high school. She took a wrong turn with them almost grabbing her by the arm, and ended up in a dead end two buildings away from the tavern. Ilmarinen and Remulus both closed in on her, grave expressions in their faces.


    "How much did you hear?" asked the latter.


    "Not much."


    "But enough that you had to run away, princess" Ilmarinen smiled nastily. "It would''ve been easier if you hadn''t tried to make a scene out of it, we could''ve snuck you away for a while. But there are going to be too many questions now¡­"


    "You can keep your mouth shut and we won''t do anything," Remulus proposed. Ilmarinen snapped at him, "Stop talking nonsense. We can''t risk it."


    He had been carrying a long knife in one of his hands, and as he refuted his co-conspirator he started to draw it from its sheath. "Nothing personal, princess," he said, drawing closer. "We just need to make sure all loose ends are tied."


    Ophelia tried to make for a run aiming towards Remulus, who was unarmed. She thought about slamming into him and then getting away, but he was close enough that he could clearly see it coming. He caught her by the arms the moment she tried to make contact. Ilmarinen shouted triumphantly "hold her!" as she struggled violently against the strong grip that trapped her. The menacing man came closer with his knife raised towards her. She closed her eyes. She could''ve screamed had her voice not abandoned her. For an instant that lasted an eternity, she only heard the sound of footsteps and thought only one desperate plea: let me go.


    And then, she was free. The arms around her disappeared and the footsteps faded into silence. She opened her eyes to see the two men mid-flight towards the nearest wall, hitting it with such violence that a grunt barely managed to escape their lips.


    She turned around, almost like a reflex, trying to understand what had happened. The three of them were alone in the small space, and no one could''ve come in to interrupt without being noticed. She looked around, but whatever had come to free her had left without a trace: behind, only two bruised men and a confused woman remained.


    "W-what was that¡­?" Remulus gasped, trying slowly to get up. He was holding his head, eyes half-shut to try to battle the pain away. Ilmarinen was groaning next to him, having rolled over on his stomach.


    Ophelia could''ve run away at that point, but she was suddenly struck with the weirdest thought. She looked at her hands and the men before her. Her eyes, rebels that they were, were more partial to the long knife that had been dropped moments before, and she pointed at it. "Why am I so sure this is going to work¡­?" she wondered out loud, and almost as if it had been in her hand, almost like it was an extension of her, she willed the knife to move. And it moved.


    It shook strangely, timidly at first. It stood up next, and then jumped into the air.


    "Shit¡­! Shit, shit!" Ilmarinen had dropped all intentions of trying to stand, and in absolute shock had dropped back to the ground, bracing himself against the wall. Remulus, on the other hand, was frozen still. They both shared the same terrified expression, as if Ophelia had turned into death itself; and unlike what the woman would''ve expected of such a situation, they weren''t fixated on the sharp thing that could end their life. They were looking straight at her. Forget the knife and the blood that had stained it so far; that invisible hand that she had suddenly discovered she could use to wield it, the same one that had batted the two warriors away like flies, that''s what they were so afraid of.


    She could do¡­ magic?


    Like many a fantasy story she''d read, it was easy, it was free, it was strangely liberating. She had no idea if it was just the telekinesis bit she was suddenly a master of; perhaps, her way with languages came from the same place. If circumstances would''ve been different, she would''ve dissected the whys and the hows in the way that someone who had been raised in the twenty-first century was used to do. But she was in front of two conspirators, and she was the one threat to their conspiracy. Her first thought then was, of course, to run.


    "Ophelia!" Felicia''s shout stopped her dead in her tracks. The woman was standing outside a humble wooden door on what was some sort of half-demolished wall, half-wooden fence. Beside her stood Phobos with a haunted, manic look in his eyes.


    "They know who killed Phenos! They''re working with them!" Ophelia shouted, pointing at the two traitors, who flinched at her gesture. "They were planning to ambush Phobos!"


    That seemed to hurt the prince more than his earlier shock. His eyes snapped to his men and he transformed; it was quick and intense, erasing violently any trace of his previous vulnerability. A dark look overcame his face and his jaw tensed; he squared his shoulders, hand automatically reaching for the sword that hung at his side. Ophelia swallowed nervously as the man turned into a beast and strode forward, past her, to face the two other warriors.


    His back seemed to be enormous, his muscles bulging. It was clear he was holding himself back. "Spit it out," he said.


    "S-she''s l-lying," Remulus trembled as he answered in a small voice. "S-she''s an Elysian¡­ she''s t-tying t-to p-p-pit us against you¡­" Nobody believed him; it was a farce of an attempt, more out of duty to the situation than anything else. His voice petered out, unconvinced that it would go anywhere.


    "Is Ajax on it as well?" Phobos barely moved the sword, and Remulus flinched. He went to open his mouth, when Ilmarinen suddenly fell on top of him, going for the sword on his side. It was barely an inch or two out of its scabbard when Phobos'' own blade came down to strike the would-be offender down.


    It was so quick no one, not even Remulus, had the time to react. It sliced cleanly through Ilmarinen''s neck, making it seem like bone was cardboard and tendons were feeble strings. Ophelia''s own awakened abnormality made her all the more aware that something was different in this reality, and took her several steps away from her previous theory of time-travel. As much as she wasn''t an expert in such things, she''d watched enough crime shows and other macabre edutainment formats to understand that such things were not normal, at least back where she had been born in. Phobos could be a strong man but his sword was light, one-handed; executioners always used heavy blades, unwieldy and two-handed, coming down with the weight of a guillotine.


    Who were they, really? And¡­ who was she, in this world?


    "Where are they hiding?" Phobos continued the interrogation, having kicked Ilmarinen''s head away.


    "I d-don''t k-know¡­" the sword was brought up to his face, and he broke, "p-please, Lord Phobos! I only did it because I missed my family, I j-just wanted to go back!"


    "We all have our sob stories," the sword''s point left a cut down his cheek.


    "T-the t-temple! Ilma said we''d meet someone at the temple, he didn''t say where they were hiding!"


    "When are they expecting you?"


    "This afternoon! I was supposed to bring back that person as a witness, and let them lead you into the ambush¡­ I swear I don''t know any more than that, Ilma was always tight-lipped and I didn''t want to anger him¡­!"


    "Remulus," Phobos said coldly, and decapitated the man in the same manner as he''d done his ally minutes earlier, "may your body end as litter in a pigsty."


    A breeze rolled into the small allotment, impregnating itself with the tangy aroma of human blood. The beast deflated, having achieved its goal; the shoulders went down, still tense, breath coming in sharper, louder. Drop after drop slid down his sword''s edge, staining his leather shoes. Ophelia stood transfixed, her mind trying desperately to move her eyes away from the two heads in front of her. Yet her body betrayed her, caught as it was in the morbidity of it all.


    It was curious; it wasn''t the first death was witness to after arriving in that world, but it certainly weighted differently in her mind. This one felt personal; she knew Ilmarinen and Remulus as anyone could know someone in a day, she was but a feet away as they were slain. Perhaps it was that in the night everything was covered under a blanket of unreality; in the broad daylight it all felt naked, exposed.


    She felt Phobos move, and a shaky breath escaped her throat. Suddenly, the reality of it all overwhelmed her: like a sudden summer storm, heavy water drops punched through the dark clouds to fall like rocks against the ground, against her. The deaths, her journey there, the discovery of how unreal it all was. Would she better off believing she was in a dream she could not escape from? Should she rather ponder on how she had gotten there? Why had she come to that place in the first place? Should she cry for Ilmarinen, for Remulus? Or should she feel betrayed in account of Phobos? What about Phenos, his untimely death? Who were they to her, if not newly discovered acquaintances, in the midst of a drama she had nothing to do with? How was she supposed to feel, or act, in this new place where nothing made sense except as a script for a bad movie¡­?


    She couldn''t breathe. Her chest contracted, mouth opened and trying its hardest to get air into her. She felt hands on her, a homely scent and thin bright hair tickling her cheek. "Ophelia!" Again, Felicia''s voice shouted her name. "Calm down, slow, slow¡­!"


    A hand caressed the back of her head; once¡­ twice¡­ she slowed down, breathing as the hand went down and up, down and up, down and up. "Good, keep it going¡­ slow¡­"


    A scene from a movie that had brought up memories of her dad had seen her shed her only tears in the last few years. It was not something she was used to, anymore. The wetness in her cheeks was a foreign feeling, and the novelty of that feeling of relief made her almost light-headed, deflating into Felicia''s arms. It wasn''t sadness or fear or distress; she simply was overwhelmed by it all.


    "Thank you," she said in a small voice, hiding her face into the woman''s shoulder. "I¡­ it was too much for me, all of this."


    The sound of Phobos'' blade hitting the metal fittings in the scabbard jolted her, and she stood up straight, almost in a panic. "Phobos¡­" Felicia''s voice had a hint of warning that was not enough to cover her anxiety.


    "She''s an Elysian," was his only explanation.


    "What do you think you''re doing?" Felicia pulled Ophelia back into her arms, turning away from the warrior who had not yet sheathed his sword. "You can''t do this!"


    "Stand aside, woman," the beast had reappeared, his voice low and full of deadly menace. "I''ve sworn an oath. An Elysian I see is an Elysian I kill or die at the hands of."


    "She''s not an Elysian! What Elysian would speak Phrygian or cow-herder backwater iberian like a native?!"


    "You''ve seen her use that witchcraft of theirs, what else could she be?"


    "Byzantium!" Felicia cried out, and it felt like the world had stopped. "It all fits the stories, don''t you remember? The strange visitors with the dull hair, the weak bodies, the strange powers¡­?"


    "Byzantium¡­?" Ophelia murmured, trying to bring her head up to look at her protector.


    "It''s the other world," the woman answered almost frantically. "The one where he comes from. The Elysian emperor."


    Ophelia found it strange that the name was familiar; although not an expert in European history, she knew at least about the Byzantine empire: that it had been a thing that happened, mostly. She thought that maybe that tenuous connection was enough to assume they were talking about her world for whatever reason. She didn''t really want to push the matter; there was little need to when there was a sharp sword nearby.


    "Byzantium¡­" Phobos repeated to himself, and then clicked his tongue. The sound of a scabbard embracing its sword cut through the silence, as if to accentuate Phobos'' resolve. "We can talk about this later. I need to follow the trail of these rats."


    Ophelia let out a shaky breath as the man''s steps went past them. Felicia didn''t let her go until Phobos was out of sight.


    "Let''s go back to the tavern," the woman said. Ophelia stared into her eyes for a moment; her mind wasn''t quite able to process what was happening then. Like a broken record, her thoughts were stuck on that one word¡­


    "You think I''m from¡­ Byzantium?"


    Felicia sighed. "I thought you were a rather odd one, speaking the way you do, dressing the way you do¡­ it still seems a bit unreal to me, but I''ve heard the stories so many times from the sailors that come from the Elysian empire that I''d be a fool not to name a tiger when I see its stripes."


    "What do the stories say?"


    "That the emperor of Elysium came from another world, and that world people called Byzantium. That he had a strange appearance, like you, and that he wielded incredible powers."


    Ophelia felt a strange sense of calm then; something had been laid to rest. "I suppose he never went back."


    "Oh no! He built the empire, of course, and fathered many children who became the aristocracy of the Elysian empire. Those are the ones Phobos hates so much, who the Phrygians called Elysians. And they inherited some of his powers, of course."


    "Does¡­ Phobos really hate Elysians that much?"


    Felicia smiled sadly. "They are nothing but invaders and usurpers to him. It''s a warrior''s pride, after all. Don''t take it personally, sweetheart."


    Ophelia wanted to correct her, but nothing could really hide the disappointment she felt at Phobos'' crude anger at her shared likeness with his enemies. She hoped, at least, that he was able to confront the conspirators that were after him. "Do you think he''ll be okay?"


    "He knows that loyalty is a precious commodity for a crown prince; at this point, I think he''s tired of the repetition of it all. But there''s nothing anyone can do, is there? He simply has to deal with it. He''ll be fine."

 Chapter 3

    It was fortunate that the tavern grew busier by the evening; Ophelia barely had the time to stop to catch her breath, or let her mind wander where it shouldn''t. Once or twice Felicia caught her worried look and promptly reassured her that Phobos was more than capable of looking after himself. It was not enough to comfort her; as she laid in bed that night, she wondered equally about the prince''s whereabouts and her strange worry for him. She hoped, perhaps, that he would be spared the fate of the rest of his party, and that the next morning the sun would not rise dripping in red.


    The cock had yet to sing when she slipped into the kitchen to make some breakfast; Felicia and Lucio were only just getting ready as the noises of their toilette made evident. She heated some milk and added cinnamon and honey; this was, as Felicia had demonstrated to her the previous day, the closest thing they had to a morning coffee. She had moved to retrieve the warm porridge when she heard movement in the main room of the tavern.


    She moved swiftly, expecting to see one man but finding another. Aristides was sitting on a bench, his shoulders slumped. As if every line had been carved, his face was hardened into a scowl, his eyes showing the deadened gaze of someone who had spent the entire night awake. He noticed her, and motioned for her to approach him.


    "Death has laid its hand," he said, almost guiltily. "Where you''re from, princess, whether that''s Hybernia, Elysium or Byzantium¡­ do warriors stop their sword before killing men from their motherland? And if they don''t, what do they do to chase the nightmares away? As old as I am, I haven''t quite figured that out yet."


    "They live with it, I guess," Ophelia replied, confused. "If they care enough, that is. I can imagine a lot of people don''t care. But regardless, there''s nothing about it that will undo taking someone''s live. It''s a burden to bear."


    The warrior hummed; he showed no particular agreement or disagreement with her response. Somewhat anxious at the topic at hand, Ophelia asked "Where''s Phobos?"


    "He''s upstairs."


    She took one look at him before darting towards the stairs, her footsteps light and quiet. She felt a sense of foreboding thinking that, merely a day before, that had been the place where the betrayal had been laid out. Would the steps of the conspirators have left marks on the wooden floor, as if to signify that something wicked had taken place? Or perhaps it would be a stench in the room, or an eerie feeling of being watched¡­?


    She felt strangely calm when her eyes laid upon the empty beds. At the end, the sole occupier of the room slept peacefully on top of the bedsheets. He had only taken off his boots; everything else was as it had been when he''d sheathed his sword the previous afternoon. He''d left ghostly footsteps behind; shadowy imprints onto the wood, specks of black onto the sheets. His scabbard was immaculate; the sword was lying on top of the desk, placed with such care and devotion it made it hard to believe that it had been brutally slaying his foes all night.


    Ophelia closed the door behind her and went down to make breakfast for the morning crowd; seven of them had arrived to the tavern and only three remained, the blood of the traitors spilled over the floor like a strange consecration.


    -


    The sun rose to the tune of screaming and crying. The pillars of the temple had been desecrated: from each hung a body, and piled onto the steps were the rest. Their clothes had been torn, exposing to everyone that could see the intricate designs that only Phrygian men were said to imprint on their skin. The city was no stranger to violence, but it seldom saw anything of that gruesome nature. Mothers shielded their children as they rushed their steps; the orphans watched and murmured in fascinated awe, mimicking in a more open manner what the older and most decadent part of the populace were doing as they gathered around the scene.


    Caudiceum whispered; soon, the magistrates of the city and its governors had descended upon the plaza, all wearing sombre expressions. To those in the know, this was a reflection of the troubled times of some of Caudiceum''s neighbours, and put the city in an awkward position. Being a free city, it had a certain level of authority and taxing rights while still being under the protection of the Iberian kingdom, which was a tributary and close ally of the Elysian Empire. But like any land that was given the right of self-governance, it also showed significant tolerance to those who were considered undesirable by both courts. Ports flourished on trade; those that stood far from the capital, did so mostly on illicit activities. Caudiceum, while certainly not one of the most lawless places in the kingdom, was tolerant of certain level of strange activity, as long as it brought business.


    It was a well known fact that the Phrygian court was still undergoing a power struggle; the crown prince had recently gone into exile, and rebels and loyalists were both clashing to decide the future of their country. The massacre of the Phrygian men would certainly be a conversation topic in their hometown within the day; the governors in Caudiceum knew that they''d soon hear from the current king, as well as the Elysian ambassadors who had a stake in Phrygia''s civil war. That, everyone knew, would not be a pleasant conversation.


    All of this went on without Ophelia''s knowledge. She heard from the men in the tavern that a gruesome discovery had the city aghast with horror; she knew who was the culprit, and what had led him to do it, but she could only catch glimpses of its potential ramifications. Phobos had slept all morning; it was early in the afternoon when Felicia gave her a bowl of fish soup and told her to bring it to his room.


    "Don''t worry," Felicia said, noticing her nervous expression. "He won''t be mad at you. And if he tries anything, well, remind him that you can do much worse."


    "How do you know him so well?" Ophelia asked before she could think, and realised too late it sounded almost accusatory.


    "I''ve grown up in this tavern, and before it belonged to me it belonged to my parents," Felicia winked at her. "There are certain secrets of the trade, if you will, and one of them is that you become very adept at reading your customers. And in reality, as handsome as he is, he''s not that complicated of a man."


    Ophelia decided to take her word for it, and accepted the bowl and the bread she was given. If Aristides'' lack of anger at her meant anything, perhaps there were bigger problems in the warriors'' minds than her origins.


    As she walked up the stairs, she looked down and thought about the strange powers she was able to wield. As if it was a dream, she held up the bread in her left hand and let it go. Instead of falling, it hovered just below her palm obediently. She grabbed it again before walking down the hallway of the second floor, thinking that perhaps she ought not to be so afraid of Phobos'' sword after all.


    "Uhm, I''m coming in," Ophelia eased herself into the room like someone who was afraid to wake up a sleeping monster.


    The exiled prince was sitting on the bed, filing away the edges of his sword. No bloodstains had been left on the floor, and the only signs of violence were the specks of blood on the sheets.


    She left the bowl and the bread on the table. It was clear he was ignoring her: he didn''t look up from his task.


    "You should eat it before it goes cold," she didn''t know why she bothered; he was clearly not in the mood to talk. Something, perhaps slivers of compassion, prompted her to reach out to the brooding man.


    "You don''t need to pretend to be nice to me."


    He looked up, eyes sharp and voice curt. "We''ll be gone before nightfall. We''ll never see each other again."


    Ophelia failed to see the connection. "And? You look like you''re not feeling well. Why should I not be nice to you?"


    "It''s unnecessary."


    "I disagree," the man huffed. "And anyway, where are you going? I thought you had been waiting to hear back from your contacts¡­?"


    Phobos'' gaze hardened. "There never were any contacts; it was Ilmarinen who brought us here, only to put us in the hands of some loyalists."


    "Can''t you go into the port and find someone who can take you to that city¡­ Arqa?" Before the other could respond, however, Ophelia reminded him of the food she''d brought by putting the bowl right before his eyes. He sighed, put the sword to his side, and took it.


    "After this? Not likely. Two Phrygian men asking to be let on a boat is almost an admission of guilt, is it not? We''ll have to find another way out of the city."


    Ophelia pursued her lips as she watched the other eat. "You can''t stay, either?"


    "There are many after me, princess. I must keep moving."


    He finished the bowl and held it out for her. His eyes and hands were immediately back on his sword the moment she took it back. She walked a few steps before she turned back.


    "Is there anything I can do to help you?"


    Phobos paused. "No," he said, after a minute.


    She left him alone. Later, as she was washing the blood off the sheets in the backyard she saw Aristides come in, cloaked and with a dejected expression in his face. Throughout the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening the conversation from the tavern''s patrons would keep her updated with the latest rumours: she heard about the magistrate taking the bodies into the court, of the initial speculation that it''d been some zealous Iberian nationalists taking out the enemies of their allies, of the city''s watchmen patrolling around, questioning everyone who had a story to tell. Felicia and Lucio said nothing of it all, clearly content to let the matter run itself into the ground at the hands of the city''s drunks.


    When night had fallen and she was tasked to bring the two men dinner, she didn''t bother acting coyly. "I thought you''d be gone by now."


    "There''s no point running into closed doors," Aristides said, gratefully accepting his plate. "The watchmen are not letting anyone out of the city for now, and all the usual exits are being monitored. Only the fish can get out."


    "Are you going to stay here until you can leave?"


    "It makes no difference," Phobos replied, resigned. "Even if we wanted to move around, it will only take them a single look at their gate records to start looking for two Phrygian men who are suspiciously alive."


    "And then¡­?"


    "We''ll have to argue our innocence in court."


    "You need an alibi¡­" Ophelia murmured, the last word coming out in her native English. Aristides frowned, and asked for clarification. "It''s something that proves you were somewhere else at the time of the crime."


    "Is this something you do often in Londinium? Helping criminals avoid their punishment?"


    Ophelia blushed. "Not really, but I have seen enough movies to get an idea. Uhm," she clarified, noticing again she had thrown a foreign concept at them. "Movies are kind of like plays that you are able to watch whenever you want."


    "And what did people do in these¡­ moo-vees for an ah-lee-bye?" Aristides asked slowly, trying to get through the foreign pronunciation.


    "Well, they''d get someone else to claim they were with them when the crime happened, for example. Like a wife; to defend her husband, she''d claim that he spent the night with her."


    That seemed to brighten up the old warrior, who gently turned around to Phobos with a pleased smile on his face. "The gate records! What a fantastic idea, princess!"


    The prince''s scowl appeared in full force. "What are you talking about, old man?"


    "The gatekeepers must have recorded her entrance as well, and as your wife! Perhaps, she can make this ah-lee-bye for you. We should hide your sword. We can claim you were in the midst of your moon night."


    "Moon night?" Ophelia asked.


    "In our country, certain marriages are only valid if the groom and the bride do certain things on the first night together," Aristides explained. "They must consummate their marriage, and keep vigil during the night to make sure the spirits of their ancestors don''t appear to bestow them with bad luck. They also require a chaperone, which is what I will be playing."


    She was more than happy to go with the lie, yet the blush still came onto her cheeks. She wasn''t alone; Phobos didn''t seem to share his mentor''s enthusiasm.


    "They will think she''s my wife after that; and once we go, what about her honour?"


    "They are Iberians, my prince! They see their women in a different way. For them it is more natural that the men will wander and the women will seek other men."


    Phobos wasn''t convinced. He locked eyes with Ophelia. "We''ll find some other way."


    "It''s fine, I don''t mind lying."


    "But your honour¡­!"


    "I haven''t had a boyfriend in twenty-seven years, I don''t think I''ll have one any time soon. My honour has never been an issue."


    The two of them stared at her, mouths open. Everything about their impending capture and trial had been forgotten for a moment.


    "You''re twenty-seven?" Aristides exclaimed. "You''re older than Phobos!"


    Ophelia regarded the prince with a confused stare, looking him up and down. He certainly seemed to be her age. "I''m twenty-two years of age," he confessed. "Why are you so fresh-looking?"


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Aristides quipped in. "Is this how people age in Byzantium?"


    "What you eat and how you live make a difference, I imagine. Life at home is very different from this."


    The older warrior seemed fascinated by it, and was ready to keep interrogating her. Downstairs, however, tavern work had piled up. Ophelia heard her name being shouted from the backyard and knew it was time to get back to help Felicia. She bid the two men goodbye, promised they would talk later, and slipped downstairs.


    She was forced into an early start on the following day. Lucio was supposed to cover some of the preparations for breakfast to give her a bit more time to sleep, as she''d ended up getting into bed quite late due to all the cleaning and washing up that had been left to do the previous night. The banging and shouting from the city watchmen, however, soon made her lie-in impossible.


    "We are looking for two Phrygian men named Golgotas and Demora," said one of the men. "We have been told they''re staying here."


    "What is this about? Are you rounding up all Phrygians in the city?" Felicia, still in her under tunic, was scowling at the group.


    "They entered the city with the men who were murdered. We simply want to take them to the magistrate to help clarify what happened."


    Ophelia silently moved towards the landing of the stairs, so that it would seem like she''d come from Phobos'' and Aristides'' room. "Felicia," she said with affectation, faking a wide yawn, "can I grab some milk from the¡­ oh, apologies, I didn''t know you were with customers."


    If the inn-keeper found anything strange about her actions, it didn''t show. Instead, she explained, "they''re watchmen. They''re looking for clues on the Phrygians'' murders."


    "Ah yes, the men we travelled with," Ophelia walked closer to the group, hugging herself as if to make up for the lack of warmth after leaving her bed. "We were all staying here, but we had our own business, and they had theirs. My husband and I¡­ we spent our first moon night yesterday, you see, so the whole day before was spent preparing for it. It''s been quite strange, to be honest. One of the men was murdered the day before the rest of them, another went missing¡­ They seemed to be bad news."


    "You are the woman they came into the city with, correct?" Ophelia nodded. "Why didn''t you come forward to the magistrates?"


    Ophelia looked at Felicia, pretending to be confused. "Do Iberians not celebrate their wedding? I was with my husband, observing our rites as newlyweds, in the Phrygian fashion."


    The men murmured, but their leader seemed to be unconvinced.


    "So you were here the last two days?"


    "Correct."


    "I can vouch for that," Felicia replied. "They eloped and were hoping to make some money to make their way towards Hibernia."


    "Where is your husband now?"


    "I''m here," Phobos and Aristides made a timely entrance, both clearly having made it out of bed moments before. The sight was surprising and made Ophelia think it should be illegal; Phobos'' auburn hair had been hastily arranged, his green eyes still heavy with the weight of a good night''s sleep, and his bare torso seemed more at ease in an underwear advertisement than as a real thing to be looked at in real life. She tried to look away, and respect the other''s modesty, but she couldn''t stop the blush from creeping onto her cheeks.


    "I''m Demora, and this is my foster-father Golgotas," Phobos said with a scowl. "Why are you inconveniencing my wife?"


    The prince stood next to her, wrapping his arm around her in a protective gesture. Ophelia tried to remember the grave situation at hand, but found it difficult: it was not every day she was in close contact with a man so handsome, and it was understandably something she wasn''t prepared to deal with. It all worked in their favour, however, as her bashfulness helped to support their lies in the eyes of the watchmen.


    "The three of you ought to come with us to the magistrate. You''re suspected of having murdered the Phrygian men you travelled with."


    Aristides argued, "I wonder what kind of aurelian miracle you think we''re capable of; a man and his chaperone observing his first moon and sneaking out to murder ten men."


    "You can make your case to the magistrate, wise man. Now make yourselves presentable and hand over your weapons."


    Phobos seemed ready to argue but stopped when his old teacher put a hand on his arm and shook his head ever so slightly. Aristides turned then to Ophelia, and motioning to Felicia to listen in, he said, "put on your Hibernian attire, my lady, so that the magistrate understands the nature of those he''s dealing with."


    "It should be dry by now, my lady," Felicia continued the game. "You can go upstairs to get changed, I''ll bring it to you."


    Ophelia understood immediately they were referring to her modern, Byzantine clothes. She followed Phobos to the room he shared now only with his teacher. The two men readied their clothes while she sat on one of the empty beds, with her back to them.


    "What we''ll tell them," Aristides whispered as they clothed themselves, "is that you''re a high-born, yet a little eccentric, hibernian princess who eloped with a Phrygian mercenary after being kidnapped for ransom. I''m the chaperone who''s travelled with you to the port to bear witness to your marriage. You came here hoping to make some money to travel back to Hibernia."


    The older warrior''s eyes strayed towards the spear Ilmarinen had left, which was resting innocently against the wall. "We''ve put away our swords. We can give them the seaxes and the spear and claim those are our only weapons; since they''ve seen the sword cuts on their bodies, we''ll have another argument to rest on."


    Felicia brought Ophelia''s clothes, all neatly bundled together. "They''re all quite restless downstairs. They''ve got more watchmen outside of the building; it''d be impossible to try and slip by."


    "We''ll argue our innocence at court," Phobos said as he looked outside the window.


    "You''ll be a sacrificial lamb, I''m afraid. The magistrates will love that this is a Phrygian issue; they only need to wait until the envoys get here and they will hand you over to them."


    "Yes, but this is not merely a Phrygian matter anymore, is it?" Aristides pointed towards the clothes Ophelia was holding. "They will have some memory of the last Hibernian raid. That''ll be enough to give us some wriggle room."


    Felicia bit her lip and slowly nodded. "Princess," Aristides said turning to Ophelia, "the Hibernians are known as savage, war-like people who hold grudges for long. They''ve attacked this port before, burnt it to the ground. The magistrate will likely not try to tempt fate."


    Ophelia nodded, growing more anxious by the minute. She just hoped they would be able to pull it off. Felicia took her then to the neighbouring room. As she changed from the simple linen dress and apron she''d grown used to in the previous days, a strange feeling overcame her. It was as if her skin had forgot the embrace of the synthetic fabrics; zippers and plastic buttons looked foreign, capricious inserts of someone else''s imagination into what was otherwise a familiar shape. Each detail that she''d never paid mind to suddenly turned into an ugly highlight. The perfection of the machine stitching, the elaborate cuts and shaping of the garments were reminders of a time and place she was glad to leave behind.


    As budding as her relationship to that strange world was, she had felt embraced by it; she had met people she was comfortable with, had been given a role to play. To be reminded in such a physical way that she was from elsewhere was almost insulting; she felt afraid of perhaps, by donning her modern clothes, of calling forth the world she''d left behind.


    She''d take the risk, however, because she wanted to help. She couldn''t quite call Phobos and Aristides her friends, but she felt compassion towards their situation, and was grateful that they hadn''t left her stranded in the wilderness to fend for herself.


    The three of them made their way downstairs, and were promptly escorted out and into the busy Caudicean streets. The presence of the watchmen had garnered the attention of the populace and as they walked to the central forum they were pelted with the curious stares of men, women and children who had stopped their day''s labours to take a look at the proceedings. Some of them shouted expletives towards them; it was clear that in the court of public opinion certain matters had been resolved the moment someone had been singled out by the magistrate. The ironic thing about the situation is that they were right, and the object of their tirades was guilty of what he was accused off, but there was no proof they could see other than the elaborate drawings on their skin, which linked them to the victims.


    The central forum was much like she''d imagined Rome would''ve looked like in its glory days. It was mostly enclosed by sandstone walls; its gate was permanently open, prepared only in case of an attack. Once past the entrance a complex of buildings and courtyards would open to the eye, all built in the same sandstone. It was jarring when compared to the part of the city she''d been staying in so far: this looked like an insert of some zealous governor, built all at once rather than organically and over a number of years. Palm trees were numerous, planted like pillars to cut streets in two.


    The actual forum and main feature of that district was a circular building surrounded by rows of pillars as tall as three stories. It shone bright and warm under the sunlight, forcing her to shield her eyes from the brightness. As if to underline its significance, those who went in and out of the forum were of a different breed to the populace outside of the walls: the clothes were made of fine white cotton, mostly airy tunics that were embellished with shawls and stoles of fine, colourful silk. These were the elect, the wealthy citizens; although for all intents and purposes the difference was only skin deep, as they regarded them with the same vacant curiosity that the rest of the Caudiceans had offered them.


    Inside the floor was divided into two by a ring of pillars. Marble tribunes surrounded the inner circle, with four entrances to the speaking area. Those who had a seat gathered in the stepped tribunes, sitting in plush pillows. Those who didn''t tried their best to see what was happening from the other side of the pillars, piling onto the entrances like an audience looking for the best seat in the theatre. In the centre, stood the magistrate.


    The man was in his mid-fifties, was fairly rotund, and at first looked elated when Phobos and Aristides emerged from the swarm of watchmen. His open mouth, ready for his initial speech, swiftly closed when he saw her: the giddiness disappeared, replaced instead by cautious weariness.


    "My apologies for not being able to meet you in more private settings," he said, addressing her directly and foregoing any acknowledgment of the other two. "Given the circumstances of the crime, and the gravity of its repercussions, this had to be brought to the forum."


    Ophelia looked at Aristides, unsure if she was meant to answer. "That''s quite alright," she said, clearing her throat after the older warrior arched an eyebrow at her. "I''m just hoping we can get this over with quickly."


    She figured she could imagine she was talking to any other bureaucrat, and that made her feel slightly better. The magistrate was about to speak in response, but as an accident of time she spoke over him, "What exactly do we need to argue here? You know our identities; our acquaintance was casual. My husband just happened to be from the same country."


    The man was taken aback, yet didn''t seem offended. "May we take your names and position for the scribe?"


    "I''m Ophelia Luccieni Ascot of the Iceni" she turned around towards her companions as she couldn''t quite remember their made up identities. They picked that up fast enough.


    "I''m Golgotas of Lyre, and this is my foster-son Demora of Palmyra."


    The magistrate nodded.


    "What brought you here to Caudiceum, lady Iceni? And in such company?"


    Ophelia looked around the room, and felt slightly nauseous at being the centre of attention. "I was kidnapped in Hibernia; then carried to Iberia to be sold off. Demora and my father-in-law were both working for my captors. We fell in love, and we escaped; we thought of making our way to Hibernia to announce our marriage, but decided to do it in the Phrygian way with my father-in-law as our chaperone."


    Murmurs exploded from silence into echoes around the forum; she saw mocking smiles, disbelieving stares, and some surprised expressions. "Your Iberian is impeccable, lady," the magistrate commented. "Is that a custom among the Hibernians, to teach their princesses the languages of the continent?"


    Ophelia felt a bit naughty.


    "It''s so we can better understand their screams when we raid them, your honour," she said. The older man chuckled a bit nervously.


    "Conversations with Hibernian merchants sure are difficult; they are, however, nothing compared to a princess," he commented. "So what is it that your husband and your father-in-law were doing on the night the men were murdered?"


    "We were performing the rites of our moon night. Are you familiar with how the Phrygians celebrate their marriage, your honour?"


    "I''m afraid so; strange as they are, I''ve seen quite a few in my time. Is there anyone else who can vouch for you?"


    "The tavern owner, and her helper."


    The magistrate then turned towards Phobos. "You are a mercenary, where are your weapons?"


    Two of the watchmen approached the man, carrying Ilmarinen''s spear and the long knives. "Fairly light for a warrior from Phrygia. And your sword?"


    "I sold it to pay for our travel here."


    The magistrate''s eyebrows shot up. "I wonder if that''s a mark of love, or untruth. That a warrior would be without its sword, that is hard to fathom."


    "We don''t treat women as passing fancies like Iberians do, my lord," Phobos said with a scowl. "Warrior or not, in our country we believe that a good wife is worth a hundred oxen. What''s a sword to compare?"


    He earned himself a couple of laughs from the men in the forum. The magistrate, clearly amused, said, "I shall wish you luck; that two nations so opposite in character and customs should meet in marriage is certainly an augury of something."


    A few more questions followed, but it was clear their argument had worked in some way or another. Ophelia was addressed primarily as the one who presumably held the highest rank; it was clear that just as Aristides predicted, the Caudiceans were afraid of inciting the ire of ''her'' people, and thus no outright accusations were made. The suspicious stares never disappeared; as they left the building, there was little the watchmen could do to shield them from the murmurs and the speculation of those around them.


    When they were about to step into the large courtyard that led to the forum, Ophelia saw a group of men to the side, clearly watching with interest the proceedings. They wore strange tunics of a light blue colour. The fabric was very thin, almost transparent, and was layered gracefully on their bodies. It shimmered golden every time the wind made it move.


    "Elysians," Aristides explained to her.


    The two warriors and her were escorted back to the tavern along with a scribe. She witnessed with great interest how the petite woman, one of the officials working in the forum, wrote down Felicia''s and Lucio''s statement on a wax tablet the size of her forearm. They were warned against leaving the city until the Magistrate allowed them to do so, and finally the watchmen left.


    "I''ve got good news," Felicia announced later in the evening. The four huddled together around empty bottles of wine that Aristides had procured to ease off the tension after the hearing. "A servant came over earlier to ask after what had happened. He belongs to a Chaldean merchant, one I''ve seen before in the city. Apparently he arrived yesterday and is looking to set sail in the next fortnight. This man, he''s rich enough that he''s got this entire city in his pocket; in a blockade like this, his are the only ships going in and out of the port."


    "A Chaldean?" Phobos asked. "He''s got to have come with a pretty big retinue."


    "Do you think we could sneak in as servants? Or perhaps offer our services as bodyguards?"


    Felicia shrugged. "He''s an elusive one. I would not think it''s as simple as showing up and offering your services. You ought to have an invitation before being able to meet him."


    "However, they say he loves to frequent oriental brothels," she offered.


    "I wonder," Aristides murmured. "While the city is closed like this, should we ought to try and find a space in one of his ships?"


    It was too late in the night and they were all too drunk to come up with sensible plans. Soon Felicia and Aristides retired, leaving Phobos and Ophelia in a comfortable silence. The prince cleared his throat at some point, clearly after a long process of trying to find the right words for her.


    "I¡­ want to thank you for what you did today," he said, finally. "We couldn''t have gotten away with it if it wasn''t for you. I also realise this is probably confusing since you''re¡­ not from here. You''ve done something very brave, and I want to thank you for it."


    In the dim light of the candles, Phobos'' face looked softer; his intense stare was glazed over with warmth. "I also want to apologise for what happened the other day; I thought you were an Elysian and with everything that was happening¡­ I was unfair to you."


    Ophelia nodded, trying to look away from the vision in front of her. "It''s alright. I wanted to help."


    "I also intend to take responsibility," his voice became more serious. "In everyone''s eyes you''re a married woman; to be seen without your husband is very shameful. It would be dishonourable for me to take advantage of you like this and then throw you away."


    "I don''t understand," Ophelia confessed.


    "We don''t need to carry out the rites," Phobos blushed. "But I intend to accompany you as your husband."


    Ophelia held up her hands.


    "Uhm, I think this is a bit rushed. You don''t need to; really."


    "If you were younger perhaps some men would turn a blind eye to it, but you''re twenty-seven already¡­ It will be difficult for you to find a good family to marry into¡­" The man seemed lost in his own thoughts, "unless maybe there are some Phrygian families I could present to you once I take back my throne?"


    "Uh, it''s fine, Phobos. I''ll be fine," seeing that he was not listening to her, Ophelia took one of his hands. The gesture startled him, and he blushed more deeply. "Marriage is not something that I can say I worry about."


    The man pursued his lips. "As long as we travel together, I''ll assume responsibility for my part. It''ll be safer for you, I assure you."


    "Travel? What if I want to stay here?"


    "The authorities believe we''re married; it''ll be strange for a husband to leave without his wife."


    It then dawned on Ophelia the consequences of her little white lie. In Caudiceum, her fate was tied to Phobos''. The realisation shook some of the tipsiness out of her. She had already grown used to the tavern and had taken a liking to Felicia and Lucio; while not easy, she enjoyed her life there. "But Felicia¡­"


    "She understands."


    "Very well," Ophelia licked her lips. "I am in your care, then."

 Chapter 4

    The scent of exotic fragrances hung in the air like another guest; present in the background, reminding everyone that they ought to be dressing and behaving in a way that merits that amount of money being burnt in the censers. It was a strange request for a brothel, where it was expected that lust and greed colluded in the nastiest ways, yet its prosperity was owed in part to that meticulousness. No guest or servant could enter without offering back a sight of taste and refinement: you had to look good, smell nice and behave even better.


    Brothels are the type of place where the invisible workers, those who are not being advertised for sale, are normally of a specific kind. They''re paid low wages and there''s a certain stigma associated with their profession, regardless of how fancy the brothel is; as such, only those from outside the city walls or the transient travellers down on their luck could afford to venture into their employment. The lockdown of the port had cut off those who resided outside of the city; as a result, all brothels were in dire need of help. They offered daily wages to anyone who could spare a hand; it didn''t matter to them if one were to jump from place to place, or fail to appear the next day. As long as the day''s duties were done, they were perfectly content to leave tomorrow''s worries to the next day.


    Aristides had done some homework of his own when he appeared on the second afternoon after the Magistrate''s interrogation with a plan to propose to his lord: they could perhaps approach the Chaldean merchant, their only way out of the city, by finding him in one of the brothels he frequented. They wouldn''t be able to simply request an audience: Aristides had asked around to find the merchant''s address, had walked up to the large residence in the city''s opulent upper states, and was told that only through invitation he would be allowed in. He then remembered Felicia''s words, and asked some more; he was told the Chaldean frequented three brothels in the city, and actually conducted most of his business from the comfortable rooms of the high-end pleasure houses, served by beauties skilled in poetry and music. He used one in the morning, another in the afternoon, and the third one in the evening, with no particular rhyme or reason to the specific brothel of the three he would choose at each time. This made his schedule difficult to trace; an intended move from someone who didn''t want to be disturbed by those he didn''t want to associate himself with.


    Aristides then proposed that, should one want to approach him, using just enough patience and a little bit of artifice, one could pose as a worker in one of the pleasure houses. "Since they''re short-staffed, and they want cleaners, they won''t be too fastidious in their search for references; they''ll take anything," the old warrior had said to Phobos as Ophelia brought them lunch. "We can sneak in that way; you can work in one brothel, I''ll take another, and take turns to switch from one to the other until we come across him. Once we find him, we can simply make our request."


    "I doubt he''ll be pleased with our trickery," Phobos replied.


    "I''ll yield if you have any other good ideas, my lord," Aristides pointed out. "But the port is open only to him, and although we''ve succeeded in tricking the Magistrate for now we shouldn''t trust our luck too much. The moment that the Phrygian envoys arrive it''ll take them no time to find out the truth. We need to find a way out as soon as possible."


    The exiled prince pursued his lips, but offered no counter-argument. Ophelia held up her hand. "If there''s three brothels and two of you, let me help. We can find him in one day rather than relying on luck."


    Phobos turned his face towards her so quickly that the woman almost jumped. "No, no, we shouldn''t involve you like this. It''s not proper for a reputable woman to be seen in such places."


    "We''ll be gone soon anyway, why does it matter?"


    "I would never tarnish your honour for the sake of my own gain. I''d rather be captured and executed. I''ve done enough harm to you as it is."


    "As commendable as that thought is, my lord," Aristides said, "she''ll be captured and executed alongside us. There''ll be no honour for someone who helped a murderer."


    Phobos nodded silently, but the tortured look in his face said volumes about how he felt about the situation. It was clear to Ophelia the man had a very strict code of honour, one he felt he''d breached when he''d let her vouch for him. His apology the night before had surprised her, and his compromise to look after her had warmed her heart; she thought that for a man who had to shoulder a lot of burdens at such a young age, he was very admirable in how he conducted himself. The fact that he was able to place her before his own safety surprised her: she hadn''t known many people who would do that for a stranger. It almost felt unreal, like a character from a story. Back in her own world, she thought, no one would act like that anymore.


    The next day the three of them ventured out towards the upper districts. Ophelia had been worried that stares would follow them as they had some days prior; it seemed, though, that the rise and fall of the sun and the rumour mill that had kept on turning its wheels had conjured a fog in the citizens'' minds. With their torsos and arms completely covered in simple hand-me-down tunics, the men were no Phrygians in people''s eyes, and thus were unrecognisable to those who had seen them in their parade with the city watchmen. Ophelia herself wore a headscarf and a significantly more modest attire, and this was enough to hide her identity. They were back to being anonymous peasants, of the type that looked for work where they could find it.


    The three separated early in the day to their chosen brothel. Ophelia, who was slightly nervous thinking of the crazy plan she''d agreed to help with, immediately found a relieved and stressed head maid in the little entrance that the help used.


    "Yes, yes, come in," the woman had said when Ophelia timidly asked if they were looking for a hired hand for the day. "If you could stay the whole week it would be fantastic. And if you have any friends looking for some work, send them here. This damn blockade has left us at the verge of collapse. None of our regulars can come in to help with the laundry and the cleaning, and it keeps piling up."


    She''d been then brusquely shown to an inner courtyard without any pomp; she could help with the laundry first, and then whatever else was needed of her. The head maid promised a hefty sum of money by the end of the day, or at least hefty by her own standards; Ophelia had very little clue as to how much things cost in Caudiceum. She was also given a very peculiar uniform and was told to wear it while working inside the brothel. That, and the look of the building inside and outside explained why Felicia had called them ''oriental''. It seemed like the east in this world and the east in hers were very similar in some aspects.


    Back in her world, movies had concocted a very elaborate picture of how Japanese pleasure houses were meant to be; whether they were true or not, Ophelia could not tell, as her only idea of them came from different sorts of media, none of which pretended to be historically accurate. The final result was very similar, she felt, to what she was experiencing now: a vaguely Japanese building with wooden floors and delicate linen screens for doors, where women in white makeup would offer food and drink while entertaining guests with songs and poetry, and given enough money, sex. They wore brightly patterned silk hakama pants covered in layers and layers of loose kimono robes, held together by a thin obi. The fabrics were luxurious, threaded in gold and silk; their hair was worn mostly in elaborate braids wrapped in different styles around their head, and pinned together with fresh flowers and gold pins.


    Her own robes, and the ones of the other workers, were obviously not as luxurious as those of the prime commodities in the brothel: the outer kimono was made of sombre dark brown linen, the pants and the inner juban were the natural grey of untreated thread. If she had thought she''d stick out wearing that clothing that belonged to some other country, she was soon corrected: none of the workers, or the entertainers she saw, looked to be from anywhere in particular. It seemed that somehow, the east had been transformed into some sort of cultural reference in that city, one that presumed certain aesthetics and customs, rather than as a sign of true cultural exchange. Or perhaps easterners in that world looked nothing like the ones from hers.


    Once in her uniform, she was left alone in the courtyard to go through some of the washing that had piled up in the days before. She''d been given a bucket full of ready-to-use soapwort, which she''d learnt at Felicia''s tavern was the equivalent of wash up liquid in that world. It had a pleasant scent, as it''d been made with aromatic herbs, and was meant to be used with the bedding that customers would sleep in, and the final wash of the underclothes of the entertainers. She sat on the floor next to one of the huge vats that had been placed in the courtyard and, as instructed, carefully let the clothes soak in the water.


    The bedding was more complicated, and she had to stomp on it once it had been thoroughly drenched. Over and over again, she felt like a wine maker as she worked the fabrics, thankful that the weather in that port was warm. She could imagine how hellish the task would be if one were to do it in the middle of winter, outside, with freezing water.


    Some little shortcuts allowed her to finish after two hours; she had, after all, to find an excuse to wander about in search of the mysterious Chaldean merchant they wanted to meet. Her strange and newly-discovered powers came in handy, as she figured she could perhaps skip the hard manual labour required to rinse and repeat. Invisible hands twisted the fabrics after some ten minutes of testing and trying; they dropped things into the vat, rinsed them, beat them, and squeezed them again. Finally she was done, and as she was hanging up the bedding and the clothes, the head maid opened the screen door to the courtyard and exclaimed in a disbelieving tone:


    "Oh? You''re done? I came in to check how you were doing¡­ Well, that is good news. We could use someone right now in the kitchen. Come with me!"


    It seemed to Ophelia as the woman kept chatting to her that she wouldn''t bat an eye to any strange occurrences as long as it meant the work would be done. She could perhaps show her the extent of her abilities and rather than be met with awe or shock, she''d probably be told to work on something else. It was a comforting thought, it occurred to her, that an agitated work schedule could work in her favour.


    She was brought to the kitchen, which followed more the likes of the old style of the tavern than any eastern fancy. It was, as one would expect, controlled chaos, with the cooks and the assistants moving from place to place chopping and stirring and seasoning multitudes of dishes, with a large chimney stuffed with a mixture of skillets, pans, pots and cauldrons, seven in total and all holding something to cook.


    "Good, good!" shouted a man when he saw the head maid and her come in. "You got me someone. Tell her to come here, she can put together the dishes and send them to the guest rooms."


    The head maid nodded and turned to her. "You''ll need to serve breakfast and send them to the guest rooms."


    Ophelia was confused at the repeated command, and couldn''t help but say, "Yes, I heard him."


    It earned her a surprised stare from the other woman. "Oh? So you speak Faroese? Well, this is good. I''ll let you be then, you can let Oischar sort you out."


    The head maid spared no more time in moving on to her next task. Ophelia was then warmly welcomed by the head chef, Oischar, who was surprised to see someone from his motherland. As Ophelia made some excuses as to her perfect accent (''my mother was Faroese, I learnt it from her''), she realised that once again her ability had played in her favour. Faroese people like the head maid and the chef were fiercely attached to their own language and customs, and gave those from their own tribe an incredible amount of preferential treatment. Oischar was more than happy to chat away to her in his native language, and thus, he served as a perfect source of information.


    He told her that one of their regular patrons was staying there during the morning, a Chaldean merchant he thought was rather eccentric. "They normally travel with a large retinue, but he seldom comes with more than a few people. He never asks for the entertainer''s services for himself; it''s mostly for the men who do business with him. I think he''s a wily one, he is. He softens them with food, alcohol and women, and that''s how every one of his ships sails to strong winds."


    And then the strong wind came for her, when she was told to deliver food to his room. She prepared the tray; Oischar overlooked the process as it wasn''t meant to be a simple delivery¡ªthe dishes had to be carefully decorated, and the whole presentation had to be immaculate. Two more maids were required for the full menu.


    They all set in line to walk around the hallways of the brothel, and up the first floor. She heard one of the maids say they were approaching the room, and as they stopped outside the screen doors, she asked her, "do we simply leave the trays here, do we knock, or what¡­?"


    The maid was taken aback by her question, but whatever it was she thought, she didn''t voice it out loud. "Someone will open the door from the other side, and we''ll hand each tray to her. You just need to announce us; neither Aneesha nor I can speak Iberian fluently, so it''ll be better for you to do it."


    Something about the slight rhythm of her words told Ophelia that once again she''d slipped into a different language without thinking. She tried to clear her mind for a second before speaking in Iberian out loud, "We''ve brought breakfast."


    Two sets of steps were heard approaching, and then the screen doors were opened. A man dressed in silk tunics and a woman were waiting for them. "Just in time," said the woman with a lazy grin. "I was famished."


    "Here it is, madam," Ophelia offered the tray to her without thinking much about the gesture. The man''s reaction, however, made it clear that it was not appreciated.


    "It seems like the blockade is leaving a shortage of skilled labour in this city," he said with a sneer in his face. He moved to take the tray from Ophelia''s hands. "I have never seen her here, is she new?"


    "Oh, yes," Ophelia was a bit intimidated at the gesture, but decided to play the innocent card. "Have I done something to displease you, sir?"


    "Hmm," he looked over at her, eyes going up and down her face. "You don''t look Chaldean. How is it that you speak Drusi so well?"


    "And Farreeq as well, if my ears didn''t deceive me," the woman said, looking over to the two maids. Ophelia figured that was the name of the language they both had spoken earlier. "And a very clean Iberian. Do you speak any other languages?"


    Ophelia crossed her arms in a nervous gesture; she felt a bit timid about giving an honest answer, but she supposed perhaps she could earn some forgiveness from her perceived trespassing by satiating their curiosity. "Faroese and Phrygian. I pick them up easily."


    "Fascinating," the woman said and looked over to her companion. She made a little gesture with her head, and the man nodded. He took the tray to a small table in the centre of the room, and motioned the other two maids to come in after him. Even through the language barrier, the two girls noticed something had displeased the occupants of the room, and dutifully did as they were told, in silence. They bowed twice before leaving, closing the screen door behind them.


    "Why don''t you sit down and eat with us?" the woman invited Ophelia, motioning towards the table. "I''m rather curious about how you came to know such disparate languages."


    Ophelia figured the man must be the famous Chaldean merchant they were looking for, and the woman some sort of assistant, perhaps a favoured entertainer at the brothel. She nodded, sitting down with them to eat some of the delicacies Oischar had prepared. Gone the initial nervousness, she took a second look at both characters: the man looked imposing, with square shoulders and a large build. The woman was in comparison more willowy, yet tall: she had blond hair so bright it almost looked silver, and yellowy, hazel eyes. Her skin looked silky smooth, and her delicate features made her seem almost otherworldly; if elves were a thing in this world, she probably was one.


    "My name is Hyperion," she said, "and my companion here is Eon. We''re regular guests at this brothel; Eon was a bit surprised at your actions as the custom here is very different."


    "Oh, sorry about that," Ophelia said, "what was I supposed to do, bring the trays to the table myself?"


    Hyperion nodded. Ophelia shrugged. "I asked the girls and they said that an entertainer would greet us and take the tray from us. I thought that was you?"


    The suggestion seemed to annoy Eon, who seemed ready to go into a tirade, before he was stopped by a gesture from Hyperion. "Oh, we don''t always have entertainers in this room. Only when we bring other guests. Today it was just the two of us."


    Ophelia decided to try her luck then.


    "Oh, so you''re both the Chaldean merchants I''ve been told about?"


    "Yes, that''s us," Eon answered cautiously. "Although you should be careful not to speak of us outside of this place. We don''t take kindly to those who spread gossip."


    "Isn''t this fish to die for?" Hyperion exclaimed, shooting her partner warning glances. "Try some, please. Help yourself!"


    The woman offered her some pieces of fried fish, which Ophelia took hesitantly. She was clearly trying to change the subject.


    "So, were you a merchant perhaps? Or the daughter of one? How come you speak so many languages so fluently?"


    "Not really," Ophelia answered hesitantly. She decided to offer a vague enough response. "I''ve been travelling since I was small. It would take me very little time until I was able to understand the languages of the people in the markets. For some reason or another, I can learn them quickly."


    "Interesting, very interesting¡­" Hyperion mused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at her. "What did your family do? With so much travel, if it''s not a merchant¡­"


    "They were envoys."


    "Oh? For who?"


    "The Iceni," Ophelia answered, receiving a blank stare in response. "From Hibernia."


    "I didn''t know those savages knew the concept of diplomacy," Eon snorted, and Ophelia felt slightly worried that, in her ignorance of the way that world worked, she''d committed a faux pas.


    "They are bound to learn, sooner or later," Hyperion acquiesced. "However, who would so readily believe that a maid from a brothel would be able to claim such illustrious heritage?"


    Ophelia knew that either she could try and convince them of her claims by pulling together a list of imaginary evidence, which given her limited knowledge of the world could work against her, or that perhaps, she could come clean about some of her reasons for being there and try to appeal to them for the help they needed.


    "Well, I''m actually not a maid," she said with a tentative smile. "I just came here for the day looking for the Chaldean merchant that''s said to have a way out of the city."


    Eon''s shoulders tensed, and he seemed to be ready to jump at her. Hyperion held up her hand with an authoritative air; her manner was calm but her eyes had taken on a certain cold sharpness that made Ophelia want to find somewhere to hide.


    "An Iceni woman looking for a way out of the city," she said slowly, "perhaps alongside two Phrygian men?"


    Ophelia swallowed and nodded. Hyperion held her eyes for a second, clearly evaluating her. Finally, she made a gesture towards her companion, who immediately got up, walked to the desk on their right, and took a small silk pouch from one of its drawers. He passed it along to her, and sat back down.


    "Take this to my residence," the woman said, extracting an ornately carved square wooden token from the pouch, "and you''ll be able to have an audience with me."


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    Ophelia accepted it.


    "Bring your companions; we can discuss your plight in a bit more detail then. Now, leave us. You''ve done what you''ve set out to do."


    She smiled nervously at the both of them before taking her leave. She thought about leaving the brothel, but on the way back to the kitchen she found too many people requesting her help for her to actually make a run. It wasn''t until mid afternoon that she saw a small opening, quickly changed into her clothes, and left the place.


    She went up to the other two brothels, trying to ask for Phobos and Aristides, but none of the workers inside were too bothered with her questions. An hour after unsuccessfully coming back and forth between the two establishments, trying her luck, she caught sight of Phobos in one of the courtyards that led to the pleasure house he''d decided to work in.


    His style of clothing was similar to what she''d been given, except he''d chosen to wear, on top of the kimono, a bigger, looser yukata-style robe. The shorter sleeves would reveal his tattoos, and with things as it were, it would draw unnecessary attention to him. Regardless, to her, he looked strange in the foreign clothes. He was tall, and his bronze skin shone under the sun; he couldn''t be further away from any stereotypes she''d conjured in her mind. Still, she couldn''t help but stare, fascinated at the beautiful picture.


    She wasn''t the only one. At the end of the courtyard, partly hidden by arrangements of jasmine bushes, a group of girls stole glances at him and giggled. They were all having snacks and tea, sitting in plump Ottomans that broke the illusion of orientalism; they probably were some of the entertainers having a break. Ophelia was able to catch glimpses of their conversation, which was centred around Phobos and his likeness; all of them sighed wistfully wishing that he''d be their next customer.


    A nasty thought entered Ophelia''s mind; unlucky you, he doesn''t like that sort of thing. Even the tone in her mind was petty, and she wondered if she wasn''t taking his earlier proposal a bit too seriously¡­


    Nevertheless, she used her powers to draw his attention: a rock tumbled near his feet, big enough for him to notice but not enough that it''d be the talk of the giggling girls. He looked puzzled at first, trying to see what had caused the rock to move, and in his wild chase around the courtyard he ended up crossing gazes with her. His countenance immediately brightened, and he crossed the place in a few strides.


    Ophelia cheered silently when she noticed the disappointed stares from the giggling women. "I have some news," she said to Phobos. "I found the Chaldean merchant, and I''ve got an invitation to his place."


    She showed him the wooden token, and his eyes widened in surprise. "We shall go first thing tomorrow," he said.


    The man didn''t have the same qualms as her about giving back the uniform they''d been provided. He didn''t bother changing. He just left. Perhaps that tendency he''d learnt from his teacher, because Aristides did exactly the same, save his little exclamation of "we ought to celebrate tonight!"


    And celebrate they did back at the tavern; their pint glasses still wet just a few nights after their successful plea at the Magistrate.


    "You seem to be like the goat that gives birth to calves," Phobos said, nudging her with his elbow. He was in an unusually playful mood; it was strange to see for Ophelia, who''d thought so far the other man was nothing but absolute business day in and out. Although there had been seven or eight beers on the road to reach that stage.


    "What?" The turn of the phrase, however, was a little obscure for her to decipher.


    "You bring us good luck," he explained. "It seems like you are always at the right place at the right time. I''m a fortunate man that you''re my wife!"


    Ophelia blushed. "For now. I''m sure you''ll want to stop this charade when you meet someone nice you want to settle down with¡­"


    The serious look returned to Phobos'' gaze. "I''d be a fool to run away from someone like you."


    Ophelia turned away, embarrassed. "You''re joking. We haven''t known each other that long for you to be saying things like that."


    "I don''t have the luxury of time on my side," his voice was bitter, but none of it was directed at her. "But even if I did, I don''t think it''d make you appear any different. You''re brave; you persevere. I don''t know how things were in your world, but I see your hands are soft and you''re wide-eyed when you see blood. You''re not used to the things we''re used to, and yet you''ve never complained. You never shouted to the skies that your lot was miscast, never ran away, even in front of my blade. How could I not find that admirable?"


    Throughout the years, none of the neglect she''d suffered, the cold shoulders she''d been given or the constant wear and tear of people who simply thought her an eyesore had made her cry. It had bothered her, sure; it had sent her mind into dark places, conjured sad fantasies of better places and quick solutions, but her body had not reacted to it. No one gives a smile to the sky when the sun is out; we assume it''ll be there every morning, even if it''s hidden by clouds. It was a similar situation for her; that was the way things were meant to be, and there was no meaning in offering any response other than apathy.


    The reality is that a void had been created; she hadn''t noticed it until that very moment, when something had come to fill it up. Phobos'' words broke through a strange wall, announcing the existence of that emptiness, and finally, her eyes teared up. There was no real word to describe the emotion: she just felt overwhelmed at the praise, the appreciation.


    Phobos immediately panicked; Ophelia tried to explain to him that it wasn''t his fault but her words simply conjured sobs that had been hiding in her mouth for years, and the only thing she was able to do was fall forward into his chest, pressing her face into the comforting embrace of the exiled prince. He gave up trying to understand, holding her in a simple hug, his face resting on top of her head.


    "I''m so-sorry," she sniffled, still hiding in his chest. "I meant to say thank you for that¡­ I''ve never heard anyone say that about me before."


    She put some distance between them, enough to face him but not enough that he''d need to drop his embrace. "I don''t know if I''m brave. I just don''t have anywhere to go back to. My world¡­ Byzantium¡­ it''s not a nice place. At least for me. There, I''m invisible, less than dirt. Here, I have friends. I have Felicia, Aristides, you. I know this sounds strange, but I didn''t talk to people that much in the other place¡­"


    She tried to clear her face with her hands, "This is so much better than the life I had there."


    "They''re fools for casting you away," Phobos frowned. "Byzantium or not, they must be fools."


    "Thanks," Ophelia laughed, still teary-eyed.


    A moment of stillness settled between the two of them. His hands still lightly pressed against her arms, a sense of awkwardness bloomed. Ophelia stood up, making some excuses about her bedtime. "Goodnight," she whispered. Phobos, while he looked like he had more to say, sighed and let her go with a similar greeting. He stared at her retreating figure, finished the beer he''d been drinking, and headed upstairs.


    -


    The building was imposing: eight pillars crowned the entrance; big blocks of marble lined the wall against which an elaborately carved gate had been set. A guard stood watch, and his grave countenance didn''t even change when Ophelia showed him the token, although he let them in. As they walked through she couldn''t help but admire the figures painstakingly set in wood to guard their entry. Some tale was told in the panels that made up the gates themselves, one that she didn''t recognise but that seemed to involve a warrior and some sort of mythological creature.


    They were led through a patio tiled in red marble. Palm trees and exotic papyrus reed painted in green exuberance the place; the austere sandy cream of the walls had been partly engulfed by pink jasmine climbers, engulfing them all in a sweet, beautiful scent. It was all immaculate, a stark contrast to the rest of the city.


    Around them servants buzzed around; they all seemed to be carrying something, going somewhere. It made Ophelia wonder how they managed to keep the tiles from warping under the weight of their feet. They looked like little white ants, going around in stark, simple white robes; their heads were all either shaven or tied back in a neat braided hairstyle.


    The main hall was behind a triple row of pillars. Unlike the ones in the entrance, which were an austere white, these had been decorated in gold leaf and bright colours. No walls separated the outside from the interior; the only two distinctions lay in the single step they had to take before the first row of columns and the elaborate carpet that covered the entire floor of the hall. It was of an exotic red, patterned in leaves and more jasmine flowers.


    In the middle of the hall a space had been put together for receiving guests. It was a circle of pillows and throws, all as elaborate as the carpet below them. Enormous wisterias hung from the pillars and had been arranged so as to hover the space, adding some whimsical enchantment to the grand decor of the place. Ophelia looked at them in wonder; it looked almost like a waterfall had been stopped in time, forever a deep blue over their heads.


    "In my first time in the far east," a familiar voice said, "I lodged in a poet''s house. He had a garden full of wisterias, and he would sit down under their shade every afternoon during the spring to compose his poetry. We would sit together, drink tea and talk about the different ways one could describe the flowers in his native language."


    Hyperion had come to greet them, dressed in a set of loose silk robes. She looked even more radiant than the previous day, platinum hair contrasting beautifully against the silky blue of the flowers and the intense, deep reds of the floor. Despite wearing no shoes she was just as tall as Phobos, if not a bit more. With the two of them standing close Ophelia could not help but think of her as ephemeral, delicate: Phobos'' muscled body dwarfed her, somehow.


    "Are they difficult to grow, the wisterias?" Ophelia asked. Hyperion came to stand beside her and reached out to the vines to pluck a flower, which she then put behind the other woman''s ear as an accessory.


    "Perhaps; these ones I took from the poet''s garden after he died from consumption," Hyperion motioned towards Phobos and Aristides, who had remained a step behind her. The former was eyeing them curiously, the latter seemed more guarded, waiting for introductions to happen. "These must be your companions, then."


    Ophelia realised then that they were speaking in Drusi, the language of the Chaldeans. She gave their names, the fake ones, as an answer; that made the two men perk up.


    "Pleased to meet you, Phrygians. My name is Hyperion; he''s Eon, my assistant. Let''s make ourselves comfortable and discuss your business over some chai."


    They all settled under the hanging flowers. Eon made some gestures to some of the servants who had been hanging back, listening in to their conversation. Stillness turned into motion as the white-clad men and women descended on them with fine porcelain tea sets and trays full of delicacies. Exotic fruits were laid in front of them; figs, dates, oranges, mandarins and pomegranates were arranged like flowers around the copper trays, more an offering than a snack.


    A servant left a pot of tea in front of Ophelia; out of habit, she opened the top to check how long the brew had before it would be ready. She leaned in when she noticed it was a green tea; she smiled pleasantly when she smelt the strong scent of jasmine.


    "It seems like you''re familiar with chai, my lady," Hyperion commented. Behind her, Eon''s scowl deepened. Ophelia turned towards Phobos and Aristides, not aware that she''d committed a faux-pas. Both of them were shooting her surprised and wary glances as well; they hadn''t touched the pots that had been left in front of them, or had even given indication they had noticed them at all.


    "I missed it," she could''ve lied and feigned ignorance, but something in Hyperion''s sharp eyes told her that she wouldn''t have succeeded. "I haven''t had this kind very often, or this fragrant, I don''t think."


    "Oh? And what kind are you used to?"


    "Uhm¡­ earl grey?" Ophelia said, reverting back to English. Her ears found it a bit shocking to hear that common language in that strange setting; it felt almost like she was breaking a spell.


    "Er-grei," Hyperion repeated thoughtfully. "I don''t think I''ve ever heard of such chai. What does it taste like?"


    "Well, it''s black chai but it tastes a bit like a bitter orange? It also has a nice scent."


    "Fascinating. I hope the lady will brew it for me sometime," Hyperion smiled at her, but Ophelia felt like she was being made fun of. To ignore the awkwardness, she poured herself some tea. The cups had no handle, like Japanese or Chinese sets she''d seen before, so she grabbed them by the rim very carefully, and took some sips.


    "What is this beverage?" Phobos asked her, intrigued by her smiling face. The taste was deep, rich; it had the strong accent of the jasmine flowers, without it overpowering the underlying sweetness of the green tea.


    "Try it!" she said, and motioned for him to pour it. His first reaction was very mild; he took another sip, and then another, and started to warm up to it. Aristides followed; unlike Phobos, he seemed immediately taken by the taste.


    "I''m glad it is to the liking of the Phrygian palate," Hyperion said pleasantly. "I find that sharing chai in pleasant company helps create pleasant discussions."


    "Indeed," Aristides said with a nod. "You honour Chaldean hospitality with your actions, my lady."


    Hyperion smiled. "This is the Chaldean way of doing business; we leave our gifts on the table, along with our truth. Have you ever heard of that expression?"


    Aristides shook his head. "It is a very old saying," Hyperion repeated it in Drusi, hands lightly playing with the cup in her hands. "And it means that before two merchants strike a deal, they should be honest with each other. And so, I''d like to ask you, what do you want to leave on this table?"


    The two Phrygian men shared a look between them. "It may be customary for Chaldeans to allow their women to discuss trade," Phobos said, "but I am curious, as in Phrygia such matters are left for men to resolve."


    "And what are you curious about, Phrygian?" Eon spoke curtly.


    "If we should wait for the master of this house to be present."


    Hyperion left her cup on the tray and leveraged a single amused look at the prince. With an arched eyebrow, she seemed to be mocking him. She slowly slid one hand across her chest under the edge of the tunics, and then pulled it to the side. Underneath there were no curves; soft and delicate skin it may be, but it was undoubtedly the body of a man.


    "Lucky are your stars, the master of the house is here," Hyperion said.


    Phobos'' face reddened and he abruptly left his unfinished cup on the floor with a brusque motion. It was as if the water had turned into poison; clearly, the gesture seemed to have disturbed him greatly. Aristides was not much better; although by temperament he was on the calmer side, he was still an old warrior, and such tricks, as he perceived them, were not easy for him to digest.


    Hyperion seemed to be detachedly amused at the two men''s reactions, but he showed more interest in Ophelia''s expression. The woman, virtue of the society she''d come from, was more surprised than disgusted; she thought that his height should''ve perhaps sparked a question or two. "I can see you had a different idea of me as well, lady," he said.


    "You make a very beautiful woman," Ophelia said with a timid smile. "I''m sure you''re aware of it."


    That seemed to stroke his ego. "I am; as I''m sure you know yourself, men do tend to be more forthcoming towards women when their beauty is something they want to take for themselves. One learns all sorts of interesting things this way."


    "What a strange way for a merchant," Phobos commented with disgust. "Is it really worth sacrificing your pride as a man for it?"


    "Is it worse than murdering your fellow countrymen in cold blood, mercenary?"


    The sharp tone put Phobos'' guard up. "Do you dare accuse me when the Magistrate saw no reason to?"


    All niceties were dropped. The shrewd Chaldean merchant emerged from within the beautiful shell it was encased in; tension filled the air. "The Magistrate is no fool and neither am I, mercenary. He simply knows that there is no merit in a public accusation when there are so many unknowns. Regardless of what the records will write, we know you were behind the murders."


    "But you know all this," he continued. "You came to seek from me safe passage, so you can leave this town before they decide to come for you."


    "Name your price."


    Hyperion chuckled, and his eyes wandered over to Ophelia. "I''ll take the woman, then."


    Phobos'' shoulders tensed¡ªAristides put a hand over his arm to calm him down. "I''m afraid that''s out of the question, my lord. We can''t sell what we don''t own."


    The merchant shrugged then, and put his hands up in an innocent gesture. "How unlucky for you then; you have nothing I want."


    "We can pay you handsomely."


    Hyperion looked around, and up to the silky wisterias above them. "A river does not want for water, old man."


    Phobos stood up abruptly. "It seems like there''s no point in wasting your time any further," he said, cold fury simmering in his eyes. Aristides took a hesitant look at the merchant''s placid face, saw that he had no intention of stopping the other man, and followed the lead of his prince. Ophelia figured out she may as well copy them.


    "I see that I''ve upset you, mercenary; you have no patience for me," Hyperion mocked him. "But should lady Iceni allow me the grace of sharing a meal with me, it''ll certainly put me in the mood to listen to your request once more tomorrow."


    "No pride and no shame," Phobos spat, and this time Aristides had to restrain him. "What are you playing at, coveting someone else''s wife?"


    "Wait, wait," Ophelia decided to intervene to defuse the situation. "I''m sure he didn''t mean it that way," she turned to Hyperion, who was snickering. "Or did you?"


    "Oh, I meant a simple meal. I covet only lady Iceni''s talents."


    "What do you mean?"


    "The gift of multiple tongues is golden for a merchant, but sadly I''m limited in my ability to learn new ones," Hyperion explained. "You would be an excellent mediator; I want to convince you to come work for me."


    Phobos swore. "I don''t believe you for a second, you degenerate."


    "That''s irrelevant; it''s up to her to believe me or not."


    Ophelia bit her lip. It was obvious that Hyperion was getting a kick out of provoking the exiled prince, how much of his offer was part of it she didn''t know. She figured that perhaps, it would not hurt to go along with him; it''d earn Phobos and Aristides a second chance, and worse comes to worse, she could escape using her abilities.


    It certainly made it easier to be so bold when one could command strange powers; back in her world, the situation would''ve crept her out.


    "I''ll stay for today, as long as you grant them another chance to speak tomorrow."


    Hyperion bowed his head with a small smile. Phobos stepped towards her, grabbing her gently by her arms.


    "Forget it, he''s just playing games," he said. "You don''t need to do this for us; we''ll find some other way."


    When he noticed she wouldn''t heed his advice, he leaned in to whisper, "I don''t know about your world, but in this one, a woman staying in a stranger''s house is a call for disaster. Please don''t do anything you''ll regret tomorrow."


    "In any world it''s the same," she whispered back. "But in this one I am more than capable of fighting off anyone who wants to force me to do what I don''t want to do."


    "You don''t know; it''s not about power¡­ there are all sorts of ways to get around people who can''t easily be tamed."


    Ophelia shook Phobos'' hands off her with a pointed look. "I can take care of myself."


    Aristides seemed to sense that his protege''s stubbornness was starting to brew conflict, and he stepped in to separate the two. "Let''s go; we''ll come back tomorrow," he said, putting a hand on the prince''s shoulder to draw him back. "It''ll be fine."


    Ophelia reassured both of them with a smile; after a few more protests, they were escorted back to the entrance. The two hosts and the woman watched them go; the servants around them rushed to clean up after them.


    Hyperion turned towards her and, as if the previous conversation hadn''t happened, offered her his arm. The woman took it cautiously, trying to ascertain what he was thinking; it proved to be a daunting task, as nothing escaped his pleasant, temperate mask.


    They began to walk through the hall; leaving behind the meeting space, they ventured into the complex, navigating the maze of hallways and rooms with servants running around them and Eon walking respectfully behind.


    "I''m infinitely amused at your circumstances," Hyperion broke the silence after a while. "Yesterday, I believed that you were the wife of a strange Phrygian who was desperate enough to let his wife come to a brothel. As I''m sure you''ve noticed, they''re quite prideful. Today, I see that he''s not strange at all; he''s like any other of his race, blessed with simplicity of mind. So it begs the question since a man like that would not be so lenient with his wife, are you his wife at all?"


    Ophelia was surprised at his perceptiveness; it filled her with dread.


    "Why does it matter?"


    "I''m trying to understand why you would lie for him, in front of the Magistrate. Are you, perhaps, in love with him?"


    "Again, why does it matter?"


    Hyperion stopped. The smile on his face was one of slight irritation.


    "You are more devious than what you appear at first, lady."


    "Ophelia," she said. "My name is Ophelia."


    He took her hand and kissed the back of it in a gallant gesture.


    "A pleasure to meet you, Ophelia."


    They walked through the estate; Hyperion showed her the sights. He had amassed an extensive collection of statues; most of them dedicated to heroes and politicians she''d never heard of. She asked some questions, incapable of containing her curiosity, but was careful not to seem too ignorant. He also seemed to be an avid horticulturist; he took great pride in the flowers and trees he''d collected from his travels and had planted around his property.


    Finally they arrived at what Hyperion called ''the great chamber''. He explained to Ophelia that he held his evening meals there; when he had guests over, he entertained them there. The room''s walls and ceilings were covered in oak panelling; above them, the wood had been carved into reliefs of interconnected five pointed stars. They formed an intricate, elaborate grid that recalled, briefly, the night sky. The floor was tiled in dark green marble; the whole ensemble made her think she was standing in an open field at night, somewhere back in England. It was sombre, yet strangely comforting.


    The chamber was set up like the dining rooms she was used to; a single long table running along the length of the hall. As it only had one window, on the north wall at the end of it, the place was naturally very gloomy. The lighting was provided mostly by the enormous chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, and which looked more like iron flowers, with each hollow petal holding an oil lamp made of glass.


    The table had already been set; decorated even with flowers. "We will dine with the rest of my retinue," Hyperion explained. "They should come in shortly. For now, let''s take a seat."


    "As I said before, trade is something that requires knowledge of multiple languages; I try, as much as I can, to speak some myself, but my talent in that area is limited. That''s why I''m always in search of mediators; it''s often the case that in one language a price is always below the price said in another language."


    Ophelia felt like she was in a job interview; strangely, she didn''t dislike the offer.


    "What would this entail? Simply translating during a business deal?"


    "Yes; very much like Eon, your presence would be more than welcome in my wanderings."


    "You travel quite a lot, don''t you?" Hyperion nodded. Ophelia wouldn''t have minded a bit of wandering about, except that in that time and age it wasn''t done through the convenience of a plane, but rather excruciatingly long sea and land journeys. The merchant sensed her hesitance.


    "Name your price; I can pay it," he said. "I can tell you are not particularly tied to your companions; if so, come with me. You''ll be paid handsomely."


    Ophelia was about to reply when the door on their left opened, and Hyperion''s retinue entered. Eight men led the group; they gave their greetings before taking their place on the right side of the table.


    "These are my assistants; they keep a tally of my transactions, manage my letters for me. They oversee certains aspects of my businesses."


    Next, ten women made their way into the room. Unlike the men, they were dressed lavishly; they all wore gold necklaces, earrings, head pieces and arm bands. The ones who sat closest to Hyperion and Ophelia, on the left, were also wearing body chains made of the precious metal, delicately shaping the sheer cotton dresses they wore. They were all exuberant women; the flimsy clothing did little to hide the shape of their breasts. If the lighting had been better, Ophelia knew she would''ve been able to make out very intimate details about them.


    "These are my concubines; I have yet to find a spouse."


    "Is it really needed?" Ophelia couldn''t help but ask, not being able to tear her eyes from the dazzling image of all the women adorned so beautifully.


    "A concubine warms the bed; a spouse warms the heart," Hyperion replied with a smile. "As you can see, they are my pride. Nadja over there sings like a nightingale; Lyre is very skilled with the harp and in poetry. Oriana and Ruby write very beautiful calligraphy, Hadwina decorates with her images. They''re all very accomplished entertainers; I rather prefer them to the ones the brothels offer. Yet I''d rather make use of them than to offer mine. I feel slightly jealous when other men enjoy what''s mine."


    "Fret not; if you like any of them, I can lend them to you," he offered.


    "That''s fine¡­" Ophelia answered, tearing her gaze away. "If I agree to work with you, I''ll want normal payment. Gold, silver, whatever you use. I don''t need anything else. But I want one condition: take my two friends to Arqa."


    Hyperion laughed, but something in his eyes told her that he''d expected her words. "Very well, seems like we''re in agreement then. Let''s toast to it!"

 Chapter 5

    The song of the sea was one of desperate seagulls, creaking oars and waves crashing against the hull of the ship; it was loud, reaching out to the horizon as if to test if anyone ashore would listen to it. The novelty wore off right at the time she was chased off the deck by the increasing weight of the damp foam that stuck to her when they crossed a particularly choppy section of the sea. She traded the sun and the prickly feeling of the salt on her skin for the vision of a hundred and twenty sweaty men working away at the oars amid sing-song under the deck. There were young and old, athletic, skinny and fat; an international bunch, as one might expect from a crew assembled by parts over successive stops at other ports. Hyperion had assured them they were all very reputable, as much as sailors could be, and that they were hard working, able to carry his ship across the expanse of the sea in only seven days.


    She felt a hand on her arm, and turned to see Phobos leading her to the small space he and Aristides had cordoned off at one end of the shed. Much had been said about her safety in the hours before they''d set sail; Hyperion, for the sake of expediency, let the Phrygian men do as they saw fit as he dealt with the Caudicean authorities. She was, after all, the sole woman in a ship full of men, and although by now she''d detected that Phobos and Aristides were on the more conservative side of things by her world''s standards, she felt relieved that they had taken the initiative to deal with it on her behalf.


    It was all very crude, of course; there was no first class boarding and reclinable seats with on-demand movies. Her self-proclaimed chaperones had arranged racks of amphoras with the ship''s cargo along a small line, acting as a makeshift wall to separate her from the rest of the crew. The space wasn''t big, but it was enough for her to lie during the night, with Aristides or Phobos at her feet to watch over her. They''d proclaimed to Hyperion that one of them would stay at all times with her; the other could do a shift at the oars, or work as part of the crew ¨C a stipulation from the Chaldean as he made it clear he didn''t like idle stowaways.


    It was Phobos'' time to rest now, and as he had taken to, he used his break to hover over Ophelia. "I thought the Chaldean was with you," he said as the woman handed him some of the snacks she''d packed along for the journey, courtesy of Felicia.


    "He was going through the books with Eon, I didn''t want to inconvenience him," she showed him the little wax tablet she was practising on. "I''ve been trying to learn the Akkadian script."


    Phobos took the tablet, and asked for the small stylus she was holding. With surprising dexterity, he inscribed the same phrase she had been practising. The signs looked swift, elegant, its sophistication underscored by the rough and wobbly lines she''d produced. "Oh," she caught herself, sighing in admiration. "I suppose it makes sense. A regent should know how to read and write."


    "So they say. However, my father always kept a scribe near him at all times. Royal fingers are made for swords; a stylus will not defend a kingdom," he looked up, returning the tablet to her. "I take it it''s not common to write in Byzantium?"


    "It''s the norm, actually," Ophelia answered, and wrote something in English to show him. "This is how most of the folk in my country write. You have this script¡­ and this one."


    He marvelled at the cursive, laborious the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. "They look like two different scripts," he commented. "Were you a scribe in Byzantium?"


    "No. I worked at a¡­ in something similar to a tavern. I went to university to study law but I didn''t finish my studies."


    "You studied in a university?" Phobos exclaimed, eyes wide. "Law? Is that how magistrates are chosen in your country?"


    "Yes, you need to study law to be eligible to become one. But you can also become a¡­," she struggled to find a similar word in the language she''d borrowed, until her mind came up with "iuris consulti. A sort of advocate who knows the law well enough to help laymen through legal procedures."


    Ophelia smiled bitterly, remembering her time in college. "I can''t say I felt very passionate about it. When things became tough, I abandoned my studies, and haven''t felt the need to go back. I just didn''t have anything else I wanted to be."


    Phobos tapped the wax tablet in her hands. "And now you want to be a record keeper?"


    "I don''t mind it. I need a place to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear."


    He locked eyes with her. His gaze felt scorching. "You can come with me. I can provide all that for you."


    Ophelia sighed. "I need something to do," she braced herself. "Or I''ll waste away."


    Phobos opened his mouth, ready to argue, when the men beyond their little cubicle began to raise their voices. An argument had broken out amongst the oarsmen; the loudest spoke in Iberian, shouting at the other to keep their silence. Grumbles and comments flew from all directions, all in different languages. A frenzy took hold of her brain; jumping from a piece of one conversation to the next, it tried to make sense of it all. Without meaning to, the ear tends to search for pieces of meaning in whatever it can capture; when this process is forced to quicken, the results are quite painful to the self. She grit her teeth and covered her ears with her hands, trying to stop the barrage of shouts.


    Phobos had jumped to his feet and was on his way to address the situation when she heard yet another voice join in the fray ¨C Hyperion.


    "What is the matter?"


    The chorus of voices died down as the one question washed over the crew. Relieved at the silence, Ophelia relaxed, and walked out of her little hiding hole to see what was happening.


    "A mere argument, my lord," explained the helmsman. "One of the men saw something in the water, stopped his work, and was berated for it."


    At that, the young man next to him who couldn''t be more than twenty, opened his eyes wide and shouted, "I swear I''ve seen it! A monster!"


    The helmsman shot him an irate look. "Silence!"


    As the oarsman was not about to comply, the helmsman looked at who seemed to be the man''s friend, and ordered him to do something to calm the hysterical youth. "Please, you need to listen¡­!" the oarsman continued his please, "this is an omen, it was screaming in the waves¡­! The monster¡­!"


    "What did you see?" Ophelia asked as she approached them. The youth, delighted to see someone who would understand him, took a step towards her and gesticulated wildly as he answered "I saw a creature with many tentacles, barely visible above the water. It had teeth at the top of its head, and something like a mouth that opened and closed. When it was open, a horrible scream would come out, like the wail of a dying baby..."


    "Did anyone else see anything like that?" she looked at the man''s friend, who resolutely shook his head.


    "It''s an omen, lady! A curse!"


    "Is there anything we can do?"


    The question seemed to agitate the man more, and she asked his friend to help her calm him down. He sat the frenzied oarsman back down on the benches, hands on his shoulders, and began to whisper something to him.


    Ophelia turned to Hyperion, frowning. He was looking at her with clear interest, waiting for her to translate what had transpired. "Yet another language to add to the list," he commented pointedly. "I suppose you didn''t just pick it up in the two days we''ve been at sea."


    "He talked about a curse," she explained in Iberian for the benefit of the helmsman. She pretended she didn''t hear Hyperion''s comment; there was no point trying to find an excuse for it. She could delegate that work to the man''s imagination. "He said he saw a monster in the water. A bad omen."


    "Ah," the helmsman said, almost rolling his eyes. "So that is what it is."


    "I''d have thought a helmsman would be able to assemble a crew that knew what the amber line was," Hyperion''s ruthless words were soft, dispassionate. It made it somehow altogether more brutal; the helmsman visibly flinched.


    "I did tell them about it. Maybe they didn''t hear me correctly; their Iberian is very poor."


    "Perhaps we should debrief this matter later," Hyperion suggested, although it was clear that his subordinate was in for a very strong-worded meeting. "I suggest you put your crew in order, trierarchos. Ophelia will be kind enough to assist you this time."


    Hyperion nodded at her, and left for the upper deck. Phobos, frowning at his retreating figure, walked up to her. "What is he doing, ordering you around like that?"


    With a gesture, Ophelia made it clear they would discuss it later, and turned towards the helmsman.


    "What is the amber line?" she asked. The man sighed, rubbing his temples with a tired expression.


    "Well, you''ll need to tell him," he answered, almost as if it was against his better judgement. "The route we''re travelling is quite famous amongst experienced sailors; they call it the amber line, as it was used in great numbers by ships carrying amber to the east. It also has an unfortunate number of disappearances, and many strange tales are told about them."


    "It is said that one might encounter strange creatures, and all sorts of demons when out in the open sea, in this route," the man continued. "It is true that the sea is a dangerous place; I have certainly seen my fair share of disasters. Most of them I would say had little to do with monsters; yet superstitions make young men fear the unknown more than a regular storm. Tell this man to do as he''s told, and to be more wary of gathering clouds than strange visions in the sea: they''re far more likely to come to take his life."


    Ophelia did as she was told. It was a strange experience to have someone else''s words in her mouth, trying to convince the young oarsman about something she had no personal experience with. It took several tries and more one-liners from the exasperated helmsman until the youth finally accepted the inevitable truth that no one else in the crew cared about his vision, and that no one would do much about it. The increasing aggravation from the strict Iberian man made it clear that at some point the suggestion would be put out to throw him off the ship, and that was always a good persuasive argument that could not be won against.


    Once it was all resolved, she climbed back upstairs to get some air.


    "What do you think he saw?" she asked Phobos. "Are there monsters in this world?"


    "None that I know of. But strange things may happen. Those who spend their lives at sea are quite superstitious."


    "The trierarchos seemed like a very practical man."


    "A leader has to see beyond such things; it matters little what''s real or imaginary. As you can see, regardless of whether the monster or the curse exists, he believes in it, and that should be enough."


    Ophelia considered Phobos'' words; outside of what could be taken at face value, they were quite telling of who the man beside her was. There were moments were he stopped existing as a warrior, when she caught glimpses of what he might''ve been like as a prince. The blood and the grime faded away, and she could see him walking through a hall, court following his every move.


    She felt voyeuristic; removed from the scene, almost. Contemplating how that man''s destiny, which was so literary, so mythical, had clashed with hers. A mundane profile, a set of descriptors of a birth date and a college career and likes and dislikes, the storylines of modern life contrasted against the high fantasy epic of an exiled prince looking to take back his throne. She realized, once again, how dream-like it all was.


    "What would you do if one of your men became crazed like that?" she asked, intruding in that dream to interview her character, try to unravel the real out of the myth.


    "If we were in the palace, dress him as a jester and let him rave and rant to his heart''s content," he said. "If we were in a battlefield, strike him down before his madness infects others."


    "You will run out of men at some point."


    "To err on the side of caution, one should always bring more than what is needed," Hyperion''s voice said from behind. "Especially when it comes to men, one should account for some of them falling prey to some folly or another."


    They both turned around. Ophelia frowned at the merchant. "Humans are not things that can be replaced when they''re broken."


    "A philosopher says," Hyperion quipped. "I''m a merchant, and the exiled Phrygian is a prince, neither of us have the luxury to speak in absolutes."


    The lazy smile on his face didn''t falter as Phobos surged forward, alarmed at his words. No one in their party had revealed to the Chaldean the true identity of the stowaways he was trafficking; it was too dangerous a secret to divulge.


    "Who told you?" the prince muttered through gritted teeth, hands grabbing tightly onto the other man''s shoulders. "Speak!"


    The merchant rolled his eyes.


    "A mercenary does not hold themselves in the way you do; that you were a nobleman, it was easy to tell. And lastly the men you killed could''ve only conspired against you; and who would put such an effort, if not for a prince?"


    Phobos narrowed his eyes, but let him go. "You should know better than to speak of this to others."


    "I am nothing if not opportunistic, your highness," Hyperion smirked. "I simply hope my good deeds are remembered."


    The warrior relented, and the royal stepped up. "You will get as good as you give, that I can promise," he said calmly as if a moment before he hadn''t been threatening the merchant. "When we arrive in Arqa I will arrange it so that the road to Raqmu is always open to you."


    Hyperion bowed his head, closing his eyes for a second as a sign of acknowledgment. "If only you were this charming before. I should''ve known that you prefer my company as a man."


    It was clear that regardless of whatever arrangements he could get out of their acquaintance, Hyperion would never pass the opportunity to get a raise out of Phobos. The prince visibly controlled himself, and simply looked away. "Your deceitful ways will always be distasteful to me."


    "Oh? I must''ve misunderstood. I thought you enjoyed a little trickery, as long as it came wrapped up in a dress," Hyperion turned towards Ophelia. "Right, lady Iceni?"


    Ophelia raised an eyebrow and shrugged; it was clear the Chaldean was fishing for information, trying to get the impulsive Phobos to reveal something in his haste to defend her. When the prince opened his mouth to speak, she barely touched his arm; the gesture, somewhat more intimate than she''d intended, made him flinch.


    "If you want to know something, ask your questions," Ophelia said with a stern tone. "You will know as much as you need to, and nothing more."


    "I''m afraid I''ve been too rude when I simply was trying to have a little fun. I apologise," the merchant conceded, bowing his head towards her. "Perhaps when we arrive and as we go through our business together I will get more chances to earn your trust. I will be looking forward to that, certainly."


    He excused himself, and made a tactical retreat. Ophelia sighed, and knew she''d have to pacify an irate Phobos, although she couldn''t quite understand what about Hyperion''s playful manner bothered him so.


    "Don''t mind him," she said, "he''s trying to get a raise out of you."


    "A man like him is given a stone, and after grinding his wheat with it, squeezes the thing until water comes out," the prince said with narrowed eyes. "It''s best to only deal with him as much as one has to, and no more."


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "True," Ophelia conceded simply, before turning back. "Should we go back downstairs? The sun is starting to come down, and the breeze is turning chilly."


    They both made their way back into their little space; the chat moved away from Hyperion and his ways back into Ophelia''s world. She shared with Phobos more about universities; in turn, he told her about how such things worked in Phrygia, and what was the custom in those lands. She noticed that his manner had noticeably changed from the initial stoic ambivalence and the later hostility; he seemed to have warmed up to her. He certainly made for very entertaining and interesting conversations, in spite of his very rigid world view.


    Aristides came to join them a few hours after sunset, and they both enjoyed dinner together. The oarsmen had been called off, as a good wind had begun to blow and the sails had been let loose to catch it. The helmsman came around to thank Ophelia for her help, and also to remind them not to walk on the deck during the night.


    "One of those seamen''s superstitions, my lady," he explained. "We all follow it. The rule is that we''re either all together after dark, or we stay hidden. Otherwise, bad things start to happen."


    Any objections that the three passengers might have had were left unsaid. After the man had gone, the conversation turned towards other topics; as the stars rose their voices died down. It wasn''t long until they all turned in for the night.


    Around midnight, Ophelia emerged from her dreams covered in cold sweat and a racing heart. Desperate to understand why her body had responded so, her mind clawed at the darkness, trying to retain whatever images it could of the things that had been revealed while asleep. Yet like water, it all escaped from her grasp: the only thing that remained was a vague feeling of trepidation.


    She opened her eyes and stared at the dark. Slowly, her breathing evened out and she began to relax. The oarsmen all rested in makeshift beds beyond the wall of amphoras that Aristides and Phobos had set up; their snores echoed softly in the large hull. Amidst their noises, the sound of timid footsteps emerged. Slow, unsure, they wandered from somewhere in the back closer to her; bare feet striking the wooden planks, looking for the stairs to the upper deck. Ophelia''s mind was delirious, half asleep and half awake, and it didn''t think much of it ¨C it played around with its significance, part placing it into a completely unrelated scenario before submerging it into irrelevance as she plunged once more into slumber.


    It wasn''t until the next morning that the footsteps would be plucked from her memory to escort the words the helmsman had said to her the day before. A commotion in the upper deck greeted all the late risers when a group of sailors began their tasks at dawn: shouts and laments began to be heard as the body of a man was found lying next to one of the sails'' masts. Ophelia was roused from her sleep by an anxious Aristides, and it was at the mid point of her climbing the flight of stairs leading to the scene of the crime that her mind was coherent enough to put two and two together.


    Someone had broken a taboo.


    "It happened, it happened!" she heard the helmsman say through gritted teeth as he grabbed at his hair. "This damned kid...!"


    Aristides opened the way for her, moving curious and disturbed oarsmen to one side or the other as he walked closer to the centre of the commotion. Hyperion and Eon were already there; Phobos was with them, crouched next to the body. One look at the victim, another for the young man who was being sternly stared at by the Chaldeans; that was enough for Ophelia to understand what was happening.


    The one who had broken the taboo was the young oarsman from the day before.


    "Ah, lady Iceni," Hyperion greeted her. "I''m afraid we''re having a hard time trying to piece together what happened. Would you care to speak to this man?"


    Ophelia nodded. "I heard someone walk up to the deck last night," she said to the dead man''s friend. "Was it him?"


    "I was asleep," he replied. "I don''t know what happened. He''d calmed down by the time we all retired for the night. He went to sleep early. I woke up at dawn, and he was already gone."


    Hyperion showed no sign of disappointment after Ophelia recounted the exchange. If anything, he seemed almost bored, as if the whole ordeal was an inconvenience he would''ve rather avoided. "I agree with you," he said, after the woman had shared her thoughts with him. "Something unsettled him yesterday, and he thought he''d disregard the warnings to try and find an answer for it. It didn''t quite pay out for him."


    Ophelia took a look at the body. Three people had been called to search any signs of life; save for the slight discolouration in the lips the corpse looked for all intents and purposes as fresh as any of the sailors staring fearfully at it. "How did he die?"


    "I can''t tell," Phobos answered. "There are no wounds and no marks on his body. I can''t detect any evidence of poison, either."


    "I''ll call the men to dispose of the corpse," Eon said. He looked just as bored as Hyperion.


    Ophelia, used as she was to the procedural nature of a life time of crime shows, felt horrified at the thought. "Wait! We need to find out what happened!" she cried.


    "It''s clear what happened: his own indiscretion killed him," Eon replied. "This will only distract the crew and fill their heads with nonsense."


    "But what if he was murdered? What if there is something dangerous out there? We need to know!"


    "There is danger everywhere, my lady," Hyperion replied with a condescending smile. "That is an accepted fact by everyone in this crew. The nature of it doesn''t concern us; we know it exists and that''s sufficient. Paying too much attention to it only creates more trouble."


    "But¡­ but doesn''t it bother you? That he''s dead?"


    "I have other seventy men to worry about."


    Hyperion gently laid a hand on her arm to move her to the side; he was clearing the way for two of the crew to walk in to take the corpse. Their faces were inscrutable; concentrated only in the task they''d been given. If they were afraid, they didn''t show it. One of them took the body by the arms, the other by the legs, and both carried it towards the edge of the ship. Their bodies were bulky and their arms looked strong, but even they struggled with the weight of their cargo.


    As they tried to swing the corpse out into the sea, both sailors screamed in surprise, dropping it heavily onto the deck. The majority of the crew had gathered outside at that point, and their curiosity made it difficult for Ophelia to see what was happening. She caught a glimpse of greenish fingers twitching, and heard more surprised shouts.


    Then, all hell broke loose.


    The corpse had sprung back to life. A half-lidded wet stare that looked at nothing faced one of the sailors that had tried to throw it to the sea; its mouth was open, slack and dumb. Legs and arms twitched horribly as it struggled to stand upright; animated by an unseen force, it then reached out towards the nearest living thing. Horrified screams rang around the scene as, before anyone could make sense of what they were seeing, the corpse grabbed one of the crew men with enough strength to shatter his fingers. Forcing the panicking man''s face next to its own, it opened its mouth with enough violence to dislocate its own jaw. The cracking sound of bones coming apart was met with a deep wet rumble, signifying what was to come.


    Crawling out from within the corpse''s throat, worm-like creatures reached out towards the sailor, landing on his face, his neck and his arms. Small tendrils extended from their bodies to attach themselves to the man''s skin; once they had made contact, they embraced the exposed flesh, and violently began to burrow themselves in it. The sailor''s screams silenced everyone else''s: the creatures were tearing him apart, and although he cried desperately for help, everyone was too terrified to take action.


    A single soul was ready for action: a sword cut through the corpse, which finally relented his hold on the poor sailor. The victim fell to the floor, writhing in agony as the parasites still tried to take hold. The reanimated body, however, continued to twitch. From within the wounds no blood sprung forth: only tendrils, small and swirling like those that the worm-like creatures used as hands and feet, and they folded in on themselves, attaching to the exposed flesh and bones and twisting it into strange poses.


    Phobos swore after swinging his sword two more times: after each time, the body became more distorted, but hardly less animated. Ophelia, who had seen too many movies not to know that blunt force would not be effective against such dangers, stopped him from continuing his folly:


    "I have an idea," she said, before pushing her way towards Hyperion. The Chaldean merchant was just as unsettled as the rest of the crew, looking genuinely fearful this time.


    "Send the crew under the deck," she said to the merchant. "We''re all in danger if this thing tries to grab someone else. It will keep multiplying."


    "We need to get rid of it," Eon snapped. "We''ll get some sailors to throw it off board!"


    "No! You''ll put them at risk! This thing is looking for hosts, whatever it is."


    As she said it, another sailor''s panicked screams joined the tumult. "How many more men do you want to waste?" she pressured them.


    "And what do you propose we do?" Hyperion asked her. "Are we to wait below deck until the creature gets bored and jumps off ship?"


    "No, I can get rid of it."


    She received two equally disbelieving stares. Phobos, who''d just ran to them, seemed to understand what she was about to do. "No! Forget it! You can''t do that," he argued. "I''ll take care of it."


    "How? Your sword seems to be no good."


    "I can try to throw it off the ship with my spear."


    "There''s an easier solution, and you know it. Let me do this."


    Ophelia''s eyes flashed with something; Phobos'' jaw twitched, as if he wasn''t quite used to having to swallow an argument. However, he was no fool: he had little faith that his brute force would be better for handling the unknown creature than the strange powers of the woman from Byzantium.


    The Phrygian''s reaction picked Hyperion''s interest, and he finally relented. "Eon, give the command for everyone to take shelter below deck. You will remain with them. Lady Iceni, our Phrygian friend and I will remain on deck to sort this out."


    The Chaldean merchant''s second-in-command attempted to protest, but a stern stare quickly convinced him to give up. Phobos prepared his fight as well, convinced that it was a danger for Ophelia to reveal her powers to a man so untrustworthy. The woman, however, swiftly quieted his concerns with a dry "ultimately, my secrets are mine to reveal or conceal".


    The sailors were more than happy to comply with their new orders: the evacuation was swift, almost desperate as everyone quickly poured back downstairs to seek shelter from the strange happenings that were going on deck.


    Hyperion stayed back, happily keeping his distance from the corpse and the two screaming sailors fighting off the dangerous parasite creatures. Phobos, on the other hand, naturally braved the danger by putting himself between Ophelia and the source of all the trouble, sword in hand. His strong frame was comforting; the woman would gladly admit that his gentlemanly ways were slowly winning her over.


    Concentrating, knowing what she was doing without really knowing how, she thought of one too many scenes of bio-horrors being frozen into fragile glass-like ice. Something stirred, but it wasn''t quite enough to do anything, and despite her best attempts she failed again and again at manifesting anything.


    Just when she was about to doubt whether her powers were still there, the corpse somehow understood that she was now his greatest threat, and lunged at her in all its twisted, deformed glory. It wasn''t in any form that could move with any significant speed; it was, however, so grotesque that it made up for the lack of menace with a sense of horror so profound, that it triggered something within her. She rejected it so utterly that she manifested her powers only to get rid of such unnatural a thing. Extending her arms, rays shot out of her fingers; tendrils of electricity flashed and rained down on the corpse and the creatures, embracing them tightly until they were burnt to a crisp.


    Finally, silence took a hold of the deck; only the waves were heard, softly singing in the background. Whatever miracles Ophelia was capable of working were almost surgical in their precision: the sailors had been spared from the shock of her thunder, which had only attacked the worm creatures. It had all been too much for them, however, and both had fainted from pain and exhaustion.


    "Elysian," Hyperion whispered then. He maintained his distance, eyeing Ophelia with a stare full of mixed feelings. "I''d have thought that to learn any secrets of yours would make it all the more clearer to me, but it only creates more questions."


    His eyes immediately travelled towards Phobos. Ophelia could only imagine what he was thinking; perhaps he would try to fashion a place for her in the war the prince had been involved in, perhaps he''d invent some other strange tale. Between his thoughts and the truth she was happy to leave some distance by not offering much in the way of an explanation. To a certain extent, she knew, it gave her an advantage.


    "Let us finish this," the Chaldean said, "and then, I''d like to have sit for some chai with you."


    Eon was called back; by the time he''d brought his men to the deck Phobos had already gotten rid of the charred corpse and the remnants of the insidious creatures. The two unconscious sailors were bandaged and laid over their own makeshift beds. Where the tendrils of the monsters had touched, something akin to acid had corroded the skin away, leaving cracked, bleeding scabs behind. The deeper wounds had reached muscle and tendons; those, the impromptu first responders had said, were the bigger concern, as they would easily get infected.


    Doubtful and scared glances were shared by the crew as they slowly went back to their regular duties; the helmsman did his best to ran a tight ship, regardless of how visibly nervous he was. Hyperion made a gesture to Ophelia and they both retreated to his chambers, located in the upper deck, while around them whispers of what had transpired began to spread.


    Eon nodded at his master as they walked by him; clearly, whatever needed to be said would be shared later. Phobos had made an attempt to follow them, but had been stopped by Aristides, who''d helped Eon lock the crew downstairs. "Not everything requires your presence, my lord," he whispered with a sharp look at his pupil.


    Hyperion''s chambers were a simple affair. A chest for his belongings sat against one of the walls; next to it, a wooden stand to hang the elaborately silk robes he favoured. There was no bedding except for a pile of animal skins of luscious fur thrown in the centre of the room. A heavy basalt jar stood next to the door and held the fresh water that Hyperon used for his own personal consumption.


    He asked Ophelia to be patient with him before walking to the last piece of furniture in the room, an elegant cabinet made of polished dark wood with details in jade that reached to his chest. He opened one of its doors, and pulled out a drawer. From it, he took out an eastern tea set: two cups and a tea pot, with a handle on one side. From another, a small wooden box. He placed them on a small tray, and carried it to the centre of the room; then, he filled a jar with fresh water, and lowered himself over the skins. Every single action, Ophelia had noticed, was carried out with the same charm that a courtesan might have for a host; none of his movements had the abandon of the utilitarian zealousness that a waitress like her would exhibit. It was all very elegant, each swish of a hand or a finger heavy with practice to the point it floated effortlessly across the space. If he hadn''t been favouring his male disguise then, she''d have once again believed he was a beautiful woman.


    Ophelia was invited to sat down, and lost in her thoughts, she failed to notice that they were missing a very important element in their would-be tea ceremony. "I hope to earn your forgiveness if I''m once again being too impertinent," Hyperion smoothly said as he tapped the ceramic jar that offered only cold water. "But, given how pertinent it is to the conversation, I thought we might save some time if I asked you to warm the water for me."


    Ophelia blinked once, and then almost by instinct looked around her to try to find anything she could use to boil the water. It was only after a few seconds and the intense stares of the man in front of her that she put two and two together and realized he was asking her to use her powers. "Oh," she exclaimed. "I''m not used to this."


    Placing a hesitant finger on the jar, she thought about the modern conveniences of electric kettles and how much she missed the familiarity of the watery taste of store-branded tea. Her memories seemed to do the trick, and as she imagined the tell-tale sounds of a cup ready to be served, the water in the jar began to bubble.


    "Fascinating," Hyperion exclaimed, breaking through all his poise and grace to stare at her with open awe.


    "Is this your first time seeing this?" she asked as he opened the wooden box to reveal small compartments full of spices and dried leaves. He put a pinch of two or three different things in the pot before pouring the boiling water in. "No," he replied. "I''ve had some dealings with Elysians, and I''ve enjoyed their hospitality. They''re rather giddy when it comes to showing off their strange abilities. Any time is a good one to remind everyone else who they are."


    "It can be very tiring," Ophelia said. Now that the shock of the morning''s events had worn off, she was starting to feel the effects. "I can''t see myself doing everything through my powers."


    "Every other Elysian I''ve met would certainly be able to picture it; although I''m not sure if they would be able to pull it off."


    Hyperion served the tea, and sat back with a cup in his hands. Something seemed more relaxed about him that way, as if the masks had been peeled away and there was no merchant trying to find a way to make bank, only someone with an interest in what she had to say. "Will you tell me more about yourself, and how you came to accompany the Phrygian prince?"


    "Mmh¡­ For what price should I speak, I wonder?"


    "I can help; I know many people with many different abilities. For a runaway Elysian that''s always a good thing."


    "Why do you think I''m a runaway?"


    Hyperion took a sip of his tea and fixed her with an honest, mocking stare. Somehow, she felt like she was finally getting to see him for who he was. "You''re not locked away somewhere in Elysium, married to some Count or another, raising three or four children hoping they will reach adulthood. There aren''t many choices for someone like you in that society; clearly, you''ve made your escape. Was it the prince who helped you? Perhaps, the result of a tryst during the civil war?"


    Ophelia smiled, laughing to herself. "I''m not running away from anyone," she offered. "But I''d rather we keep my powers a secret from the rest. I''d rather this is not widely known. What you can offer me, you''ve already done. Just give me a salary, and don''t mention any of this. That''ll be enough for me."


    Hyperion leaned forward, his soft, long hair cascading into the air. "Is that enough? A safe space?"


    Ophelia nodded. The Chaldean''s lips turned up. "You place very little faith in his highness, I see now."


    "What do you mean?"


    "You think I''m better suited to keep you safe than he is."


    "He''s fighting a war. You''re just trading goods. I''m more used to what you do than what he does."


    Hyperion left his cup on the tray, and raised an eyebrow at her. "You''ve never thought you could end his war very quickly? Elysians are known, after all, for their propensity to stick their noses into everyone else''s business. Quite successfully, at that."


    Ophelia looked away. "I don''t know¡­" she mumbled. She couldn''t explain that she could hardly take part in a fight for a place she had only learnt about a few weeks before. "I don''t think he''d appreciate it if I meddled in it."


    "He might not¡­ he''s rather stubborn, isn''t he?" Hyperion shrugged. "It''s all the better for me if you''d rather stay with me. Perhaps I shouldn''t speak of this. But I''m curious; he seems rather fond of you, and as stuck in his ways as he is, no man could help but notice the immense opportunity you represent. And, having been involved in his business, I wondered how much you wanted to keep digging in¡­"


    Ophelia moved back. "Perhaps I''ll change my mind once we''re in Arqa. Perhaps I''ll feel more compassion towards his plight, and decide to abandon you. I don''t know¡­"


    Hyperion moved to fill Ophelia''s empty cup. He had a small smile in his face. "You''re rather shrewd, I see. It''s rather refreshing to see a woman capable of putting a man to test."


    "What do you mean?"


    "You know what you want; and you''re aware of what that Phrygian will offer you. It''s obvious that, unless he surprises us all, either of those things will be as distant as the moon and the sun."


    Ophelia took her cup and slowly sipped the tea. The spicy taste licked at the inside of her mouth, poignant. She wouldn''t have framed it that way, perhaps, but there was a truth to the Chaldean''s words. It hadn''t emerged as a conscious thought so far, but it was a running theme in the background of her conversations with Phobos. As much as she was warming up to him, she worried about how he saw her; there were certainly points of friction that emerged when she''d try to act on her own terms. If she were to keep going that path, of deepening her relationship with Phobos, where would that leave her?


    "I think you''re rather early in this discussion," she finally said. "We''re not anywhere near a point of inflection for us to be trying to cast lots."


    Hyperion acquiesced. "You''re right, I apologise. I''ve been too eager. But, if anything, this conversation should''ve let you know that I''ll always leave a door open for you."


    "For my talents," Ophelia corrected him. The merchant nodded with a smile.


    "Why not both?"

 Chapter 6

    The journey from Caudiceum to Arqa along the Amber line was widely known to be the fastest of all routes possible between those two ports; even then, it would normally take about week and a half to make the crossing. However, lucky sailors would once in a blue moon come across a very rare phenomenon, one that presented itself when certain conditions where met: at the height of summer, right after the seasonal storms had washed over the southern coasts and the currents of the northern sea had seen enough turmoil, wind would blow favourably throughout seven days and seven nights, with no major rains and a water so calm the crystalline ocean floor would be seen below. It was in that weather that the lucky ship would find itself sighting the shore in no more than five days, with no effort from its crew required.


    Hyperion, Phobos and Aristides knew they would not be lucky enough to see it happen this time around, but they were lucky enough to be travelling with someone who could make it happen. Ophelia jumped at the idea, surprised it hadn''t come to her before: she couldn''t say that she was looking forward to spending week and a half in a ship.


    It was a task easier said than done: it turns out her mysterious Byzantine powers weren''t as miraculous as one might think. A wind would blow as long as she focused hard on it; it took her several hours of ever-increasing frustration to get it to manifest the way she wanted to. It started small, like a breeze; it would die out, it would blow in the wrong direction. If it was too strong, it could destroy their sails, or sweep the crew off the ship. She needed to carefully control it through dedicated exercises of concentration ¨C which she could only hold for so long.


    So it was devised in the end that she''d summon the winds during the day, with certain intervals allowed for her rest. When she wasn''t seeing to it, they''d put the crew to work. That way they alternated wind and mechanical power ¨C and it was enough to get them to Arqa by the seventh day.


    "Finally," she had exclaimed with a sigh when one of the men announced that land was in sight. She collapsed backwards onto the deck where she''d been sitting, allowing the exhaustion of the previous days finally pile on top of her.


    "We shall take you first thing to my villa; it''s better if you rest there for a few days," Hyperion offered with a worried look. "I feel guilty that I suggested this in the first place. I didn''t imagine it''d exert this much."


    "Of course, that''d be the last thing in your mind," Phobos snorted. "As long as others get the work done for you."


    "It''s fine, I can''t say I was looking forward to staying at sea for much longer," Ophelia quickly defused the incoming argument. "I just need some rest."


    It wasn''t just rest that she needed in the end. Soon, the shock of her exhaustion took a hold of her body and she began to feel the tell-tale aches of a fever. It came on strong, stronger than she''d ever felt since she was a child, and she deteriorated quickly. They arrived at the port after sunset, and by then she could only lay helpless on top of the skins in Hyperion''s chambers, comfortable beyond belief but too miserable to appreciate it.


    "Keep drinking water," Phobos had stayed with her, going back and forth between the large jar with fresh water and her. Aristides, thankfully, had easily prevented an argument between then prince and the merchant by suggesting that the former stay by her side to take care of her, "as her husband, real or not". That kept the honourable man entertained, while Aristides negotiated with Hyperion the finer details of their agreement and what was to happen once they landed.


    "Please don''t go without saying goodbye," Ophelia mumbled at some point, half delirious. Phobos looked at her almost frightened, as if she''d uttered a terrible augury.


    "I''m not going anywhere yet," he replied.


    Ophelia would not be able to tell exactly all that happened the rest of the night, other than the vague memories of her descending the ship holding onto Phobos for dear life and the uncomfortable bumps of the carriage they rode to Hyperion''s villa. She clearly held on to the moment when she was finally able to fall asleep in a bed; around her she heard the bustling of the maidservants who had helped her bathe, but all she really cared about was the sweet fragrance of the orange trees coming from the garden, and the sea breeze that''d hit her face every so often.


    The fever broke at some point during the night; by the morning, all she had left was her exhaustion. After washing her face and dressing up in the loose, fine cotton robes that Hyperion had left for her, she slowly made her way to the garden, where she''d been told the Chaldean merchant was having his breakfast.


    "I told them to bring you the food," he said with a frown, getting up to help her. Ophelia smiled, waving off his concern.


    "I insisted; I need the fresh air. Rest assured that I will go back to sleep after this."


    "How are you feeling?" he made a gesture towards the attendants, who were waiting by the edge of the garden. They hurriedly brought forth another cup of tea for her, and another set of cutlery.


    "Better," she helped herself to some of the fruit. "The fever is gone. My body still feels heavy."


    "You''re welcome to stay and rest here as much as you want," Hyperion repeated his offer. "My servants will attend to you as if you were their master."


    "All I need is somewhere to rest my bones," she said, intimidated by the other''s hospitality. "But thank you."


    She was served some tea; the hot, savoury liquid worked wonders, breathing life back into her. She closed her eyes, sighing contentedly. "One wonders how people can do without this."


    "Indeed," the merchant eyed her amusedly. "Although you''d be the first of your kind to say so; it''s not so popular with your lot, I''ve noticed."


    "I''m my own person," Ophelia said, and none-so-gently decided to change the topic of conversation. "Would you happen to know where¡­?" she searched for Phobos'' fake name in her memory, but wasn''t able to find it. Hyperion knew about his identity, but she wasn''t quite ready to drop his real name like that: she darted nervous glances about, unsure if she could trust the attendants.


    "Our friend is resting in the guests'' annex," Hyperion winked. "I was told he quite dutifully woke up at dawn to perform the due diligence of a warrior, and I believe that he''s probably now at the baths. He sent his companion away. From my conversation with him yesterday, it seems like his plans are to stay here until you''ve recovered."


    Ophelia didn''t hide her sigh of relief. "What''s that you mentioned? A warrior''s diligence¡­?"


    Hyperion paused for a second at her question, and she had the inkling that she''d somehow revealed something without meaning to. He chose not to speak to it, replying instead "oh, he does his sword routines, honours his training."


    Ophelia nodded, thinking that he''d probably come to see her later in the day. "Is Eon about? It''s strange to see you without him."


    "He''s taking care of some business. I''m afraid that once I arrive at a port, things become quite hectic for me. And these days as well, the city is abuzz with the preparations for the Council," Hyperion stood up. "This should be my cue to leave. Please stay and enjoy your breakfast; I''d have loved to give you a tour of the villa but that can wait until you''re feeling better."


    With a slight nod of his head and a small curtsy, he departed. As Ophelia munched on some bread and cheese slices, she pondered over the finer details. It didn''t escape her notice that she was being given a royal treatment: well, perhaps something more, given that the actual crown prince of Phrygia was in the guest quarters while she was most likely in the main building. She didn''t think it was just gratitude or guilt after she''d fallen ill; her perceived status as an Elysian surely meant something to the merchant.


    As promised, she fell asleep the moment she reached the chambers she''d been given. She woke up during the afternoon feeling more refreshed, and with a nervous attendant standing by the side.


    "Is something wrong?" she asked in Chaldean, having used the language with Hyperion earlier. The young woman, however, did not understand her, and instead murmured something in another tongue, which she was able to pick up as an apology.


    "Ah, sorry," Ophelia switched tongues, earning the now-familiar surprised stare of someone who recognizes a native speaker. She asked once again if there was anything she should know.


    "My lady, the Phrygian guest came over earlier, and demanded we let him in. We were told by our master not to allow anyone without your explicit permission. He put up quite a fuss, and he had to be escorted away."


    "Oh, I''m sorry about that. Could you please send for him and let him know I''m awake?"


    The woman didn''t look too thrilled at the prospect of dealing with Phobos again, but nodded and left. Ophelia wondered how long it had been since he''d visited. It seemed to be enough that the impatience brought him back within minutes.


    "Are you all right?!" he rushed into the room, eyes frantically searching for her. He stopped a foot or two from the bed before doing a double-take. Ophelia was dressed in the loose robes that were common for noblewomen in Arqa and the Free Cities; in Phrygia, however, cotton clothing was considered intimate wear. The prince looked away, embarrassed, confusing the woman that was only casually sitting on the bed.


    Ophelia checked her clothes, thinking that perhaps something had slipped and she''d revealed more than she''d ever intended; finding no fault, she frowned in confusion. "What''s the matter?"


    "Is¡­ this appropriate in Byzantium? This clothing?"


    Ophelia sighed. "Yes, and so it seems like it is here. Would you like me to wear something else to make you feel more comfortable?"


    The man nodded, but then caught himself. "I''ll try to keep¡­ your customs in mind."


    He slowly turned around, but his eyes still evaded her body. Every now and then they would focus on her face and her eyes, and would stray away to the rest of the room when possible.


    "To answer your questions yes, I''m feeling a lot better now. I had some sleep after breakfast, and that helped," Ophelia answered the initial question. "I heard from one of the attendants that you were causing a ruckus earlier. What''s the matter?"


    That seemed to ignite a fire in him. "Did he tell you where you''re staying?"


    Ophelia shook her head.


    "This is where his harem lives. I thought the sneaky fox would''ve tried something¡­ while you were unable to defend yourself," he checked her over once again. "He didn''t, did he?"


    Ophelia once again denied him. "I might understand your reticence to associate with him; he is a sneaky fellow. But aren''t you going a bit far with the accusations?"


    "You don''t understand the position you''re in. He thinks you''re from Elysium; even if he were to find out the truth, there would be a lot to gain if he were to gain control over you. And in Arqa, just like in a lot of the kingdoms he moves in, a woman must do as the husband says."


    "Is that why you wanted me to be your wife?" she bit back cheekily. Phobos'' face paled, and he desperately shook his head.


    "Heavens, no!"


    "Maybe he''s trying to do the same. Play-pretend."


    That seemed to do the trick; Phobos deflated against the strength of her argument. Seeing him slightly crest-fallen, she couldn''t help but feel guilty. "Thanks for looking out for me," she said. "I feel like I''m arguing too much with you over Hyperion, but I appreciate your intent."


    "It''s the right thing to do," he replied, but he seemed pacified that his efforts had been appreciated in one way or another. He''d once away turned away, and was looking over towards the garden. The villa''s buildings surrendered themselves to their environment: there were no doors to speak of. A big arch led outside, decorated with crawling, flowering vines; inside, some privacy was afforded by having a small reception connect the room and the hallway, with a wall blocking direct view into the bedroom.


    Ophelia could plainly see then the building''s purpose and its synergy with its design. Everything there felt lavish, infected with a soft, elegant hedonism. Exotic flowers decorated the place, inundating the inside with aromas; lush tapestries covered barren walls, and the floors were tiled in colourful mosaics. It was almost like the place was suspended in time, clearly not knowing anything but the pleasant, moderate heat of an everlasting summer.


    She felt slightly self-conscious. Phobos'' tall, broad figure seemed quite imposing, exciting parts of her she hadn''t explored in some time. She wondered if she dared cross a line that had not yet been drawn; she hadn''t really thought about romance in a while, but now that she was in that strange world where she wasn''t invisible things might go differently.


    She stood up and walked over to the Phrygian''s side. "The villa is big," she commented. "It seems like it''s full of little passages, secret compartments, tunnels..."


    "The palace in Gordion is a lot like that. It doesn''t have large gardens like these, but it has a number of large courtyards, and then a maze of chambers and passages connecting them," Phobos wistfully commented. "As a young boy, I''d often escape from my lessons and go wandering. It felt like stepping into an unknown world."


    The topic animated Ophelia. "I loved exploring back at home," she said. "The city I lived in, London, was full of little great secrets. You could get in all these abandoned places, discover the other side of the streets you walked every day. It made me feel at home, when I didn''t feel like I belonged."


    "Do you miss it?"


    "London?" Ophelia cocked her head. "I miss some of the comforts of the life I had there¡­ but I''d rather not go back. It didn''t want me there."


    "What about your friends? Your family?"


    "I have none," Ophelia smiled meekly. "I''m not that brave, you know?" she referenced an earlier conversation. "I just don''t have anything to lose."


    "I¡­" Phobos looked down, something haunting the back of his mind. When he spoke again, it was a doubtful whisper, as if he was afraid he''d admit something shameful. "Sometimes I wish I was someone else. Perhaps, if I''d been born a page boy, I wouldn''t have had to leave my country; I wouldn''t have made an enemy of my brother. And it''s not just him¡­ there were people I considered family, friends, mentors who turned their backs on me when I protested the Elysian invasion. They said I was playing with fire, they told me I was endangering them. They said I was a madman. I¡­ had to choose duty over them, choose the honour I''ve been taught to uphold. And the only reason for that was that I was a prince¡­ perhaps, if I''d been a scribe or a blacksmith''s son, I could''ve chosen them instead."


    "If you¡­ if you were to win the war, what would happen to them?"


    Phobos closed his eyes. "Execution."


    "Can''t you imprison them?"


    "Treason can only be paid one way. Although the same would be said for me; should I be apprehended, it''s my brother who will have to behead me to quench the Elysian''s thirst for blood."


    It made sense to think that it was the weight of his responsibilities that had frozen every fibre in the prince''s body with tension; even when casually sharing a peaceful moment, one could not shake off the sensation that something always had Phobos on edge.


    Ophelia remembered her conversation with Hyperion, and decided to extend an offer. "Would you like me to help you?"


    Phobos shot her a confused look. "What do you mean?"


    "Well, I have these¡­ strange abilities. I''m sure they''d be useful if you wanted to take the throne back by force."


    Something glassed over his eyes for a second before he looked away. Ophelia thought it looked like annoyance.


    "If it were something that could be achieved by battles alone, I would''ve stormed in already. But even if I did, I have no allies outside of my own kingdom. The Elysians control the nations friendly to us, and everyone else just doesn''t see the point in supporting us at the moment. I could very well take the throne, and have to deal with a siege or a blockade."


    He turned to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I''d be no king if I let you fight my battles for me. You should enjoy peace, find your place here. Be happy. I''d not forgive myself if I were to drag you into this mess."


    Ophelia''s eyes turned sharp. "If I were a man, would your answer be different?"


    Phobos'' eyes flickered again with that annoyance she''d seen earlier. Clearly, she''d hit the nail on the head. The prince sighed, and taking her by surprise, enveloped her in a hug.


    "We are what we are," he said, his head resting on top of hers. "And just like I can''t be a blacksmith''s son and act like one, I can''t have you do the duties of a man."


    "Have it your way, then," Ophelia said bitterly, squirming away from his embrace. "Keep this delusion to yourself. If we are what we are, then it should bear remembering that I''m no Phrygian woman, but a Byzantine one."


    She turned away and went looking for the attendants. A silent Phobos followed her around as they sat down for dinner. It began as a tense affair, but comment by comment they wandered away from their argument, and let the matter rest. Ophelia put her annoyance somewhere in the back of her mind; more than anything, she was upset that Hyperion was right. Phobos was too set in his own ways; if she were to follow him, she knew that she''d have to fight for every right to do what she wanted to do. He was familiarly old-fashioned, and she had never had to deal with that sort of rigidity before. It had been long gone by the time she was born.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The next few days were spent as if nothing had happened; together they explored the villa in Hyperion''s absence, wandering about the buildings where they were permitted to wander, and enjoying the lush gardens the master of the house was so keen on. In the timeless, relaxed atmosphere it was easy to leave the real world behind the walls that surrounded the complex, and so they let themselves be carried away. They would take turns teaching each other games they''d played as children, using the gardens as a backdrop for different iterations of hide-and-seek and tag. When the servants around the property were properly coaxed, they''d join in (which allowed Ophelia to learn that world''s version of cops and robbers, something they called pigs and priests).


    In her world, Ophelia thought, Phobos would be very much like the stock jock character of every high-school drama. He was athletic, but given his military training he was also good at forming and leading teams. When one of the servants proposed to play a ball game that apparently was very popular in that region, he quickly picked up the rules. He was competitive, more so than her, who just enjoyed the feeling of being part of a team. Those differences became more evident as the afternoon wore on; after her team''s fifth loss, he came up to her with a strange expression in his face.


    "You seem to be really enjoying losing. Why is that?"


    "Oh, I''m just enjoying the game, that''s all. Win or lose, it''s fun to play with so many people."


    That seemed like a foreign concept to him; he seemed ready to argue against it, but some of Ophelia''s team mates appeared to bring her some water. They were all very excited to talk to her: "it''s fun playing with you, even if this is the first time you''ve played this. You seem to be enjoying it so much, it makes me enjoy it as well!"


    The games led to a particularly friendly atmosphere, which culminated in a peregrination to the servants'' quarters for food. It hadn''t been expected; for the servants themselves, used to the strict rules of a house where the absent master ran a tight ship through discipline, guests were to be served, not approached like equals. Even if there was no enmity between classes, they still existed: and those the master considered guests were not servants, and could not mingle with them.


    But Ophelia''s friendliness and Phobos'' enthusiasm had put any concerns about propriety away for the moment. The latter was keen for a momentary respite from the weight on his shoulders, and the former wanted to experience what she''d never had. It felt almost dream-like to her, the eternal foreigner, to have one of those nights she''d only seen in movies, where she was part of something and laughed along strangers who looked at her like one of their own.


    It also hadn''t escaped the servants'' notice that she had a gift with languages. They all brought forth different folk who spoke one tongue or another, and watched amazed as she was able to respond to all, engaging them in conversation like they were back in their own native lands. "You must be blessed," said an old lady to her, "that you can speak to everyone as if you were their blood. You were meant to have a place anywhere in this world."


    As the moon began its descent, the merriness was slowly replaced by fatigue. As the mood died down and everyone migrated to their resting places, Ophelia found herself following Phobos back to the guest''s quarters. As they walked through a row of columns, the lush garden revealed itself to be particularly eerie at that time of the night. With no wind to tickle its leaves or cicadas to play their buzzing songs, it felt almost like it was holding its breath.


    Phobos stopped behind her. Ophelia turned around, but she could not see much of his face. "Aristides should be back tomorrow," he said. "Its my time to continue my journey, and meet with my people."


    She knew why everything was so silent then; it was time for them to say their goodbyes. "I don''t know what awaits me; I''ll either walk into glory or death. Either way, it''ll be a bloody, fiery path. I know what I said the other day hurt you¡­ but it''s better if you hate me for it than if you end up trampled in the war path."


    Ophelia''s expression softened. "Even if we don''t see eye to eye, I won''t hate you," she said. "You''re right that it''s not my fight to fight; but it could''ve been, if you wanted me to. That''s all."


    He took a step towards her, and she almost skipped a breath at how close they were. "You shouldn''t be so ready to follow someone into hell like this," he said bitterly. "If you do this with a man, it could be misunderstood."


    "A man should not be so naive to think that everything a woman does is without desire," she looked up. She could''ve sparked thunder from her hands and the result would''ve been the same: Phobos trembled, and almost fell back. In case he hadn''t got the hint, she reached out: a single hand looking for a cheek to rest on.


    Feverish hands grabbed her shoulders, and she was pressed against the man''s body with a sense of urgency that made something spark inside of her. "I can''t be a Phrygian wife," she murmured against his chest; "all I can give you is the little I know from my own world. But if you want to do good by me and pay me back, say goodbye to me like this."


    She felt two hands search for her face, and then the prince''s lips were on hers. It was a foreign sensation, one that she almost observed like a stranger forced to watch a movie of their own life: she''d given up on the idea that she would ever find companionship, but now that it was happening she felt strangely numb to it. Her body was in autopilot, enjoying the physical sensation but not feeling anything beyond that.


    He pushed her against the nearest pillar, his mouth leaving a trace of kisses around her throat. She felt hands roaming around her legs, parting the fine cotton away from the skin with a delicacy that felt reverent, and very strange coming from a warrior like him. She could feel the texture of his callouses scratching the soft surface of her belly, and his heavy breathing ignited a desire for abandon that she had never felt before.


    "If I say goodbye to you like this," Phobos said, his low, husky voice against her ear. "Do not blame me when another man''s greetings make you yearn for this moment again."


    Ophelia laughed at the cheek, and let herself be carried away to his chambers. "I thought my request would disappoint you," she said as she was being lowered onto his bed. He took his outer robe off, showing her the extent of the artwork that adorned his skin.


    "Just because I don''t visit brothels doesn''t mean I don''t enjoy it," he answered. "I''m only disappointed it''s only now I get to do this..."


    The night grew old before it was able to see them softly entwined around each other, asleep. By the time Ophelia awoke, the sun was already midway through the sky, and she was alone in the chambers.


    "The guest left before the morning bell rang," said one of the attendants, as she made her way back to the room she was supposed to be staying in. In her hands she carried a small wax tablet that had been left next to where the water jugs were; it had taken her some effort but she''d finally deciphered the elegant Akkadian, which read "I''ll look forward to the next time we say goodbye".


    Hyperion was either none the wiser as to what had transpired or chose not to comment on it. She had a full day to put her thoughts in order before the merchant called her for dinner the next evening, and they finally discussed the details of her employment. She couldn''t quite say that she felt like a schoolgirl yearning for her crush every time her eyes fell onto the tablet she kept next to her bed, but that her and Phobos had at one point been one filled her with a sense of contentment. It was almost like a rite of passage, something that now tied her to that world.


    She now felt a sense of confidence in her own path; she was convinced that she could walk the actual roads under her feet, that they weren''t just the empty illusions of a dream. She had touched something real ¨C Phobos'' passion- and now she was one of them, away from Byzantium.


    -


    "Why are they being like this?" murmured Hyperion in frustration one day, resting his face on the scrolls he''d been brought by Ulyx, his Arqan accountant. "Why is it that they retroactively want to apply this tax?"


    "They most likely want to target the tin and lead merchants, since they''re all from Axum," Eon replied. "After the queen decided to tax the Free Cities, they want to get some revenge."


    "But this affects all the products made of tin and lead as well¡­!"


    It had been two weeks since Phobos'' departure, and Ophelia had slowly got used to the easy routine in Hyperion''s house. She was first and foremost a translator, but she carried out her duties the way that the Chaldean merchant instructed: with a dash of cunning, and in a way that wouldn''t make it immediately obvious how useful she was.


    She also had begun to see another side to the man: although normally composed, he was also capable of anger and frustration, and it manifested in the most curious of ways. His beautiful features would turn almost dejected, closer to disappointment than anything else: the result was not intimidating or worrying, just incredibly cute.


    "The delegate from the Council is here, master," an attendant announced. Hyperion sighed, and made a gesture towards Ophelia. "He''ll enter through the western garden."


    "Who am I?"


    "Hmm he doesn''t quite like us, so maybe pretend you''re an Arqa native who doesn''t like working here."


    The game they played was simple in set up, but rather elaborate in execution. Given that her accent would pass for a native speaker, Ophelia would bring different characters to life in front of the envoys that crossed the villa''s gates. They''d pick and choose based on who the person going through the gate was, and how well informed he''d be on who was working for Hyperion. It wasn''t meant to be a long-running strategy, just something that gave them the upper hand while Ophelia''s abilities were not as well-known. It was a perfect opportunity to gain information and favour from the people who came in ready to try and thwart the Chaldean''s business.


    When she wasn''t seeing to guests, she was receiving lessons from Lyra or Diana, two of the head maids of the villa who also happened to be well-educated orators. They''d been taught in the academies of the Free Cities as daughters of wealthy gentry, but after their families had lost their standing due to political upheavals, they''d made their money through manual labour. They told her about the different kingdoms, empires and principalities; geography and history were their main subjects. She used their lessons to more confidently create the personas she was playing; a more elaborate version of what she''d done in Caudiceum with her pretend-play of being an Iceni princess.


    Armed with her knowledge, she knew that deep in Arqan culture there was a natural mistrust of Chaldeans, who were seen as money-hungry scammers. That a man like Hyperion would rise so high would be seen with some reserve by an Arqan of certain predispositions, as it was the case with the man they were to host for the afternoon.


    On her way to the western garden she traded robes for a shirt and a small skirt of linen, which were embroidered with the traditional patterns of the region. She took a small bucket, and some iron shears, and walked over to where four fig trees surrounded the intersection of two paths. A fountain stood in the middle, offering to the wanderers the serene view of beautiful lotus flowers floating in the water. She heard footsteps approaching hurriedly, and began to angrily look through the figs hanging from the trees, pretending she was trying to select some for picking.


    "Of course he''d have to ask for figs today," she talked to herself in a frustrated Arqan. "It''s not even the season yet, but for him they of course have to be fully mature. Prick."


    She picked one of the fruits and threw it none-too-gently in the bucket. The footsteps were now closer to her. "A maid to a Chaldean¡­ my old ma would be furious if she saw me!"


    A laugh stopped her. "An understandable emotion, lady."


    Ophelia turned around. An older man dressed in a heavily decorated red kaftan and cream-white pants was making gestures for her to get closer. "I heard that the master of this place kept very few Arqans in his staff," he said in a whisper. "He doesn''t quite like us, does he?"


    "In this city we suffer no fools, do we? And he''s a sly one, he doesn''t bother with niceties. It''d be easier to like rotten fish than him, I say."


    "Have you been working here for long?"


    "A few weeks. I''ve picked up a language or two as me da was a sailor, and I heard he was looking for a translator. But it turns out he just wants a maid!"


    Ophelia frowned. "Are you a city principal? I see you have the Arqan coat of arms," she pointed to the man''s chest, where a heavy chain of gold showed his status.


    "I am, child," he said with pomp. It seemed like bureaucracy was one of those constants regardless of time or space. "I''m here on official business."


    "Hope it''s to get some money out of this fox."


    The man winked. "Hopefully. The Tripartite Council is upon us and we need some, uh, help with the expenses. We''re counting on the generosity of this city''s most illustrious gentlemen ¨C and between the two of us, we could do with them paying back for our generosity."


    "Aye, right you are on that, sir. But I should warn you he''s been complaining all week about the new tax ¨C he''s not going to be too interested in dishing out more money for the city."


    "Tax? You mean the new levy on tin and lead?" Ophelia nodded. "Of course he would be. These Chaldeans, they''d rather sell their mothers if that meant they didn''t have to pay tax."


    "I see it every day," Ophelia sighed and got closer to the man, looking around them to see if anyone was around. "But sir, if I may, and this is purely the concern of one who was born and raised in this city, and has to see leeches like him come over and make their fortune out of the generosity of this port; this Chaldean has found a way around the wisdom of the Preceptors. I was asked to talk to one of the Axiam advisors; their intention is to change the route of the tin and lead so that it''ll enter through Siam and be carried through caravan into Arqa. This way, the levy won''t be applicable since the origin port is the city, not Axium."


    "That''s outrageous!" The man blanched, and Ophelia made gestures for him to quiet down. "Sending it through caravan? That''s not possible! It''s too dangerous, and it takes too much time!"


    "I heard mentions of the Nabatean kingdom, sir. I''m not sure what they agreed with them¡­"


    "If they used their rivers it''d be more feasible, but still a mad enterprise¡­ they''ve been at war for ages," the man cleared his throat and composed himself. "Well, never mind all this. Perhaps we''ll lend them some more rope to hang themselves with. But this is good to know; I commend you for your loyalty to the city."


    Ophelia bowed her head. "I better get on with this meeting," the bureaucrat said to himself. "Perhaps I shall see you later. Have a good day, if I don''t."


    And she did see him later, when she was called in to sit next to Hyperion to act as a mediator between the two. She''d come in with the refreshments: fresh figs and fig chutney to be spread on cheese and flat bread, as if to underscore the character the city representative had seen earlier. She practised her familiarity with the man when they spoke; she dropped little innocent jabs at Hyperion as if she and the Arqan were old time friends who had a lot of inside jokes to share with each other. She made him think that she was on his side; what Hyperion spoke, she added bits and pieces to.


    Finally, he went away: Hyperion had agreed to contribute to the Council only if he got a yearly relief on the tin and lead taxes, and a seat on the forum ¨C something that would give him access to all the representatives that were coming in to take part, an excellent opportunity for a merchant to close new deals.


    "What do you think?" Hyperion asked Ophelia as they both watched the man depart.


    "He thought the route change idea was outrageous, but seemed to think it was plausible."


    Ophelia wasn''t entirely sure of the size of the five-dimensional play that the merchant was trying to pull, but as far as she''d been briefed, it involved making the City believe he''d collude with the Axum merchants to create an alternative trade route.


    Arqa and the other Free Cities had made their fortune and power from several big trade routes. It was a natural mid point for the networks that carried goods from the east into the west, and also served as the last stop for the caravans that crossed the desert bringing wares from the southernmost kingdoms in the region. All sorts of raw materials and manufactured goods passed through their shores, but a significant part of their economy relied on metals produced in the south (tin, lead, bronze and iron) and textiles (particularly, silks and cotton).


    Hyperion''s network used Arqa mostly for the metals and some manufactured household goods, however, this constituted a small portion of his overall trade. A larger portion of his business relied on fine silk textiles, none of which ever saw the Arqan port, as they were brought entirely through land routes. His fiercest competitors relied on the cheap manufacture and taxes of the caravans that used Arqa to bring the goods north.


    His final game, then, was to coax the city authorities to believe he was fuming over the tin and lead tax, and use that as a way to manoeuvrer them into increasing taxes that would disproportionally affect the competition that worried him the most: those who used the caravans to move goods into the port. It wasn''t something that a simple conversation with one city official would solve, however; Ophelia had been told that the game would be slower, and required feeding the wrong information to the right people at different times.


    "I''m sure he''ll babble on to his friends," Hyperion said with a smirk. "Now, we let the rest do the work."


    "The rest?"


    "Customs officers, advisors, jurists¡­ if you drop some influence here and there it''s easier to manufacture a certain version of reality," he answered. "It''s not enough for one person to say it; multiple mouths have to say something similar."


    "What if nothing happens?"


    "It will," Eon commented. "We have jurists we can pay off to introduce the proposals."


    "But it''s better to make it seem more natural," Hyperion clarified. "So that when they bring it to the forum, it''ll not seem such a novel idea."


    To Ophelia, it had seemed like she''d switched genres. With Phobos, it all felt like an epic adventure movie; with the Chaldean merchant, it was more like one of those political dramas. "Lobbying," she said in her native English. "That''s how we call it back home. Comes from standing in the antechamber of the forum waiting to ask one of the preceptors for favours."


    Hyperion rose from his seat, tightening his tunics around him.


    "How dreary," he commented, walking slowly towards the gardens, "the idea of having to parade around those dry bureaucrats. Should we prepare for dinner?"


    A week later, the man in the red kaftan and the pompous city seal came back. He was, however, in the company of someone who Hyperion held in higher esteem: the city''s Lord Protector, which Ophelia had come to understand was a function not too dissimilar to a governor.


    "He''s no fool, that man," the merchant had said to Ophelia during breakfast. "He knows that to be competent at his job there''s a certain level of functional corruption he must abide by; everything else should be pure honest work. As such, he makes sure to keep the big ships like me in check. I have no doubts he''s come to sniff out what I''m up to this time."


    With that warning in mind, Ophelia prepared herself to search for unspoken tensions in an otherwise cordial meeting. The initial greetings were pleasant: the merchant had received the two politicians in one of the gazebos in the garden with nothing but smiles.


    Blossoming cherry trees surrounded them: the delicate pink petals quivered as the wind blew, charmingly falling onto silk or cotton as they looked for somewhere to rest. The servants had prepared some fragrances, which they''d left burning in the censors that hung from the delicate iron structures of the gazebo. It was all an inviting, alluring set up: a feast for the eyes, another for the sense of smell; as the refreshments were brought one could hear the song of birds in the distance, and that covered the other two senses that could be entertained in such occasions.


    On their side, herself and Eon stood to either side of Hyperion; on the other''s, a scribe had been brought, and had been given a small stool to sit on while he took his notes.


    "I wish I could''ve come to see you sooner," the Lord Protector said once they had exchanged the initial pleasantries. "I''m keen to ask you about the events at Caudiceum. With the Council approaching, it has set a very concerning stage for us."


    "Ah yes, the Phrygian matter. Eon, whatever came to be of that? We heard that two of the men who''d come into the city with the victims had been escorting an Iceni woman. The lords at the forum were quite nervous when she declared."


    "Who wouldn''t be? Those savages will look for any excuse to attack," the bureaucrat in the red kaftan commented with a snort.


    "The Phrygian envoys arrived three days after we left, sir," Eon answered his master. "Caudiceum opened its borders again, and it seems like no other suspects have been found. The Phrygian diplomats are claiming it was a politically motivated crime: the victims were supporters of the current king."


    The Lord Protector leaned forward, hand pensively stroking his long beard. "This civil war is spilling everywhere, isn''t it? I''ve got Deimos and Ulysses sending me missives every couple of days asking me what we should do. We''ve got a bad stew brewing here¡­ You know we have plenty of rebel Phrygians here, in Philistia and Latil the same."


    "They came here for a reason," Hyperion commented. The governor barked out a laugh.


    "Indeed. They will find plenty of sympathy. No one wants to end up under Elysian boots; the Lord Sun knows we''ve managed to escape their grip so far, but I fear this situation will end up spilling into this side of the pond, forcing us to take sides."


    The merchant decided to draw a line. His indifference came through with simplicity:


    "A difficult political situation to be in, I''m sure."


    This earned him a smirk from one man, a scandalized stared from another. Behind them, the scribe wrote away.


    "How many Phrygians do you know in the city?" the Lord Protector cut to the chase, but didn''t care to hear a response. "Tell them to quiet down during the council, or else I''ll personally kick them out. I''m ceasing all distribution of ore for weapons in the week leading to the arrival of the envoys. Thought you should know. I''m not taking any risks."


    "How cruel of you. This poor merchant wants to keep eating his pomegranates."


    "You want a tax relief? I''ll give you that for a year."


    "Five years."


    "We might not be here then," another dry laugh. "You have access already to the envoys; make something happen so that you don''t have to worry about your business after this year."


    Hyperion''s face soured, but he nodded. "It''s just for a couple of weeks," said the Lord Protector in a tone that intended to be pacifying, but felt more patronizing than anything. "That is, unless we run across some issues¡­"


    "I''ll talk to the few folk I know," the merchant replied dryly. "Hopefully they''ll listen."


    "Everyone listens to the folk with the singing pockets."


    The politician''s eyes then sharply focused on Ophelia; it was clearly he was the type of man not to beat around the bush, and only do what he had set out to do. "I hear you have a translator, a new one. What can she speak?"


    "Arqan, Drusi, Iberian and Elysian," Hyperion quickly replied. "Quite the combination, isn''t it?"


    "Indeed," the man assessed Ophelia, and whatever he searched with his gaze he seemed to have found, as he reclined back contentedly. "Lend her to us for a few weeks. We''re running low in interpreters."


    "I''ll be glad to," Hyperion replied flatly, although it was clear the ask was not welcome, "as there will be little trade to do then anyway."


    The Lord Protector didn''t seem to care. Shortly after that their conversation ended, and the two men went back the way they came.

 Chapter 7

    The sun was king; a common occurrence for the city, true, and one that was made all the more obvious by the display that had been put on to welcome the Council envoys. The tired limewash paint of the buildings was bathed in a soft golden glow. The blue of the ocean creeping behind them into the horizon seemed all the more vibrant by it, creating something that seemed more like a strange polaroid than reality.


    Red-and-yellow flags lined the one avenue that climbed up hill from the port and into the Grand Plaza. Poles had been erected just in time for the great parade; if Ophelia squinted her eyes she could almost imagine some president''s car slowly climbing up towards them. People stood to the side, a multitude of excited voices; there wasn''t much to look at, other than perhaps the splendour of the carriages and the pomp of the soldiers guarding the committees, but life at the port was surprisingly slow and nobody wanted to miss another exciting opportunity for breaking the routine. It was a special Sunday.


    It was expected that no participant wanted to be seen as lesser than any other: as the procession rode slowly towards the Grand Plaza, the carriages and its entourage boasted of their countries'' fortunes. There were three major groups, if one were to leave the host nation aside for the moment: the Kushites, decked in deep blue, the two other Free Cities Philistia and Latil sharing the same red-and-yellow colours in different shades and motifs, and in an iridescent sky blue the small but striking carriage of the Elysians. While everyone else decided to show off their splendour through elaborate golden decorations and richly coloured fabrics, the latter had decided to opt for simplicity: the design of their vehicles and clothing seemed almost spartan in nature, only awe-inspiring by virtue of the strange shimmer that seemed to pervade anything that wasn''t their own bodies.


    The weight of their influence dawned on Ophelia: who could get away with that level of disregard for the old game of show and tell if not someone who just didn''t have to play it at all? She wondered if Phobos was still in the city, and if he was watching the procession now. Would this be a call for action on his part? Would he make good on his oath to kill any Elysian he saw?


    She prayed that nothing would happen. Hyperion had been given, as per the arrangements, a special seat amongst the city preceptors, and she, being one of the translators waiting to be called, was behind the row of notable men (and some women) watching the proceedings with what one could call a newborn''s interest.


    An argument had ensued after Hyperion had so liberally enlisted her talents for the committee''s benefit. "Why would you say that I can speak elysian?" she demanded, remembering Phobos'' distrust of the merchant''s character. "You know I don''t want to be anywhere near them."


    "I thought you had said you were not running away from anyone," he remarked casually. "And, when you have something to hide, it is better to do it in plain sight."


    "How altruistic," Ophelia made no attempt to hide her bitterness.


    "I don''t play to make losses, princess."


    The atmosphere between the two of them became tense after that. It was an unavoidable fact that Hyperion hadn''t built his empire on charity; equally true was that she was an extremely useful pawn to him. She''d thought that their arrangement had a clear sight of what the mutual benefit would be, but employment contracts were not in fashion in that world at that time, and even if they had, she knew there would be little difference with the sort of expectations previous managers had had with her. Commerce tended to brew a certain level of contempt for the employee, she''d found; she imagined that Hyperion would be the kind to demand attendance even in the face of a snowstorm ¨C in England, of all places.


    The argument had soured her slightly; as it was with any dissatisfied employee, she begun to think of her exit strategy. The jasmine-scented gardens at the villa and the initial charm and splendour of her new exotic home became just a little bit grating, in the way that things that one previously favoured become reminders of disillusion. As she learnt more about the world she''d fallen in, its politics and idiosyncrasies, she became more and more independent; once the time was right, then, she''d walk away.


    As the envoys of the Council met with the city preceptors, the translators were called in. Hyperion hovered behind the Lord Protector, and she was ushered to serve as their interpreter. Kushites, Philistians, Latilians and Elysians all gave their greetings, exchanging the same inane phrases in different variations, each one testing the ground for what was to come. For all its pomp it was a rather bland affair, which made Ophelia wonder if the same could be said about any international conference back in her own world.


    It wasn''t until later that evening, an hour before dinner was held, that things took a turn for the interesting. She was sitting in one of the galleries that surrounded the many courtyards of the Arqan palace. Its architecture was grand and reminiscent of the grand kingdom that had once dominated the coast in that region; all the Free Cities had been part of it. Elaborate swirling designs decorated the wooden panels that lined the walls, an art that was at the brink of being forgotten; just like at Hyperion''s villa, the gardens seemed eager to crawl into the buildings, with complex arrangements of flower beds and thorny bushes decorating the sides of the walls and the centres of many rooms. Ophelia was intrigued by the look of the place, and so had wandered at will for a bit while the envoys were shown to their sleeping quarters and settled in.


    At some point a servant had approached her to ask if she required anything, and knowing that Hyperion had supplied the palace, she asked for some mint tea. She idly watched the courtiers and servants walk around as she enjoyed the beverage, knowing it was a luxury that few could afford in that time and place.


    Her peace, however, wasn''t meant to last. At some point she noticed a man standing on the other side of the garden, alternating between shooting glares at her and gesticulating wildly at his companion. He tired quickly of the one-sided conversation, and soon set out in her direction. His scowl gained more and more wrinkles as he got closer; by his appearance he seemed to be part of the preceptor elite of the city. Dressed in a fine emerald silk tunic, he had a prominent beard peppered in white and black hairs, and a bald head.


    "Young lady! Aren''t you ashamed of yourself?!" he shouted. "Who''s she with?"


    His companion caught up to him with a worried expression, and gazed at Ophelia with a confused look. "I don''t know. There''s no emblem on her clothes. Lady, can you understand us?"


    "I speak your language," Ophelia arched an eyebrow. "But I don''t understand you."


    Her accent seemed to rile up the old man even more. "You''re an Arqan, then! You should know better than to act this brazen!"


    "I didn''t grow up here, so unless you explain it to me, I''ll have no idea what you''re so angry about."


    "This area is restricted to men only," the companion explained, now looking even more confused. "Companions to the envoys should remain in the assigned quarters."


    "Oh, I''m not with the envoys. I''m a translator."


    "A woman?!" the old man spit at her feet. "What is the lord principal thinking, allowing women to seat on the table with the council?"


    Ophelia felt irritated enough to fight back. She heard voices behind her; it seemed like the commotion had attracted an audience.


    "I wasn''t aware a translator required the gifts only a male body has," this only served to anger the old man further as her gaze went downwards. "What does that bit do? Does it speak, as well?"


    "Arion, call the guards!" the old man shouted. "This harlot is desecrating this place!"


    The man''s younger companion looked hesitant; a slap on his arm from the older man was enough to sprung him to action. He turned around, looking to go back from where they''d come from. Ophelia sipped her tea; the old man kept shouting at her. "To words spoken without sense one should only gift deaf ears," she said at some point, interjecting between his sentences.


    Arion returned with two guards by his side; by then, however, someone in the audience had decided to step in.


    "What is the matter?"


    Whoever it was, it seemed like he had some sort of authority in the palace. He seemed to emerge from the centre of a small retinue of men in shimmering light blue tunics; all of them watched his movements with the zealousness of a lover who is obsessed with the object of their affection. The others reacted, as well, in a peculiar fashion: the servants and the courtiers, and the old preceptor and poor Arion suddenly seemed to shrink into themselves. If they''d been dogs, Ophelia would''ve been able to see their tails looking to hide between their legs.


    "Just tiny trouble, my prince," the preceptor said, trading anger for sickeningly sweet appeasement. His voice came out slowly, with a heavy accent and the clumsiness of someone who had a very limited vocabulary. "I sorry very much; our bickering should not be."


    "Bickering," the man repeated, stepping closer to Ophelia, "is something that would require two people. Now, speak. What is the source of your anger?"


    "The lady," it seemed like the old man had trouble calling her as such, "she can''t be here."


    "Apparently," Ophelia interjected, raising an eyebrow. As her words flowed naturally and eloquently, the old man''s ears flared red with embarrassment. "But it''s also a problem for his lordship that I''m here as a translator. He seems to be of the belief that men are uniquely positioned to speak multiple languages, which he demonstrates in his perfect use of this one."


    "You''re a translator," it was more a question than a statement, but the phrase lingered ambiguously in the air in a way that made Ophelia think she had made a grave mistake. "Are you from the empire?"


    The man''s eyes turned to her, and it made her feel so self-conscious she had no choice but to look down. "I''m not. I spent part of my childhood there."


    "You look the part."


    Ophelia gave the man''s companions a side-eyed look. She realized then who she was speaking to and berated herself for not having realized it sooner: clearly smaller in size, and with a slightly duller look in their hair and eyes, they were the Elysian envoys. As Felicia had remarked at some point, they were indeed a race unlike Phobos'', Hyperion''s and even the Arqans.


    "I''m on my way to meet Lord Latil, translator. It seems like an appropriate time for you to make an exit so that these Arqans can enjoy their superstitions in peace."


    Seldom one could''ve had experienced someone disregard any need for the platitudes of requests the way that the Elysian man had just done. There wasn''t even an explicit order, as if somehow it was understood that any perceived need from his side was meant to be catered by everyone else around him. It would have been slightly annoying for Ophelia, if it wasn''t for the savage insult that he''d also levied on the preceptor. For that alone she followed behind him when he turned to walk towards the main palace. The two Arqan men were left to their own devices, forgotten as soon as they''d appeared.


    She later learnt, through the Elysian''s conversations with the envoys from Latil, that the man''s name was Aegyr, and that he seemed to be a very prominent member of the Elysian aristocracy. Throughout his conversations he emerged as quite the peculiar character: would only speak at the right times, and would only say as much as he needed to. Whatever came out of his mouth was always witty; even when he relayed straight facts, it always seemed like he was reminding the other their station in life. Ophelia decided, past the initial half hour of conversation, that he was a very annoying man, but was also infinitely entertaining to hear.


    Her fascination didn''t quite end there: it was important to mention that Aegyr was very  pleasant to the eyes. He had black hair of a slight blueish tone and blue eyes so clear that they almost resembled liquid silver. He was tall, more so than Hyperion but smaller than Phobos. Something in his demeanour was decidedly martial, which reminded her of the Phrygian prince. But he lacked a certain warmth that was present in the latter''s eyes, even when he was serious and focused on his enemy. Phobos, once past the initial impression, was quite approachable; Aegyr, on the other hand, gave the impression that one would find only a husk if one were to dig deeper into his character. But she understood why he drew the stares of even his enemies; and knew that the dinner to come would be an experience.


    And she was right. Although the dinner had begun fairly cordial, the concerto of wines that were paraded as gifts around the tables soon did away with most of the envoys'' diplomatic ability. Formality slid off men''s tongues, leaving a mocking sort of honesty in its wake. She traded some looks with the other translators, which were brought together in unison as if on orders from a higher sentience; they all recognized the need for dire intervention from their end, and acted accordingly: insults became dry remarks, long-winded arguments transformed into a civilized negotiation.


    One of the high points of the night, however, was the moment that the topic of some extradition treaties was brought up. The matter concerned a number of agreements that the Elysians were keen on closing with the Free Cities. It was a not-so-subtle response to the worsening crisis in Phrygia, and some of the civil wars that they had a hand in: it was a secret sung out loud that the coastal cities were rife with political activity from different exiled figures. The Elysians hoped that their treaties would close off another avenue of dissent for the growing discontent on that side of the Atlantean sea, allowing to bring political rivals into Elysium for imprisonment.


    "Might as well propose a new name for our alliance!" shouted one of the Latilian envoys in protest. "The slave cities, perhaps!"


    "I''m sad to see that the intent of our proposal has been so badly misinterpreted, my lord," one of the Elysian envoys argued, clearly unbothered by the other''s exclamation. "Our hope was to provide some support for the rising unrest caused by the movement of all these refugees. We''re aware that many unsavoury characters are making the Free Cities their homes."


    "Our definition of unsavoury might differ from yours, my lord," a Philistian quipped. "Why is it that we should let Elysium act as judge and executioner outside of their empire?"


    Ophelia, who hadn''t moved from her place near the Elysian envoys, heard Aegyr speak for the first time in the evening: "It''s the natural order of things. Do you object as well when a father tells their son not to drink with so-and-so, or when a mother warns her daughter not to paint her face when in respectable company?"


    She knew immediately that his words would only exacerbate the commotion. She looked at the Elysian envoys, and then back to Aegyr, who was waiting patiently for her to translate. "Are you sure¡­?" she asked, wanting to give them a chance to defuse the situation.


    "There''s no benefit on continuing a conversation on erroneous assumptions," Aegyr said simply, and let Ophelia carry on with the translation. The effect was instantaneous: even the Kushites, who had remained silent so far, joined in the argument.


    "Is this was the Elysian diplomacy is like?" one of them remarked drily, "a half-hearted attempt to convince themselves of some pre-destined superiority?"


    "The natural order of things is cooperation, my lord," an elder Philistian envoy said, levelling Aegyr with a steely look. "Not a forceful declaration of principles, or an attempt to blackmail your peers to get what you want. It''s sharing common objectives and working towards them in unison, with a deep respect for the people who sit on the other side of the table."


    The barrage of accusations and outrage had little effect on Aegyr, who seemed to listen to them as if they were the complaints of petulant children. The other Elysians were far more incensed, jumping in to defend their country and the honour of their leader. The shouting only increased, and with many speaking over one another in different languages, Ophelia started to feel light-headed, overwhelmed by the noise.


    "We''ve gone past the need for translators now," she heard Aegyr speak, and she lifted her head to see that he had turned to address her. He nodded towards the men around the table, some of whom had stood up and were shouting at each other. "In the morning, once they''re back to being men, we shall need you once again."


    There was significant doubts as to whether the comment was a sign of kindness on his part, or if he simply wanted to mock his opponents. Regardless, it allowed her to excuse herself, and retire to her chambers.


    The way back brought her once again to the garden the Arqan had tried to chase her off from earlier in the day. Relishing on some pettiness, she stepped in properly to admire the flowers and breath in the fresh, cool night breeze: her head was pounding, and she needed some respite in the silence. Her intrusive thoughts didn''t let her rest, and she was reminded of the night of Phobos'' leaving, and a similar chase through a similar garden¡­ her face and her body flushed, memories surging in her mind that left her yearning again for that embrace.


    She imagined that the hot-headed prince would''ve jumped at the commotion during that dinner, possibly bringing his sword out for a chat. She felt only slightly guilty that she made business with the Elysians, his sworn enemies, but she also knew he''d rejected her offer and had left her there to find her own way in the world. He''d made it abundantly clear his fight wasn''t hers and she''d respect that.


    In the silence of the night, the smallest movements felt like cacophonies: the rustle of tunics and the soft noise of sandals hitting the tiled floors warned her of a small group of men walking briskly in the direction of the envoys'' chambers. She let the bushes and flowers of the garden hide her figure as she watched them; in the dark she thought it quite peculiar that their appearances were darker than the majority of the palace staff and the envoys, but not as dark as the Kushites. She was, of course, reminded of Phobos and Aristides, but she could not spot from that distance any of the markings of the Phrygian warriors she''d travelled with.


    Thinking that perhaps they were running from the worsening argument happening in the palace, she followed in the same direction, and soon arrived at her chambers. That night, she slept soundly. She knew that she''d just been hit with a primer: the rest of the Council would surely progress on similarly rocky grounds, now that the gloves had been discarded. It would be an exhausting enterprise, and she couldn''t wait to meet back with Hyperion to ask for a raise.


    As expected, everything went downhill but not in the way she would''ve thought. She had just finished dressing up, and was about to sit down to enjoy some breakfast when one of her attendants came into her chambers with a serious look on his face. "Apologies for intruding, lady," the young man said, "but the Lord Preceptor has asked everyone to remain in their chambers and await further instructions."


    "What happened?"


    "Two envoys were murdered during the night."


    "Who?"


    "I don''t know¡­ I think it was some of the Philistians. I went pass their chambers and saw groups of people going in and out. There was a lot of activity."


    Ophelia paled. Had the argument soured the envoys to that extent?


    She tried questioning the attendant, but he didn''t have much to offer other than some hearsay. People were pointing fingers to the Elysians, given that they''d initiated the argument with their treaty proposal, and their long history of using intimidation tactics to increase their influence. But no one had seen anything and the murder weapons were not even anywhere to be seen; all that had been left were the bodies of two of the men Philistia had sent with their throats cut while they slept.


    She spent an uneasy morning, wondering how things would go from there. Back in her own world, she''d expect that the Council would be cancelled and everyone would be questioned by the police, who would cordon off the scene of the murder to gather evidence. She doubted that somehow the science of forensics was as advanced there, and she imagined it''d all rely on witness testimony and pointing a finger at whoever seemed to have a motive. More importantly, if the murder was truly political, what was there to say that it wouldn''t happen again?


    "I''m sad to find you with such a deep frown in your face," Hyperion surprised her with a visit near midday. Dressed to the nines in colourful overlaid silk tunics, he looked more masculine that she''d ever seen him: his long platinum hair had been tied in a simple ponytail, and he''d traded the long, dangly gold earrings he''d used at the Caudiceum brothel with smaller gem-encrusted ones that she''d learnt were customary for Chaldean men.


    "It''s been a tense few days," she said, and invited him to sit down in the chair opposite her.


    "I heard yesterday''s dinner was fairly entertaining," Hyperion begged the question that Ophelia then proceeded to answer with a simple recount of what had transpired during the event. "I''m glad to have missed it," he said afterwards. "I don''t enjoy the company of loud, argumentative men."


    "You''d enjoy the company of the Elysian leader, then. He''s quite the character."


    "Oh?" an eyebrow was raised. "He''s a handsome man, as well. For that alone I''d sit down for a chat. How does the princess like him? Should I feel jealous?"


    "He certainly hasn''t whored me out to get some favours out of the city principals," Ophelia bit back, reminding him that she hadn''t forgotten that they weren''t on the best terms. "But he says a lot of entertaining things, even if he''s insufferably arrogant."


    Hyperion''s eyes flashed for a second; Ophelia didn''t know if it was anger, an emotion that she''d never associated with the merchant, or something else entirely. He certainly took note of her comment: "I can see a future where your tongue tires of complaining and it''s your byzantine gifts that will let me know of your frustration towards me. I''m a better man for learning that."


    Ophelia was confused. Was the man implying she had just threatened him? "What are you saying?"


    He stood up and took her hand in his before dropping to his knees, laying a kiss on her open palm. "I should know better than to try to grab you by your elbow when you offer me your hand; that''s all. Do not be mad at me; I shall not make the same mistake again."


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    Ophelia blushed at the gesture and took her hand back, holding it against her chest. "I''ll take your apology."


    Hyperion smiled and went back to his seat, happy to see she''d been mollified. "That''s great to hear. I wanted to spend today at your tail, now that things have taken a turn for the interesting."


    "And not because you missed me?"


    Hyperion laughed. "If I say that, you''ll accuse me of being improper."


    Later on, an attendant appeared to summon Ophelia with the rest of the translators. They had to assist the judges during the interrogations, which lasted the whole day. The Council''s activities were postponed by another two days, while the Arqan authorities tried to sort out the whos, wheres and whats of the assassination that had taken place.


    "What a difficult picture that''s emerging," Hyperion commented as the last witness of the day, an attendant that worked at the Philistians'' chambers, made his exit. Nobody had made a single comment as to why he was there, something that Ophelia partly attributed to his influence and partly to the general chaos that reigned in the palace. ''Investigation'' was a loose term; it was more like the different judges and personalities of the city tried to gather as much information as possible, finding very little leads outside of what the hearsay and rumours were pointing out. People often had to leave one chamber to go to the next to explain for yet another time what they''d been doing the night before; it would happen as well that on the way back to their normal activities they''d be once again stopped to be taken to another chamber, for another interrogation. It was all madness and bureaucracy, and little method; Ophelia didn''t know if this was something specific to Arqa or if it was like that everywhere else.


    "What will you do, my friend?" Hyperion asked the Lord Preceptor as the older man grabbed his head, lost in thought. By virtue of his closeness to the merchant, the three of them had ended up in a chamber together, going through the various witnesses.


    "It''s all too obvious that no one had any motive to attack the envoys other than the Elysians, particularly after the nasty accusations thrown last night," the Lord Preceptor said. "But pointing fingers at this stage will put us all in a very precarious position. Nobody heard anything, saw anything. If they really were behind the murders, it begs the question of what are they trying to get out of it? Certainly not an increased friendship with the rest of the Council."


    "Lord Scipio being here is not making it any easier, as well," he continued. "Everyone''s aware of the kind of tricks he''s known to pull. He''ll be looking for any excuse to spark conflict and bring his Knights over; yet I don''t think an outright assassination like this is his style."


    "It''s clear that whoever did this wanted to interrupt the Council''s activity in some way or another," Hyperion mused. "Your best bet is to carry on; if the Elysians did this to avoid the negotiations and force your hand, it will become evident with the passing weeks. If it was someone else, it''ll give you more time to find them while you avoid shifting the blame on the Elysians. The worst you can do is let them all twiddle their thumbs, concocting conspiracies to get revenge."


    "You''re right," the governor nodded, rising from his seat with renewed energy. "I''ll make the announcement, then. Let''s pretend we have no suspects as of now."


    When he was gone, Ophelia sank into a reclining couch, feeling the exhaustion of having to face dozens of individuals the entire day. Hyperion also chose to take a seat, looking for a space at her feet.


    "This could get worse," she said. "There''s no telling if there''ll be any more murders."


    "There will be enough soldiers to guard everyone," Hyperion commented. "Why? Are you worried about your safety?"


    Was she? She turned to lay on her back, and held up a finger. A spark of electricity flared out from the tip, not unlike the one she''d conjured the day she''d fended off that strange monster aboard their ship. Should the worst case scenario happen, she''d always have that little trick under her sleeve. It made her feel strange, almost detached from the situation: she could protect herself, and that meant that there would not be any shadows she''d shy away from as she made her way back to her chambers that night. Everyone else had to rely on a soldier, a mercenary; she, like the Elysians, she supposed, was free to live without fear in that mad, dangerous world of intrigues and violence.


    "I suppose I''m not," she said. "Do situations like this make you afraid? Are you ever wary of getting involved in something you might not able to come out alive from?"


    The merchant looked up for a moment, and pondered over her question.


    "I used to be afraid, once. But once you''ve faced death enough times, you stop caring. The only thing I''m wary of is making a stupid decision."


    He reached to his ponytail to undo it. His silken hair fell almost like smoke, settling on his shoulders delicately. "Moreover, it seems I''ve made my peace with a very powerful woman," his tone turned suggestive and he turned back to look at her, mischievous. "I hope she''ll protect me as well."


    "That''ll cost you extra," Ophelia said drily, getting up. She waved him goodbye, wanting suddenly nothing more than some peace and quiet. Hyperion watched her go with some remorse: his quick tongue had got the best of him.


    -


    She turned around in her seat; a mob had congregated outside of the palace as the news had spread. In the wake of the attack, a triple dose of curiosity, chaos and confusion reigned supreme. The air felt all-too-warm, almost abrasive as the smell of smoke lingered over the city. The rumours of the Philistian murders had already sent tremors through the populace, as those who waited for a sign of something began to hope that this wasn''t yet another false start. And although Lord Preceptor had not named any names, many had already begun pointing fingers towards the Elysians. Their enemies resided within the city walls; they clearly were stalling their swords in favour of wagging their tongues to get the Arqans on their side. And now, oh what a story they''d be able to pull together.


    As the carriage took her and the injured Hyperion back to his villa, she felt oddly on edge, waiting for any sign of violence to come their way. Perhaps it was the phantom heat that she remembered ghosting over her skin; perhaps it was that something was brewing in the city and it was slowly reaching its simmering point. Whatever it was, she felt like her fangs were out the whole ride.


    The timing had been a complete surprise. She certainly hadn''t expected anything to go down that soon. Two days had passed since the Philistian envoys had been found murdered in their chambers, and as the Lord Preceptor had discussed with Hyperion, the Council had resumed shortly as if nothing had happened. Although the Philistians had been initially outraged, a closed-doors meeting with the Arqans had settled the matter: they had all agreed that they needed to assess if the Elysians were a threat or not, and how much they could stall to defuse any attempts to turn that event into a reason for hostilities to be started.


    Earlier that day Ophelia had been called for yet another wave of meetings; some of them between envoys, others between individuals who sought to discuss this or that matter and, of course, socialize. It was then that Hyperion had waltzed around, lavishly presenting those he was trying to ally himself with with gifts, food and drink. The palace''s hallways were busy with attendants bringing this or that to the rooms, chambers and offices that had been set up for the Council. The schedule for the evening included a performance at the amphitheatre where the city''s most famous troupe would be putting on a drama for their entertainment. It seemed like the rest of the affair would be similar: discuss business, drink, eat and enjoy of this or that entertainment at the expenses of the Arqans.


    But before that and as the afternoon drew to a close, a small ceremony was scheduled to be held in the main forum of the palace, where the city preceptors would normally gather for discussions. It was nothing more than a few words to address the elephant in the room ¨C the deaths of the envoys ¨C and let those in attendance know the security measures that Arqa would enforce from there on.


    As Ophelia made her way to the forum she came across many a busy attendant clearing the rooms that had just been deserted. Two of them engraved themselves on her mind as they passed by, and by fortune of her eyes straying past she noticed the partial outlines of some familiar-looking tattoos that peeked out from underneath the sleeves of their tunics. She had stopped for a second, a half-thought forming in her mind to talk to them, but they were gone before she could do anything.


    The memory of her walk through the palace gardens during the night of the murders came to her; unsolicited, yet strangely suggestive. Could it be that there were Phrygians working in the palace, and if so, was it fair of her to link them to the unrest they were experiencing? They were, after all, on a war path; and whatever chess play anyone could try, perhaps they were just brutishly aiming for the Elysian envoys and nothing more.


    She parked that thought and searched for Hyperion, who she knew had gone in before her to the forum. She found him by one of the entrances.


    "Anything interesting?" she asked, not failing to notice the bored expression on his face.


    "Just the notables of the city proving once again that years of repeating the classics on rhetoric do not guarantee a single worthwhile word coming out of their mouth."


    Ophelia laughed. "Are you attending the performance?"


    "I was hoping I could attend it with you, actually."


    She offered him a cheeky smile. "Still trying to get into my good graces, I see."


    The man arched an eyebrow and leaned towards her, casually brushing her hair out of her face. "Is it working?"


    Ophelia blushed, feeling self-conscious at his proximity, and tried to move away as she muttered some half-hearted reply.


    What happened next would be remembered as a blurry collection of images and the sound of screams permeating the entire hall. It happened like this: as the address from the Lord Preceptor was about to finish, someone rushed in from the sides dressed in a shimmering light blue tunic. The hosts of the Council reacted immediately, bursting forth to restrain the man. Partially drowned by their grunts he''d screamed "Elysia aeterna!" and held up his open palm to the skies. Blue flames exploded from his body, engulfing him in a raging inferno.


    To the shouts of "careful! Dorian fire!" the Arqan preceptors that had been wrestling with him tried to move away, but true to its nature it only became hungrier the more it consumed. Three men screamed in agony as they flailed around, falling to the floor in a vain attempt to extinguish the blue flames. The more it touched the more it evolved, but although it was intense and ravaging it soon began to change ¨C still blue as it burnt the self-immolated Elysian, but growing increasingly more yellow and red the further away it was from its origin. It was as if the magic disappeared, leaving behind the same pedestrian fire that anyone else in the audience could easily spark.


    People began to run; some of them stayed behind to try and help those who were struggling with the fire, somehow looking for a way to stifle the growing flames. The chamber, which had been decked in large woven tapestries representing the emblems of all the participants, seemed like the perfect nest for a budding inferno.


    "We need to run," Hyperion grabbed Ophelia and followed the mass of people heading for the exits. In the centre, the corpse of the man who had immolated himself could have been easily confused with a pile of burnt logs; he and the Arqans who had tried to stop him were long gone, but the blue fire kept on raging, as if born from their ashes. The wooden rafters were at the mercy of the increasing tongues of fire, which were growing taller and hotter by the second.


    Ophelia heard more screams from the mob in front of them: in their desperation, and because of an unlucky misstep, a crush had begun. Folks fell on top of others, causing the exit to be blocked by a mass of desperate people.


    She grabbed Hyperion and pulled him back, and then looked behind them. They were trapped. The smoke was heavy, quickly filling the room and limiting their visibility. She thought about her options all in the span of a second: she could try to open an entrance by sheer force, but the sudden influx of fresh air might cause an explosion. She could try to control the flames, if such a thing was possible, but it seemed like it''d take her some time to figure out how to do it, if it was possible at all. The only option, it seemed, was to remove the blockages obstructing their exit, and do it fast.


    She spotted one person at the top of the crush and willed him to move. He screamed, but she pressed on: there was no time to lose. An unseen force moved him out of the way, and with that she could try another two, three. It was like a macabre, desperate game: get as many out as possible without injuring them.


    The smoke made it difficult for her to fully understand what was happening, and she moved the smoke here and there to keep digging at the pile of bodies. She soon realized someone else was at it as well. Bodies were flown out with less care than she was giving, and between them they were able to clear the way quickly enough.


    Once the outside was more or less visible, she began pushing the bodies outwards, rolling people towards safety, outside the chamber. On the other side preceptors and servants were helping pull out those who''d been trapped, receiving those she was throwing out.


    "Let''s go!" Hyperion shouted once the way out had enough space for someone to run in. Ophelia pushed him, then ran after him. Inside, the screams had quieted, and only the voices of the Elysians could be heard, moving those who still remained inside to safety, and trying to keep the fire at bay with their own abilities.


    Outside, the attendants were trying to put out the fire using buckets of water. There was no running water in Arqa, no systems of open canals like in Caudiceum; all water was provided from wells and underground reservoirs which meant that fire fighting was reduced to its most basic form. Ophelia, although still coughing and trying to rub the smoke and heat off her eyes, was so full of adrenaline that she didn''t stop to think about what she was doing: she noticed the closest well to the main chamber, which was surrounded by gardens, was only twenty feet away from its walls. She stumbled towards it, slowly regaining her breath as she spit out black humours from her mouth.


    Hyperion shouted after her. "We have to stop it before it spreads," she said, voice hoarse, and braced herself to the well, looking into its depths to spot the watery surface at the bottom. Three men were next to it, frantically filling and refilling the buckets that servants would carry to and from the building.


    She said nothing to them, and they didn''t bother saying anything to her. Everyone was panicking. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and then raised the water from the bottom of the well. It emerged first as big bubbles, the size of the buckets the men were filling, and slowly curved into a stream that directed itself towards the chambers.


    "Elysian!" one of the men exclaimed, as he fell backwards. The three of them stopped immediately to witness the miracle, eyes full of wonder. A part of her mind that remained in her old world thought it was almost like a large scale sprinkler; she moved it from side to side, trying to douse as much as she could in the cold water. Black smoke began to rise upwards, big clouds forming as the fire was forced down.


    She heard someone else shout "there''s an elysian there!" in the distance. It meant nothing to her then; so focused she was on dealing with the fire, nothing else mattered. It took her a full minute to realize it had been spoken in Phrygian.


    But once she did, the scene quickly changed. She opened her eyes and spotted two men dressed like servants running towards her. Her mind rebelling against the idea of changing focus, she failed to realize why they were coming to her. Hyperion, however, was faster to react as he noticed the long knives they had in their hands, similar to the ones Phobos and Aristides carried with them.


    "No!" Ophelia shouted, and her control on the water stream slipped; suspended in mid-air, the water fell like rain onto the garden.


    Hyperion jumped in front of her, grabbed an empty bucket and flung it with incredible accuracy at one of the Phrygians. It struck the man below the knees, causing him to fall forwards towards the ground. There was no reaction from his friend, who kept running at them, quickly closing the distance as his comrade fell behind. Hyperion, who was on the way, barely had time to do anything as the Phrygian''s knife came slashing down through the air. It was then Ophelia who jumped to action, panicking: without measuring her strength, she threw the Phrygian backwards. The body collided against a tree with such force that blood began to fall from the man''s nose as soon as he touched the ground.


    Little mercy could be afforded to the attacker when her benefactor was on the ground. Ophelia kneeled by Hyperion as the three servants piled on top of the remaining Phrygian to restrain him. The silk caftan had been slashed from shoulder to waist; around the ribs the knife had made contact with flesh, slicing through with the precision of a scalpel. She took off her outer tunic and bundled it to press it on the merchant''s belly to contain the bleeding.


    "Stay with me, please" she murmured apprehensively as the Chaldean reclined back. His usually composed features were distorted in pain and covered in soot and sweat; his hands grabbed at her and at the cloth that was quickly turning redder and redder.


    "Always, princess," he muttered through gritted teeth.


    Ophelia was about to ask for help when she noticed the Phrygian, who was large enough to require three Arqans sitting on top of him to keep him from moving, looking at her. A similar look of hatred had been sent her way when their prince had first witnessed her abilities; and just like then, it seemed not a threat, but a promise. The man mouthed something, and then closed his eyes: as he did so, the same blue flames that had engulfed the earlier attacker emerged from his body. They raged with the same violence, catching in their embrace the three servants that were holding the attacker down.


    She saw them jump away, screaming, and knew that she would not be able to bear any more tragedy that afternoon: behind her water raged from within the well, and fell like angry rain on all of them ¨C the Phrygian, the servants, herself and Hyperion.


    "Help," she shouted weakly, arms still pressing down on Hyperion''s wound to stop the bleeding while the fallen men in front of her writhed and moaned on the floor, suffering from various degrees of injuries. The Phrygian was gone; charred beyond recognition by the strange, intense blue fire that had been brought forth from his body.


    She heard steps coming from behind: she prepared to fend the newcomers off before she recognised some of the faces she''d been translating for during the previous evenings. Light blue tunics, partially scorched and covered in soot, swarmed around them.


    "What happened here?" one of the Elysians asked, perturbed, as he eyed the chaotic vision before him: all of them drenched, three burn victims, a charred corpse, and not far from them another body lying in a small puddle of blood. Hardly a scene that would suggest any coherent narration at first glance.


    "Please help them, they''ve been burnt with that strange blue fire!" Ophelia said in her distress. A man kneeled next to the corpse; his companions tended to the injured servants. His long black hair was messy, but it was recognisable enough.


    "Dorian fire?" Aegyr asked, his hands hovering over the corpse, forcing it to move on its own to allow for a quick examination. "How¡­?"


    He turned back to look at Ophelia. His eyes moved to her hands, and as he took in Hyperion''s pained face, it was clear that a thought had formed in his mind. "Remove that cloth; I need to see the wound."


    Ophelia frowned but did as he commanded: a strange, vacant look took over the Aegyr''s features, and she watched as the gash on Hyperion''s stomach closed, or attempted to do so. It was difficult to tell exactly as the muscle rejoined itself and the skin grew anew, as there was so much blood pooling around it. At least the bleeding had stopped, yet it was clear that the injury was still there, only less fatal.


    "Have them check for poisons," the Elysian recommended. "Blades can be coated in more than a thirst for blood."


    She hadn''t realized she''d been holding her breath, but once she released it, she felt almost feverish. Small tremors ran through her body. "Thank you," she breathed, resting her face in her hands. They were stained in Hyperion''s blood.


    There was no change in Aegyr''s demeanour. Ophelia had the sudden thought that he''d only healed Hyperion to be able to ask her questions. "Who was that man? What did he try to do?"


    "There were two of them. Over there is the other¡­ they came running at us, holding knives. Hyperion shielded me, and was stabbed. We fended him off, and he hit his head against the tree. The other was held down by the servants, until he began to burn, and then all of them were engulfed in flames¡­"


    "But the flames¡­ were put out?"


    "Yes¡­ I threw water at them."


    "The blue flames were put out?"


    "Well, they were only blue on that man."


    Aegyr incorporated himself, looking pensive. His clear blue eyes were fixated on her, moving around her face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. More likely, he was trying to ascertain how truthful she was being.


    The moans from the injured caught Ophelia''s attention. The Elysians were examining them, making no effort to heal them as they prodded their bodies. "Careful! What are you doing?" she shouted at them.


    "They''re servants," one of the Elysians stated, as if it was the most obvious response in the world. "This wasn''t done by Dorian fire," he said, turning towards Aegyr. "They might have had some powders to make a fire that bright, and to colour the flames to make it seem that way."


    "Did they speak to you, translator?" one of the Elysians asked her. "Were they speaking our language?"


    "T-they shouted something that I couldn''t understand," she lied. She knew full well by then that Phrygians had staged the whole thing ¨C that somehow they had entered the palace as servants, carrying something that could produce a violent fire, ready to self-immolate to cause some chaos. But admitting it to the Elysians would certainly make matters worse for them, and despite the look of hatred she''d been gifted and the almost near-fatal attempt on Hyperion''s life she felt strangely protective over them. Perhaps it was foolish of her to be so sentimental, perhaps she was making too many assumptions, but something in her gut told her that these were the same folks Phobos had crossed the sea to find, and that this was part of his fight. And although he had refused her help, she would still aid in whatever way she could: it was what felt right to her.


    Aegyr approached the other fallen attacker, who was still unconscious. The Elysian turned the body over with his powers. Ophelia couldn''t help but recoil at the way it moved, like a rag doll. "What happened to him?" he asked, looking back at her.


    "Hyperion hit him with one of the buckets," she lied. Fearing that her thoughts would show on her face, she tried not to dwell too much on the possible consequences of Aegyr finding out her real origins. "His head went back, and hit the trunk of the tree very hard."


    "What a surprise, that a Chaldean should have the same strength as a Thracian¡­" Aegyr commented as he tore open the man''s tunic. The tell-tale pattern of a dog slithered its way down the biceps into the forearm of the fallen man, and the story of how the attacks had come to be began to unravel in front of the Elysians.


    "Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky¡­" one of the envoys, the one closest to her, said. "Who would''ve thought the Phrygians had it in them?"


    "Well, with the way they''ve been backstabbing each other as of lately, it''s clear it''s not all about waging war and facing their opponents head-on anymore," another one replied. "It makes sense now; they''re trying to frame us."


    "It might be not just them; we have plenty of enemies in this city."


    Ophelia decided to let them figure out their political woes while she tended to the injured. Hyperion seemed to be doing better, although didn''t have much energy to speak. She gave him a nod which he responded, and then left him to lie for a bit on the grass. The three men had been moved to one side; two of them were unconscious, having fainted from the shock and the pain, and the third one was still moaning softly. She took one of the water buckets that had been left next to the well, which was half-full with water, and carried it with great effort to the side of the injured. The only thing she could think of to do was to try and bring down their body temperatures with some cold water, and so she began pouring it all over their burns.


    "Yuri," Aegyr called one of his subordinates. "Perhaps the translator might be able to answer the question that brought us here in the first place."


    "Yes," Yuri stood to attention and turned to her. "Was it from this well that the water that put out the fire was called forth?" Ophelia nodded as she continued with her task. "Who did it?"


    "I would''ve thought it was one of you."


    It was clear her answer wasn''t satisfactory; Yuri seemed to be about to press on, but a single gesture from Aegyr silenced him. The leader of the envoys took a step forward towards her, and levelled her with a gaze so intimidating that she would''ve recoiled if she had met his eyes.


    "I pray that at some point during your stay at the empire you heard this at least once, translator: all things belong in their rightful place, and sooner or later, fates must converge."


    Ophelia raised her eyes. "I''m afraid I don''t follow, my lord."


    "Lying is a choice only for the present; make no mistake that we''ll know in the future if today you spoke the truth or not. I would dare hope that the consequences are worth it for you."


    She stood up, walking towards the man who was clearly trying to intimidate her. The act seemed to be slightly scandalous for the other Elysians, who protested against it; she took no note of it as she stood in front of him, separated only by a few inches. "Thanks for your advice, my lord," she said. "But it''s a strange one; one would think that if you had any problems with my words you''d be more than capable to address them. Unless, of course it''s outside of your fate entirely to do so."


    She turned back and saw that a few Arqan preceptors had been nervously watching their interaction from afar. She gestured at them to come closer, and as she caught more people''s eyes, she pointed at the three men that were still in need of medical attention.


    She felt a hand grabbing her by the arm, and was turned back towards Aegyr, who seemed none-too-pleased with her behaviour. "Speak the truth, are you from the empire?"


    "I''m not," she said, her patience growing too thin for her to even take caution. "I''ve never been to it. Now, let me go."


    He released her, making a gesture towards his subordinates. The five of them gathered in a group as the Arqan preceptors arrived to demand an explanation for what had happened. As other attendants and servants arrived to take care of the injured, she took Hyperion, and the both of them made a silent escape.


    "Holding your own against Lord Scipio, princess, what a beautiful sight to see¡­" the merchant said once they were in the safety of his carriage. "It makes a sick man heal."


    "Hopefully he will be too busy to be asking after me. Did you catch any of what was said about the Phrygians¡­?"


    "Yes," Hyperion closed his eyes, and manoeuvred himself so that his head was resting on Ophelia''s lap. "You don''t mind, do you? All this commotion makes a man seek some simple comforts."


    She sighed, but couldn''t fault the man after his heroic rescue. "You did protect me against those men."


    He looked up at her with a cheeky smile. "It''s been a long time since I was that gallant. I''m quite proud of myself. Although, it is hard not to try and be a bit braver when you''re around. You make the impossible possible, and that makes one feel a bit daring."


    Ophelia chuckled, "that is the most genuine compliment you''ve given me so far. I''ll take it."


    The man closed his eyes, his smile easing into something that made him seem like he''d just been transported into heaven. Only the movement of the carriage would elicit some painful grimaces here and then.


    "Do you think this will make things difficult for Phobos?" Ophelia asked.


    "Hmm...Will it?"


    "Well, the Elysians know now they orchestrated the whole thing to frame them. They might have even been the ones behind the murders of the Philistians. This is just going to turn public opinion against the rebel Phrygians."


    "You''d be surprised, princess, of how little truth matters when politics are concerned. Even if they were to show their evidence in every public square in Arqa, those who hate them will continue to blame them."


    "I thought Arqans didn''t want to start a conflict with the Elysians."


    "Arqan politicians don''t want it. Their people, however¡­"


    The carriage finally arrived at the palace gates. She''d never thought she''d experience a traffic jam in that world, yet she''d underestimated that in some aspects things changed very little. They hadn''t been the only ones to try and seek refuge from the attack outside of the palace walls; they were certainly some of the first ones to leave.


    As they went out, they witnessed the hungry, curious faces of the mob shout questions at them. Guards had been stationed to help ease their transition, but they were grossly outnumbered by those who were looking for news as to what happened inside the palace. She drew the curtains of the carriage shut, and closed her eyes.


    It would be a long ride.

 Chapter 8

    "The Council has been disbanded until further notice."


    The sun had emerged from the sea victorious that morning, the sky bright and clear as if the smoke from the attack the afternoon before had never tarnished its deep blue. In the few seconds before her consciousness truly awoke, all was peaceful: the cool breeze promised a deliciously warm day and the waves breaking into the cliffs below the villa lulled her back into the feeling of an eternal summer. It was only in the slightly nervous looks from the attendants that she was able to find evidence of what had transpired; the native Arqans, after all, knew the whisperings of war very well.


    Hyperion had come into her chambers right as she had finished dressing for breakfast. Her words had summoned silence amongst her attendants, whose gazes only grew darker. "Are the envoys being sent back?" she asked.


    "No, they will remain here until they confirm the identity of the attackers," Hyperion offered her a hand, an invitation to walk together. "The city''s guard has been called to patrol the streets, and enlisted men are being asked to join them."


    Ophelia accepted the silent invite, and taking Hyperion''s arm, they begun to walk towards the gardens. "What are they saying? Who are they blaming?"


    "Depends on who you ask," Hyperion smiled. "The Elysians had a late night meeting with the Lord Protector, and showed him the bodies of the Phrygians who attacked us. As it is often the case, by morning everyone in the city knew about this. The Lord Protector now is edging between a wall and a sword, as the populace thinks the Elysians are making it up to find an excuse to bring their troops into the city. Yet, he knows as we do that in this case they don''t seem to be lying."


    "One would think the bodies would be enough evidence. Will they call us as witnesses?"


    "I have yet to receive any missive, but when it comes I''ll turn it away. A merchant taking sides in petty politics like these is a foolish merchant," Hyperion spied Ophelia''s worried frown, and patted the hand that held his arm. "Fortunately the distaste towards my people runs deep, and it hurts many egos to have to ask me for favours. They will not knock on my door yet: they have still the testimony of those three servants that were next to us."


    "It would be surprising if the servants said anything after the Elysians left them to suffer from their wounds like that."


    "Their tongues and more importantly, their outrage, has a price."


    Ophelia stopped, pulling Hyperion to the side. "I think they know about my powers," she whispered. "And if they don''t, they will the moment they speak to those servants."


    Hyperion leaned in towards her; it startled her for a moment, as it made her think he was seeking her lips. "Would you like some help from me, princess?" he asked, hazel eyes wide and inviting. She knew he was relishing the moment.


    "I-I would," she stammered, walking a step backwards to take a breath.


    He stood up with a self-satisfied smile. "I''d be more than honoured to help then."


    "What is it going to cost me?" she asked, starting to regret it already.


    "Oh, some of your patience, nothing more. Just play along when the time is right; I will take that indulgence as payment." That''s how she knew it would cost her dearly.


    They spent the next few days sequestered in the villa. Hyperion''s wounds had been mostly healed by Aegyr; as long as he limited his movements before he strained himself too much he''d soon be back to full health. At the spacious hall that served as an office of sorts for Eon and the master of the house, they went back to their usual routine of receiving informants, traders and merchants. Ophelia knew from speaking to the servants that many folk had been turned away from their doors on account of the current political situation: different factions had sent representatives, looking for patronage or support of some form. It was clear that as much as the Elysians were a powerful political force, they had many opponents and their history had brewed much discontentment amongst the peoples of the Free Cities, and the current atmosphere seemed like an opportunity too good not to act on.


    Hyperion had resolved to firmly stay out of it ¨C at least, as much as he could. Their informants told them that in the old palace, the dead had been mourned and their funerary rites carried out. The Lord Preceptor had held a very symbolic ceremony amongst the ashes of the ruined hall, speaking to his audience with empty platitudes meant only to buy time. The highest of the judges of the city had been called and were savagely tearing through every nook and cranny of the building, trying to understand what had happened. The Philistians had also called in for one of their judges to come to the city, in account of the murdered envoys. The Latilians, instead, had decided that it''d be more productive to rally with the Kushites to push for an investigation of the Elysians, who for the most part were doing their due diligence to prove their innocence.


    It was a strange performance; not quite a murder mystery, not quite a court drama. It became clear as time went on that the situation was evolving in such a way that truth began to lose its appeal. The advantages of what could only be called political fantasies began to dominate, and the insistence of the empire''s envoys on proving their innocence through evidence turned out to be absolutely useless. What the Elysians truly needed to do, as Hyperion put it, was "to make friends with loud mouths". Not that they''d heed any advice he had to give.


    This was made evident when, on the fifth day after the attack, Lord Scipio himself arrived at the gates of the villa. This move was so unprecedented, so bold, that Hyperion broke tradition: he would have normally turned him away, but as with anything that roused his curiosity, he was more than willing to entertain his presence there.


    "It will be a marvellous sight to see," he insisted to Eon, who didn''t quite agree with his master''s disposition towards petty entertainment. "The Archduke of Elysium, asking for help from a mere Chaldean merchant."


    "They play the game only because they don''t consider us worthy opponents," Eon reminded him with a scowl. "They don''t have to play nice; they only do so because they think it''s beneath them to force themselves on others. But should they really need to, they will; and master, their hand will not tremble."


    "Once again you''re absolutely right!" Hyperion smiled at him. "But you should see then why it matters not if we entertain them or not ¨C and while we can''t use force like they do, we are at least more apt in the field of mind games than they are."


    "So," he licked his lips as he covered himself in a heavy black and gold tunic to receive his guest, "let their arrogance drive them into a corner."


    Ophelia had been more than happy to stay back in one of the adjacent chambers while Hyperion and Eon met with Aegyr. Her stomach was in knots, thinking about the consequences of the Elysian having figured out she shared their abilities. In the days leading to the envoys'' arrival she''d informed herself enough to understand that Elysians were very zealous over their abilities, and lived under a very strict class system. Anyone born in Elysium to their noble families was expected to serve their empire in some way or another; there was very little regard to personal agency. As Aegyr had said, everything in Elysium had its place.


    A few stories were shared amongst the ports, according to some of the servants, of an Elysian runaway. As such stories normally go, she was said to be a daughter of a noble family who had fallen in love with a Thracian, who escaped an arranged marriage for love only for them to be savagely hunted for weeks on end. When they found her, the Thracian was coldly murdered before her eyes, and in punishment for her audacity her legs had been broken and healed on the spot, ensuring that she would not be able to use them ever again. She was taken back to Elysium and forced to marry her former fiance; and to make an example out of it, those who helped her escape were put to death.


    Ophelia feared for Hyperion. As much as he was sneaky and calculating, she didn''t want him to suffer a similar end for having given her a place to stay. She hoped that, if the worst case scenario were to come true, that she''d at least be able to ensure his safety.


    "My lady," one of the attendants emerged from the main chamber. "The master is asking for your presence."


    As she uneasily stood up, a second attendant ran from the opposite side. Out of breath, she was carrying a bundle in her arms that she extended towards Ophelia. "Please¡­ wear¡­ this¡­ master''s orders."


    She knew instantly that Hyperion was in the middle of one of his plays, then. Perhaps she wouldn''t have much to fear. As she put the tunic on, she realized it was similar to the one he was wearing: black, embroidered in fine gold thread. The second attendant also handed her earrings and necklaces, and hurriedly helped her get them on.


    The two of them did a quick job of dolling her up. "What is all this?" Ophelia asked, instinctively knowing that this much gold and this much jade were meant only for those in high offices. The attendants didn''t know; they simply ushered her along. She wiped the frown from her face as she entered the chamber where Hyperion received his guests ¨C as was usual for him he''d laid out chai and refreshments on a small table, while they all sat in plush couches made of dark ebony.


    "Does this satisfy you, Lord Scipio?" Hyperion said, raising a hand to beckon her to his side. "Now you can hear the refusal from her mouth as well."


    Eon was standing to Hyperion''s right, watching Aegyr like a hawk. Ophelia would''ve normally stood next to him, but she followed the merchant''s lead to take a seat at his side. Aegyr was sitting comfortably in the chair opposite of them, clearly having made no attempt to make good of Hyperion''s hospitality. The moment she came into the room his eyes stuck to her form like there was nothing else worthy of his gaze in there.


    "I must inconvenience you, darling," Hyperion said sweetly, raising her face towards him with a delicate gesture of his hand, "as Lord Scipio has been quite adamant he''s only interested in hearing this personally from you despite my warnings that I was on explicit orders to relay this myself."


    Hyperion spoke to her in Drusi; Ophelia''s small glance towards Aegyr confirmed that the other man had not understood a single word. By simple reaction she felt like asking why he was going all the way to act like that when the other man would not understand, but figured that if there was such a thing as method acting in that world, perhaps Hyperion was partial to it. "Speak, my friend," the merchant turned back to Iberian, a language he shared with the Elysian.


    It seemed like neither of them were interested in sharing their conversation with the other. Aegyr said in his native tongue, "we require a translator we can trust. I came to ask for your presence in the proceedings at the Arqan palace."


    "I''m honoured that you consider me trustworthy, my lord," she said, her words biting back at their conversation the day of the attack. "But there are more capable translators already hard at work under Lord Preceptor. I''m also very busy with other, more urgent work."


    The last bit of her sentence earned her a scornful look. "Should I congratulate you on your nuptials? It seems like a few days ago when you were simply a servant under a rich Chaldean master."


    She arched an eyebrow. It seemed that Hyperion was going to play the marriage card to shield her from the Elysians. "As I said before, should there be any falsehood, I would imagine it''d be in your capacity to reveal the truth."


    Aegyr fixed her with a strange look. "I wonder," he said with a small smile, and suddenly Ophelia understood the fear that Elysians inspired over the other nations. It was that moment when the possibility of him escalating became almost palpable, and the promise of a swift, painful retribution made her almost back off. Almost.


    "Every bone in his body, I could break it right now," he said, raising his hand towards Hyperion. The merchant did not react; he didn''t know what Aegyr was saying, but there were few things more menacing than an Elysian noble pointing their finger at someone, and as apt as he was to control his expressions he simply played nonchalant. "I wonder, would that be enough for me to prove your lies? Or should I try to do as the Phrygians did, and witness first-hand as you do the same things you said you didn''t do, but that others said you did?"


    "I wonder what''s stopping your hand, Elysian," Ophelia bit back. "Something tells me you''re not as confident about your assumptions as you want me to think."


    Something passed by Aegyr''s eyes; an argument, a challenge to her words. It was clear that she was suspected of being Elysian, but something didn''t quite fit for the other man, and that was enough for her not be dragged off from Hyperion''s villa. She figured that the other knew what was at stake: an incident at the villa would mean that there would be no more open ears to the Elysian envoys; that the populace would definitely turn against them, possibly escalating the whole thing into hostilities against the Empire. Regardless of what would happen after that point, it''d be an embarrassing failure in diplomacy, and more importantly, a victory for the Phrygians who had instigated the whole thing in the first place.


    "I''m not Elysian, my lord," Ophelia said, finally. "And to those that say I''ve done what I''m not capable of: some people will say what their masters want to hear. I hope you''d know better than to trust tongues that move out of fear."


    A few seconds passed, in silence. When he spoke, it was again in Iberian, and he was looking straight at Hyperion, as if Ophelia''s words had been so useless to him that they were worth no acknowledgement of their existence.


    "I''m aware of your dealings in Caudiceum," he said. "As friendly of a city it is now to you, they are friendlier to being in my good graces. It will take one word from me to block you from landing any of your ships there."


    Hyperion arched an eyebrow. "My, it seems like you''re not happy with my intended''s words."


    Aegyr said nothing, his expression firm and unmovable. "Is this all so that I will translate for you?" Ophelia asked, incredulous. "Very well, I will do it. Are you happy now?"


    "This is enough, for today," the Elysian said, standing up. "I will send a carriage for you tomorrow."


    "There is no need," Hyperion was quick to say as he imitated the other man. "The empire''s colours are quite contentious right now, and if someone were to try and express their anger against my intended, she would not have recourse to the sort of tricks you, my lord, have up their sleeve. I''d rather her association with you and this entire situation be kept as far away from the public eye as possible."


    The Elysian sharply nodded; he cared very little for Hyperion''s arguments. It seemed that he was satisfied that he''d achieved what he''d gone there for. As he turned back to walk back to the entrance to the garden, and the way out of the villa, he stopped next to Hyperion to leave him with a warning. "Mind what you say and do, merchant. You might be resourceful, but there''s a clear limit as to what you can do. Don''t try to reach out for what''s not meant to be in your grasp."


    Once he was gone, Hyperion''s calm facade crumbled, and his irritation seeped into his expression as quickly as blood turns water red. "I underestimated him," he said, making a gesture towards one of the servants to get him a glass of wine. "He made you walk into it, princess, and you fell for it."


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "What are you talking about?"


    "You can''t give in the moment someone tries to apply pressure," Hyperion admonished her. "He knew you''d be scared to be mistaken by an Elysian; so he came here with the pretext to get you as a translator. He then threatened me, making you trade what you''d think is the lesser evil, thus giving him what he wanted. Your identity was never at stake in this conversation."


    "And what would you have me do instead? Let him actually use his powers?"


    "If you''d let me, I would''ve reminded him that Caudiceum''s main export is cheap glassware, which they owe in part to the Alexandrian sand brought in by our little network of traders. I''d have loved to see the back and forth that would ensue from trying to block the one thing that props up their economy."


    "So I should''ve just let you handle all that?" Ophelia was exasperated, and a little hurt. It felt like she was being told she was useless.


    "You wanted my help, did you not?"


    She looked away, feeling like her emotions would soon explode. She was frustrated at Aegyr, at edge because of his threats; worried over Hyperion, and mad that he was telling her she''d made a mistake. Incapable of containing it, she slightly veered off topic:


    "What was all this about nuptials?"


    "It''ll make it more complicated for him to try and snatch you away, if that''s what he''s looking to do while you''re in the palace, if everyone else believes we''re to be married."


    Ophelia closed her eyes, rubbing the space between her brows. "It''s only been two months, yet I''m already on my second fake husband."


    "Fake?" asked Hyperion in mock confusion; Ophelia''s dirty look sent him into hysterics. Eon, next to him, seemed as dismayed as her at the idea. "You wound me. My concubines are all very happy with me."


    The rest of the day, Hyperion chased off his bad mood by ordering his servants to bring about the sort of jewellery and clothing that was traditional for Chaldean brides. She was made to wear a silk dress that wrapped around her shoulders, embroidered in flowery patterns and the crest of Hyperion''s family. "It''s meant to be passed down in the family," he said, "but my mother''s dress was taken by creditors when my family''s fortune withered."


    "So I made this one some time back, as a way to attract good luck," Hyperion stood up, examining Ophelia as the attendants brought what seemed to be at first multiple necklaces entangled together. When they were laid on her chest she was able to appreciate that they were intricately woven, forming several rings around her neck, with chains, beads and precious gem stones arranged in swirly patterns.


    "Where I''m from, it''s bad luck for grooms to see their brides dressed up before their wedding," Ophelia said as the intense staring from the Chaldean was making her blush. Arm bands and hand decorations were given to her; as she put them on, one of the attendants finished arranging her hair: braided around her head, with twin floral hairpins showing shyly from the back.


    "Oh, this is not the wedding dress, fret not," Hyperion seemed satisfied with her attire, and smiled at the attendants to show his approval. "The month before the wedding, the bride has to wear different dresses; each one more elaborate than the next."


    "Goodness gracious, it must be expensive," Ophelia said, looking at the delicate chains that decorated her hands. "It''s all to show off wealth, isn''t it?"


    "They are the wealth. Dresses and the jewellery are both the bride''s dowry."


    Ophelia sat down; she examined the rich fabric of the dress, admiring the little details that had been sewn in. "It''s sad you don''t have your mother''s dress. That seems like a lovely tradition."


    "It''s very rare for them to be actually passed down through generations," he observed. "Fortune is very fickle for us. Families tend to be large, closely knit together¡­ and someone''s vices, or bad luck, are enough to bring the whole lot down."


    "Is that what happened in your family?"


    "Partly, yes. My great uncle squandered the family fortune; then my father built it up again. One of his concubines, while my uncles were away at sea, poisoned the entire household, and murdered him, my mother, and my siblings. She had conspired with her lover, a member of the local patrician family, and they both took our wealth, our cattle, even our servants. When my uncles came back to ask that justice be made, they were driven to exile, on account of our race."


    He''d said it so casually that Ophelia almost didn''t really register it, but when she did, she thought about it for a minute, in silence. Racism meant something different in her world, it had a very specific look; it had words attached to it, a social context very different from the one Hyperion lived in. Yet, despite the distance, both in perceived time and place, she couldn''t help but feel like something of her reality had seeped into Lygeum. It was disappointing to come to terms with the fact that nobody could escape human nature, even in that dream-like world.


    "It''s exhausting, isn''t it?" she said finally, "no matter how hard you try, some people will make you feel like you will never belong."


    She stopped herself; Hyperion didn''t quite know yet that she wasn''t from that world. She''d wanted to tell him that in her native London, multicultural London, diverse, eclectic London, she had been chased multiple times by the ghosts of that very same prejudice that he''d faced. A comment incited by her looks, by her heritage; the bullying of a classmate who had been raised with the idea that in their country only certain kind of people belonged.


    He noticed her silence, but didn''t press her on it. "I''m very petty at heart," he said, instead. "I like knowing that the worst injury I can give them is my indifference¡­ and of course, my successes. Taking power away from the unjust, that''s how you deal with it."


    "How did you survive?" Ophelia changed the topic, eager to learn more about Hyperion''s past. "And what happened after your uncles went into exile?"


    "As I was the first-born son of the legal wife, I had been sent to study with a scholar in Palmyra until I came of age. I was only ten when it happened. My uncles took great debt to try and revert the family''s fortunes, and because they didn''t want me to be within their creditors'' sights, they cut off all communication with me. I was left to fend off the world on my own¡­ which was not easy as a boy. I became a bit of a troublemaker," Hyperion smiled boyishly as he said it. "By fifteen, my tutor had had enough of me, and threw me out. I decided to try my luck, and travelled east. The rest is history."


    "What about your uncles?"


    Hyperion sighed. "Both of them were murdered by thieves on the road."


    Ophelia patted the merchant on his arm. "Your life hasn''t been easy, yet nobody would be able to tell by looking at you. But I suppose that''s where all the wisdom comes from. You''re not an easy one to trick."


    "There is no evil that begets no good," the man chirped. "My bride has been very curious about me, I wonder if she''ll let me ask questions of my own."


    "Not tonight," Ophelia arched an eyebrow. "But I will tell you, sometime."


    The man stood up, and walked towards her. Without uttering a word, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead before taking his leave. "That is my payment for letting you ask about my past," he said with a wink.


    The next few days, as had been arranged, Ophelia travelled to the palace in Hyperion''s carriage. The Arqan officials who''d seen her during the Council had taken note of her appearance. Her dress and the attendants who followed her were the words in Hyperion''s story, forming together the sentences that soon raged as rumours throughout the palace: the translator was now a bride-to-be. There had been objections as married women, or women soon to be married, were not allowed to work in Arqa; but as there was no money exchanged for her services, she wasn''t technically working.


    Aegyr said nothing to her throughout the proceedings; if he still thought it was all a charade, he kept it to himself. It did feel, however, that the entire Elysian delegation was on edge around her, knowing that something was in the back of the archduke''s mind. She didn''t mind the forced silence: it also gave her an excuse to hurry back to the village every evening, on account of their cooling relations.


    This back and forth, however, ended up proving to be a mistake.


    It was the third day on a row that she went back to the palace. Aegyr had taken to tell her the previous afternoon whether her services would be needed or not the following day. The evening prior, however, he''d also told her the Elysian envoys would be meeting the carriage before it reached the palace, near the border of the city guild''s neighbourhood.


    "Some undesirables might be planning something," one of the Elysians had told her. "A translator was attacked by a mob outside the palace yesterday."


    The news, understandably, put her on edge. She didn''t say anything to Hyperion: on one hand, she didn''t want to worry him, on the other, acknowledging her worries made them seem more real than they were. And, of course, she had recourse to her abilities if worse came to worse. She''d been practising in secret, afraid that another tragedy like the palace fire might catch her completely off-guard.


    Hyperion''s carriage took her as far as the main street of the guild neighbourhood. It was considered a relatively safe part of the city, given its proximity to the palace, with wide streets and imposing stone-built three-story buildings that house the myriad of guilds that operated in Arqa.


    By the entrance of a tavern next to the shoemaker''s guild they were stopped by two men in dull brown tunics, both of whom were wearing their hoods up, concealing partly their hair and faces. She knew them, however: they were some of the Elysian envoys that she''d been translating for.


    "From here," one of them said as he helped her step down from the carriage, "you''ll ride with us."


    He pointed towards the two horses that had been tied to the hitching post behind them. "Do you prefer to ride with Leein, or me?"


    Ophelia had no chance to answer. From the alley that separated the guild''s building from the tavern a group of twenty men emerged: they were all incredibly tall and large. Their bodies were obscured by their heavy linen robes; even their faces had been wrapped in scarves. She heard someone mutter "elysians" with such level of spite that she was surprised her two companions were not physically hurt by it, but it was clear that that''s where things would soon head towards.


    She didn''t really think about what was happening; she simply took one of the man''s hands, and tried to move back, away from the gang. It wasn''t a thing, however, for Elysians to feel intimidated by numbers or brawl. They simply did not budge: there was nothing dangerous for them in that situation. Or so they thought: swords were drawn without much fanfare, and the men attacked.


    There was no monologue, no explanation; they could only assume these were the same men behind the previous day''s violence, and that they were of the same mind of the regular populace, that blamed the Elysians for all that had happened in the Council thus far. Leein and the other envoy looked bored at it all, and Ophelia didn''t know if she should feel happy that they thought they could control the situation or exasperated by their arrogance.


    Two in the gang swung their swords at them, and were rebated by a flick of the envoys'' wrists, who made the men change direction as if controlled by an unseen force. There was, however, only so much that two could do against twenty, and even in spite of the fight growing progressively bloodier, with swords flying in the air slashing through scarves and robes, they soon began to be overwhelmed by their opponents.


    Ophelia moved back. Her hands were tied, to a certain extent: she could not intervene without exposing herself to the envoys, but she could do small things here and there to ensure that there were as few casualties as possible. Without realizing it, she began to back into the alleyway as the fight raged in the street ¨C more and more people congregated to see what was happening, which made it more difficult for her to act.


    It was clear that the victims had no sympathy from the crowd, which shouted mostly in Arqan. "Show us your miracles now, Elysian pigs", "Where''s your blue now?" and "you should''ve left Arqa when you could" were amongst the common expressions coming from the mob that seemed excited and incensed by the onslaught brought about by the masked gang. It felt like at any moment more would join the fray.


    When a bottle flew at Leein''s head, making a clear, nasty hit that took him down, it seemed like true madness had exploded. Ophelia tried to take a step forward to try and help the two envoys, who were now in serious risk of being murdered by the mob, when she felt a pair of hands grab her tightly by the arm to pull her violently back into the alleyway.


    She was dragged away by someone in the same robes the gang had been dressed in. "Wait!" she shouted, trying to fight back with her normal strength. "What the hell are you doing?!"


    "Hush, I''m taking you to safety," said a familiar voice, and she froze, letting the man take her to where his horse had been left waiting for him. From the saddle he took a scarf, that he went on to wrap around her head and face before he mounted her onto the animal.


    "What are you doing here?" Ophelia said as they galloped through the backstreets in the opposite direction to the palace. "I thought you were gone from the city..."


    He tightened the hold on his reins, which made her fall deeper into his embrace. The feel of her back against his torso brought back memories of the last time they''d seen each other, and she couldn''t help the blush that took over her cheeks.


    "The Council was too good an opportunity to pass up," Phobos explained. "And some things had been cooking for a long time."


    Ophelia noticed that they were heading for the outskirts. The stone buildings had long ago given way to timber structures, and they progressively got smaller and more precarious as they neared the fields and the forest that surrounded the southern side of the city.


    "Where are we going?" she asked.


    "To a safe place," Phobos didn''t offer much in the way of an explanation. Ophelia asked him why he wasn''t taking her back to Hyperion''s villa instead, and he replied: "So that he can sell you on to the Elysians again?"


    Ophelia tried to argue, but he hushed her. "Not now," he whispered in her ear as he willed the horse to slow down into a light gallop. They were approaching what seemed to be a large farmstead. The main building was built around a spacious courtyard, in the middle of which resided a well. On the sides there were hitching posts, stacks of hay and large stone basin with water, which a young lad was currently refilling with a bucket half his size. As they approached, Ophelia could spy a cluster of four or five small houses in various states of disrepair behind the building. A forest surrounded the entire area, but scattered around there were small fields which would''ve given produce enough to feed the inhabitants of the complex but not enough to sell. They were all abandoned as well, except for some smaller plots, which had been turned into vegetable gardens.


    The sound of livestock made it clear that, in spite of the decay, people were still living in there. Two women came out as they arrived, with baskets of laundry under their arms. Children ran around them, after them, some of them carrying bar of soaps. As they passed them by, they respectfully bowed their heads to Phobos and shot her strange looks. Ophelia was struck by how tall they were, how bright their ginger hair was. They were Phrygian women.


    Phobos took her by the arm and led her into a staircase on the left side of the building. She could hear the shouts of men and women inside and outside the building; they all spoke in Phrygian.


    "Is Aristides here as well?" she asked as Phobos took her through room after room. They came across other Phrygians, mostly women, who would all repeat the same sign of respect towards their prince and would shoot her equally confused looks.


    "No, I''ve sent him along to Philistia to meet with some of our supporters."


    They finally arrived at the room he was searching for: a simple affair of a single bed, a table with a chair and a chamber pot, and a jug of water with a glass cup. It was clean, but it was clear that nobody had been using it. Phobos closed the door behind him, and asked her to take a seat.


    "Phobos, will you tell me what is happening?" Ophelia asked, somewhat frustrated after being dragged all the way there with little explanation. She changed her mind as soon as the words came out of her mouth, and decided instead to not skirt around the issue: "I know it''s the Phrygians who murdered the two Philistian envoys and self-immolated at the palace."


    Phobos'' entire body tensed. He clearly had not expected her to say that.


    "How¡­?"


    "I saw them in the palace the night of the murders, and then I was there when the fire broke out. When I was trying to put it out, two Phrygians came at me thinking I was an Elysian, and tried to kill me."


    The exiled prince ran his fingers through his hair, a distant look on his face. "Strange times have called for strange tactics¡­ for what it''s worth, I am sorry you had to see my people behaving like that. Even today, I am not convinced of this plan¡­"


    He sighed, and grabbed the chair to sit in front of her. "The rebels that received me here have been preparing for months¡­ they''ve been feeding the anti-Elysian sentiment in the streets, and prepared this plan to sow discord in the alliance, foster distrust between the Free Cities, the Kushites and them. If relations are broken, Elysium will lose trade with the near east, which will put pressure on the routes that go through Phrygia to lower their taxes to make up for it. This will sour their relations with our kingdom, and will give us an opening to move in. At least, that''s what the plan was¡­"


    "These are the types of tactics that I''ve been brought up to despise, if I''m honest. A stab in the back, hiding our true identities to frame someone else¡­ it''s a weasel''s war," he took her hand in his. "But you''re unharmed, yes? I did hear the two of them died."


    Ophelia nodded. "I killed one of them by accident, I think. The other set himself on fire. Hyperion was wounded."


    Phobos slightly smiled. Ophelia smacked him in the arm. "He protected me!"


    "At last!" he exclaimed. "What was he thinking, sending you to translate for the Elysians in the Council?"


    "Part of his play with the Lord Protector¡­" Ophelia sighed. "I wasn''t too thrilled by it, either. But that''s that. I was hoping after all this madness is over to part ways with him. But now¡­ Lord Scipio suspects me. Some of the servants saw me fight off the Phrygians and put out the fire. I thought his request for me to continue translating for them was a way to keep me in check."


    Phobos smiled cheekily. "Soon they will be too busy trying to find their way out of the city to worry about you. You will have your chance to escape."


    The prince laid a hand on her knee. She abruptly looked up, slightly inching forwards without meaning to. "I''ve told the rest that the Chaldean forced you into a corner, and that you had no choice but to translate for the Elysians. Stay here for a few days; watch as it all blows up, and then leave."


    He moved closer, and when he spoke, she felt his breath ghosting over his cheek. "The people here, they will be wary. Try not to give them any reasons to suspect you, and you should be fine. They trust my word, but they know I''m not infallible."


    Ophelia moved back, inching closer to the wall. She put a hand over the other''s mouth, showing him her reddened face. "You''re too close," she said.


    The man laughed and abandoned his chair, moving in to climb on top of her. Ophelia''s back collided with the mattress, as her hands kept their place to keep him at bay. "You can''t just give me a warning then act like this!"


    Phobos moved her hands away, smiling cheekily at her. "I missed you," he said, while one hand wandered away and towards her hips. "I wanted to say hello this time."


    Ophelia pulled him down, and into a kiss. It was long and passionate, a sure way of telling him he''d been on her mind, too.

 Chapter 9

    With their bodies entangled in the sheets, wrapped around each other, the world outside seemed to be far, far away. Collapsed again into serenity, their breaths slowly evened out as they said nothing and relished in the moment. It was pure stillness, which they chose to break when a hand wandered too far, or a gaze led to a kiss that went on for too long. Again and again they played the game, they shared smiles and heard each other''s heart as it skipped a beat.


    Their bodies cast shadows that began to grow longer. It was by mid afternoon that the relative quiet was broken by the arrival of the men who''d led the attack on the envoys. Phobos'' station meant that their time together had come to an end; they would bring news for him to listen to, and questions for him to answer. Ophelia watched him dress himself in silence, still reeling from the afterglow of their embracing.


    "You''ve changed," he said as he combed his hair. His emerald eyes looked piercing, their shine full of intensity. "It''s been only a few weeks, but you seem¡­ more at ease. Byzantium is losing its grip on you."


    Ophelia rested her head on top of her knee, half hugging it as she pondered over his words. "I''ve learnt a lot and met a lot of different people in such a short span of time¡­ there is not time for me to think of that place. I feel more at home, now."


    He walked over to steal a kiss from her. His hand lingered on her cheek as she looked on with confusion. "Is¡­ Arqa your home?" he asked.


    "Hmm, it''s not bad, but I would not mind going somewhere else."


    Her answer seemed to satisfy him. He affectionately touched the tip of her nose, before grabbing his sword and knife, and excusing himself.


    Alone, Ophelia hugged the sheets and thought about her options. She could make a run for it, try to return to the villa: this, however, would bring the Elysians to Hyperion''s doorstep to demand explanations. She could remain there for a few days, and wait to see if the Phrygians created enough distractions for her to slip away to Hyperion''s villa to ask him for help sending her somewhere else, away from Aegyr and his envoys. But now that she was next to Phobos again, she couldn''t quite part ways with him just yet.


    She''d felt it when she had laid her head on his chest and smelt his familiar scent; she had grabbed onto him, feeling her chest swell with warmth. She''d been bewitched, and deep down in her heart, she wondered what would happen should she stay a few more days by his side¡­


    And so she dressed herself, tucking underneath the mattress the outer coat she''d received from Hyperion, as well as all his jewellery. The gesture felt strangely bizarre, like a deceitful lover trying to hide her husband''s gifts in front of her paramour, and wondered how much of what the merchant had playfully said to her had really got under her skin. She kept the distinctly Chaldean underdress ¨C which was made of two pieces, a long tube-like skirt that went up above her waist, and a short-sleeved shirt. Both were colourful, with edges trimmed with gold, but were still decidedly less fanciful than the black silk garment she''d arrived in. She knew that among the taller, bright-eyed Phrygians she''d stand out like a sore thumb; she was relying on her clothing and style to avoid the comparisons to the Elysian aristocracy she knew were likely to happen.


    She left the room with the sole purpose of wandering around. Perhaps, she''d be lucky enough to hear what had happened to the Elysian envoys, and how the city had responded to that new attack. The smell of a broth stewing caught her attention, and she walked downstairs to find herself right in the middle of the busiest kitchen she''d ever seen.


    There must''ve been ten women, easily; all bent over the wooden counters against the walls or over the large table in the middle, chopping vegetables and fresh herbs, slicing through large pieces of ham, organising everything into wooden bowls and trays. They were mostly her age, perhaps some of them in their early twenties: the oldest ones, above forty, were all in the next room, minding the fire and the large pots with the stew. They all shouted at each other their requests, which would crash without forgiveness over the gossip that two or three of them would be sharing with the rest.


    The moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, all chatter died down. About ten pair of eyes studied her in silence with the same level of wariness and intrigue that the appearance of a wild beast would''ve demanded. Two of the youngest women murmured something amongst themselves, eliciting frowning stares from them and some of the women who had heard them.


    "Hm, pardon the interruption?" Ophelia said after a while, unsure of how to feel about their reception. "I came here with Phobos earlier, I was..."


    "It''s his Highness," one of the older women in the next room had emerged from the doorway, and was sternly staring at her. "You speak Phrygian?"


    Ophelia nervously nodded. "We''ll have someone bring you food," the woman said curtly. "You should keep yourself to your room."


    Ophelia stared at the woman for a moment. The weight of the dozen or so stares felt heavy on her body, and she turned around to climb upstairs once again before she stopped. Hyperion and Phobos had once called her brave, and she suddenly felt like she would be letting them down if she submitted so readily. She looked back, noticing the older woman was still standing her ground, and asked, "why?"


    "Excuse me?"


    "Why should I keep myself to my room? Am I a prisoner?"


    That she should dare question a matriarch was, as one would expect, a shock to the women present. Murmurs sneaked through the room, as gazes went back and forth between her and the older woman. The latter looked just as steely as before. "As I''m sure his highness has informed you, this place hosts a number of His loyal men. Such are things that folks might not stop twice to give the benefit of the doubt to foreigners with shadowy politics, and an accident may happen."


    Ophelia turned around to fully face her. "It brings me no small amount of ease to know my safety is a concern, my lady. I will savour your food doubly tonight."


    With a small nod of her head, Ophelia went back to her room. She wasn''t concerned about her safety, but she was in no mood to deal with their hostilities. If that was the treatment she would have to endure there, perhaps she would leave in the morning.


    Someone''s toothy, excited grin, however, improved her mood a few hours later.


    She could''ve been in the room when the exchange had happened, or she could''ve heard it from someone else: Ophelia couldn''t quite remember her face being there. But the younger woman, who seemed to have just left her teenage years behind, showed up with a tray with food for two, and a lot of questions on her mind.


    "They''re all being careful, but they''re very nice," Lyra, the girl, said as she invited herself to Ophelia''s bedroom and left the tray on the desk. "I thought you''d like some company," she sheepishly justified herself. "I hope you don''t mind."


    "It''s all right," Ophelia waved off her concerns, and then pointed out that there was only one chair. Lyra jumped up and went to grab one from the next room, while the older woman moved the desk so that it''d function as a table for the two of them. It was a heavy one, made of old oak, but she pretended it was her strength and not her powers that were able to lift it as she moved it across the room. Lyra, who came in to see her put it down, looked at her in wonder: "I was going to do it myself; I thought you were such a tiny little thing!"


    "I am full of surprises," Ophelia said mysteriously as she sat down.


    "Your Phrygian is so good," the girl commented. "Try as I might, I can''t hear a hint of a foreign accent. Is that something that all translators do?"


    "I''m¡­ very peculiar. I can pick up languages very quickly, and speak as if I had learnt it from my own parents."


    "I heard that a Chaldean had enslaved you in Caudiceum and had been forcing you to help the Elysians; that you met his highness on the way to Arqa."


    Ophelia smiled to herself at Phobos'' heavily edited version of the events. It was slightly comical that his storytelling seemed to align very well with his general sentiments towards Hyperion.


    "I also heard that¡­" Lyra leaned in, smile never faltering. "His highness had fallen in love with you. He was very adamant you were rescued the moment Lord Valor proposed the attack."


    Ophelia''s smile pursed slightly. "Is that so?"


    Lyra frowned. "Is it not true, then?"


    "You can ask your prince. Perhaps it''ll be better to hear it from his mouth than from someone else''s gossip."


    The girl didn''t miss the sharp tone, and jumped back, hands up and eyes wide. "Oh! I''ve been misunderstood! My apologies¡­" she exclaimed. "I''ve been told I shouldn''t be this nosy. I didn''t mean to gossip! I thought it was fascinating, and I was very curious¡­"


    Her manner was sincere enough that Ophelia took some pity on her. "Certain things are difficult to discuss, my lady. It''s all right. But what do you find fascinating about this entire thing?"


    "It''s almost like a story! A prince and a poor, enslaved woman, having to be rescued from the horrible harem of a greedy merchant¡­" Lyra''s eyes were lost in her own fantasies, and Ophelia couldn''t contain her laughter.


    "I see, I see," she said. "Certain things in the last few months have felt a lot like fantasy to me, as well. I''m sure that you''ve also lived through some interesting times¡­"


    Lyra''s smile faltered ever-so-slightly, but her bubbly demeanour crumbled miserably and with such speed that Ophelia almost jumped to apologize for her words. "It''s an adventure that keeps dragging on, and becomes more nightmarish as time goes by¡­"


    "How long have you been away from your homeland?"


    "Half a year," she said sadly. "I miss the pines that grew around our ancestral home, the snow in the winter¡­ We used to hold bonfires to mark the passing of the seasons, big feasts to celebrate a birth, a marriage¡­ But ever since we had to flee, I have seen none of that."


    "What about your family?"


    "My parents were taken prisoners; my father-in-law and my husband took me and my sisters, and we escaped together. Like a lot of other nobles, we had to leave our land, our servants, our wealth behind. It''s been very difficult, moving from country to country, as we''re nothing more than desperate foreigners to them," she smiled softly. "But we''ll return, I have faith in His Highness."


    The silence that ensued felt awkward to Ophelia, who didn''t know how to convey her feelings of sympathy without feeling patronizing. Lyra, however, was too lost in her own musings to notice; it was, perhaps, such a mundane notion to her at this point that it merited no special commentary. "I do worry there won''t be enough good men left for my sisters to marry," she finally said with a sigh. "We did manage to find someone for Ellir, but the rest¡­"


    "How many sisters do you have?" Ophelia asked, more for the sake of continuing the conversation than any real curiosity.


    "Four, but only three of them are marriageable. Ellir, she''s the oldest after me, and she was hand-fasted to the third son of the Iyuhaan family, who''s actually the second in the line of succession after his elder brother died a week ago. Then there''s Lia and Luir, they''re about the same age, and the youngest one, Mirr, she''s no beauty and has very little skill in household matters, so she''ll probably stay with me."


    Ophelia frowned. "Why would that be an issue? Love can unite anyone."


    "Love?" Lyra asked, more confused than anything at her comment. "Well, I certainly like my husband enough, but that comes with time. She has to be of some use to her husband in the first place; what''s the point of getting married then? If she can''t look after the house, how would we allow her to wed a man, and then see his fortunes reverse because of our negligence? That''d be too disgraceful, it would make trouble for the rest of us!"


    As a woman from another time and space, Ophelia felt her tongue burning with rejection. But what to her was a simple conversation to them was probably hundreds of years of tradition; it felt like any challenge would be met with the resistance that anyone would have against a criticizing foreigner. She chose to be diplomatic. "Well, I hope you''re able to find grooms for all your sisters."


    "Thank you, I''m trying! But with all these raids, it seems like it''ll become less and less likely," Lyra said with a frustrated smile. "I was afraid that someone would die earlier today."


    Ophelia took that chance to find out what had happened. "Oh? So it went well, I take it? What about the Elysian envoys?"


    "The Arqan military appeared and dispersed the mob just in time to save them," Lyra''s tone turned angry. "Traitors! To their own people, no less. It was an Arqan mob that was about to give them their just retribution. But, don''t worry ¨C we''ll get them sooner or later."


    A smile was fabricated as a response, mindful of the earlier warnings she''d been given. She betrayed none of her sympathy for the poor Elysians who had merely been running an errand for Aegyr. Lyra kept on talking about the different men in the squad, to which families they belonged to: it seemed like even in that far away, distant land their hierarchy was still something they cherished deeply. Or perhaps it was a way to feel closer to home.


    Through her Ophelia learnt that the farmstead held only the noble families, but that on a different complex, not too far away from them, there were more Phrygians: servants of the exiled families, merchants and other commoners that had also fled execution and imprisonment. Of the aristocrats, she''d been told extensively about Gaio, who happened to be Phobos'' very own foster-brother, and Valor, the prince''s cousin. The latter had arrived early in Arqa and had served as a central point for the community, while the former was the point of contact between that set of exiled nobility and Phobos himself.


    She''d been eager to discuss all that with the man himself, but he made no appearance throughout the night. She waited for his appearance early in the morning, but only Lyra appeared again, offering to show her around the building. Ophelia accepted, letting the younger woman lead the way.


    The first thing she learned was that the building had been divided, and she''d been given rooms in the women''s quarters. On the opposite side there were the men''s, and in the central area there were rooms for multiple purposes, and what Lyra had called ''couple''s rooms'', "to carry out the duties of husband and wife".


    The second was that, regardless of how busy someone was (and a lot of them seemed to be extremely busy), they had always enough time to look at her with a wary look on their face. While they were finishing their tour over the women''s quarters, Ophelia came across the opportunity to inquire more about it:


    "That is Urii," Lyra gestured towards a middle-aged woman who was hard at work with a bone needle, weaving together something that resembled a child''s cape. As had been the case the entire morning, the stranger would look at her, find something to complain about in her own mind, nod, and then go back to their work. Urii, however, seemed to have other plans as she looked Lyra square in the face and warned her:


    "Don''t trust her. She looks Elysian."


    A reminder that it was Phobos himself who''d brought her did nothing to ingratiate her with the others; it wasn''t a logical argument, she knew, but an emotional one.


    "Don''t worry about me," Ophelia had said to Lyra after the girl leapt to her defence. "They will believe what they want to believe."


    Not everyone was as hostile to her as Urii. As they passed by the stables, a man and two women waved at them, and Lyra hurriedly brought Ophelia over.


    "Baroness Triskele, I see you''re keeping our guest entertained," the young man said with a smile. It was a strange revelation to Ophelia that her companion was a baroness, as there was nothing about her demeanour that would make her associate such a title with the younger woman. In fact, there was little about the current setting that would make her associate all the people she was meeting with the aristocracy they really were.


    "My name is Gaio, my lady," the young man beamed at her with such sweetness that it provoked some joy to emerge in her own face, simply as a reflex. "His highness is my foster-brother. He''s spoken so much about you, I''ve been very eager to meet you."


    As expected for someone close to Phobos, he clearly was a warrior before anything else. His sleeveless tunic showed a firm, developed body, one that had seen many battles and was covered in many scars. The art on his skin was bigger than what she''d seen before, reaching towards his neck and into the back of his hand. Ophelia wasn''t adept at reading through the stylized lines, but she thought the animal in his arm was a lion of sorts.


    "Lyra has told me a bit about you," Ophelia said, offering her hand. "My name is Ophelia."


    There was an awkward pause, and she realized for the first time, after all those weeks, that she''d never seen anyone greet another person with a handshake. She dropped her hand, and apologised. "I forget the customs are different."


    Gaio was intrigued.


    "What are you supposed to do?"


    Ophelia held her hand up, and then gestured at him to imitate her. When he did, she took his hand and shook it. "Uh, it is something like this. It''s a way of greeting."


    The women next to him were slightly scandalized. "It looks similar to¡­" one of them said, and then smiled nervously at her. "In Phrygia, a¡­ working woman would close a deal by grabbing her client''s hands, to take their coins."


    "I wouldn''t recommend such gestures in this company," she said between laughs, and then proceeded to introduce herself. "My name is Iris, lady Ophelia. I''m Gaio''s wife."


    "And this is Helena, my sister-in-law," Ophelia introduced herself as well to the two women. She took an immediate liking to Iris, who seemed to be on the outgoing, sunny side as Lyra was. Helena, on the other side, seemed slightly wary of her.


    "We will take care of lady Ophelia, Baroness Triskele," Gaio said with a small smile. "We wouldn''t want to burden you any longer."


    There had been no indication of her ever being a burden to Lyra, Ophelia thought; quite the contrary, it seemed like even if she''d tried to take a tour of the building by herself, the younger woman would''ve wormed her way into being her guide. She seemed to be very excited for her presence, and that was that. But Gaio''s comment, as easy going as it was made to sound, was a clear drawing of the line, a reminder of the hierarchy that would''ve been had they been in their capital city.


    When she''d been given the overview of who was who in that place, she''d been told that after Phobos, Gaio and Valor held the highest ranks. Her family had always been a vassal of Gaio''s, and therefore she was expected to show a certain level of deference for him. As much as she wanted to stay by Ophelia''s side, she understood his dismissal, and after bowing her head, she excused herself.


    "I had Mykel fetch us some Nabatean wine yesterday," Gaio said to the three women. "Perhaps we could sit outside to enjoy it?"


    Helena, as if on a mission, walked then across the courtyard to make some gestures to the servants that had been working in the garden. One of them approached her; instructions were given while Gaio, Iris and Ophelia began to walk towards the back of the building.


    It''d never occurred to her that folk in that time and place, in that world that felt like what hers would''ve been thousands of years before, would also owe a certain sensibility towards the remnants of the past. But a romantic view of bygone days was not exclusive to modernity: the love for ruins as a backdrop to every day life was alive and well for the Phrygians, it seemed. That''s why they''d assembled what Gaio called their ''meeting room'' outside, amongst the crumbled remains of what had been the farm''s house temple. It had been constructed in white rock, and some of the pillars that had decorated the entrance to it still stood, covered in climbing vines. It had been cleared so that a large table now was set up in what had once been the inner room of the temple, oil lamps forming a line on the centre of it. The altar stood a few feet away from the head of the table, and on it they''d placed a wooden effigy of a god. Around his feet were bowls full of fruits and flowers, and jars full of wine.


    "Mithra," Iris said as she noticed Ophelia''s gaze. "The royal house of Phrygia descends from him. He''s our chief god; he brings us victories in war, and luck in commerce."


    Ophelia bit down the cheeky question that naturally emerged then: who would he favour in the current civil war, when brothers of the same house were facing each other?


    They took their seats at the end of the table, and then Helena joined them. Behind her emerged two servants, bringing cups for the four of them and a jar of wine.


    "Perhaps one of the few things I can enjoy about this place is that Nabatean wine is so readily available and cheap," Gaio said with a wink as the servants poured the wine for them. Ophelia, who was more partial to beer, took a sip; unlike what she was used to, the wine was incredibly watered-down in that world, which made it more tolerable. Nabatean wine seemed to be also on the sweeter side, and she found a certain liking to it.


    "Your Phrygian is quite good, lady Ophelia," Gaio said, reclining back, and then switched languages. "I''ve been told you''re also fluent in Iberian, Drusi, and of course that damned Elysian. That is a strange, and quite rare to be frank, list to master."


    "I can pick them up really easily," she lied. "It''s been useful, but seems to have given me some trouble as well."


    "I heard about what happened with the merchant, I''m so very sorry," the man said with genuine pain. "Phobos was very keen on saving you from those Elysians. I bet they must''ve been terrifying."


    Ophelia knew she had to pick her words carefully.


    "It was very stressful, indeed," she said. "Thankfully their only interest was to further their agenda, so they only talked to me when it was strictly necessary."


    "I can only imagine the sorts of things that were discussed," Gaio said lightly, but a single glance from him, as innocent as it was, suddenly revealed the entire picture to Ophelia.


    She was being interrogated.


    She couldn''t tell if it was all an act; it was too early to make any judgments. But they''d intended to do that sooner or later, that much was clear. Gaio wasn''t any happy-go-lucky friend of Phobos; he was a trusted man, one that was in the middle of a civil war away from home. And she potentially had information they wanted to hear.


    "Oh, after the attack they only cared about proving their innocence," she said. She had no qualms about sharing what she knew: the method they were using was strange, but she felt like the best idea might be to humour them. Better for them to underestimate her than to put them on edge by pointing out she knew what they were doing. "Before, it was mostly to try and push the extradition treaty."


    "As expected," the warrior said. "I wonder if they''re thinking of bringing the knights soon¡­"


    "If they are, they must be keeping it to themselves. The name wasn''t even brought up while I was there."


    "Pardon my curiosity, lady Ophelia, but as you might know, we''re highly interested in their movements. Would you happen to know who it was they were speaking to during the Council? It''d be of extreme importance to us to know who they''re friendly to in the Arqan government."


    Ophelia bit back the smile, and left her glass on the table, reclining back on her seat. She gave them the names she knew and had heard of. It wasn''t until later that it occurred to her that she might''ve just painted a target on a bunch of people; initially she''d thought it was cute that they were throwing all pretence away. The information had no price in her mind, it would''ve been easy to get from a servant at the palace in any case, and she wasn''t entirely sure what the Phrygians were hoping to accomplish with more violence now that the Council had been disbanded. Innocent her, she told them what they wanted to know, and only later she''d realize her mistake.


    "What a wide net they''re trying to cast," Gaio commented. "They will fail, however. We''ll see what desperate moves they make then."


    Ophelia couldn''t help but try and murk the waters just a teensy bit. "If you pardon my impertinence, my lord, what if they do bring the Knights of the Black Sun? What if they simply take Arqa?"


    She could''ve asked him to calculate the distance between her thumb and the moon, and she would''ve got the same expression from him.


    "What a strange, funny idea," he said, finally, and with a certain patronizing air. "But that wouldn''t happen. It''ll cost them too much, and as much as Lord Scipio is a force to reckon with he still needs to answer to the Elysian parliament, which is a bit wary of his ways. They either win Arqa by diplomacy or they won''t win it at all."


    Ophelia kept her own thoughts to herself, recognising that it''d be futile to argue with a man convinced of his own story. Gaio stood up then. "I must make my way back, I''m afraid," he said. "But please, lady Ophelia, do indulge us by letting my wife and sister take care of you. They''re the most delightful company."


    The two women stood up and smiled at her. Ophelia decided to keep cooperating, but there was something decidedly artificial about their entire encounter, and she felt at edge. Despite the fact that he''d been the one to end their meeting there, Gaio stood behind as the three women began to make their way to the forest trails, leaving only after they''d gone themselves. Ophelia had the strange thought that they were not allowed at that table unless in the company of a man, but decided not to ask. She didn''t want to know.


    Now that it was the three of them, it felt like Iris and Helena were finally permitted to talk. "I should ask Lyra to give you some other clothes," Iris said. "Chaldean clothes are better than Arqan tunics, but they''re not appropriate for us. You''d be more comfortable in something discreet."


    As she''d expected from Phobos'' reactions to her outfits before, the traditional dress in Phrygia preferred modesty for women. Their dresses were one-piece affairs, cinched at the waist and covering half the neck. On top of it they generally wore something that resembled the large and loose kimono shirts that Ophelia had seen women wear to brunches in London during the summer. A large number of the women also wore some sort of headpiece, as was the case with Iris, who had a veil of sorts pinned to her head.


    To her amusement, it all stood in radical contrast to what the men wore: large pants that were fitted closely to the calves by way of legwraps, with either nothing to cover their upper body, or a sleeveless long tunic that fell below their knees. It seemed like in that warrior culture, a man''s body told tales, and their nudity was a quick way of establishing who one was in their hierarchy.


    "I''ve picked up the language but understand little about the culture," Ophelia said. "It must be quite a funny sight."


    "It''s a strange one," Iris conceded. "But it can''t be helped. It is what it is. That''s why I said to Gaio: let me help her, she will be like a duckling lost in the fog. I will make it so that the others don''t look down on her."


    "I appreciate that, lady Iris," Ophelia smiled at the other woman. "But, do not go out of your way for me. It is not clear how long I''ll remain here to abuse your hospitality."


    Iris frowned. Next to her, Helena seemed slightly relieved.


    "It''s not common knowledge, I assure you, but due to his highness'' closeness with my husband we know¡­ of your arrangements with him," Iris said. "It is¡­ a complicated situation, but it''s far too early to make a judgment call."


    Ophelia looked at them in confusion. "What are you talking about?"


    Helena sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me do this, sister. You''re far too gentle."


    "We are aware that you and his highness have laid together. In Phrygia, a man doesn''t lay with a woman he''s not willing to wed, and if he does, it is a source of great shame to his family. But he''s also our king, and he has a duty to our people ¨C and right now, we need the strength of a Phrygian mother to lead us. If he were to marry you, it would be seen ¨C and we would feel it, as well- as a great insult to all the families that are loyal to him. None of their daughters are good enough for him, that he needs to lay with a slave from mysterious origins¡­"


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Your Phrygian is so good; if you had shown more of our customs, I''m sure it would have been easier for us¡­" Iris tried to soften the discussion with a small smile.


    Ophelia blinked at them. "I don''t want to marry Phobos," she said.


    She felt something for the prince; she melted in his arms, she felt comfortable in his presence. Perhaps, she''d say she was infatuated with him. If they''d been two strangers in London, she''d have loved to go on dates with him, get to know him better¡­ but that was a far, far cry from marriage. And as the other two women were pointing out, a lot of things were at stake, and there was no point getting involved in such a mess when her feelings weren''t that intense for him.


    "Does his highness know this?" Iris asked. She seemed to be extremely shocked, and a little perturbed.


    "We''ve never had this conversation before. It never occurred to me, if I''m to be honest."


    "You lay with men without thinking about your virtue?!" Helena exclaimed. Her sister-in-law was similarly scandalized.


    "Well, he''s the first one. I don''t really know what I should be thinking about, other than if I enjoy spending time with him or not."


    Helena put a hand on her sister''s arm. "A¡­ way out of this situation, if you really care about his highness, is to become a concubine after his marriage."


    Iris clearly loved that idea, and she lit up. "It hasn''t been done in a century, but it shouldn''t be a problem," she said. "We could proceed with your engagement, sister, and then his highness would be able to keep his honour."


    Ophelia''s eyes landed on Helena. "You''re his fiancee?"


    "Not officially, but it''s the only choice that makes sense," Helena answered. "My family has the right connections that his highness would need to reinforce his claim on the throne."


    Ophelia felt like she''d bit more than she could chew. She took a step backwards, and then decided to be as frank as she could. "I¡­ My lady Helena, if you''re worried that I will take your crown: I will not. I have no interest in it, and as you said, Phobos needs allies and has a duty to carry out. At some point I asked him if I should aid him in his fight, and he refused, and I will respect that. As for being a concubine, I also have no interest in it."


    "How?!" her answer clearly had angered the other woman. "If you hold any esteem for his highness, you should have his best interests at heart: should you refuse his grace, it''s as good as saying you think it''s worth nothing. What kind of man could be respected as a king if his own woman refuses to follow him?"


    "Then pray that our relationship is kept a secret," Ophelia said coolly, beginning to lose her temper as well. "So that my independence doesn''t become a grievance for your king."


    Iris decided to be tactical at that point, and intervened with an uneasy smile. "Let us continue discussing this at some other time. Perhaps, next time you see his highness, you should talk to him about this, lady Ophelia. Now, should we head back? I would love to show lady Ophelia some of the traditional embroidery from my home."


    Ophelia accepted the peace offering, and the subject was dropped. Helena, as was expected, seemed to have a hard time dropping her anger, and wandered off at some point. But as the evening grew closer, it seemed like her mood improved; having had their dirty laundry already washed and exposed for the three of them to see, it felt like a lot of the initial artifice in their manners was gone, and Ophelia felt herself relax around them. Helena, as the argument had proved, was more direct than Iris; conversing with the two sisters was fun, as they complemented each other very well.


    "Helena is only seventeen," Iris had said, surprising Ophelia who would''ve thought she was in her mid twenties. "Gaio''s parents died when he was young, so she''s been with us ever since we married. Raising her with my two sons was never easy; I dare say she picked up a lot more from them than from me."


    "Where are your sons?"


    "In Palmyra, at the Academy," Iris smiled wistfully. "They''re eight and ten years of age, respectively. I had my first one the year after Gaio and I married, at sixteen. I tell Helena this and she feels embarrassed; normally she would''ve been married by now, but due to the circumstances a lot of the girls her age are in the same situation."


    "I don''t think I would be able to have a child at my age," Ophelia observed with a grimace. "Let alone at sixteen."


    "How old are you now?"


    Ophelia told them she was ten years Helena''s senior. As it had been with Phobos and Aristides before, they both were shocked. "I would''ve thought you were twenty, from the way you speak and act¡­" Iris said. "Goodness, you''re older than me¡­"


    The conversation pivoted elsewhere, as the women found yet another little fact to add to the mountain of strange little details about her. Soon it became time for supper, and Ophelia came to learn that there were no such things as communal dinners. Pockets of families would dine together, reflecting previous alliances and the hierarchy of their ranks. Given she had been in the care of Gaio''s family, that night she''d have the privilege of sharing a meal with not only them, but also Valor, his wife, his two children, and two of his lieutenants.


    Phobos, of course, would be present then. He came to visit as they finished preparing their evening wear, which Ophelia learned was an important rite for the Phrygian noblewomen. Helena had fixed her make up in the way that was fashionable at court, and Iris had lent her one of her dresses. The colours were muted; a lot of green and blue, unlike the warm bright colours the Chaldeans preferred. The lips were lightly tinted, and black kohl lined her upper lashes only. Green dots had been placed from the crown of her head to the centre of her brow, and on the lower lash, more of that green paint had been used to apply a heavy line underneath.


    When Phobos walked in, she felt her breath leave her for a moment. His hair had been braided back, and he was wearing a heavy, straight skirt that reached to his ribs, tied with a wide blue silk sash around him. On top he wore a greenish tunic with no sleeves; the fabric was so sheer that she could clearly see the outlines of the phoenix tattoo that reached to his chest. As far as jewellery went, he wore gold arm rings, as well as a heavy torque around his neck. Everything about what he was wearing accentuated the powerful shapes of his body, and Ophelia felt like asking Helena and Iris to step outside for a moment.


    "Apologies for my absence yesterday," he said as he stepped towards her. His arms reached out to her waist and brought her into his embrace. It was as if there was no one else in the room; both Helena and Iris had gone completely ignored.


    "Lady Lyra, lady Helena and lady Iris today have kept me company," she said as if to remind them they were not alone. Close in his embrace she felt that her appearance was as pleasing to him as his was to her.


    "That''s good, they will teach you all sorts of things," he beamed at her. "Come then, let us make our way to the hall. Gaio has already gone."


    Helena stepped up and grabbed Ophelia by the arm, smiling sweetly at Phobos. "Let me escort our esteemed guest, your highness. My lord Valor should not have anything to complain about tonight."


    Phobos'' smile faltered, but he nodded. Instead, he offered his arm to Iris, who would be his foster-sister, and led the way. "Lord Valor is incredibly observant of such things," Helena whispered to Ophelia. "And if you were escorted by his highness, some tongues would start to roll. If he does something like that in public, come to me. I shall cover for you two."


    During supper, Ophelia understood Helena''s words, and her initial attitude suddenly was put in context. She sat with Gaio and his family, to the right side of the table. Phobos sat at the head, with Gaio himself on his right side, and Valor on his left side. Unlike the foster-brother, the prince''s cousin was older, nearing his forties: he had bright red hair, smooth as silk, which he kept tied in a low ponytail. He seemed leaner than Phobos, but otherwise carried himself in the same way. Iris had told Ophelia that the animal he carried on his skin was a dragon, a symbol of his royal blood.


    "Perhaps it would be easier if we had convened with the two Kushite envoys," Valor spoke, as he''d done since Phobos had sat down. It was clear that this was less of a supper for him and more of a meeting to discuss their next actions. "But they''re curious now, and that''s enough."


    "My lord," one of the men on Valor''s side, who Iris had introduced as Count Juvii, spoke up, "perhaps we can ask lady translator to intervene for us."


    Valor looked in her direction for the first time in the evening. His bright blue eyes pierced her with a stern look, evaluating how useful she could be. "Both parties are fluent enough in Iberian that it won''t be necessary to ask the lady for her services."


    "There''s no point in saving a lady from servitude to then put her to work again," Phobos said offhandedly but firmly, levelling Count Juvii with a warning stare. "If a nobleman cannot speak Iberian with his peers perhaps he should not be called a nobleman at all."


    Later Ophelia would find out that Count Juvii had just recently been appointed so, with Lord Valor giving him the title after his rather doubtful parentage as a bastard son to the extinct Juvii house had come to light. It had been, as everyone knew, a move on Valor''s side to procure loyal henchmen on his side. His other lieutenant, Baron Frecci, was not quite a commoner made noble, but rather a disgraced noble house that had taken the only hand that had been offered to them the moment the civil war had started.


    "The stage has been perfectly set, we ought to spark the fire," Valor leaned in towards Phobos. "Cousin of mine, you must not let your hand tremble now. We are very close."


    "We are not close, we are still far away from Phrygia," Phobos said vehemently. "As much as this might benefit us, we can''t keep getting distracted with this land''s little political games. We''ve invested enough, now let them sort it out. We are not here to make Arqa ours."


    "But if the opportunity arose ¨C and we could argue if it has, now ¨C will you tell me that it would be so foolish a thing to do? When we could take control of half the ports this side of the Atlantean sea?"


    "To play the Elysian game one must be Elysian, my foolish cousin," Phobos rebuked him. "I''ve tolerated these tactics enough as I believed in you, but this is were I draw the line. We will not mess with other''s sovereignty as ours has been meddled with; it is not the Phrygian way. I''d rather have no crown than to sit on Gordion''s throne after dishonouring our ancestors in such a way."


    "At this rate there will be no throne to sit on," Valor muttered, clearly angry at his cousin''s refusal. "What king disregards their kingdom like this?"


    That was the wrong thing to say. Irate, Phobos suddenly stood up, locking eyes with Valor.


    "A king must preserve their people''s spirit before all. Land is land, it is gained, it is lost, but our ways are eternal, and it is my responsibility, my vow to my ancestors, to our gods, that we should not stray from their ways. Cousin of mine, I heed your advice, I treasure you greatly, but I will not let you speak like this to me."


    The other man wasn''t convinced at all, but knew there was no point in arguing further. "It is as the king says," he said simply, although there were flames in his eyes that had not quite calmed down.


    Ophelia took a long sip of beer, thinking that if she drank enough she''d be able to ease the tension away. Valor was the mastermind, the closest advisor ¨C but it seemed then that to a certain extent, he wouldn''t mind sitting in Phobos'' chair. His two yes-men were eagerly following every one of his gestures, reflecting his indignation when he was told off; in contrast, Gaio was silent and solemn, simply standing by the prince''s chair with a certain tension in his body that let everyone know that he wouldn''t hesitate to draw his sword if he had to defend Phobos.


    The dinner finished with no other altercations. They all stood up and watched, as etiquette required, Phobos leave first. The prince sneaked a glance towards Ophelia as he passed by her, the closest to the door, and she knew they''d see each other later. Then Valor and his family circled the table to leave. They would leave after them. The archduke dedicated a calculating gaze towards her as he left, probably wondering why the rescued translator had been made to sit with them for supper.


    Sensing what would happen that night, Helena resigned herself to walk Ophelia to her quarters after helping her out of her borrowed dress. "Speak to him," she pleaded before leaving, "there''s a lot at stake."


    She had almost fallen asleep by the time Phobos had come into her room. "My cousin enjoys the sound of his voice too much," he offered as an explanation. But he quickly loosened his girt and tunic, and slipped underneath the covers with her. "I''d rather hear you all night."


    Ophelia turned in his embrace to face him. "I''ve been asked to speak with you," she said. "About marriage, of all things."


    In the moonlight, she could easily see the smile that blossomed in his handsome face. "I spoke to Gaio, to help you prepare," he said.


    "Prepare for what, exactly?"


    "Our marriage," he went on innocently. "It''s my duty to take care of you, and after we¡­ well, I knew it at the time that it was the right thing for us. You should be by my side."


    "Do I get a say in this?" Ophelia sat up, hands closing into fists. "Do you get a say in this?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "Well, I don''t want to get married. It might your custom to wed whoever you lay with; it''s not mine, and if I had known it beforehand, I would''ve not come on to you. I don''t want you to feel responsible for me."


    Phobos sat up as well, and rested a hand on her thighs. "I don''t know how marriage is in Byzantium, but for us is a vow. It''s my vow to let everyone know it''s my duty to make you happy, to give you a house, to provide for you," he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, and softly cupping her face in his hands. "You''re happy with me, I can tell. Why not make it forever?"


    He went in for a kiss, but Ophelia moved back, grabbing his hands and moving them away from her face. "This is all too soon for me, Phobos. Marriage was never on my cards, and¡­ I don''t think this is the best thing for you, either. You have too much to lose..."


    "Disregard what Helena said to you," his voice became a tad more forceful, closer to the way he''d spoken to Valor earlier. It was more a command than a sentence. "She thinks the world ends in this little redux, that in Philistia and in Kush, and in all the other cities I''ve visited it''s full of aristocrats wanting to take my place. Cousin Valor is shrewd and looking for a chance, but he''s not stupid. He knows the warriors of Phrygia can smell his cowardice, that outside of the little weasels he puts by his side there is no one else to follow him."


    Ophelia bit her lips. "I don''t want to be a Phrygian queen; I can''t."


    The prince scooped her in his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "But you would do so well¡­ and even if you can''t be a Phrygian, be a Byzantine queen."


    "So, should I show everyone tomorrow my powers?" Ophelia felt him tense. "Or better yet, will you let me dress as a warrior and accompany you to the battlefield, sit with you when you need to negotiate with your allies, and let me protect you when the Elysians try to take your head?"


    He laid kisses on her shoulder, and manoeuvred her so that she was under him. "Phobos?" Ophelia reminded him. "What do you say?"


    "There is no point answering such foolishness," he said, his voice low, as his hands began to explore her body. "But if we''re to discuss them, let''s do it some other time."


    Like everyone in their lives, Ophelia had moments where she was proud of herself, and moments that she would never recall to anyone else, lest she appear as the most pathetic person in the world. That night was one of those moments where her rational head and her pride just couldn''t win against her body, and she let Phobos silence her with the promise of their shared nocturnal joy. Far away they left the conversation, the events at supper, the future that was looking so uncertain for the two of them: they gave themselves to the moment, knowing that their bodies could find agreement when their mouths failed to do so.


    The next morning Ophelia awoke alone in bed. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she let the sun wash away the sleepiness; once the night had passed their argument would have to resume, and she wasn''t in the mood to try and convince him that he was being too intense about the whole marriage thing.


    She dressed in the clothes that Helena had given her the night before, but took Hyperion''s cloak and dresses, along with the jewellery, and put it in a satchel of sorts that she tied to her waist. Perhaps she could find a way to tell Phobos that they could meet each other without him trying to take her in as a wife, or that perhaps they could revise the situation for the future, but she thought it''d be more likely that the sun would freeze before the stubborn man agreed with her. But, honouring their relationship, she would give him one more chance: she would search for him, have an honest talk, and if things didn''t go great, she''d leave and find her way back to Hyperion''s villa.


    Needless to say, it didn''t quite turn out that way.


    She met Helena in the kitchen. "I need to find Phobos," she said to the younger woman, before she took her by the arm to find some privacy. "I tried speaking to him. It didn''t go great. He''s fully intent on marrying me."


    Helena looked panicked. Ophelia patted her on the arm; now that she knew of the girl''s age, she found her too much like a little sister. "I will talk to him once more, and if he doesn''t agree, I will leave."


    "You can''t leave¡­ how are you going to leave? They will kill you before you do! You know too much about us now¡­"


    "I must look very frail to you," Ophelia smiled. "But there are secrets that only Phobos and I know, and on account of those secrets he will have no choice but to let me leave."


    Helena obviously wouldn''t understand. "Please, reconsider, I beg you," the girl pleaded again. "You''ll be in danger¡­ you''ll put us in danger."


    Ophelia realized soon enough that it had been a mistake to tell Helena her intentions. What she''d expected to finish by noon ended up dragging into the afternoon, as she had to make her way through several circular discussions with Iris and Helena on what she was intending to do. In the end, she decided to play their tune and let them believe that she was going to do as they said: convince Phobos to take her in as a concubine, or to delay the marriage until after they were back in Phrygia, and officially take Helena as a fiancee. With that done, they''d finally agreed to help her find the prince, who they soon found out was out on an errand in the city.


    What had earned her no small amount of alarm was their warnings: outside of the worries for Phobos'' reputation and power, they also discussed at length with her their fears for her safety. In Phrygia, women in her situation would not be able to reject a man''s marriage offer: if they did, it would tarnish the man''s honour, and the only way for the man to restore it would be to kill their intended.


    Ophelia doubted that the kind, gentle Phobos would fall as low as to commit an honour killing, but the prospect of such a thing being normalized in his culture definitely made her want to stay as far away as possible from it as she could. The easiest thing for them would be to pretend that it had never happened, and continue on with their lives: if nobody knew, no honour would be tarnished.


    While Ophelia waited for Phobos to come back, she sat with Iris and Helena as they took care of their daily chores. As she''d learnt was the custom of noble ladies, they worked wool into threads, and then worked on producing the fabric that would be worn by their household. When they tired of it, they would embroider, or as was a popular Phrygian custom, create elaborate arrangements of flowers and fruits to decorate the house with.


    They sat outside as it was cooler than inside. Around them played the children of those living in the building. Servants went about their tasks, stopping only if any of the working noblewomen required anything of them.


    "Good morning," a woman said as she passed by them; a slim, blonde woman with beautiful features. Iris smiled at her, but said nothing; Helena ignored her. The woman seemed not to react to their indifference, and ventured inside, and up the stairs.


    "That''s lady Ilyana," explained Helena. "She''s a widow of Marquess Kyrinets. She arrived three weeks ago and immediately started trying to ingratiate herself with everyone. She''s just trying to land a good husband, but as you can imagine, there''s more than enough single young women to choose from."


    One of the kids playing near the stables screamed, and they all stopped what they were doing to look. Ophelia, given that she had nothing in her hands, jumped towards the source of the noise and began to run towards the children when she heard one of them crying. "What happened?" she asked as she approached the group of four. A boy, no more than six, was crying on the floor.


    "Ilya fell, lady!" one of the older kids answered. Ophelia, who admittedly had very little experience with kids, awkwardly patted the child on his head.


    "It''s just a scare, Ilya. Let me see," she knelt down, grabbing the crying kid''s leg with as much gentleness as she could muster. He''d scrapped his knee. She blew on it, feeling pretty useless.


    "Ilya," she said to the boy. "Why are you crying?"


    "I-it hurts," the boy said. She patted him on the head again. She covered the small knee with her hand.


    "Does it?" she said, and when she removed her hand, the injury was gone. The boy blinked once, and then beamed up to her.


    "It doesn''t anymore!"


    "See? It was just a scare. Now get up, go play with your friends."


    That seemed to be the end of the ordeal. She got up, dusted the back of her skirt, and watched as the kids forgot that Ilya had ever fallen and ran back to the entrance of the stables, where they had been playing with a leather ball of sorts.


    As they did, she noticed that a heavy, large wooden bucket had been left on the window; it was sitting right above them, and seemed far too close to falling for it to be safe. A feeling of foreboding took hold of her and she opened her mouth to shout at the kids to move. At the same time, she saw someone behind, through the window: she caught sight of blond hair and a red something on their chest. And then, the bucket fell.


    Ilya, who as part of their game was required to stand right underneath, seemed none the wiser at his impending doom. Ophelia, knowing there was no other option, extended her hand and made the bucket fly away, far from the boy.


    "Ooh!" the kids in their innocence said in admiration as they noticed the strange trajectory of the bucket, which fell a few yards away from them. Ophelia felt someone shout her name, and turned back to see that Helena and Iris had dropped their weaves and were standing, looking at her with equally pale faces.


    And it was not just them: the servants, and some of the other noblewomen who had been in the yard had seen her too. Everything had gone quiet, the uncertainty forcing every adult to halt their movements until someone broke the spell by muttering the dreaded word ¨C elysian.


    She was fortunate in that there were enough people wary of an escalation of force in that situation, and one of them happened to be Gaio. He came running at her, and with pleading eyes asked her to follow him. He was on edge, clearly, and said nothing as he left her in a room where soon him, his wife and his sister were all staring down at her in clear panic.


    They all shouted their questions at the same time. Ophelia unravelled them with patience, figuring that if she remained calm they''d be better prepared for what would come next. "Yes, Phobos knows," was the first thing she said. "And I''m not Elysian."


    "Then how¡­?"


    "I''m from Byzantium," she explained. Just like Phobos, they were not so ready to believe her. "Think about it; I speak all these languages, but I don''t know any of your customs. I don''t look like I''m from any particular place; as much as I look like an Elysian, I don''t act like one. And obviously¡­" she put her fingers up, making sparks shoot out into the air.


    That sobered the other three up; they all flinched at her display of power, and in their eyes she saw fear creeping up. "Sorry, I''m not making things any easier. This is why I wasn''t too keen on the marriage, either, and why I wasn''t afraid to just leave," she said to Helena and Iris.


    Gaio ran his fingers through his hair. "This explains so much¡­ but then, were you really enslaved by that Chaldean merchant?"


    Ophelia laughed. "He wished! No, I met Phobos before that. He''s the one that found me when I appeared in this world. We rode to Caudiceum with Aristides, Remulus, Ilmarinen, Phenos and Ajax¡­ and there, after Ilmarinen''s and Remulus'' betrayal, I helped them meet Hyperion, the Chaldean, so that he''d give us safe passage to Arqa. As part of the deal I stayed to work with him¡­"


    "So you were the famed Iberian princess¡­?"


    Ophelia laughed again, "I was, yes."


    Helena then surged towards her, falling to her knees and grabbing her hands. "If you are from Byzanteum then, stay with us, give us our victory."


    Her words enraged Gaio, who grabbed her roughly from the back and threw her off Ophelia. "How dare you speak such impudent words, woman¡­?!"


    Iris knelt to embrace her sister, as she held a hand out to quell Gaio''s fury. The man, however, wasn''t done: "begging outsiders for victory¡­ have you no pride, no faith in our lord?"


    Ophelia stood and laid a hand on Gaio''s shoulder, and felt him tremble under her touch. "That''s enough," she said, her tone firm. She then spoke to Helena, "just as your brother did, so Phobos refused my help. I was going to offer it one more time, as a matter of courtesy but¡­"


    "He will refuse," Helena said, her eyes filled with tears. "But please, stay¡­! Disregard his words, lend us your power!"


    "Quiet!" Gaio shouted at her. He turned to face Ophelia, his sweet and easygoing smile nowhere to be seen. He was tense, his body almost preparing to jump into action. "You will have to understand that this is our way. None of us can follow an inept king; his challenge is to retake his throne. If he does it with the help of a Byzantine''s powers, he will not be any different from his brother."


    Ophelia held her hands up. "I made the offer; I don''t make the choice."


    Then, heavy footsteps were heard from outside, and the door was kicked open. Valor was standing outside, surrounded by Phrygian warriors with their swords unsheathed and looking for her. Gaio took a step forward, unbothered by the steel that rose to meet him.


    "Hand over the Elysian, Gaio," Valor said.


    "Are you not going to thank her for saving your son''s life?" the man said, arching an eyebrow.


    "Save? That little Elysian spy almost murdered him!"


    "Come again?" Ophelia asked, dumbfounded. "Why would I want to murder your son?"


    Valor''s face reddened. "Do you truly think of us so little that you believe we wouldn''t catch onto your game? One by one you''ll eliminate all of us with royal blood so that there''s no contender for the throne."


    The part of Ophelia that wasn''t used to diplomacy wanted to say that whatever she thought of him before, after such a strange, idiotic accusation she was forced to revise her opinion. "My lord," she settled instead for a more subtle insult,"I am confused as to whether I should feel outraged at being accused of a plot I took no part of, or being considered so incompetent that I''d make my murder weapon fly away from my intended victim."


    Around the room, a few lips twitched, and even the warriors who were holding their swords up relaxed a bit at realizing the folly she was being subjected to. "Why else would an Elysian be here if it''s not to plot against us?" Valor decided to change his line of questioning, slightly deflated at her comeback.


    Surprising everyone, Iris decided to step forth:


    "That''s a good question, my lord; perhaps, it bears clarifying if the suspicion is merely because of her origins, or if, perhaps, someone''s wise words have inspired you."


    Ophelia looked at the other woman in bewilderment. Was she implying someone wanted to frame her?


    When Valor didn''t reply immediately, Iris pressed on. "My lord?" her tone was gentle and unassuming, but she could''ve been holding an axe to the man''s head and it would''ve had the same effect. "Lady Ilyana told me she saw the Elysian move the bucket towards Ilya," he finally replied.


    Helena laughed. Her sister-in-law pursed her lips; it was clear from her expression that now it was her who was revising her opinion of Valor. "Lady Ilyana was the one to throw the bucket in the first place," she explained as if to a child, and then doubled down with an even more curt, "are you so daft a man you can''t see she''s been aiming for your wife''s chair?"


    Everyone stared at the normally gentle Iris, surprised at her outburst. Valor opened his mouth to retort, but the woman was on a roll. "Last week, when Viola and Ilya were sick, did you not ask what caused them to fall ill? Someone snuck yew needles in their food, it was a miracle they didn''t die! And little Uli? I had to bring her to my quarters because someone kept sneaking walnuts into her room, knowing she''s allergic to them!"


    "Or maybe you''re eager to get rid of them to make lady Ilyana your wife?" Iris shouted.


    "Hush, woman! Hear yourself!" that had stroke a chord in the man, who looked genuinely hurt by her accusation. "I admit I''ve been a negligent husband, but I would never, ever, wish my wife and children any ill. How dare you say so?"


    "Then stop letting lady Ilyana use you as a mouthpiece," Iris said coolly, standing up. "She once again tried to harm Ilya, and now she''s using lady Ophelia as a way to distract everyone away from her schemes. Deal with her, and then we''ll discuss what to do with lady Ophelia."


    Valor glowered at her, but recognised she was right. He shot a frustrated glance at Ophelia, and then turned to order half his men to stay in the room to make sure she didn''t escape. He then left with the rest to presumably deal with the attempted murderess.


    Ophelia was completely dumbfounded at the familial drama that had just unfolded in front of her. There was an awkward silence that followed, as she didn''t have much to say about a situation she knew nothing about until moments ago, and everyone else was processing the impending doom of the conspirator. Iris seemed back to her normal self after her rant and was fanning herself with her hands. Gaio, still speechless at his wife, rested his hands on her shoulders.


    "He''s a fool, in more ways than one, and it breaks my heart to see Viola and the kids suffer because of it. But despite his faults, he does love them. I thought I''d set his priorities straight," Iris said to no-one in particular.


    It took a while for Valor to come back. Ophelia was kept entertained mostly by Helena, who as part of her education had learnt how to offer an interesting conversation to get out of long, heavy silences. The Phrygian recalled some myths of her land and Thracia that talked about the dangers of women aiming for married men; it soon derailed into pure gossip, talking about names she didn''t recognise but that apparently everyone else knew.


    At some point, Ophelia interrupted the pleasant, light-hearted chat to ask the obvious: "what is the punishment lady Ilyana will face?"


    "The punishment for harming, or trying to harm, those of royal blood is execution," Gaio answered. It dawned then on Ophelia that he had placed himself in front of the window, his large frame blocking all view of the outside, shortly after Valor had left. She didn''t think it was to prevent her escape; rather, he was saving them the gory spectacle that surely was happening in the courtyard.


    When Valor and his men returned, there were specks of blood on the front of some of their tunics. A pause in their chatter received them, and in the silence, she heard the commotion outside. There was still a trace of fight in Valor''s eyes, and it became quickly evident he''d returned for round two. Ophelia suddenly felt very tired, and wished that Phobos would soon come to handle it all for her.


    She took the lead, and before the man spoke she stood up to address him: "What do you want me to say, my lord? I''m not Elysian; I am from Byzantium. I''ve travelled with Phobos ever since I arrived to this world. I ensured he arrived in Arqa in the first place."


    "I have no reason to believe you," Valor said. "Byzantium is nothing more than an Elysian tale. Why would a Phrygian man believe in that nonsense? As far as I''m concerned, you''ve been poisoning his highness'' mind with your tricks, so that he may fail in his mission."


    Ophelia shrugged. "It''s an easy accusation to make, isn''t it? You show no proof but because it''s your word, it''s now my job to prove you wrong."


    Valor wasn''t moved.


    "Trickery both runs deep in the blood of the Elysians and is also the favoured artifice of womanhood; you who share both should be doubly suspect. How else would his highness, who has slain more Elysians than anyone else, allow someone of the Empire to accompany him if he wasn''t under the power of Elysian trickery? We have seen your lot do strange things; it is only reasonable that the Empire now sends seductresses to do their bidding, rather than let their Knights do all their work."


    Ophelia narrowed her eyes. "So what is my charge, then? A seductress and a corrupter, a spy¡­?"


    "My lord," Gaio interrupted, sensing that the conversation was only turning for the worst. "I share your reservations, but I do not think it''s prudent to make any hasty judgments in his highness'' absence."


    "What do you think that a bewitched man will do then, Gaio?" Valor spit out and took out his sword to point at Ophelia. The movement was so smooth and sudden she almost didn''t notice. "He will only say what she tells him to."


    Ophelia didn''t like where it was all going. Clearly tensions were rising, and the possibility of it escalating into violence was quickly increasing. She also thought that on the back of Valor''s accusations there was something insincere; perhaps, a way to wrestle power and authority from Phobos, if he argued that he was under Elysian mind control.


    She decided to pull a page out of Hyperion''s book. Valor was about to continue his tirade, but his mouth and his expression froze in place in a single blink of Ophelia''s eyes. Silence suddenly fell over the room as not even the slightest rustle of tunics could be heard: a deathly stillness embraced all the Phrygians. Only their eyes were able to move, and they revealed in their frantic movement how deeply scared they all were.


    Ophelia said nothing, and walked up to Valor to take the sword out of his immobile hand. It was heavy like any other Phrygian weapon, and she had to hold it up using her powers more than her own muscle strength. She pointed it at the man''s throat, and left it there.


    "Might you all remember this moment," Ophelia said, turning around to catch the gazes of everyone present, "that I could''ve ended all of your lives. If my words aren''t enough let me demonstrate with this then that I simply have no reason to take your lives."


    "Valor," Ophelia dropped all honorifics as she faced the man, "I wonder if you fail to see your reflection in the mirror at all, that you throw out accusations at Phobos of being seduced by a woman minutes after having to execute the mistress that almost killed your family."


    She then turned towards Gaio and his family. "I thank you for your hospitality; however, I see that I''ve outstayed my welcome. I wish you all success."


    And she left. Behind her, Valor''s sword fell useless to the ground with a loud noise. It was almost like a last farewell, but also served to underscore her message. She walked downstairs, and into the courtyard, and as she came across other Phrygians she froze them in their tracks before they could try anything. She looked at the road with resignation, knowing that her escape back into Arqa would be rather anti-climatic and, more importantly, slow.


    But, a last surprise was waiting for her. Replaying the events of the day in her mind, she was twenty minutes into her walk back towards the city when she heard the gallop of a horse. She looked up knowing who she would meet, and indeed it was Phobos hurrying back from whatever errand he''d been on.


    "Gaio sent a messenger," he explained, "I came as soon as I heard."


    He jumped off the horse and grabbed her by her shoulders, his worried eyes roaming through her face and her body to try and guess what had happened. "You look unharmed¡­"


    "I¡­ made it seem like time had stopped, and nobody was able to move a finger while I left. They''re still standing still¡­ I will release them when I''m back in Arqa."


    He leaned to kiss her, but she moved her face away. "I''m sorry," he whispered, embracing her. "This isn''t what I had planned."


    Ophelia pushed against him, but he didn''t want to let her go. "Give me some space please," she asked, but he didn''t budge. "Don''t make me force you."


    He let her go. He was clearly panicking. "They will understand when I explain; it only needs a word from me."


    "It has nothing to do with them," Ophelia said. "I don''t blame them for reacting the way they did. Nothing would happen to me in the end," she smiled. "I''m worried for you. If I were to ask three of your comrades about what your plans are, they will tell me five different answers. Some of them are looking for ways to undermine you; all think of themselves and how their lot should improve. Can you really live in that nest of snakes?"


    "That is what court is," he smiled bitterly. "Inside or outside of Phrygia, I''ve found, they behave the same."


    Ophelia grabbed his hand, and he looked up, eyes full of hope.


    "Will you take me back to Hyperion''s villa?"


    His gaze hardened. A slight move of his eyes, from looking into her face towards somewhere above her head, told her that his immediate reaction was to do something else. Take her, perhaps, in the opposite direction. But then he closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes," he agreed with some effort.


    He sat her on the horse before jumping behind her. Perhaps because of the tension in the air he looked to ride closer to her, truly holding her as they made their way into Arqa.


    "I know you want me to be by your side," Ophelia said at some point. "But it''s only if it''s by your terms. I will ask you one last time, Phobos, will you let me help you? If you say yes, I will come with you."


    She felt the man tense against her once more. "You can help by staying with me."


    "That''s not what I meant, and you know it."


    He sighed. "It''s not that simple."


    Ophelia hummed. "It never is, isn''t it?" She decided to throw a last bone at him. "You don''t have to answer now. Let me stay with Hyperion; think about my words, and you can give me your reply then."


    She knew that he wanted to protest, that in his mouth the words elysian envoys and safety were burning his tongue. But after finding her so miserably by the side of the road, with an entire building full of frozen Phrygians, he could hardly convince her to go back to a place full of people hostile to her (although he did try).


    When he left her at Hyperion''s door, she gave him a last kiss on his cheek. It felt slightly bitter, both on her mouth and on his skin, but would be enough of a promise to see each other again.

 Chapter 10

    It took a minute for the attendant who received her to realize who she was. Luckily for Ophelia, she knew her name, as she had helped her get ready in the mornings. "Dada," she said with a small smile, and suddenly found herself being crushed by the older woman in a hug.


    Shouts of joy followed her as she was rushed in. Her name was echoed in the garden as they walked her back to Hyperion''s grand reception. Dada''s trembling hands spoke of fear, and the sound of the closing gates behind her felt particularly sharp, as if they were meant to keep her kidnappers at bay. As they neared the main building she kept her gaze fixed forwards, on the pillars that divided the foyer from the garden. She was almost giddy, eagerly wanting to catch sight of Hyperion. He''d heard the servants who''d rushed in to announce her return and ran outside, stopping only when he saw her.


    "I feared the worst," he said as he enveloped her in a tight hug. Ophelia felt guilty that she hadn''t tried to at least send word of her well-being, getting lost in the petty politics of the Phrygians.


    "Let''s go inside, I need some chai," she said, returning the hug. The smell of myrrh, a common oil he used as perfume, permeated the air. She was hit with the realization that she''d missed him; she''d missed the villa. It felt like she''d been out for a few days on a bender, and she was now ¨C at last ¨C at home.


    They set the table, and she greeted and hugged all the attendants that she knew; even Eon, normally the most reserved of them all, seemed relieved that she was back in one piece. Enough to offer her a rare bright smile.


    "We could not find any traces of you for days," he said. "It was very frustrating."


    She made a gesture to Hyperion to ask for some privacy. Only her, the merchant, and Eon remained in the room. "Phobos was the one who took me from the site of the attack," she explained. "I spent the last few days in the company of his Phrygian comrades."


    She relayed to them, as much as she could, the basics of what had happened the last few days. There was much that she couldn''t tell; the details of the inner politics in the complex, to name one example, were not their concern. Phobos'' position in their hierarchy and some of his struggles with his own nobles were also best left out of the narrative: she weaved a simple story. She had been suspected because of her mysterious origin, she was rejected because she was a foreigner, and lastly her powers had been discovered and she''d chosen to flee to avoid their rage.


    "What a sight that must have been," Hyperion smiled. "A tiny elysian woman against forty angry Phrygian warriors."


    Ophelia felt a stab of guilt in her stomach. His reaction to her kidnapping was visible in the lines in his face, the way his emotions seemed heightened by the relief of knowing everything had turned out for the better, or how his shoulders sagged in relief when he took a breath. And she, too, felt somehow softened by that homecoming, by the sweet smell of myrrh and the familiar taste of chai in her mouth as they both shared a chat together.


    "I said at one point I would tell you¡­ and I think it''s high time I make good on that promise," she said. "But I am not from Elysium. I crossed over to this world two months ago; I''m originally from that place you call Byzantium."


    Hyperion''s face slightly turned sideways, as it often did when he heard something he wasn''t quite sure how to respond to. "Byzantium¡­" he repeated softly, and closed his eyes. "I supposed that also makes sense. You don''t quite act like you are from this world."


    He opened his eyes again and smiled. "Is that something the Phrygian prince knows?"


    "A mutual friend had to tell us both, before he tried to kill me."


    Hyperion took a long sip of his cup, before he fixed his eyes on Ophelia. "Things are beginning to heat up in unpleasant ways, as you can tell. The attack on the envoys was brazen, and it has given the rest of the factions in the city a taste for violence. I am trying to prepare as quickly as possible, but I do not foresee to stay here for long. Would you like to come with me?"


    Ophelia remembered her promise to hear Phobos'' answer a few days from then. She didn''t have an exact date set. "What''s the soonest you''re looking to leave by?"


    "By end of next week."


    "I''m waiting to hear back from Phobos. Perhaps I will come with you."


    Hyperion exhaled; a mocking smile turned his lips up. "You''re very forgiving."


    "Wouldn''t you like me to be that way with you as well? I treat everyone equally. I''ve forgiven you once, as well."


    He blinked at her, having been caught by surprise. "That you have," he admitted.


    Before dinner, she went back to her room to change. The Phrygian clothes were too warm for the Arqan weather; it was, as well, "an affront against aesthetics" for Hyperion to see her in the traditional clothes of the warrior nation. "Covers too much, and flatters too little," he said, to Ophelia''s amusement. She didn''t mind the style, but out of all the different garments she''d worn, she certainly preferred the loose Arqan robes the better.


    Dinner was a relaxing affair: she was transported back to her first days there, feeling the calm sea breeze and hearing the lone song of the cicadas wafting through the night as they ate. If the world was on fire down in the city, they had no way of knowing from inside the villa: all was peace, all was chit-chat punctuated by the sly wit of one Chaldean merchant and his aide.


    She knew the morning would bring the smell of embers sizzling under the Arqan sun. Before she retired for the night, Hyperion gave her a warning. "With things as they are, and although I''ve tried to make sure it doesn''t happen, there is no telling whose tongues will say more than they should. You should expect Lord Scipio in this garden in the next few days."


    Ophelia sighed. "I have a conversation with my pillow on that very topic."


    It took Aegyr two days to come to them, to Ophelia''s surprise. It seemed that Hyperion''s intimidation tactics with his staff had somehow managed to fend off the inevitable leak of the news of her return, something that he took particular pride in. "Being able to suspend a tide that is about to crash into shore like this is no small feat," he said to Eon, "I''ll take that I''ve become very good at it."


    The time he''d bought gave her enough time to gather her thoughts and think about what she''d say to the Elysian. When he came, it was her who received him at the foyer, and not Hyperion. The merchant had offered to help, but she''d refused him: it''d be easier for her to simply handle Aegyr on her own. To that the Chaldean smiled, and tapped the back of her hands, which he told her then was the way his people wished good luck to their family. He''d been adamant, however, that they keep up the charade that had been set up earlier: when she received the Elysian she did so dressed in the extravagant dress of a Chaldean bride-to-be.


    "I see the wedding will proceed," Aegyr commented as way of greeting, his eyes immediately falling on the delicate jewellery that adorned her hair and neck. "It is good that you¡­ weren''t subjected to the usual Phrygian brutality."


    As they sat down, his eyes roamed her face and the exposed skin on her arms; it felt impersonal, like a doctor checking for injuries. Ophelia arched an eyebrow, "they were perfect gentlemen, if I''m to be honest".


    His piercing gaze spoke volumes of his disbelief. "They''ve rarely awarded that amount of grace to anyone who''s ever had any dealings with us. Why, it was Phrygian rebels who coldly murdered their own fellow countrymen who supported their current king in Caudiceum, a few weeks ago. Your star must take particular care of you; you''ve survived them twice already."


    "I am a very lucky woman," Ophelia grinned at him, full teeth. "But is that the reason why you''re here?"


    "I merely wanted to express my relief to your making your way back unharmed," he said, despite the fact that his flat tone made it seem like he couldn''t care less. "And ask for the details of your captivity. It is time we finally root out these insurgents."


    Ophelia sighed. She had prepared a story for him, which she began like this: "I was taken to an old farmstead, and kept in there. They didn''t quite know what to do with me, as they thought it wasn''t¡­ honourable to kill a woman who couldn''t fight."


    Aegyr leaned in. "How many were they?"


    "A few dozen? I only saw some of them when I arrived, and then a few men who came to ask me questions. They have women too; they would come to give me my meals. It didn''t help that their Iberian was very poor, and we could not speak any other language¡­ Some of them spoke some words in Arqan, but that was it."


    "They didn''t speak Iberian?" Aegyr frowned.


    Ophelia shook her head. By then she''d learnt that despite any regional differences, all kingdoms tended to send their nobility to be educated under similar curriculums. It was expected, as Phobos had coldly said during supper to his cousin''s lackey, that noblemen should be able to dominate multiple languages, and a common one for Phrygians was Iberian, the language of the ports. It was true that none of them had spoken to her in that language, not that they didn''t dominate it: Ophelia was taking advantage of the fact that the Elysian didn''t know she spoke Phrygian, and could then avoid a lengthy interrogation. It would give him, as well, the false idea that she''d seen no aristocrats in her captivity, which would perhaps buy them some time: if Aegyr knew that Phobos was hiding in the city, he''d bring his knights immediately to capture him and put an end to the civil war once and for all.


    He then asked her for the specifics of the hideout''s location. She pointed to a wax tablet she''d left on the table, and pushed it towards him as an invitation. In it, she''d sketched a small map, and had written down the indications as best as she could remember. He took it, scanned over it, and frowned.


    "You are not a scribe, it is clear," he said, deadpan. Ophelia, surprised by the comment, couldn''t help the angry blush that pooled in her cheeks.


    "I''ve been learning for a few weeks!" she protested. "And I would have had more time to dedicate to it if you hadn''t called me to translate for you."


    He ignored her protests and looked at the tablet again; his silence unnerved Ophelia who''d realized that perhaps she''d given him information about herself that he shouldn''t have known. "Is it that difficult to understand? I''ll explain it to you."


    "No, no," he said softly. "it is very easy to understand. Despite not knowing how to read and write, you seem to be exceedingly familiar with Terrarium maps."


    Ophelia had no idea what that meant, so she simply shrugged. Aegyr placed the tablet back in front of him, and continued with his questions, this time wanting to know how she''d escaped.


    "One of the women freed me. I can''t say I fully understand her reasons, but she seemed to be in a state of terror. From the gestures she made, I thought perhaps that they were going to kill me."


    Aegyr nodded, but offered no reply. Ophelia took a moment to take a sip of wine, and let the man fester in his own silence. She wasn''t exactly sure what he''d make of her tale, but she knew the strange attitudes the Phrygians held towards war would perhaps give it enough credibility.


    He was unreadable as a wall as he stood up, picking up the tablet. "I shall pray that your star continues to care for you in the coming days, my lady," he said without looking at her. "You shall see some interesting sights."


    Ophelia didn''t reply to him, and let him make his own way out of the garden. She hopelessly wished that it would be the last she''d see of him, but as it was to be expected in the situation, in some way or another he ended up interfering in her life once again.


    The next day, Lord Preceptor had come to them with a scribe to ask for her official statement about what had happened during her kidnapping. She found out that at daybreak a set of Arqan soldiers along with some of the Elysian envoys had raided the farmstead she''d been kept in, and found that it had been hastily abandoned. No Phrygian had been found in their perimeter, and from the testimony of the villagers that lived nearby, it seemed like they''d decided to disperse, seeking refuge as families rather than in the large compound they''d been in. Despite not having the greatest or fondest memory of them all, she''d breathed a sigh of relief. She''d expected them to flee the moment she arrived in Arqa, as regardless of where her loyalties laid it was only a matter of time until they were found. That had been the reason why she had not hesitated to reveal their location to Aegyr: she knew no harm would be done.


    Her testimony would put an end to the official enquiry, as far as the government was concerned. The Elysians would be cleared of all charges, and Phrygian terrorists would be blamed for the incidents. There was, however, no sign of excitement on the Lord Preceptor''s face as he confided in Ophelia that the troubles were just starting:


    "No one outside of the palace cares," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They believe it''s all an Elysian conspiracy, that we''re lying. They truly do think that the kidnappings were staged to clear their name after their attacks didn''t go as they''d expected."


    Once he''d been gone, Hyperion explained the situation better to her: "he''s paying for all these years of turning a blind eye to his corrupt officials. Those in the city have suffered greatly from the bribes and the injustice, and now they''ve found the perfect combination of events to let all that frustration out."


    "Remember when it was all about getting that caravan tax increased?" Ophelia asked, shaking her head, and she felt Eon of all people splutter and laugh. Both her and Hyperion turned their heads to see the rare sight of the aide showing emotion.


    "Well, if anything all this unrest will definitely force my competitors to increase their prices," Hyperion mused. "Good job, princess."


    "I didn''t cause this!"


    The merchant grabbed her by the shoulders in an affectionate gesture. "You''re my little agent of chaos."


    They could try to laugh it off, but there was a tension in the air that seasoned nomads like Hyperion and Eon knew all-too-well. A rising appetite for unrest was felt for anyone who walked through an Arqan street: in casual conversations, in the way people seemed more irritable, readier than ever to jump into a fight. The port was busier than ever as merchants tried to send abroad as much as they could before it fell prey to fire and looting; passengers as well, particularly those of certain nationalities, wandered from ship to ship asking captains for passage. It wasn''t uncommon to see some folks loading their mules with heavy satchel bags carrying their most prized belongings, leaving servants to mind their empty houses while they retreated outside to their country states.


    Ophelia, despite the warning of the native Arqans, had decided to venture outside of the villa. Covering her head in a veil and only stepping out with a single attendant, she walked through the markets that were closest to the villa, trying to see for herself the state the city was in. She was also worried that she''d not heard from Phobos in all that time, and partly wondered if it had been the villa''s increasing security measures that might have prevented him from making contact with her. It was a slim chance that she''d be able to catch sight of him that way, given that he probably wasn''t stalking the entrance of the villa day and night, but it gave her something to do.


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    Hyperion''s preparation for his departure had sent the entire villa into a frenzy of work. As she hadn''t decided yet if she would join him, she was naturally left out of the entire process, which given the strange environment they were in, made her feel uneasy. Tension coiled in her body, and she felt she was ready to jump at any time, but she wasn''t sure when or where she should jump to.


    "Curse the guards!" she heard a man shout down the market. The crowd seemed to part for him, and then everyone was able to see him and his two mates stumbling down the street, hands trying to contain the bleeding in his head. "They''ve done it! They''re now raising their swords against us!"


    He held his hand up, which was covered in blood. Instantly, the murmur in the crowd went wild. A young man approached him, incensed. "Where are they?" he asked, looking wildly around him.


    "Towards the entrance of the palace, but they''ve moved down, to the guild''s street," he answered, pointing behind him. The younger man rallied his friends, shouting to the people around him, "let''s go! Let''s go! We can''t let those low-lifes do this to us!"


    Shaken by the vision of blood and the shouting as the men ran in the direction the injured Arqan had pointed towards, the market divided itself into those who were frozen in their tracks, looking to gain every scrap of information they could from their surrounding, and those who were answering the call to arms. Ophelia decided she''d had enough, and retreated, along with her attendant. She''d later find out that had been the start of the riots that continued on throughout the rest of the week.


    The violence didn''t phase her. She wasn''t used to it as much as Hyperion, perhaps, but she trusted that her powers allowed her to roam freely. She revelled in that freedom: she snuck out of the villa on her own, trying to hear the latest news and hopefully catch sight of the Phrygian prince she''d promised to meet again.


    "ELYSIANS GO HOME," protested a column of Arqans, both men and women, holding up sickles, axes, pitchforks and staffs. They were marching down the street, clearly looking for anyone to release their anger onto. Earlier that day Ophelia had seen a group of kids burning down some of the blue flags that had been put up for the Tripartite Council, cackling gleefully as the adults around them watched with pride as the empire''s emblem burned to ashes.


    "This will be no good, oh no lord Sun," the old man next to her had said. "I heard they burnt down the house of one of ''em Elysian merchants near the port. Oh shining lord, this will only anger them."


    The lady behind the stall they''d been buying from heard him.


    "Well, I say they bring their knights, we''ll give them our Arqan special," she said loudly, eliciting approving nods around her. "We took two of ''em out with nothing but knives and fists. We''ll be waiting."


    "That courage is admirable," a voice said behind her, and Ophelia turned around to see Phobos, smiling at the lady from the stall. The prince seemed not to care too much for subtlety that day, as the Arqan clothes he was wearing still revealed the tail end of the phoenix on his chest.


    "What did he say?" the lady demanded, and Ophelia translated for her. "You''re a Phrygian, are ya? Good. What they did to ye should not be forgiven."


    Ophelia noticed that her jingoism was starting to bleed onto the other sellers, and some of the passer bys. She excused the both of them and took Phobos away from the crowd, to the entrance of a small passage where they''d have some more privacy.


    "Is it safe for you to be so out and proud?" she asked. Rather than answering her, he pulled her against the wall and took her mouth in his, trapping her smaller body with his.


    "There''s too much going on for anyone to worry about a Phrygian or two," he said in between breaths, as he dropped his head to her shoulder. "I could ask the same of you."


    "Deus-ex-machina," she tried to say, but was stopped by his teeth grazing the skin of her collarbone. "Stop! It''s the middle of the day! Have you no shame?"


    "Apologies," he smiled cheekily at her, and she wondered where had gone the solemn, strict prince she''d met in Caudiceum. He put some space between them, but still kept her in his embrace. "Something about you makes me forget myself."


    Ophelia sighed, but she could''ve said the same thing about him. "How is everyone? Everyone was gone by the time the Elysians got to the hideout."


    "It was for the better. Strange things had begun to brew in that environment, I did not think it was prudent for everyone to be living under the same roof anymore. We''ve all spread out. I''ve sent Valor along to Philistia, so that Aristides can keep him under tabs."


    He looked down, and Ophelia''s eyes captured his. He knew what she was about to ask before she spoke; every fibre of her body seemed to vibrate with the question that they had yet to resolve.


    "Are you here to give me my answer?"


    "I want to talk to you, first," he said. The cheeky boy from moments ago had disappeared, and Ophelia felt herself sober up as she was held by the prince of Phrygia. He grabbed her hand, and softly began to lead her away from the passage. "Let''s find somewhere quiet where we can sit."


    Quiet, in that city, at that time, was an impossible ask. As they moved through the streets they noticed that everywhere they went it was full of people, and that there was certainly signs of unrest beginning to seep through the cracks. It certainly felt like the wrong place and the wrong time to be trying to define one''s future as a lover, as a couple, as there were no rosy feelings in the air: there was anger, frustration, and a thirst for violence.


    "Let''s get out of here," Phobos said, but it was too late. Somewhere, two streets away, someone had fallen at the hands of the Arqan guards. The mob went insane. Rocks began flying, men began throwing themselves at the ill-prepared swordsmen with heavy axes cutting through the air. Stalls were trampled as the mob advanced towards the retreating guards; the shouting overwhelmed the tiny streets and spilled into its surroundings. Waves of people trying to run away from the violence began to crash against the passages, the alleyways, filling the nearby streets.


    Ophelia could''ve stopped anyone swinging a sword at her, she could''ve made fun of the strength of any man who fancied himself a powerful warrior, but she could have not contained the sheer power of a violent mob. Phobos grabbed her and ran with her, and as they escaped from it all she saw children being trampled in alleyways, shouting women breaking down doors to start looting, young men ripping a cow''s torso apart, grabbing as many pieces of meat as they could carry. She heard the swinging mace of a looter come crashing down on a pig, and the screams of someone who''d been caught wearing a blue tunic as he was jumped by a gang of teenagers. When she could not run anymore, Phobos grabbed her in his arms and kept running; they tried to get closer to the port, and ended up in that main road that connected the palace to the port.


    The sky was just as blue, and the sun kissed the earth in the exact same way it had done weeks ago, when she''d been at the top of the hill wondering how the Council would go. The flags had been ripped from the top of their poles, with only the Arqan ones remaining, proudly, to dance at the rhythm of the looting.


    Phobos put her down, and they both looked behind them: people were gathering at the gates of the palace, trying to break them down. When Ophelia turned to say something to her companion, she found such a savage smile in his face that she had to do a double take. "This is the beginning," he said, admiring the chaos. "We''ll do the same in Latil and Philistia, and then we''ll bring Elysian-controlled Phrygia to its knees."


    "I thought you preferred fighting," Ophelia commented.


    "I do," Phobos said, stealing a quick kiss from her in his excitement. "And I also enjoy inspiring people to fight for themselves."


    They began to make their way down the hill, but the sound of galloping stopped them. Phobos reacted first, moving the two of them to take refuge in the small space that separated two houses. Arqan guards had gathered, and had begun to make their way to disperse the rioters that were trying to break into the palace, and with them they had¡­


    "Elysians," Phobos muttered darkly, spotting the shimmering blue robes of one of the Elysian envoys amongst the guards. With a speed that seemed almost inhuman, he unsheathed his long knife, took two steps towards the street, and before Ophelia could even shout or say anything to stop him, he threw it at the mounted elysian.


    She would never forget the sound of the knife as it went into the envoy''s head, impacting with such force that part of his skull exploded when it made contact. The body immediately went limp, falling off the horse and sending the animal into a frenzied run. Around him, the Arqan guards screamed, and tried to control their own animals as they searched for the source of the attack.


    Phobos was on them before they even knew what had happened. He ran to the closest guard and cut his horse''s tendons with a low, horizontal hit of his sword. The poor animal fell backwards, crushing its rider under his weight. Next were two other guards, which had their throats cut as Phobos made an almost impossible jump on top of their steeds.


    What happened next was a reminder to Ophelia that, as much as the similarities sometimes surprised her, nothing in that world owed any comparison to hers. It was almost like seeing the stunts of a movie play out in front of her: the violence was almost comical, but so was the strength, the speed and the skill Phobos showed, which seemed to almost defy the laws of physics. But perhaps that had been the gift that had been given to those who didn''t receive their quote of luck from Byzantium, and as much as she was also an anomaly in her own mind, so was he and the Phrygian warriors that he fought with.


    The Arqan guards, however, once they had caught on, were quick to show that they, also, possessed similar qualities. Two of them surrounded Phobos, abandoning their horses, and kept him at bay. The rest of them were not allowed to join as they had more pressing matters: the rioters had taken notice of what had been happening down the road, and a group of them had broken away to assist Phobos. Ophelia observed their arrival as rocks began to fly into view, sometimes hitting the ground with sickening crunches, sometimes hitting the fallen bodies of the men Phobos had already killed.


    "A pig for slaughter," she heard Phobos say as he smiled nastily, and took advantage of an opening in his opponent''s defence. His sword slid in underneath the man''s jaw and impaled his head. Bracing himself to his victim, the prince spun around to face his second opponent, who had made a lunge at him. Grabbing the fallen Arqan warrior''s knife from its sheath, he caught his attacker''s sword with the body, let its weight crumble on it, and stabbed the surviving Arqan in the neck.


    A shudder ran through Ophelia''s spine. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the carnage: it had been too much, too soon. Phobos'' grinning face as he made his kills sat strangely with her; she knew she couldn''t quite judge him as she would anyone from her world. He hadn''t been born to a peaceful life in a suburban city in the first world; he was a warrior, it was only natural that he responded like that to war.


    The surprised screams of the Arqans, and the sounds of multiple people hitting the floor, made her look back up. Advancing from the foot of the hill were five Elysians, their light blue robes circling around them in the wind. Leading them was Aegyr. A gust of air exploded again, and people were sent flying backwards.


    What would happen next would let Ophelia know that was their way of issuing a warning of sorts. The ground began to shake near a large crowd of protestors, who had been gathering about twenty meters away from them, until it began to split in two. Those who were near the edges of it tried to run away as soon as they felt the earthquake, to no avail: a large hole opened, swallowing them all. Cracks began to emerge in the buildings around them; they appeared almost randomly, but the way the air shook around them made it evident it was the power of the Elysians delivering invisible blows to weaken their foundations. They intended to use the crumbling houses almost like cannons, making them fall towards the street, towards the rioters.


    She looked for Phobos: he was across the street from her, and seemed to be waiting for the moment the Elysians would walk past them as they advanced towards the palace. In his hand he had his sword dripping in blood, and an Arqan knife. She saw Aegyr make a gesture to one of the men behind him.


    Something sparked right above Phobos'' head.


    "No!" Ophelia cried, jumping up. The prince''s body flew backwards, along the street. The intense explosion of blue fire that should''ve melted him away changed course, being forced into a column that travelled towards the sky instead of down into the streets.


    "You!" Ophelia turned around to see Aegyr''s wild stare; his eyes burnt as bright as the flames of the Dorian fire they''d just conjured to kill Phobos. Before he could do anything, the Arqan flags that waved in the posts suddenly were torn into long strips by an unknown force. Pretending to be ropes, they flew towards the Elysians and trapped them in their embrace, Ophelia''s powers forcing them down the street as violently as she could.


    She heard the rumble of the earth that tried to roar and the snap of fire that would not be born; she knew they tried to counteract, but somehow, she made it all go away before it even happened. She kept pulling them until they were out of sight: their bodies would be carried away as if by invisible waves, until they reached the port.


    "Phobos!" she shouted, turning around. She meant to ask him if he was okay, but was surprised to find him glowering at her.


    "If you''re going to steal my kill," he snarled, stomping towards her,"at least make sure you kill them yourself."


    The sight of the angry Phrygian, with his unsheathed weapons dripping in blood, sent her into panic. The man suddenly found himself unable to move, and she recoiled, bringing her hands up. "If you don''t calm down," she said, trying to swallow her fear. "I will leave you here, and I won''t ever see you again."


    Phobos closed his eyes for a moment and willed himself to calm down. When he opened them again, they seemed like the normal, clear emeralds she was used to. She released him from her spell, and his body tensed, clearly trying his best not to frighten her once again but still intensely disliking the hold she had over him.


    "Let''s go," he muttered while he slid his stolen knife against his belt. His sword, still covered in blood, remained in his hands. When Ophelia wouldn''t move, her eyes stuck on the weapon, he sighed. "I need to clean it before it can be put away."


    Ophelia willed the blood away, and left it almost as if it had been freshly polished. With a disgruntled sigh, the warrior sheathed the sword, and offered his hand to her again: "happy?"


    They both ducked into a passage, and slowly made their way towards the west of the city. It was the oldest part of it, and because of the way Arqa had rapidly developed since the fall of the old kingdom, the most derelict. New developments and the expansion of the city had turned the old streets into slums; the old stone houses crumbled away, without anyone to really care for them. Given that probably a good number of the citizens had escaped to form part of the riots, the streets were mostly empty and peaceful, and they quickly were able to find an abandoned house to sneak into.


    Ophelia let herself fall to the dusty ceramic-lined floor, feeling her energy leave her body as the adrenaline washed away. Phobos put away his sword and sat in front of her, resting his face in his hands.


    It took him a moment to find the words he wanted to say. "Don''t ever do that again," he said, his voice making a conceited effort at staying calm. "Don''t intervene in a fight, unless you''re ready to fight."


    Ophelia felt that the adrenaline had taken her fear from her as well. Anger, instead, began to brew in her belly. "Is that out of concern for me or I wonder, is it because of some dumb reason, like your pride?"


    "I''m a warrior," Phobos hissed. "It may mean nothing to you, but it certainly does to me, and a warrior goes into a fight to either kill, or be killed."


    "So what, you can''t save your buddies if you see they''re about to be burnt to crisps?"


    "There''s nothing dishonourable about being saved by another warrior. But that a woman would do so¡­ and then not even make a kill?"


    Ophelia''s energy was brought back by the sheer force of her anger. "What is worse, then? That I didn''t kill them or that I''m a woman?"


    It seemed like she''d hit him with a theological conundrum the likes of which could drive to years of schisms. Eventually, he came up with a response. "You should''ve killed them. It would''ve been better that way."


    She had the memory of Phobos'' own comrade hitting the tree with too much force; she heard the echoes of the gasp he made in her mind, reminding her that in her carelessness she''d taken someone''s life. She could not imagine doing it on purpose. "I can''t do it. I''m not like you."


    Phobos took her hands in his. "You see then why I don''t want to let you do what I do? I know your hands should not see blood; that''s what mine are for."


    "So I''m not allowed to save you, unless I kill people?"


    The look in his eyes said it all. "Let my brothers-in-arms protect me; that''s why they follow me."


    "I don''t see your brothers-in-arms here, should I let you go to your death so foolishly, then?"


    He sighed. "Let''s forget about today. We both made mistakes."


    Ophelia arched an eyebrow. "I didn''t! I saved your life, and you are angry at me for it!"


    She stood up. She guessed then that his answer to her question was all-too-clear now. He sensed her mood, and went to grab her arm.


    "We''re leaving for the Kushite kingdom tomorrow," he said. "Come with me."


    Ophelia bit her lips. Something was brewing in her chest, and she didn''t really understand what it was. The tears flowed to her eyes, and she tried to keep them at bay, unsuccessfully. "Why would I?" she spit out, without looking at him. "You only want me in the way that it suits you."


    Phobos pulled her into his embrace, grabbing her face gently so that he could look into her eyes. "Don''t be silly," he said, kissing her tears away. "I love you the way you are¡­ as strange as you are, for me, it''s your bravery that I find the most beautiful."


    "But a fish that tries to swim against the current ends nowhere; if I don''t point that out you''ll endanger yourself. I know now that you were put in my care the moment you arrived from Byzantium," he continued. "Your safety, your happiness is my duty, Ophelia¡­ I''m just trying to carry it out."


    Ophelia shook her head slowly, feeling even worse when hearing his words. He pressed his forehead against her. "Come with me. We don''t need to marry right away; we can wait until we''re in Phrygia. We can have a grand wedding in Gordion."


    Ophelia took a step backwards, drying some of the tears in her eyes with her hands. "No, I''m going back."


    Phobos frowned. "You can''t! The Elysians will be waiting for you¡­"


    "Hyperion is leaving the city. I''m leaving with him."


    Phobos grabbed her by the shoulders, anger in his voice. "It matters not! Now that they''ve seen your powers, they will stop at nothing to send you back to Elysium. Should they need to, they will kill everyone you hold dear, they will break your legs, your arms, make it so you''re unable to speak to anyone outside of Elysium, ever again."


    Ophelia grabbed Phobos by his wrists, and using her powers, got him to release her. "I will take that chance."


    The prince''s eyes went wild. "Why?!"


    "I don''t want to be protected," Ophelia said as she stepped back. "I want to make my own happiness, walk my own path. But even if I wanted to let you take care of me, you have a war to fight. You won''t be there when your allies try to sacrifice me to their politics; you''ll be out there, killing your enemies. For your sake I will have to pretend to be someone else, and¡­ I simply, do not want to."


    He was stunned, but for good measure she put another step or two of distance between them. "Forget about me, Phobos. I will treasure the days we spent together, and I will hope to see you one day sitting on the throne you own. But this ends here for us."


    Before her heart betrayed her, she spun around and took off running. She heard her name being called, but it only made her run faster. The wind could''ve picked her up for all she knew, as she breezed past vaguely familiar streets, past the chaos, past the mayhem of the riots they''d left behind earlier. She didn''t know how she managed it, but she ended up where she''d started, at the gates of Hyperion''s villa.


    She didn''t react when she found they''d been forced open, and she didn''t stop trying to dry the tears that would erupt every so many steps. She climbed the stairs that led to Hyperion''s foyer, and knew she''d walk straight into Aegyr''s piercing blue eyes, which shone with a light so intense she wished could burn away the sadness that constricted her chest.

 Chapter 11

    Aegyr was the only one sitting; he had taken the lone chair, the one that Hyperion had arranged next to a large jade vase full of exotic and colourful flowers, where he loved to sit when he wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of his garden. Behind him stood fifteen men in dark blue tunics. Unlike the envoys she''d translated for, these had a more martial air to them, and seemed to be always expecting orders. She knew, almost plucked it out of the air, that they were the Knights of the Black Sun.


    "How sad that the Phrygian prince lost his chance to take revenge," Aegyr said, clearly taking note of her state. "I killed five of his foster-brothers."


    "Where is Hyperion?" she asked, not minding the sniffles and her puffy, crying face.


    "He''s at the palace."


    "Is he unharmed?"


    "That depends on you, lady Ophelia," Aegyr said, and for the first time ever, she saw a sliver of excitement on his face. "Will you tell the truth now?"


    Ophelia took a look at the Knights behind him, and wondered if she could freeze them the same way she''d done with the Phrygians days earlier. She sighed, feeling defeated. Hyperion''s life was at stake. "What do you want to know?"


    "Which family do you belong to?"


    "None," Ophelia looked at him with disdain. "I come from Byzantium."


    No amount of training would stop the soldiers from responding to seeing their most fabled myth come to life. Gasps echoed in the room, and she saw Aegyr hold steady to the chair he was sitting on. His eyes were lost in thought, and she knew he was piecing together the rest of the puzzle she''d presented him throughout the weeks: all the little cracks that would not quite fit together suddenly became the perfect explanation to make sense of her claims.


    In a blur, he rose from his seat and closed the distance between them. He stared at her with naked wonder in his eyes; it was such an unguarded moment that she could not help but forget for an instant who he was and the danger she was in. He was truly breathtaking like that, when the walls he''d built to separate himself from the rest of humanity came crashing down.


    "Byzantium¡­" he whispered, his eyes roaming over her face as if it was a miracle made flesh. He then turned back to address his knights. "She''s telling the truth. Who could''ve stopped us in our attack, six of us, if not someone from the eternal land itself?"


    The men cheered, looking at each other, and her, in absolute wonder. Aegyr, however, laid a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I did warn you that your fate would soon be known, did I not?"


    Ophelia turned her head to answer, "what do you want?"


    "The Chaldean merchant is being held at the palace, and it will take a single word from me to order for him to be beheaded for treason. If you cooperate with me, he will walk away a free man the moment your feet touch Elysium."


    Ophelia looked back at the cheering knights. She had very little choice. "Very well," she nodded. "But if you were to harm a single hair on his head, I will not let you walk away like I did earlier today."


    "In Elysium, we don''t make promises we intend to break, lady Ophelia."


    He offered her a hand which she took rather hesitantly. The garden and the house were empty: she assumed the attendants had either fled or had been taken prisoners as well. She felt the Knights'' soft steps as they followed in a line behind them: the moment they began to move their chatter had ceased, back again to being unfeeling automatons.


    They walked to the stables, where they found a single Elysian knight minding the black steeds they''d brought with them. Aegyr called his mare with a whistle and the loyal animal responded. It galloped to his side, its head stretching into his hands in search of food or a token of affection of some sort.


    "Do you know how to ride a horse?" he asked, as he noticed Ophelia standing rigidly next to the mare. She shook her head.


    "It''s not common to own horses where I lived," she explained. "We have other ways of transportation."


    She noticed immediately that the man''s eyes were wide, rapt with fascination. "What kinds?"


    "We call them¡­" she cleared her throat as she slipped back to English, "cars. They''re like carriages, but they have an engine inside of them capable of making the wheels turn at different speeds. They''re faster than horses. Some of them don''t even need a driver, they know where to go by themselves."


    "That is¡­ incredible," he breathed, and it seemed like it took all of his willpower not to get carried away with questions. He gestured towards the horse, which had become completely still the moment he''d laid his hands on it. "You can go first."


    She hesitated for a second; every single time she''d got on a horse it''d been Phobos'' hands who''d lifted her up, positioning her on the animal. The memory of his touch sent a slight shot of pain in her heart, and she tried to contain the tears that began to gather in her eyes. Around her, however, the other knights were doing things differently, and she understood that the Elysians made use of their gifts in the most mundane of ways sometimes: they kicked up in the air, lifting themselves using their powers, positioning themselves softly on the horse as if they were feathers falling from the sky. She imitated them, and quite literally floated down onto Aegyr''s mare.


    Riding with the Elysian would turn out to be a completely different experience than riding with Phobos. The Phrygian prince was used to handling different horses, letting them express themselves in their own peculiar ways: he worked with them, guided them, gave them feedback. The Elysian archduke, however, was in perfect control the entire time, as if he and his mare could communicate telepathically. She also noticed that there was a respectful distance between them, one she''d never felt riding with the Phrygian, even at the beginning of their acquaintance.


    They galloped through the city, Aegyr at the head, his Knights carrying their standards riding behind him. The streets they passed by were hollowed out by the riots: windows had been broken, doors smashed to pieces, entire buildings consumed by fire. The closer they got to the palace the bigger the disaster had become: she saw the holes Aegyr and his men had left in the street, making it look like the city had seen an earthquake rather than a protest.


    The afternoon was darkening into an early evening, transforming what was bright under the midday sun into a husk of itself. Only a few people had been brave enough to remain in the streets, roaming through the debris, possibly trying to find someone else''s possessions. The bodies of the fallen had been purposefully left outside at the mercy of rats and gulls, and any street dog that had no qualms about their choice of food. She could feel the echoes of the screams she''d heard earlier thundering in her ears, trying to shake off some of the life she''d seen to give it back to the streets.


    She could hear the murmurs of those who watched their procession gallop by through the streets. They hid in the darkness of their houses; some of them cursed them, others prayed to their gods for their fate. As they were nearing the palace someone dared to throw something at them: a bottle that missed and crashed against the floor near one of the Knights. Aegyr didn''t react; neither did the others. They continued their march, but as they left the street an explosion rang out. Ophelia turned around, but could only see the tail of blue flames emerging from the building the bottle had come from, savagely ravaging its insides.


    The screams returned, and rang in her ears throughout the rest of her journey.


    She was surprised as they entered the palace; the Arqan guards seemed fearful, trying their best not to be noticed. Unlike the outside, it seemed that within its walls the activity had never stopped. The gates, she noted, had been reinforced, and the surrounding area cleaned of any debris that the earlier unrest might have caused. Except for the charred remains of the main parliament building, everything else was as she''d left it some two weeks before.


    They dismounted, and Aegyr turned to one of his knights, "did any of the maidens travel with you?"


    "No, your excellency, I''m afraid not." Aegyr grimaced.


    "Tell the Baron to report to the west wing, near my quarters. It''s not ideal but it will do for now."


    The Elysian commander made a gesture to indicate she should follow him. As they walked through the palace Ophelia couldn''t help but notice that the blue tunics were now roaming around on their own, rather than clustering in groups the way they''d done during the Council. The sight of a few knights here and there, and the reverence they were given by the Arqan preceptors they encountered made her think¡­ "Have you taken over the palace?"


    "It could not be helped. Arqa needs to be healed before the sickness spreads."


    "So¡­ quickly?"


    "I sent for reinforcements after the Philistian envoys'' death. More are yet to come."


    They arrived at what used to be the wing dedicated to the Elysian envoys, which it seemed they had never truly abandoned. "So, you will invade Arqa," Ophelia pressed on as Aegyr stopped in front of the closed double doors of someone''s chamber. He turned towards her.


    "Who will stop their civil war before it begins?" he said in a monotone, as the doors opened by themselves. Behind she could appreciate the luxury of the rooms that clearly were a mile away from the ones that had been given to the translators.


    "You will stay here until we''re to leave for the empire."


    They stepped inside; the chamber was large, and even had its own balcony. Ophelia walked closer to one of the windows and inspected the outside: she could clearly see the blackened, crumbling remains of the fire she''d put out.


    "The chamber next to this one is mine; the rest belong to the knights. That is to say, should you wish to try anything here, we''ll hear of it."


    Ophelia made a face. "Yes, yes, I''ll behave."


    A knock on the door made both of them look towards the origin of the noise: an Elysian man was waiting at the entrance to the chambers, clearly waiting to be let in. "Baron Doria," Aegyr said gesturing for him to come in. He''d not been one of the envoys Ophelia had translated for. It was safe to assume he''d arrived with the Knights.


    "This is Baron Doria, lady Ophelia, and he will serve as your attendant in absence of a suitable maiden," Aegyr instructed. "This is lady Ophelia of Byzantium, Baron. She knows nothing of our customs, so I expect you will teach her accordingly."


    Her new surname made Baron Doria take a step back, his eyes wide as if he''d seen a ghost. "Surely¡­" escaped his lips, before he realized who he was talking to. He cleared his throat, and bowed his head. "As my liege commands."


    Aegyr turned towards Ophelia. "Change into some suitable clothing, and come see me. We have much to discuss."


    She frowned at him, but again he paid no mind to her silent protests and left the room, closing the door behind him. She sighed, and noticed that the Baron had not raised his head. "Are you waiting for something?" she asked, and he nodded.


    "Permission for me to prepare the bath and search for suitable clothes," he explained.


    "Why would you need permission from me?"


    "It''s the order of things, your highness. I will not move if you don''t allow me to."


    Ophelia lifted the man''s head with her finger, clearly feeling like she''d fallen into a very strange comedy. "Your highness? I don''t recall having a title. I''m not from this world."


    "This is quite unprecedented, but the rules of etiquette would imply that anyone from Byzantium should be treated as second to his majesty the Emperor, equal perhaps to the Archduke."


    "Ah," Ophelia didn''t see much point in etiquette if she had no power to make her own decisions, but she figured that was a discussion for another time and place. She had the feeling Baron Doria would vehemently reject her opinion on the matter. "You can do whatever it is you need to do," she said, awkwardly.


    He nodded, and walked over to the left side of the room, to where the largest chest was. It was a complicated affair for a chest, with not just an opening at the top, but also drawers of various sizes at the bottom and on the sides, with locks and keys in them. He rummaged through it while Ophelia sat on the chair that was closest to the window.


    She observed him as he did what Hyperion''s attendants had done for her before: offering a change of clothes, readying her water for the bath. But unlike them, the Baron had access to those mysterious Elysian powers that made everything all the more convenient in that time and age. Rather than carrying the jugs of water to the large tub that had been set up in a corner of the room, he made it so that the water left its containers in a perfect stream, arching over the room to fall softly into the bath. He searched through the containers in the small table that had been left next to the tub, and found one with dried rose petals that he scattered in the water. Finally, he made the water warm after several tries, dipping his fingers each time to make sure the temperature was correct.


    "My apologies, your highness," the Baron said nervously as he stood next to the door. "I will not be able to assist you properly. Please call for me if there''s anything you require."


    Having learned what people in that day and age called ''creature comforts'' she knew that in normal circumstances, the female servant would help her bathe, even clothe herself. She thanked him, and he left the room. She didn''t see the point in all that, in letting someone else do what she could do herself, so she was secretly relieved. At Hyperion''s she''d quickly set the mood with the staff that worked at his villa that she was okay with them cleaning the room, but that she could take care of her toilette and morning routing herself. With one less thing to worry about, they were more than happy to comply; somehow, she knew that things would be different under Aegyr''s watch.


    Embraced by the sudden solitude, she submerged herself in the water, trying to make sense of the chaos of the last few hours. She hadn''t dared to see Phobos'' face as she left; all she had was the memory of the stubborn glint in his eyes, and his confused and frantic face as she denied him. Her chest trembled and she started sobbing again: it wasn''t quite heartbreak, but it was the sadness of having to cut off the promise of a happy ever after.


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    And the saddest thing for her was that it wasn''t the war, it wasn''t the difficulties that would''ve arisen from living amongst people she couldn''t quite understand; it was that they''d never had enough time for them to grow the strength that would''ve been required to get through it all. Phobos had a different idea of what a relationship could be than she did; and even for all his virtues and all the things she loved about him, she knew it would be an uphill struggle.


    She wondered if she''d done the right thing, not for the first time. She''d doubted herself before, during and now, after running away from him. But she remembered her father, and the things he''d told her about his marriage with her mother, and she knew that Phobos and her would not get even near to that level of bliss.


    Still, she cried. She wished she could have tea with Hyperion, so that he''d tell her she was being silly. She came out of the bathroom feeling spent; her face was puffy and her eyes red. She tried arranging it briefly before giving up, thinking that the stoic Aegyr would not deign himself to notice or even mention her emotional state.


    Her hands toyed with the fabric of the now familiar blue robes, feeling a wave of despair come over her. What would happen to her now? Hyperion, Eon, all their state were in Aegyr''s hands until she arrived in Elysium. Then, perhaps she could find a way to escape.


    She dressed herself, and noticed that the Baron had also left a single earring in a case, next to the clothes. It was long; if worn it''d have reached the top of her shoulder. It was also adorned with sparkling diamonds the size of small tears. A very delicate and beautiful piece of jewellery, that unfortunately she could not use as she had never had her ears pierced.


    She left it back in its case, and went out. Baron Doria was waiting outside, standing next to her door as if he was her own personal guard. Not really knowing what was appropriate for her to say, she simply nodded at him before knocking on Aegyr''s door. She heard the Baron hurriedly run towards her, spluttering something.


    The door opened by itself, causing the Baron to stop dead in his tracks. Ophelia walked in, not really caring that some sort of mistake had been made. She was tired.


    "The Baron has the job to announce your presence," Aegyr said as he stood up from his desk. He shot an irritated glance towards the other Elysian, who had his head bowed and was standing outside the room. "Commoners and the low ranks need no introduction. Baron, this is the sort of instruction I expect you to do, so I don''t have to deal with it."


    He shot another irritated glance at her, before sighing. "I don''t see the Lyre''s Tears, either."


    The Baron now looked panicked. "Your highness, did you perhaps happen to see a case next to the robes I laid out for you?"


    "Ah," Ophelia looked at Aegyr, confused, and then grabbed one of her earlobes. "I don''t have my ears pierced, so I can''t wear it."


    Aegyr didn''t miss a beat. "Bring it here, Baron, and leave."


    The Baron did as instructed, and left the case with the earring on the table before closing the door after him. Aegyr waited patiently until they were alone, then with a swish of his hands had the earring rise from the case and into his hands. "The Lyre''s Tears are only given to those with the greatest amount of aether in the empire. Given the circumstances, I will give you mine to wear, but you shall have yours once we''re back."


    "Do I have to wear it?" Ophelia eyed it, frowning.


    "You will soon tire of having to explain your origins, and a lot of conflict might arise from those who will not believe you. With this, there''ll be no need for explanations."


    Ophelia once again touched her ears. "I''ll tell the Baron to help me get it pierced, then."


    "No need," Aegyr said, and slowly approached her. He motioned for her to present her left ear to him. As he leaned in, she felt his hair brushing the side of her face, and the smell of fresh pine invaded her senses. His finger tapped the bottom side of her earlobe, and she felt as if she''d been stung by a hot needle. He fixed the earring on her and stepped back, taking the scent of pine with him.


    She touched the earring, marvelling at how light it really was. "It reacts to your aether," he said, and before she could even notice he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "It shines with different colours, depending on the person."


    "What colour is it?" Ophelia asked, trying, to no avail, to catch sight of the diamonds in the lower part of the earring.


    "Gold," he said, his voice so low it gave the entire moment a more intimate feel than it needed. "When I wear it, it turns turquoise. My father also wore it, and his would be of the colour of emeralds."


    Ophelia evaded his gaze, feeling it was too intense for her liking. To her relief, he gestured at her to take a seat, and she gladly laid claim to one of the fainting couches that had been arranged at the centre of the room.


    "In the coming days, we will hunt down the Phrygian rebels that still remain in the city," he said. "We are looking for their prince now, as we speak. Is there anything you''d like to tell us?"


    He took something from the leather pouch that hung from his waist, and placed it on the table. Ophelia recognized it as one of Hyperion''s arm bands.


    "I guess these tears count for nothing," Ophelia sighed, referencing the earring he''d just put on her.


    "Everything has their own place in the universe, lady Ophelia; this, I''ve told you before. Elysians have the privilege to be custodians of that order, to ensure it is maintained. You''ve arrived here from Byzantium, but your true self hasn''t been revealed yet. Once it has, I assure you, you''ll face no opposition from me or anyone else, because you''ll work towards the same goals."


    The implications of what he''d said were better explored in a horror movie, or so Ophelia thought. She decided to take the conversation somewhere else, before they delved too much in Elysian theology. "After I came back from their hideout, I had no contact with any of them until I met Phobos again today. We¡­ resolved a matter that had been left open between us, and I left him. I have no idea where he is now, or what his plans are."


    "That was the last I''ll see of him¡­ and it would have been true, even if I hadn''t fallen into your hands."


    She thought the matter had been laid to rest, but even then she felt tears coming back to her eyes. Without realizing what she was doing, Hyperion''s armband flew into her hands, and she began to fumble with it, trying to calm herself.


    "What was he foolish enough to do that when you came into the merchant''s villa, your face was red and streaked with tears?" the question surprised her, and she looked up, noticing the curious and innocent look in Aegyr''s face. Once again, she was caught by surprise at the show of naked emotion, at what emerged from the cracks of his cold facade.


    Ophelia really didn''t think she was ready to have her therapy session with him of all people, but something in his manner unleashed a need to revisit what had happened. Perhaps, as she talked through it, she could finally close that chapter. "Phobos was the one that found me when I came into this world. We rode to Caudiceum, where we met Hyperion, and eventually sailed to Arqa from there. As I had¡­ done certain things to help him, he began to believe he should be responsible for me. And things¡­ escalated between the two of us. I offered to help him with my powers, but he kept refusing me. I saved him from the Dorian fire, yet instead of his thanks I received his anger."


    "Does the merchant know¡­ about this tryst?" Ophelia nodded. Aegyr''s lips broke into an amused smile.


    "As you have probably known all along, we were never engaged," she said drily.


    "There''s a saying in Elysium, the man who dreams of the sun will never know the night sky is his. You did well in running away from the Phrygian; perhaps you will tell me I''m right when I say that your fates were never meant to be. They, the Chaldean, the Arqans ¨C everyone from outside the empire, they are fated to gaze at the sun, but never to embrace it."


    "I think it''s a bit more complicated than just fate," she replied.


    "But it plays out the same way, isn''t it? Or isn''t it what lies at the heart of your disappointment that he''s very Phrygian, and you''re very Byzantine?"


    He had a point. She looked away, turning Hyperion''s armband in her hands.


    "So you must have been the famed Hybernian princess that spoke perfect Iberian and Phrygian," Aegyr finally said. "I had imagined that it''d been someone close to him, but it must have been the prince himself who murdered his own men."


    "They''d betrayed him, sold him to their loyalists."


    "But your ability to speak so many tongues¡­ is that¡­?"


    "Something that I wished for it to happen when I arrived, and it happened. So far I haven''t found a single person whose language I cannot understand," Ophelia said. "But as you have seen, I cannot read nor write them. I can write in my own language, and have been practising the Akkadian script ever since I started working for Hyperion..."


    His eyes widened like they''d done earlier, when she mentioned something about her own world. She figured it was her time to play the game. "I could write something for you to show you, if you''d like¡­" he nodded eagerly, and she almost felt like she was talking to a young boy, not a grown man. "But I want to see Hyperion."


    The stoic Aegyr was back. "That won''t be possible."


    "You''ve said that as long as I cooperated he''d remain safe and sound," she complained. "I have no reason to trust your words. Let me see him, at least once."


    Ophelia leaned in, eyes intensely boring into Aegyr. "I''ll show you the Byzantine script. I can tell you more about that world, if you so wish."


    He sighed, and stood up. "Very well, you shall see him tomorrow. Prepare your goodbyes to him; this will be the last time you''ll meet each other."


    He dismissed her shortly after that. More and more of the empire''s troops would be arriving in the coming days; given that the news would quickly spread of the discovery of a Byzantine woman, Aegyr had told her to expect having to receive and greet many eager dignitaries and generals, who would try to approach her to curry her favour. "Use that earring to your favour," he said, and as if remembering her protests his lips curved in a smile as he added: "it''ll be more effective against them than it is against me."


    She was also told she was free to use her aether as much as she liked, but that any sign of dissent would be met with swift violence. She''d learnt that aether was what the Elysians called whatever it was that made her magic work; apparently all of the empire''s nobility had some, and their rank and that of their houses reflected just how strong it was. As she''d exhibited during the riots, someone with higher amounts of aether could cancel out the aether of someone weaker, but even then that was only a privilege of those with the highest rank. Baron Doria, for example, would not be able to cancel out anyone''s aether, even if he was stronger, as it was a skill that could only be performed by those who were worthy of the Lyre''s Tears.


    She dined with the Baron as he spoke to her about the class system in Elysium: that it was incredibly rigid, and strictly regulated. Marriages were only permitted amongst those of similar rank, and only after performing certain tests that proved the strength of their aether. "It''s to prevent it from diluting," he said.


    "Wouldn''t that lead to¡­ deformities, if everyone ends up being related to each other?" Ophelia, ever the twenty-first century woman, pointed out.


    "Once every fifty years certain rites are held," Baron Doria explained, "where princesses of tributary kingdoms will be sent to the holy temple in Sophia, where they reside for a month. During the night our most holy emperor will visit them, bestowing them the grace of an Elysian child. This creates new families and allows better relations with the tributes."


    "The emperor¡­" Ophelia mulled as she drank some wine. "The first emperor was from Byzantium."


    "We''ve only had one emperor, your highness," Baron Doria quickly corrected her, and her eyes grew wide. "He is still among us, guiding us. He resides at the holy temple."


    "So¡­ he''s immortal? What is he like?"


    "It is said he never ages¡­ but I''m afraid I have never seen him, nor know of anyone who''s ever spoken to him. Mundane issues are handled by the Pleroma, our parliament, and even during the rites of baptism and the Bacchanalia it is all held behind closed doors. Not even the women he lies with are allowed to look at him."


    "So he could be dead for all you know," Ophelia said cheekily. Baron Doria flinched back, eyes wild, as if she''d just spit on his mother''s grave right in front of him.


    "I beg your pardon, your highness, but those are words that should never be said," the man seemed to be on the verge of crying. "To us he''s more than a leader, even more than a god. We all trace our bloodlines to him; despite how lacking we may be, we consider him our family."


    "How far away are you from him," Ophelia asked. "Is he your grandfather?"


    "He''s my grandfather''s grandfather," he replied, and when she asked after Aegyr, he added: "His excellency is his grandson. But that is a special case; the Scipio family was one of the first ones to follow him, and so he rewarded them for their loyalty during his excellency''s grandmother''s era, and called her to the Bacchanalia."


    Ophelia turned her face away to try and hide her disgust. It was all too macabre for words. Should she, perhaps, change the label of that story from strange fantasy to a dark sci-fi? What that mysterious emperor was doing, of course, was nothing short of genetic engineering, rudimentary as it was.


    She dismissed Baron Doria soon after, unable to stomach the rest of her dinner. The more she learnt about the empire, the more she felt like she was walking into hell itself. Perhaps she''d been too eager to refuse Phobos'' offer, but now it was too late. It didn''t escape her notice that there was an unspoken ending to Baron Doria''s tale, one that she shuddered to think of. It was inevitable that she''d come to face the emperor at some point or another, and she dreaded to think of what her fate would be if she fell into his hands.


    The next day she awoke feeling sluggish, perhaps because of the use she''d given to her aether the day before. Baron Doria had informed her that two of the Knights would escort her after breakfast to the palace dungeons, where political prisoners were normally kept. When it was time, she took Hyperion''s armband with her, which she''d tied to the sash around her waist. She hoped, contrary to Aegyr''s expectations, that it would not be the last time they saw each other, but she dearly wished that the next time would be in different circumstances.


    Dungeons, both in reality and in the imagination, were dreary places. Dark, cold, humid, they had all the makings of what made humans miserable: they were dusty and dirty, and smelt terrible. It had been an entirely intentional choice to place them right next to where refuse and the remnants of the palace''s feast would be left to rot. Some of the farmers and the folk that served in the castle used the grounds outside to raise their pigs in, famed animals that they were for eating trash. This meant that even by way of the unholy noises and screeches the animals would make that the prisoners would be assaulted: there was little respite.


    As they descended through the uneven stone steps of the entrance, Ophelia took account that it wasn''t just that they held prisoners there: they also interrogated them. The cells all surrounded a central area where a single guard stood watch, sitting on an old, shabby chair. Against some of the walls a number of instruments had been left, and in the middle of the room there was the big table where it was clear that they had been used. Dark stains had been left to seep into the tired wood of the old thing, which had been so badly disfigured that it had started to lose its rectangular shape.


    When the guard saw the three of them arrive, he jumped out of his char and knelt deeply to them. He was an Arqan that spoke nothing more than his language, and the Knights that were with her had little success trying to issue their orders. Ophelia interceded, "we''re here to see the Chaldean merchant," she said. "Open the door to his cell."


    His movements were all exaggerated, probably because of how nervous he was. As he opened the door to the cell closest to the entrance (and, Ophelia noted, furthest away from the stench and the noise of the pigs outside) the Knights walked a step closer to her, as if to remind her of their presence. They said nothing, but it was clear that Aegyr had instructed them to be alert in case she tried to pull any tricks.


    "Now the princess truly looks like a princess," she heard Hyperion''s voice from behind the door, and the moment it was open she flew right into the cell, and into his arms.


    The sudden movement alarmed the guards, and she felt their aether starting to summon something. She turned her head and glared at them, "I should be allowed this much, shouldn''t I?"


    She then ignored them completely as she took in Hyperion''s pale, tired face. It was true that money would improve any situation, even his: the entire cell had been furnished with rugs, and plush pillows had been set up for him to lie on. He''d been given large jars with water and a marble basin to wash with, which she supposed was the luxury hotel treatment of the time. "Where''s Eon?" she asked.


    "They''ve put us all in different prisons, in case you¡­ ah, didn''t cooperate, as you''d imagine."


    There was very little light in the cell; during the day a bit of sunlight came from a slit at the top of the wall. The rest had to be managed by candles and the myriad of oil lamps Hyperion had lying around. It made it all the more eerie to see his face lit up by the glow that emanated from her earring, the soft golden light reminding them that he wasn''t the only prisoner.


    "Aegyr told me he''ll release you the moment we land in the empire. So until then¡­ please hold on," Ophelia smiled sadly. "I want to believe he will keep his promise."


    "It''s not something I''m worried about," Hyperion admitted. "As long as he believes he has leverage over you in some other way, he''ll let me go. I''m useful in my own ways."


    She sighed; his words lifted a certain weight from her shoulders.


    "I don''t know whether to feel relieved or frustrated that you didn''t leave with that Phrygian prince. Lord Scipio told us you''d saved him during the riots, and then the two of you were nowhere to be found. The bastard even said to me, ''your wife-to-be is exceedingly friendly with other men''."


    Ophelia blushed, eliciting a laugh from Hyperion. "I told him I wasn''t afraid to share my wife, because she would always come back to me in the end," he said with a wink. "Although, I''m disappointed to see that you''re so loyal. You walked straight into their hands."


    "I¡­ couldn''t leave with Phobos, and if I stayed in the city it would be only a matter of time before they found me. I knew they''d make trouble for you. I chose my battles."


    Hyperion reached out, grabbing a strand of her hair to play with. "So, he''s gone?"


    Ophelia thanked everyone she could that her dominion of different languages awarded her the perfect solution to speak in absolute privacy. "He said he was going to the Kushite Kingdom."


    "And you¡­?"


    "I wished him success," her eyes strayed to the side. She felt a pair of hands grab her chin very softly, and her face was tilted upwards: Hyperion caught her lips in a kiss, which like him, was cheeky and smelt like myrrh. She felt a tongue darting to lick her lips before she was yanked away from him by an invisible force, his body roughly tossed to the floor to separate them.


    Regardless, all she heard was his delighted laughter. "Go, don''t worry about me!" he shouted as she was pulled back by the Knights. "I shall find you again."


    Her fingers touched her lips as she was hurriedly dragged upstairs, and out of the dungeons. His touch was slightly stingy, like the after taste of spice; cheeky, at least for her, yet sacrilegious to the two Elysian Knights who thought what he''d done amounted to nothing more than assault. Once she was past the initial shock, she asked them to calm down, "it has nothing to do with you," he told them. "This is a matter between him and I. We''ve said goodbye, didn''t we? I think it wasn''t too bad of a send-off."

 Chapter 12

    Once more, she woke up to the smell of ashes. She cleared the air in her room with her aether, something that was almost subconscious by that point. It wasn''t bad enough that the smoke would cling to her skin, to her clothes, but it was ever-present, and a reminder of what was happening outside of her golden cage.


    The Elysian troops had arrived a week before, warships emerging from the horizon one after the other, turning the blue sea black. She''d seen them from the top of the Arqan palace''s rooftop, and had marvelled at their appearance: covered entirely in tar, their designs were sleek, made for speed. Unlike the cargo ship she''d been in, these required no oarsmen: they were pulled by grace of the Elysians'' aether. She''d been told by one of the Knights that a regular merchant ship would take two weeks and a half to cross the Atlantean sea to arrive at the Empire; for them, it was only a week-long trip.


    With their arrival, those who had been waiting for their chance called for all-out rebellion. The Lord Principal had all but been sequestered to a wing in the palace, and most of the preceptors had been rushed away, to remain housed in the central temple of the city until the Elysians stabilised the situation. Philistia and Latil had protested what they considered an invasion, but officially the Elysians had been called to protect the citizens doing trade in the city, citing specifically the brutal attack of the envoys that had been escorting Ophelia.


    It all became busier during the night. She''d observed from her balcony as more people would hurriedly walk through the gardens, occasionally shouting someone''s name to get their attention. Every now and then she''d be woken by the sound of the knights arriving to their quarters late into the night, sometimes laughing, sometimes in silence ¨C but she''d noticed, never mourning. Throughout the hostilities, she hadn''t seen a single Elysian casualty outside of the men that Phobos himself had killed on the day they''d parted ways.


    "They''re not warriors, most of them," one of the Knights had said to her. "They''re commoners who are simply using this as an excuse to loot and riot. Those that are trying to agitate them are not well-organised, for the most part."


    "Why is this lasting so long, then? By now you''d think they would have calmed down."


    "There are outside forces interfering, your highness. We''ve seen foreigners carrying swords, mercenaries shooting war bows, explosives that could''ve only come from one of the trade posts in the east. What we''re really fighting against is them."


    And when they fought, they showed no mercy. The Elysian envoys she''d initially met, she''d learnt, were mostly diplomats and bureaucrats in similar rank to Baron Doria, with very limited access to their aether and a skill mostly for rhetoric. Aegyr had been sent as part of a longer reconnaissance mission, and if the Phrygians hadn''t done their part, he would''ve left the council after the initial night she''d translated for him.


    Those now on the streets were the elite soldiers ¨C the ones sent to invade, or as they liked to call it, pacify other kingdoms. They attacked ruthlessly, they were trained to use their aether in conjunction with highly complex tactics, they were disciplined and had no fear of the men they faced. She''d learnt they were all men past their mid twenties, and would''ve been expected to have at least two children before they were sent away. "To ensure the legacy is carried on," one of the Knights had said.


    She''d found that, despite her initial impression of the envoys and Aegyr, a lot of the Knights seemed to enjoy a bit of banter, and were not above playing pranks on each other. She''d come across two of them about to drop an entire bucket of old wine on an unsuspecting colleague two days after her visit to Hyperion. Until then, they''d been exceedingly formal with her, and initially the two pranksters froze when they realized she''d caught them in the act¡­ only for her to use her own powers to tip the bucket and finish the job. Hilarity ensued, and relieved that she wasn''t about to tattle on to Aegyr, they''d become bolder, letting her join in their little games.


    There was, however, an invisible wall between them that could not be broken: they still had a hierarchy to respect, and a job to carry out. It was all the more obvious when, a few days after the prank, she was taking her customary daily walk through the palace gardens (coincidentally, she passed through the same one she''d once been almost chased off from) and an Arqan preceptor she''d spoken to during the Council meetings recognised her.


    "Lady Ophelia!" he called after her, "you''re here!"


    She stopped to say hi, when the Knights that were with her blocked her vision, and she felt a gasp from the preceptor as he was thrown backwards by an unseen force. "What''s wrong?" she asked, hand reaching out to the black robes of the man in front of her.


    "His excellency has given orders that your highness is not to associate with foreigners."


    Ophelia protested loudly, absolutely livid that Aegyr would try to control who she spoke to. "Your highness," one of the Knights leaned in to whisper in her ear, "we''re under orders to retaliate if you make a scene ¨C if you continue, we''ll be forced to kill that man."


    That was enough argument to calm her down. "Let''s go then. I''ll go complain to Aegyr myself."


    However, and as expected, the man would hear no arguments. He received her in his room a few hours later, and after her initial rant, he spent a few minutes in silence, looking through the window. "You will not see them after a week ¨C is it really that important?"


    "What do you get out of this?"


    "Absolutely nothing," the man said, and he stood up to walk to her. As it''d become a strange custom for him, he reached out to touch the earring he''d lent her, which permeated her face in a soft golden shimmer that became more noticeable as the evening grew darker. "It hasn''t escaped everyone else''s notice that you''re roaming around the palace escorted by two Knights at all times, and that the one-time translator is now wearing the Elysian robes. Those who want to believe we started all this mess murdering the two Philistians, they might think that you were part of that plot."


    "Is it possible in this world that someone might blow another person up by simply greeting them?" Ophelia crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow at the other''s ridiculous explanation. "Or how is a simple conversation meant to be so dangerous?"


    Aegyr''s lips curved in amusement, despite his frustration. "You''ve given me no shortage of examples yourself, my lady. I wonder how is it that I''m still standing, sometimes."


    Ophelia''s glower didn''t join in the joke, and Aegyr sighed, releasing the earring he''d been playing with. "It is best to minimize all the possible disruptors. I don''t want to take any chances. One never knows what someone''s words will trigger."


    As it had become the norm, there was no satisfactory conclusion to the conversation. It always felt like he''d listen to her, twist her words around, and then agree to disagree, as if it was the most natural of things to have to disagree to her wanting to do something that was possible for most of humanity.


    She decided, eventually, that her only option was to play the long game: she''d obey their rules, don the robes and the Lyre''s Tears and spent her days like a ghost roaming the crumbling Arqan palace while the Baron whispered in her ear.


    Her compliance, she knew, would breed carelessness.


    "Your highness!" Baron Doria called her from inside her room. She was in the balcony, watching distractedly as what seemed to be a group of twelve Knights escorted an Elysian man into the inner courts of the palace. "His excellency is calling for you," he said, partly out of breath. Ophelia guessed, correctly, that she was to meet some more Elysian personalities that afternoon; the Baron probably had come running from the large meeting hall on the south wing, which is where Aegyr normally conducted his business from.


    She nodded and let him lead the way. "Baron, who is it this time?"


    "It''s Duke Crescentio," he said with some excitement. "He''s the vice-commander of the Knights."


    Ophelia remembered Aegyr''s words from the day before, when he''d told her he expected them to sail to the empire very soon. He''d been waiting for someone to take over his post.


    Duke Crescentio was a man in his mid-forties, similar in stature and build to Aegyr, but a polar opposite in nature. Where one was stoic and distant the other seemed more relaxed and approachable ¨C when he saw her he stepped out with a smile to bowed her head to her, telling her he was very excited to see history being written.


    "It''d be an honour if you could pay my wife a visit when you arrive in Aurelia," he said with a candid look on his face. "You must be tired of the company of all these soldiers ¨C I''m sure you''ll want to spend some time with other ladies, make some friends."


    Ophelia, unbeknownst to him, made him subject to the age-old British custom of politely promising to make plans that one never intends to follow through. It didn''t escape her notice that he was wearing the Lyre''s Tears as well ¨C which shone in a delightful violet colour ¨C as none of the Knights had ever done something as outrageous as offer their wives as potential connections when she arrived at the Empire.


    After a few more platitudes she was released, and she began to make her way back to her room. Someone had called for Baron Doria before they left the meeting hall, so she had a rare moment of solitude as she traversed the palace on her own. She''d told the Baron a Knight was waiting for her outside of the room, and she''d acted so swiftly with her lies that he didn''t suspect her at all.


    She was wondering if she should sneak out to see Hyperion when she heard a man''s shout above her. Before she had time to properly understand what was happening, she willed her aether to act, and the body that had been about to fall on her floated weightlessly into her arms.


    "I seem to have caught¡­ a man?" she said out loud, not quite understanding what had happened.


    "Most gallantly, at that," the man said with a wink, before jumping out of her arms. He grabbed her hand and then began to run through the garden, towards the entrance to the ruined forum building.


    "Wait! What are you doing?" she asked, but she knew from the shouts that were following them that the man was running away from the Knights. They stopped inside the charred hall, near the stone platform where the orators had once taken the stage. The stranger put a finger to his lips, and made a gesture towards the ground ¨C and then, to her surprise, it began to move. What had seemed to be just a platform turned to be a big stone slab, with stairs leading to an underground passage.


    "My mouth ran on me," the stranger admitted once they were hidden away in the stairs, the slab covering their exit. "I think I angered them."


    "What do I have to do with all this?" Ophelia asked, incredulous. "You just kidnapped me!"


    The stranger laughed, and pointed towards the Lyre''s Tears.


    "You''re no damsel in distress, my lady," he said. "But you looked a bit mischievous, so I thought we could be mischievous together."


    Ophelia frowned at him. She didn''t recognise him: if he was a Knight, he must''ve arrived with Crescentio''s troops. He was taller than her and rather skinny, although not as frail-looking as Hyperion. His hair was blonde, and was kept in a messy braid at the back of his head, but what was most surprising to her were his eyes, which seemed to be a beautiful, regular, normal brown.


    "How mischievous are we talking about?" Ophelia smirked. "Pulling a prank on a Knight, inciting a riot, or making Aegyr angry? I''ve done all three."


    The stranger laughed.


    "I think tonight we can try to make Lord Scipio grow a few white hairs," he said, and pulled her forward, deeper into the passage. "At some point this secret tunnel was constructed in case some angry terrorists tried to create an uprising¡­ but as it often is the case with such things, the automata they created to move the stone failed in a crucial moment. It is, however, a fun option for an Elysian who wants to sneak into the city to have some fun."


    "Is it possible to have some fun in the middle of war?" she asked, frowning.


    "This is not war," the stranger said as he chuckled. "An army on both sides is needed for a war. These are just some petty riots."


    Ophelia begged to differ, but she wasn''t about to school the man on the details of modern warfare. Perhaps he was right, in that time and place, where conflicts should last only a few months, if not less.


    The passage wasn''t long ¨C they must''ve walked a few minutes before they came across a wooden door. It was thick, and the moist air of the tunnel had made it swell until it seemed to be bursting into the stone walls. Upon closer inspection one could feel cracks where the cool sea breeze would sneak through. The man held up a single finger against it, and it crumbled into pieces, as if the rot of a hundred years had spread in the course of one second. Behind, they found that the entrance had been hidden from view by a number of thick bushes that had been left to their own devices: to get through, they had to make their way hacking through them.


    It wasn''t just the bushes they had to struggle with: it seemed whoever had originally planned the passage spared no thought to its maintenance. She wondered, had they no recourse to their aether, how would they be able to safely make their way out of the palace like that? The bushes had grown on a small terrace, the size of two large buckets: below, the bedrock of the natural hill on which the palace stood offered a clear drop into the slums, about forty feet of nasty free fall. "I guess that''s why the passage was forgotten," she commented as they both looked down below. "Count to three?" she looked at the man that was still holding her hand.


    "Before that," he said, reaching out to her face. She froze, unsure for a moment as to what he was trying to do, before he removed her earring and handed it back to her.


    After it was safely put away along with Hyperion''s armband in one of the satchels that hung from her waist, she pointed out that her blue robes were incriminating enough.


    "Take out your toga, and put this on," he said. She supposed that his black outer tunic was simple enough that it wouldn''t draw too much attention: she was wearing a simple off-white skirt, and underneath the shimmering blue tunic there was a simple one-piece gown of sorts. She folded the toga and hid it in the foliage of one of the bushes, and gave a thumbs up to the man.


    He looked confused, almost taken aback. "Ah, apologies," she said, figuring she''d just committed a faux pas, "I forget our expressions are different."


    "What does that mean for you?" he asked, curious. "I''d think you were telling me to die."


    "What?! Oh, heavens no ¨C it means ''ready'', ''all-good'', I suppose?"


    "I will come back to ask you to teach me more Byzantine expressions, my lady," he said, satisfied. "But for now, shall we go?"


    And off they jumped, hand in hand so they could time their fall better. Ophelia had never done such things, and it almost felt like one of those dreams where one was able to kick into the air and fly at will, but instead of floating awkwardly one sort of knew that at the end of that cliff their descent would softly stop, and their feet would touch the ground as if they''d been walking down a flight of stairs. They carefully climbed over the roofs of the densely packed houses; these were some of the slums that dotted Arqa like any major city that had any semblance of wealth.


    Owing to the ingeniousness of poverty, most of the houses had been half-built into the bedrock, making use of the natural terrain when it allowed them to. They could hear the animated voices of families gathered around to prepare their food for the evening, or to finish their last pieces of work before the night sky robbed them of their light. Like giggling teenagers trying to skip class after lunch, they jumped into a dank, solitary alleyway, and made their way into the streets, trying to blend in with the crowd.


    "You can speak Arqan to me," he whispered in her ear, and she nodded. Their disguises were complete.


    He seemed to know his way through the city. "Are you hungry?" he said, leading her through a maze of very narrow streets, so small one would not be at fault for calling them alleys. She nodded. "I know of a good place for food. But first," as they neared the end of the street they were met with what could be considered a dead end for someone of a specific size. The buildings had proliferated so uncontrolled that the walls of the two houses that lined the end of the street had greedily occupied every bit of terrain possible, leaving only a gap of about half a meter to go through to the other side.


    The stranger squeezed in first, and then it was her turn ¨C it was only a step or two, hardly anything that would make anyone uncomfortable. What met them on the other side was nothing short of a stunning view of the port, with the dark blue sea dotted in black ships reflecting the reddening sun. They had arrived at a square of sorts, and from it one could see the rise and fall of the different districts in the city: slums, guilds, workshops and villas, all naked to the eye, ready to be captured in a map.


    "It''s a beautiful sight," she breathed. "Certainly better than the one you get from the palace."


    "Confinement tends to make a lot of things uglier," the man said next to her.


    "You seem to be familiar with this city, but I know you haven''t been here for long."


    "You know?" He shot her a quizzed look.


    "At this point I''ve memorised the faces of all the Elysians that go through the palace; I assume you came with Crescentio, as I haven''t seen you before."


    He laughed. "You are right, I did arrive with his troops. How observant of you, my lady. And yes, this is not my first time in Arqa. I''m not quite one of the Knights, but trained like one. They call us praetorians, and we''re tasked to travel outside of the Empire on various missions, often the type that require things other than full-scale combat."


    Ophelia narrowed her eyes, a smirk on her face. "A spy, then?"


    "We gather intelligence when needed, yes."


    She was about to ask him for a story, but her complaining stomach stopped her. "To our next stop, then," the man said with a smile, and made a gesture for her to follow him.


    They began to walk down the hill, taking streets that seemed to become wider and framed by larger, better-kept buildings. Instead of simple one-room shacks, and pig pens taking half of the street they began to see more carefully tended gardens poking out of brick walls, with some residences even boasting a private well. It also became quieter, with families sequestered further into their homes: only servants roamed the streets, carrying buckets of water to and from the collective fountain at the end of the street.


    It certainly didn''t look like an area that would boast from a lively public house. And to Ophelia''s surprise, that wasn''t where they were headed to: it was some other building, the likes of which she hadn''t yet seen before in that world. At a place where six roads converged stood a large hall, almost like a market building, surrounded by galleries. It was very lively, unlike the dead streets around it, with families sitting inside in long, communal tables, and groups of men hanging out in the galleries drinking and eating.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Wow," she breathed, eyes shining with the recognition of something she hadn''t know she''d missed. "It''s like a food market."


    "Fu-maer-ke?" the elysian next to her repeated. "Is that what you call a taberna?"


    Ophelia nodded. "Where I''m from, these were very common. You can sit and have food at that place, or you can take it with you and eat it as you walk."


    "How silly. How does one eat and walk? Why not just sit down and enjoy it?"


    "Uh, life is very different there," she couldn''t help but shrug at the intricacies of modern life back on earth. "Since we invented clocks to tell the time, we barely have time for anything, let alone eating."


    "Well, I propose we do it my way rather than yours," he said with a smile. "And you can tell me more about this strange way of life."


    Ophelia, prisoner to the ache in her belly, had no choice but to accept. They ended up getting something that the Elysian called ''a pease pudding'' ¨C which was a variation from the one she was familiar with: spiced with herbs and mixed with fig paste, it packed more of a punch, and it was served on a large flat bread of sorts, but made with animal fat.


    "I didn''t think I''d catch myself saying this, but I''m happy to do something that I used to do in Byzantium," Ophelia confessed, happily munching away at the street food.


    "Do you not miss your land?"


    She shook her head with a smile. "That land doesn''t miss me; I have no one waiting for me back there. But there are certain¡­ luxuries, that I miss. Instead of using chamber pots, each house has at least one room where one can do their necessities, and by pressing a button water comes from a pipe and flushes away all the waste. There are taps for bathing, one for cold water, one for hot water. Taps in the kitchen, to wash the dishes or get water for cooking and drinking. And the machines¡­"


    "There are machines that wash the clothes for us, that do the dishes for us. We don''t need to keep open fires in our kitchens: we have machines that are able to heat pans without the need for fire. And there are machines that act like ice houses, the size of a large chest, where one can keep food fresh for weeks, in the cold."


    Ophelia laughed to herself. "I guess when one can use aether in this world it might not seem as miraculous; it''d be quite amazing for those in Byzantium to hear that one can do such ridiculous things here."


    "You traded one magic for a different kind," the man said. Ophelia agreed. "But it''s not all lost ¨C should you want to, I''m sure there would be enough scholars ready to hear your ideas to make these machines exist in this world, too."


    Where could the scholars of that era start, if they didn''t seem to know what electricity was? "I wonder," she said thoughtfully. "This world named mine Byzantium; there, that was the name of an old empire that had fallen about a thousand years before my time. But from what I''ve seen of this land''s technology and knowledge, it is very much like what my world''s technology would''ve been at the time of that empire. I thought, at first, that I had travelled back in time, until I realized none of the territories seemed familiar."


    The man seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. "Do you know the story of the founding of the empire?"


    "Not in detail."


    "Me neither," he said, "but the emperor, who came from Byzantium, did not just bring aether into this land; he was also said to have brought knowledge of technology that had not yet been invented, and it was that which made the empire great. The brute force of an Elysian will only do so much."


    Ophelia became lost in her own thoughts. If the technology the emperor had brought was medieval, would that mean that he''d hailed from a time a millennia before hers?


    She''d never given much thought to that other man that came from her world; she''d doubted, as she lay at night wondering about what had brought her to that place, that they''d even belonged to the same universe. There was, after all, nothing but centuries of myths between his arrival and hers, and the only thing that connected them was their strange appearance, their travel to that realm, and the strange powers they had.


    But she''d been walking in his legacy the whole time, seeing his shadows in the changes he''d brought to the empire he''d created, the kingdoms they''d conquered. She was starting to get curious about him, if only to understand if they had any similarities to share.


    "Have you seen the emperor?" she asked the stranger.


    "I don''t think anyone alive has. Why do you ask? Do you want to see him?"


    "No, not really," Ophelia confessed. "I''m slightly curious as to where he comes from, if he''ll feel familiar to me. But I fear I''ll end up a prisoner in Elysium until I die," she couldn''t help but laugh bitterly. "Not that it matters, since that''s where I''m heading anyway."


    The strange man stood up, and offered her a hand. "Never cast your lots too early, my lady. If he was able to build an empire, I''m sure you can make your own story."


    Ophelia took the offered hand, and they both starting retracing their steps to make their way back. "For an Elysian, you''re fun to talk to," she said with a laugh. "If I had said that to Aegyr, he would''ve told me it''s my fate and not to cry about it or something absolutely heartless along those lines."


    "I''ve been away for too long," he smirked, "that sometimes I forget where I''m from. It''s all part of my work as well ¨C if I spoke like them, I wouldn''t be as free to roam around."


    Having arrived back at the entrance of the passage, she returned his black tunic to him, and donned her blue stola again. "Although you know my name, I''d rather present myself: my name is Ophelia."


    The praetorian smiled at her. "I''m honoured, Ophelia. You can call me Orion."


    The way back felt a little less adventurous and more like the preface of a horror movie. Although anything could happen at that point, Ophelia had no doubts that Aegyr would know of her disappearance, and she started worrying for Hyperion. As if caught in a storm she''d been whisked off, entranced by the moment and the prospect of leaving behind that asphyxiating prison for a bit, forgetting that her rebelliousness would have consequences.


    Orion noticed her increasing tension and told her not to worry ¨C "Lord Scipio will be too busy scowling at me."


    The way they were caught reminded Ophelia of teenage movies where the rebellious female protagonist would be trying to sneak back into her own room, only to find that one of her parents was waiting for her all along. She''d always wondered about the logistics of pulling something like that off ¨C how long would the parent need to wait in the room, and what would they do in the mean time?


    Aegyr''s version of that storyline, however, had him sitting on her bed, reading through scrolls as though he was in the middle of a study session. He looked up as they walked in from the balcony, and after a long, suffering minute of silence he sighed.


    "I shall not place the blame on you this time, lady Ophelia, as I know better," he said. "But please do reconsider for next time. As for you¡­ praetorian primum, is it really beyond your control to act responsibly?"


    Orion smiled cheekily at the commander. "She''s not a prisoner, your excellency. And wasn''t I appointed as her chaperone? You know, after all, that those Knights are far too uptight; it''s too cruel to force their company on anyone."


    Aegyr''s curt expression didn''t change. He gathered his scrolls, and moved to leave the room. "Perhaps this is a conversation we should continue ourselves. Lady Ophelia, be warned that what the praetorian primum considers reasonable and what the rest of Elysium considers reasonable are two different things. It''s best kept in mind."


    Ophelia, who had already made her mind up that Orion was great to hang out with and didn''t care for any warnings Aegyr gave her, simply nodded and waved him goodbye. As her new ''chaperone'' walked to join the commander, he gave her a hesitant thumbs up that she returned.


    She slept sounder than she''d done in weeks. It was the morning that brought back that jaded feeling that made her second-guess herself and all the memories from the previous afternoon. Perhaps she should''ve been more cautious about the mysterious Elysian who''d called himself her chaperone. The slow dread of her incoming journey to Elysium began to make her paranoid.


    And then, Orion showed up at her door with a basket full of food and an amphora of water, and asked her if she was feeling like having breakfast outside.


    "A¡­ picnic?" she said, slipping into English. As she closed the door behind her and hurriedly put the Lyre''s Tears in her ear she explained to him, "it was not often that we had a warm, sunny day, so when it happened during the summer or the spring we''d take baskets of food with us to the commons. My father would bring something to read; I would bring something to play with."


    "Can a¡­ picnic happen anywhere?" Orion, delighted at the new word, asked.


    "Well, I suppose it could happen in one''s backyard as well. Anywhere that''s not inside the house, or a place where normally one goes to eat. It would normally be done somewhere scenic."


    "I suppose we''ll get a rather nice view of the port from there," he said.


    He led her through the gardens into the north wing, where the entrance to the palace was located. As they walked, she noticed that there was an abundance of Knights gathered in small groups or by themselves, eating, talking, or simply relaxing. It was more common to see them like that during the evening, after they''d come back from doing the rounds in the city during the day; by mid-morning the palace tended to see only the comings and goings of bureaucrats.


    "Is something happening? Why are all the Knights here?"


    "It''s been very quiet the last few days," Orion told her. "They''re preparing to leave for their next mission."


    At the site of the entrance, the palace''s outer walls curved inwards into a semicircle: covered in blocks of white marble, the outside acted as a sort of plaza where people gathered to trade and to meet. From its vantage position at the end of the street that climbed uphill from the port, it had been where the Arqan preceptors had met the envoys at the start of the Council, and where protestors had gathered weeks before to try and break into the palace.


    As it would be necessary with any edifice of that importance, the walls were fortified: watch towers had been built into them at every corner, with soldiers stationed along the top of the walls. It soon became clear that Orion''s picnic was to happen somewhere on the fortifications, as he took her to the stairs that led to the left gate tower. She wondered where they''d find the space to do anything, as the space inside was cramped and only allowed four or five soldiers, all of which were present and on duty.


    After three flights of stairs, she had to stop to catch her breath.


    "It''d be quicker to climb to heaven," she said to his amused stare. He laughed, but mercilessly carried on, and finally, they climbed up to the roof. The sun and the sea breeze rolled over their shoulders and their backs, welcoming them outside.


    Like any fortified tower, the roof had been lined with stone blocks in a step formation, to give spaces from which archers and other artillery could be shot from. That day, they''d be repurposed as seats, as some of them were wide enough for the two of them to sit comfortably.


    It was a nice view of the port, she thought. Not as good as the one he''d taken her to the day before, but it would be nice to have their food while they did some people-watching. The unrest had never discouraged the traders and their clients; as long as no one rushed to the palace, they would make use of the plaza to carry out their business.


    "What is to happen to Arqa now?" Ophelia asked. "It seems like Crescentio and his troops were not needed in the end."


    "Oh, he wasn''t sent here to deal with the Arqans. That was Aegyr''s task. After this mess, I suppose the cleaner option is to simply cut off the roots and plant a new tree, which is what has been happening so far."


    "What does that mean?"


    Orion pointed towards the far side of the plaza. She''d been told by a servant, during the Council, that the little wooden platform with the pole was a hanging noose, and that the plaza was were public executions were carried out. She''d thought it morbid at the time, and had made a point of avoiding looking in that direction when she passed it on her way back to Hyperion''s villa. That''s why she couldn''t quite remember if the extra poles at the side of the platform had always been there or was a recent addition, one made to hang the corpses that were exhibited there.


    "Who¡­?" Ophelia quickly looked away, dropping the bread she''d been eating to the ground, in disgust. A seagull that had been eyeing them from the other tower landed at her feet, intent on claiming the food for itself.


    "Careful, we don''t want to give them any ideas," Orion said as he pointed towards the seagull, which had been trying to greedily swallow the bread piece in one bite. The bird froze, restrained by the man''s aether. "The moment you yield an inch to the vermin, they will try to take a yard."


    A hole appeared in the animal''s body, as if pierced by an invisible arrow. The force that was restraining it disappeared, and it crumbled on itself, lifeless. Ophelia grabbed Orion''s arm and yanked it roughly towards her. "Please don''t do that in front of me," she said. Her voice came out firm, but she felt like she was trembling.


    The praetorian smiled softly, trying to pacify her. "Apologies," he said, patting her hand. "I shall keep it in mind."


    Ophelia released him, but she''d lost her appetite. She walked to the opposite end of the tower, incapable of looking at the plaza anymore, lest her eyes be drawn towards the bodies. Death had a morbid way of calling someone''s attention.


    "Who are they then," Ophelia repeated her question.


    "The Lord Preceptor, and some of his ministers," Orion said with some amusement. He watched her tense, turning to look at him with surprise in her eyes. "A new government was needed, one that will serve the empire''s interests, and will satisfy the demands of the city''s guilds. Sadly for the Lord Preceptor, his tendency to coexist with his officials'' corruption earned him no friends amongst the merchant class."


    "I thought the Arqans wanted nothing to do with the Elysians. They won''t stand for it."


    "You will see that nationalism is an illness that arises only when there''s too many empty pockets. And fragile as the current peace might be, the rebels will soon lose all their support from Latil and Philistia. That is why Lord Crescentio was sent in."


    "They''re¡­ invading the Free Cities."


    Orion smiled. "Veiling for the empire''s interests, and ensuring peace in the Atlantean Sea. It wouldn''t do for pirates to be roaming free again, taking refuge as they have in the outskirts of their ports."


    Ophelia turned towards the view inside the front courtyard of the palace. Inside, the Knights were gathering. Her eyes roamed through the dozens of dark blue robes. She wasn''t looking for anything in particular, but she found a small group of six Arqan bureaucrats trying to make their way among the Elysians, looking by all intents and purposes scandalized that they seemed like foreigners in their own land. Two of them ended up splitting up, walking off to the left, while the other four seemed to head towards the entrance. Amongst the latter, she saw one of them stop by one of the decorative urns that lined the stairs leading to the inside of the palace.


    She paled. It was something that had lived in her mind only as a by-product of the popular imagination of the era she''d been raised in. Her disbelief, however, wasn''t enough to stall her hand, as her instinct proved stronger: somehow, she made the urn and the man shoot up into the air, as if suctioned by the tail of a tornado.


    And as they flew up, several things happened: people shouted in shock, she felt Orion approach her to ask her what was happening¡­ and the urn exploded mid-air. She''d raised it far above the palace enough that the only one affected was the Arqan who''d set off the explosion, and whose body disintegrated in the hold of her aether as the shockwave of the explosion and the burst of flames devoured him.


    That was not the end of it: more explosive devices had been hidden along the courtyard and the palace, and one after the other they were set off by suicidal Arqans, who seemed like they''d been ready to die in the process of punching hard into the heart of the Elysian hold over their city. It was a tactic that been unknown in that land, until a bunch of Phrygian men proved that it was the best way to trap the Elysians: as some tongues had whispered in the underworld of Arqa, the element of surprise trumped over all aurelian miracles.


    It was devastating. Around them, four or five of the explosions burst into large fireballs, raising up dirt and debris into the air. Ophelia felt each of them like a punch in her guts; she called Orion to her, and threw the both of them to the floor as the shock waves hit. She imagined a shield over their bodies; Orion shouted something at her, but the explosion had blown her eardrums out. As the shrill pitch of the explosion''s scream rang in her ear, she felt the tapping of the debris as it was rejected by the invisible wall her aether had created.


    She laid there, tears trapped in her eyes, not quite sure what to do. Her mind was blank, spent after her initial reaction. Orion turned to face her. He was shocked, as well, pale as a ghost. His blond, wavy hair was halfway out of its braid, charred and full of soot. He closed his eyes for a moment, muttered something under his breath, and then reached out to her.


    The moment his finger touched her nose, she felt the world came back in focus. He''d fixed her hearing.


    "Let''s go down," he whispered, almost as if he was afraid to awaken any more explosions. "We ought to find survivors."


    Ophelia sat up, shakily, and observed the aftermath: the courtyard was covered in smoke and fire. She could barely see past the tower itself. She willed the smoke to clear, and as it did she also wrestled with the fires, putting all her concentration in slowing them. It almost felt like she was pushing down on them, trying to smother them with her will.


    It worked. And what was left behind was nothing short of an absolute massacre. Parts of the north wing had collapsed, along with the entirety of the west side of the wall. The inner courtyard was a mess of debris and bodies, black marks and bloodstains dripping on the once white marble.


    Everything was still, silent for an instant ¨C and then, moans from the survivors began to arise from the confusion in the ground. They were incoherent, low pitched chirps, and in someone''s morbid imagination they might''ve seemed as if the underworld had opened its gates, and one could hear its inhabitants call for their own from the other side.


    Orion and Ophelia jumped from the tower, landing in front of where the gate had been. The explosion''s shock wave had forced its hinges, and the thing fell backwards due to the effect of its own weight. Orion ran to the nearest Knight to begin his first aid while Ophelia paused to stare at the people standing outside, in the plaza. They were all silent, looking into the wreckage. The ones that stood closest had a dispassionate look in their faces, almost bored.


    "What are you doing?" Ophelia shouted at them, gesturing inside. "Will you not help?"


    None of them moved. A kid, a little street urchin, reacted by running towards the fallen gate with a blue piece of cloth, and then throwing it in her direction. He said nothing, only laughed cheekily at her, and ran back to hide amongst the crowd.


    Ophelia heard no arguments, no shouts, but somehow could tell what they were thinking. Elysians, help yourselves.


    She turned around, and as she walked, the gate behind her went back into its own place, hiding the massacre from the eyes of those who were surely rejoicing themselves. Could she blame them? The palace was nothing but a tangled mess of Arqan corruption and Elysian interests. For the common Arqan, it better not exist. But she wasn''t ready to try and play emotional chess with the rest of the city''s population at that exact moment, and so she joined Orion as they singled out the survivors and provided them with the Elysian version of first aid.


    The debris and the collapsed building soon became a hindrance. "There''re more people trapped underneath," she said to Orion, pointing towards the fallen roof of the north wing. "We''ll need to find a way to remove all this debris."


    "There''s only so much we can do, my lady," Orion''s fatigue became evident as he dropped to the floor to catch his breath. Using aether, as with any other muscle, would eventually drive one to exhaustion. "I''m afraid I can''t be as useful as a Byzantine in this situation."


    Ophelia wasn''t deterred. She took one look at the scene in front of her and bit her lips. "What is it that you call them? Aurelian miracles? Let''s see if we can pull one now¡­"


    She closed her eyes, and remember the palace as it had once stood. She walked through its hallways in her mind, sometimes patting the walls as if she was a mason checking the quality of what she''d just built. She reopened the gates of the north wing, sauntered towards the west wing, even visited the fallen parliament chamber. She had no idea how any of what she was doing worked; she only followed her instincts, and willed the stones and the bricks, the mortar and the stucco on the walls to go back in time, pretend the explosions had never happened.


    She didn''t know how long she did it for; she didn''t even know what it all looked like once she was done with her mental walk. Only two days later, when she awoke once again in the room she''d been staying in as if nothing had happened, that she realized that she''d fallen unconscious.


    It was midday, and she felt as if her throat had been coated in sand. Thankfully someone had left a glass with water next to her, and she gulped it all in one go. She would''ve questioned if it all had been a dream had it not been for the frailness of her body. Aches ghosted over her muscles, feeling as if they were coming from her very own bones. She had barely any strength in her arms and legs. She wanted more water, but she knew she wouldn''t be able to raise the jug that had been left next to her bed.


    "Baron?" she tried, her voice hoarse and feeble.


    She might''ve as well sounded an alarm bell in the entire complex. Her door was opened with some violence, bringing a rush of people in. Aegyr and Crescentio went in, then Orion, and lastly the Baron himself.


    "You''re awake," Aegyr was the first to reach her side, his eyes roaming over her face and the empty glass in her hands. He gently took it, and poured her more water. "How are you feeling?"


    "As if a truck had ran over me," Ophelia murmured as she slowly sat up, having once again downed the entire content of the glass. Realizing she''d slipped back into English, she cleared her throat and tried again. "I feel like shit."


    "That was a true aurelian miracle," Orion said as he sat at the foot of her bed with a cheeky smirk. Both Aegyr and Crescentio shot him nasty looks for his impertinence, but he ignored them both. "The palace looks as good as new. You even reconstructed the central chamber. The new Lord Preceptor will be very happy¡­ well, if he survives."


    "Did many people die?" Ophelia alternated her gaze from Aegyr to Crescentio. It was the latter that grimaced before responding, "we lost many of our Knights, unfortunately. And quite a few of the Arqan preceptors."


    "What about Hyperion?" she asked Aegyr, almost frantic. "Is he all right? And Eon, and the others you took from the villa?"


    "The dungeons, by virtue of their location, were entirely unaffected by the attacks," he replied flatly. It was clear that none of them cared; if he''d checked on Hyperion, it was only because he knew she''d ask. Ophelia sighed, feeling her body releasing a certain tension she hadn''t noticed until then.


    "Were the Arqans affected as much as the Knights and the rest of the Elysians?" Ophelia wondered out loud, knowing they weren''t the target of the attack.


    "The ones that survived the executions ten moons ago, yes," added Orion. "And of course, the purge¡­"


    "Purge?"


    Aegyr shot a murderous look towards the praetorian; Ophelia felt that he was very close to skinning him in front of her. Crescentio, who seemed to share his commander''s feelings, put a hand on Orion''s shoulder and suggested they leave. "Let''s leave his excellency the job of delivering the news to her highness. I do have some errands I need you to run, as well."


    Orion shot him an amused look before excusing himself. Baron Doria stood next to the door, awaiting instructions. Aegyr, always attentive, asked him to bring food for her.


    "So, what is this purge? What happened¡­?"


    Aegyr sighed before calling a chair to him and taking a seat. "After the explosions, and after you''d somehow rebuilt this entire palace by yourself, we gathered the Knights that had escaped death or injury and we began to investigate how the explosive devices had been set up. As it happened, many Arqan preceptors had colluded with rebels to make it happen. We dealt with them appropriately."


    "You executed them all."


    "Yes," Aegyr said as it was the most natural thing in the world. "We couldn''t show them any weakness, not after the sacrifice of so many of our own. Their deaths had to be avenged."


    Ophelia closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the stare in the Arqans'' face as they looked on the massacred bodies. "Won''t they just retaliate? This seems to be a never ending circle¡­"


    "I wonder who is left that can retaliate, and I wonder who is left who would even attempt to retaliate," at Ophelia''s doubting stare, Aegyr added, "because of what you did, there are rumours in the city that his majesty the emperor himself is in Arqa."


    Baron Doria returned then, carrying a tray with some fruits and a bowl of porridge. Aegyr took it from him and dismissed him. Ophelia held out her hands to receive the tray, but was surprised when the man placed it on his lap.


    "Your arms were trembling as they held a glass of water," he noted matter-of-factly. Ophelia''s eyes went wide, and she held out a hand in front of her, almost horrified at the prospect of the other man feeding her. Stubborn as she was, she asked for the spoon and the bowl and he sighed, obliging: he held the bowl for her, and watched impassively as she struggled to hold the utensil.


    "I hate this," she said after two attempts, feeling spent and in absolute pain. Aegyr said nothing, dipping the spoon in the bowl and holding it up to her as if it was the most natural thing in the world.


    Embarrassed and hungry, she said nothing more and allowed him to help her.

 Chapter 13

    Their departure took another week. She asked no details, but she saw the glint in the Knight''s eyes as they left the palace ¨C their backs were straight, tense, and their movements were snappy. Fresh off their ships they''d easily shared smiles, they''d played with each other, played pranks and gone in and out of the city as if it was an amusement park. It had been a tough awakening, to see themselves as vulnerable as they''d been, taken by surprise by the ingenuity of those who had more wits than manpower.


    War changed everyone, but their gifts made Elysians react differently: tragedy was uncommon, the shadow of death something that they lorded over their enemies rather than something that hung over their necks. In Phobos'' eyes, in Aristides'' eyes Ophelia had seen the ghosts of every brother they''d seen slain, and every man they''d had to kill. It simply hadn''t been as visible in the elite Elysian units.


    The game had changed. She wondered if word would spread of what the Phrygians had invented, what the Arqans had mastered. If the men who had survived would bring their weariness back into the Empire, engendering a new kind of brutality.


    She didn''t ask any questions, and didn''t dare look out to the plaza after that day, but she knew that a massacre was being carried out in Arqa at that very moment. There wasn''t any subtleties about what Aegyr and Crescentio wanted to convey to the other Free Cities, to the world: one should better be thorough, because if a single Elysian was left there would be hell to pay. She had attempted to protest, but Aegyr''s passive, empty stare and his absolute silence said that she would be given no say in the matter.


    Aegyr had told her he would escort her back to Elysium, along with Orion and six other Elysian diplomats, including Baron Doria. She asked again to see Hyperion, but was only allowed to see him from afar, from her balcony, as he was taken back to his villa to remain under house arrest. The weeks he''d spent inside his cell had left him looking pale, his hair longer than ever, yet this only made him seem more ethereal, unreal.


    Aegyr and Orion both stood next to her, making sure she wasn''t about to do anything crazy. "Are you not going to cry?" the latter said, "How cold of you."


    Ophelia watched on as Hyperion stepped into the carriage they''d prepared for him. She turned her head to the left, to smile at Orion, "why should I cry? I''ll see him again."


    Aegyr scoffed, drawing a laugh out of the praetorian. "Some would find that boldness delusional, your highness," the latter said.


    She shrugged off their disdain; she would make it happen. That ''aurelian miracle'' she''d pulled off had filled her with confidence. For the first time in weeks, she somehow felt that she was back in control of her own destiny. It was like an affirmation that what was at her disposal could move mountains and make the impossible seem possible, despite the trappings of the society around her.


    Hours later, it was their own turn to leave. Rather than a carriage, and as if to make a statement, the nine-person delegation would travel to the port on horseback. To almost make a parade out of it was meant to be a slap in the Arqan''s faces: they were being told that they could do nothing, that now their city was Elysian playground.


    Crescentio and his Knights all gathered to see them off. Her actions on the day of the bombing had transformed her in their eyes: they''d never doubted her origins, but now that she''d demonstrated in front of her eyes what she was capable of, all to save a few dozen lives, she''d become legendary. They all knew they''d borne witness to a moment that would become myth in history, and as she followed Aegyr dressed in her sparkling blue robes, they all acknowledged it by saluting her.


    It wasn''t like the military gestures she was used to: perhaps more spontaneous, and certainly more reckless, each of them held a hand up, cupping in their palms a small flame of Dorian fire. An avenue of blue, and the golden glow of her earring which like a star traversed down the night sky.


    Aegyr rode in front, and behind him Orion would follow with Ophelia; the other six Elysians would tail them in columns of two. It was a strange combination of pomp and ceremony with pure, unabashed improvisation, the likes of which come from genuine intention and not just artifice. As they passed through the gates she''d fixed herself, she took one last look at the palace she''d become so intimate with in the last few months, and knew she''d never see it again.


    Outside, the populace stared darkly at them, making no attempt at hiding their ill-will. Ophelia stared straight ahead, not wanting to see their faces. It felt strange to be at the receiving end of so much malice, and it certainly affected her; she knew that there was nothing she could do, even if she tried. Momentarily, she was trapped in Elysium''s embrace, and as such the fate and the actions of the empire would reflect on her.


    "See?" Orion whispered as they neared the port. "I told you. If you cull them at the right time, the vermin will not bother you."


    She turned around to glare at him. "Don''t be so cold-hearted."


    "I''m a realist!"


    From the palace, the black Elysian ships had seemed like tiny mice, scattered around the waters of the Arqan port. Up close they revealed themselves more imposing, their sleek lines giving them a certain futuristic look. They looked like they were out of place for that time, for that world, and it occurred to her that perhaps their design accounted for their strangeness. That perhaps they were meant to be a dreary sight for someone on shore, a line of uncanny ships from another dimension.


    There were no gangplanks for them; they weren''t needed. True to what Hyperion had once told her, Elysians looked for any opportunity to exhibit their uniqueness, and just like the silent parade to the port, it would also serve as a reminder to the native population. Aether carried them from the dock into the black deck, blue robes billowing in the wind.


    The Elysians that were in the port looked on, their eyes searching for her. She made no gesture towards them: she owed them nothing. Instead, she stood to the side of the ship that looked onto the great hills of Arqa, and searched the place where Hyperion''s villa stood. The only people she wanted to say goodbye to were there, sequestered away from her eyes. As they began to move, she took out the golden arm band that hung from her waist, and held on to it for comfort.


    It was an uneventful, boring first day. They took turns ''driving'' the ship, using their powers to push the vessel forward. Unlike what she''d done with Hyperion''s ship before, there were no sails and therefore no wind needed to be called forth: the ship simply sailed on by itself, as the waves parted ways for it.


    "Huh, I never thought about just carrying the ship," Ophelia confessed as she sat with Orion and Aegyr. The former had brought a few games with him to teach her; the first one was something very similar to the game battleship she''d played in her youth. After a few rounds, and due to her familiarity with its rules, she''d begun to take the lead. A disgruntled Orion had proposed to take a break, and this had prompted a conversation about who would be on the rotation for driving the ship next.


    "When I came to Arqa it felt only natural to take advantage of the sails and simply make the wind blow," Ophelia explained further, and then added. "It certainly makes it easier that it''s not a single person carrying it all the way through."


    "What a lucky Chaldean," Orion mused, "that he didn''t have to waste his gold in sailors."


    "Oh," Ophelia went to correct him. "When we set sail, he knew nothing about what I could do. There was an incident during our journey that forced me to reveal it to him. But he thought I was some Elysian runaway. And I''m not quite used to these long journeys; three days of work to avoid another six days of sailing was a good trade."


    "I don''t think I''ve ever heard of anyone manipulating the weather in such a way," Aegyr mused. "Did it require you to focus your thought on it?"


    "The entire time, yes. It was very tiring, and after we spotted land, I fell ill from exhaustion," Ophelia recounted.


    Both men were pensive; it was clear that the discussion was one that probably was almost academic to them. She was, after all, stretching the limits of what they knew.


    "It must be that, unlike an Elysian baby that is born with their aether and gradually learns how to harvest it, your body wasn''t quite ready to deal with the demands you put on it," Orion said. "But, aether is much like a muscle. It requires some training for it to bloom to its fullest potential, but its limits are predestined from birth. For a Byzantine, perhaps this limit does not exist, and it''s simply as much as what the body can take at any given time."


    "Did your emperor not do such things? Or was he never ill?"


    Her innocent question sparked a strange ardour in Aegyr, who seemed almost insulted by the implication that the Elysian emperor could do something as mundane and human as fall ill. He relayed some of the accomplishments that had become the fodder of many tales and stories that they were told as children. From his mouth Ophelia saw emerge the true nature of how its citizens regarded their emperor: more than simply a figure head, he was a god and a hero who, like Herakles, had gone through multiple trials to show his virtues to the world.


    He''d called a storm to drive off invading ships, cleared the water of Aurelia of its poison after enemy troops had laced it with arsenic, protected an entire castle from five hundred men by himself. He''d healed the sick, built and rebuilt fallen cities, saved crops destined to fail. His hand had slowly built and strengthened the burgeoning empire; his benevolence and charity seeming almost a caricature to Ophelia. It was like reading a story, not the real deeds of a man made of flesh and blood, who loved and hated, conquered and made terrible mistakes. Aegyr was a fanatic, it was clear, and this was probably true of most of the Elysian nobility. As the Baron had said, they all traced their roots to that larger-than-life figure, and the grander he seemed the more his halo extended towards them.


    Orion, bless the strange praetorian, was slightly more measured in his appreciation of the man he served: "how the emperor came into his strength is lost to the myth. That is true," he observed. "But some who study the history of the empire have remarked that his miracles became grander, as the situation called for it. Perhaps he, too, had to discover slowly what he was capable of."


    Orion felt that was as much as they needed to discuss about the emperor''s strength. It was clear that Aegyr''s storytelling had bored him, and he was looking for something more interesting to discuss.


    "But, I''m curious my lady ¨C you are not used to long journeys, you said. Why is that?"


    "I''m also not used to sea journeys," Ophelia clarified. "In my time, it''s more common to travel by air, using machines that are able to cross the sky like birds. I don''t know about distances in this world, but a journey that might take a person say, five days, you could do in three hours."


    That shocked the both of them, whose eyes went wide. "That''s¡­ incredible," Aegyr said.


    "It is," Ophelia had never stopped to think about it twice, always taking it for granted. Her life in that world had slowly unravelled a strange idea in her head, that perhaps the fantasy land was the one she''d left behind, with all its faults, and not the one she''d been transported to. "We would do these¡­ uh, holidays with my dad. People would often take a rest from work for a few days and journey into another city, another country, for fun. And we would go to this place that had very beautiful beaches, and where the weather was warmer than in London. If one were to make the journey the old way, one would have to ride from the city to the coast, which would take, let''s say, one day. Then one would have to sail for hours to reach the continent''s shore, and then ride south for days on end to reach the southernmost coast of the continent. And then, sail again to reach the islands. It would be perhaps, two weeks of non-stop travelling. But for us, it was only four, five hours journey."


    "There must be no kingdoms then, no empires," Aegyr breathed, in awe. "How could they exist when there''s no barriers between people, when distance is such a strange concept?"


    "We''re only human," Ophelia awkwardly smiled. "The distance might not be a problem, but it still exists in our minds."


    "Information must travel fast as well," Orion offered his own conjecture. "Messengers only require a few hours to go from one end of the continent to the other."


    "We don''t use human messengers, or physical letters¡­" Ophelia sighed, trying to figure out how she was going to tackle the most complex aspect of life on Earth in her time. "There are networks of¡­ wires connecting every city and every town on earth, and through these wires information travels so quickly that one can have a conversation with a person who lives on the other side of the world as if they were in the same room. Like we''re doing now. We know about things happening elsewhere at the same time they''re happening."


    "Your excellency, I surely hope you will make haste to call the scholars as soon as we arrive," Orion said excitedly. There was a distant look in his eyes, the sort that gave one the idea he was simply going through all the possible consequences of such a discovery making it to the empire. "We ought to have them work with lady Ophelia. This would change history, forever."


    For once, it seemed like the two men were in sync. "It would, indeed. Nothing would remain unknown."


    Ophelia had something to say to that.


    "The more information there is, the more difficult it becomes to tell what''s important from what''s not. And it will not stop people from lying. It''s still difficult to tell truth from fiction."


    Orion smirked.


    "All the wonders in the world will not change human nature."


    Aegyr disagreed, "a single look into the history of Lygeum reveals that there are noticeable differences in the nature of those who receive the blessings of civilization and those who don''t. When his majesty the emperor brought from Byzantium his wisdom he found a world that could be shaped by it, and when he used his blood to raise Elysium, he showed that such shaping could create a race that stands tall above the rest. Perhaps there is no remedy to all of human vices, but it is an undeniable truth that the Elysians are in this respect more virtuous than anyone else."


    Ophelia chose not to say anything at that point. In the solace of her own mind she told herself Aegyr''s outlook was disturbing, although not surprising. Ironically, his words were marks themselves of the excess of vanity that led some lost souls to regard those who were not their own as either above or below themselves. It was a tale as old as the ages, a primal instinct to show one''s tribe as different from everything else to affirm its own identity and place in the world.


    Orion felt like it was time to indulge his playful side. "So under your own logic, you would agree that lady Ophelia here should be the most virtuous of us all?"


    "Yes," Aegyr replied matter-of-factly, with such speed that it made one wonder if he''d heard the question at all. "Second to his majesty."


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Interesting. One would think you thought of her as a naughty child that needed to be taught a lesson."


    That took him a few contemplative minutes to answer. When he did, he looked straight into Ophelia''s eyes. "When his majesty the emperor arrived to this world, there was no order. He showed us the way. Lady Ophelia unfortunately saw this world first from the eyes of barbarians; it''s through no fault of her own that she was made to stray from the right path, but I felt it was necessary to make sure this was corrected."


    "I wonder what would happen if after all this, I still walked a different path from what you thought was the right one," Ophelia replied, her eyes hard and sharp.


    "That''s impossible," Aegyr smiled at her, and she saw a hint of arrogance in his gesture. It seemed that Orion was in agreement, as he nodded pensively. A tense moment passed between the two men and her, before the praetorian asked for another match of battleship.


    Their argument was buried under her good will; as much as she hated that insistence in her conversion to their convictions, she wasn''t about to spend and entire week at sea fighting over it. The next day, she tried to distract herself while she walked on the deck by telling Orion about the incident on the way to Arqa, wondering if the dangers of the Amber line were lurking nearby.


    "We''re further east," Orion replied. "And as far as I know from the sailors that travel through this part of the Atlantean Sea, there are no reports of such things. But that is interesting; I had always regarded them as mere rumours."


    "That''s what Hyperion said as well. But even if they were rumours, he showed enough respect for his sailors that he always hired more men than it was necessary, as he would always lose someone during these trips."


    "And what did this monster look like?"


    Ophelia opened her mouth to try and describe it, but the words initially escaped her. She remembered the worm-like creatures and shuddered at their parasitic zeal. "They had invaded the body of one of the sailors. He was found dead on deck, and when someone went to throw him to the sea, the creatures inside of him made the corpse move, act like it was alive. They were looking for their next host."


    "It reminded me of horror uh, movies. They are sort of like plays; and we had many where the story would revolve around the dead being re-animated and walking around as if they were alive, of parasites causing horrible mutations in men¡­ They were my favourites, because I found the concept so scary. And to see it for myself in real life¡­ it was terrifying."


    "You went to see plays that would scare you?" Orion asked with a laugh. "I''ve certainly enjoyed a fair share of tragedy plays myself, but I''ve never known one that would necessarily scare me."


    "It''s a strange concept," Ophelia admitted. "But I suppose that it gives on a certain thrill, to face our fears. It must also come from a morbid fascination with the things that will harm us. When you witness a terrible accident take place, you can''t take your eyes away from it. Perhaps it''s the same instinct."


    Orion was intrigued.


    "Curiosity," he said. "I would love to see such things. Perhaps you shall have to write a play yourself. I''m sure you could create a convincing enough monster."


    "Create?"


    Orion shot her a mischievous look, and took her hand, leading her to the back of the ship. On the floor, a hatch led to the hull, which was used only to keep their food and water supplies. They climbed inside, and walked amongst the baskets, barrels, amphoras, and jars that had been secured against the keel.


    Ophelia asked for clarification but the praetorian simply smiled, telling her to be patient. He dug into one of the large baskets that were near the hatch, and pulled the carcass of a rabbit, which had been dried and smoked for preservation. He winked at her, and laid the game on the floor. The storage was dusty and cramped, and there was barely space to walk; the only light came from the open hatchet, which was barely illuminating that side of the hull. Ophelia had to squint to make out the outline of the thing.


    "I shall teach you a new trick," Orion said, and then the rabbit trembled. The stumps of its legs moved, and its stretched, leathery body began to twist and turn as it stood. "Imagine that you had tied fine wool threads to its ends, and you were pulling from them. It will move as if it was alive."


    Ophelia crouched down, looking critically at its twitchy, jagged movements. "It might be good for surprising someone, but I think it needs some more work¡­" She poked the skin, and thought about the kinds of sights that would horrify her.


    Where her hands touched, dark, wet, mouldy growths would bloom. Skin and muscle recycled themselves through the spots, adopting new forms. The body propped itself on five, then seven, then twelve appendages, all with the look of having been freshly skinned and left to rot in a humid greenhouse for hours. The new additions were reddish, with powdery white spots and crusts, as if they were the product of disease. At her request it started moving, and the appendages started acting almost like arms that would stretch out to find a place to hold on to before actually setting on the ground.


    She made it move towards Orion, who jumped back. "I don''t know if your play will be very popular, lady Ophelia, but it will certainly succeed at scaring the audience. What is that?"


    Ophelia sat back, feeling slightly light headed, and smiled at the praetorian. "Something familiar mixed with something disgusting. Why don''t you try it?"


    "I fear my sense of creativity is not quite up to part with Byzantium. I will disappoint."


    Ophelia pouted. "Do you think you could make it move, at least?"


    The other man sensed that she was up to something and arched an eyebrow at her. "What are you planning?"


    "Well, maybe we could try and see how effective it would be for scaring audiences. Aegyr would be a fantastic test subject."


    Something akin to five stages of grief seemed to go through Orion''s face with remarkable speed. Surprise that she''d suggested it, denial that it would be wise to do it, bargaining as he considered how funny it would be, amusement at the end result and finally, the acceptance. "Goodness, I must be a bad influence," he said as he looked at her ''creature'' and made it move in the same manner she''d done before.


    They decided to carry out their prank the next morning, when Aegyr would be sitting at the bow, concentrated in driving the ship forward. It was an unusually foggy, overcast day, which stood as a perfect gloomy background for the horror they were about to unleash. It wasn''t a prank without risk: Aegyr could lose control over his aether, causing the ship to keel over. Because of that, Ophelia would sit behind him to control the situation if anything were to happen.


    Orion stood at the stern and without any of the ship''s passengers noticing, slowly opened the hatch to let their creature out. Its appendages looked more like arms in the morning light, and its body more diseased as the greenish hue of the growths stood out in contrast to the reddish brown of the flesh. It moved slickly, with the grace and speed of a tarantula in search of its prey.


    A man that had been talking to Baron Doria was the first to notice its presence. He reacted as one would expect, throwing himself backwards and screaming. "What is that?!" the Baron himself followed with. The other Elysians reacted as the creature went from side to side of the ship, trying to get closer to them, clearly trying to make use of their aether to drive it back. Ophelia, trying not to laugh or even let a smile through, worked to counteract any of their attempts, seeing as they began to fall into true panic.


    "Your highness!" someone shouted, "it''s coming towards you!"


    She faked a surprised scream, and ducked as the creature jumped towards her. It missed, but wasn''t deterred: its next target was Aegyr, who had its back to it. The creature quickly attached itself to him, each of its twelve appendages embracing him, before it began to wriggle so that its body crawled towards his chest.


    Aegyr, who had been deep in thought, reacted only then to the mayhem that had been unleashed: he looked down, and without even flinching, sent the creature flying backwards, ripping apart the appendages that had been holding on to him. As he turned around to look wildly around him, the only sign of his agitation was his trembling hands and his dilated pupils: it was small, but it was enough for the trained eye of the pranksters, who started laughing uncontrollably.


    "Praetorium primum!" he roared, and Orion went flying forwards, falling heavily on the deck in front of the irate archduke. Next, he turned to look towards Ophelia, who readied herself for a similar strike. "You two irresponsible-"


    An explosion blared out, cutting him off. Both Orion and Ophelia sobered up quickly, and like the rest of the passengers, looked for signs of its origin. Seconds later, something hit the water next to the ship, and the force of it rocked the vessel so hard it took the desperate hand of all its occupants to revert it back into place.


    Ophelia was as lost as some of the Elysian diplomats as to what was happening, but Orion and Aegyr knew immediately what they''d just witnessed. "Enemy fire!" came the shout from the latter, which sprung everyone into action.


    Despite their ranks in the hierarchy, all Elysian noblemen were expected to serve as Knights for a certain amount of time. It was after their service that they were allowed to pursue other careers; those that clearly had no talent for it ended it early, sometimes being gently reassigned as diplomats or other bureaucratic works. That was why when Aegyr issued the next commands, they all reacted quickly, following with ease the motions that years of practice had etched into their memory.


    The next cannon balls were not meant to miss, but were repelled by the action of the Elysians, who were now expecting them. As Aegyr cleared the fog in the distance, they spotted the visage of two war ships that were quickly approaching them. "Scout ships," Orion said, noting their smaller size. They did not have much firepower, just enough to defend themselves should they come across pirate fleets. Although they carried no identifying flags, their access to gunpowder in such style of ships made their affiliation evident.


    Most of the kingdoms that had a navy in the Atlantean Sea predominantly used catapults in large warships; those that were in the path of the trade routes to the east sometimes made use of cannons, as the cost of gunpowder made it feasible to equip their ships with such things. Only in the preceding years the knowledge of its production had seemed to finally break free from its hold by the eastern kingdoms, and had begun to move slowly westwards. Elysian influence had at different times slowed its adoption, but with the increasing tensions building during and after the Phrygian revolt, the Free Cities had finally gained access to it. This is why Orion looked towards Aegyr and told him they were facing Latilian or Philistian ships.


    "They are foolish," Aegyr noted as the barrage of cannon fire continued. "How many rounds do you reckon they will fire?"


    "It will certainly be enough to get closer to us. It is difficult to say what tactics they hope to pull this way, as they''ll come within range for us to burn them with Dorian fire."


    "What if," Ophelia suddenly chimed in, "they were doing a kamikaze attack?"


    Aegyr and Orion both turned to look towards her for clarification. "A suicide attack, like the one that was done in Arqa. They''re not aiming to survive; they''re aiming to take us down with them."


    "How would they do that?"


    "Uh, I would imagine they''d stock explosive substances in their ships, waiting for one of our attacks to detonate it all. If they''re close enough we''d be caught in the blast. And just like in Arqa, we wouldn''t be expecting it¡­"


    "Wars in Byzantium must be terrifying," noted Orion. "We should hope that they''re not as astute as you are, my lady. But it is a fair point: Arqa was a lesson our enemies must have learnt from."


    "I could try to jump into one of the ships, should they get close enough," Aegyr mused. "Or perhaps we could try to capsize them. With us three, we could easily achieve it, despite the distance."


    Ophelia, in the wake of their little prank, felt a bit creative. She ran towards the starboard, where the enemy ships seemed to be getting closer and closer. Sneaking through the line of Elysian nobles batting away the cannon fire, she stood on the topside, ignoring Aegyr''s shouts behind her. A strange wail was heard cracking through the air: it sounded strangely human, like an old woman imitating the sound of an old door slowly moving on rusty henges. The march of their opponents stopped, and the ships rocked on the tranquil surface of the sea, before large black spots began to form on their topsides.


    Just like the rabbit''s smoked body the day before, from the spots appendages began to grow. Wood replaced flesh, sprouting appendages that resembled bulbous, wide roots. They violently extended towards the sides of the ships, and as they were one next to the other, they found each other. Like lovers falling into bed they embraced, entangling into each other so firmly that it caused both ships to be lifted off the surface of the water ever-so-slightly, causing their cannons and loose deckware to slide into the water.


    Laughing, Ophelia saluted them before taking control of the Elysian ship. Making an escape the likes of which could''ve been in a movie, or so she thought, she wanted to prevent the possibility of getting caught in a blast if her theory of them being kamikaze crews held true.


    "I am ever so grateful I am lucky enough to witness this," Baron Doria said as the Elysian nobles gathered around her. "To make things change shape, I would''ve never known that to be possible."


    She couldn''t really focus on them as she kept her hold on the ship''s trajectory, but she thought she saw some of them with tears in their eyes. "I imagine you will forgive me for the little prank we did earlier," she muttered.


    "It was truly a horrifying sight, I shall not deny it," one of the other Elysians said. "But I do feel humbled that I was able to see such a feat."


    Aegyr did not let his admiration get in the way of his duty; he spared Ophelia his sermon while she drove them, and instead decided to finish dressing down Orion for their prank. When he was done, he let the praetorian take charge of the sailing, and took her to the stern for her chastisement.


    "If there''s a next time, I should hope that you allow us the grace of taking some prisoners, lady Ophelia," he said, clearly displeased. "They can be quite useful."


    "I don''t know much about naval tactics in general," Ophelia defended herself. "But given how your enemies have carried their attacks as of recently, it''s not out of the question that they would try something similar at sea. I don''t think there''s many safe ways to take prisoners in that situation."


    "Given we have yet to hear a blast, I doubt that was their tactic. We''ve never heard of such thing before."


    "And hopefully you will never hear of it in the future."


    In the days that followed, Orion looked to gain back some of his favour with Aegyr, and began encouraging him to try Ophelia''s technique of changing the shape of various objects. It was a combination of his playful manner and the prospect of learning something engendered by Ophelia''s Byzantine wisdom that won the strict man over, and they both spent time experimenting with some of the broken ostraka that would normally be used for writing quick messages.


    Ophelia watched on, amused and curious as to what they would come up with. Orion had slightly more success in his first try, when he managed to grow the semblance of a face in the clay. The rest of his attempts were formless, blotchy messes. Aegyr, on the other hand, seemed to only manage to turn the flat pottery into perfect cubes. This Ophelia found incredibly funny, as it illustrated his personality extremely well.


    On the fifth day, as the sun began to drop into the horizon, Ophelia felt that the merriment of the previous days evaporated as if it had never been. Dread possessed her violently when Baron Doria, who''d been chatting away to her, went silent and stood up. "Elysium," he whispered with a large smile on his face. Joyful whispers soon inundated the deck, and the men ran forward to behold the coastline that had moments ago been spit out by the horizon.


    "It feels like it''s been years since I last stepped foot on it," the Baron''s emotions had overwhelmed his voice. Ophelia would''ve normally smiled at the sentiment, but she could only think of what awaited her once she set foot there.


    It had all been a foolish dream, she thought, that endless wait in Arqa and the voyage through the Atlantean sea. She''d buried her fears away, always postponing coming up with a way out of her captivity. It had been easier to play along, to forget that Aegyr and Orion were not her friends, but her jailers¡­ but now that she was staring right into the face of what she thought of as her doom, she felt frantic. Should she make a run for it the moment they got off the ship? Should she, perhaps, throw them off board as they neared the port and drive the vessel somewhere else?


    Aegyr must''ve divined some of her thoughts; as the coastline grew larger and the port became more visible, he sat with her.


    "Should you want to attempt anything," he said as he eyed her, perhaps with a little less curtness than he''d done in similar occasions. "Consider that it''s now not just five or six of us you are to contain; you will have dozens, perhaps hundreds of eyes on your every move. And as the primum has correctly pointed out, you will be able to do as much as your body allows you to. I worry that in your eagerness to act, you will hurt yourself."


    Ophelia narrowed her eyes, fear and dread turning into anger. "You are worried about me?" She almost laughed.


    He fixed his eyes on her. Time and repetition had not completely erased the power of his gaze; it still carried for her a strange quality, an intensity that burnt like Dorian fire. It quenched some of her anger, and she waited with bathed breath for his response.


    "I know now that I will not be able to easily convince you of my sincerity," he said with a lopsided smile, "but I do worry for you. And I should hope that even if you don''t believe that, you will at least heed some of my advice."


    Perhaps the thing Ophelia hated the most about him was that, despite his questionable actions, he really was sincere in his intentions. She did believe him. She felt her anger ebb away, despite her desperately trying to hold on to it. She looked down, before remembering that she still had his Lyre''s Tears in her pouch. She took it out and offered it to him.


    "I should give this back to you now, probably," she said. His eyes dropped to the earring before fixing back on her face. He tucked his long black hair behind his right ear, and looked to the side, making it clear he wanted her to put it on.


    Ophelia was so taken by surprise at his gesture that she reacted almost automatically. It was only after her fingers had carefully left the Tears hanging from his ear that she thought to complain about that unexpected intimacy ¨C and it was caused by the soft pine scent that reminded her of the time he had done the same for her.


    A soft turquoise glow illuminated his neck, and as she stepped back she thought it made his gaze looked fiercer. He closed again the distance, leaning in to whisper in her ear: "the aristocracy in Aurelia, as awed as they might initially be, will be insatiable. Some may call it zeal, others greed, but they will look for every opportunity to possess you in some way or another. If you give them the chance, they will devour you."


    "If you had no weaknesses, they would create some so they can use them to control you. If you look for freedom, you will not find it in their promises. That, I can assure you."


    Ophelia turned her face slightly towards him. "Where do I find it?"


    "In Sophia, next to his majesty the emperor¡­ or by me."


    It was spoken like a simple statement of fact, yet it hid worlds of meaning underneath. To Aegyr, her way out of Elysium was either through the emperor himself, or perhaps, if she was reading correctly between the line, through cooperation with the archduke himself.


    "I¡­ will remember your words," she said. He seemed satisfied with her response, and stood up to finish the preparations for their arrival at the empire.

 Chapter 14

    It took them another hour to finally make it to land. Her stomach was twisting in knots as she agonized over Aegyr''s warnings; it didn''t escape Orion''s notice, who seemed gentler than usual. "Look at the bright side," he tried to console her. "You can always take your anger out on someone else, and as long as it''s not the emperor it will always be fine. You could prank them all, if you so wished, and they would probably thank you for it."


    They would be arriving to the port of Corinth. Although the journey to the capital, Aurelia, was only four hours away on horseback, they would spend the night in the city to give them time to rest. The next day Ophelia would be taken straight into the Elysian parliament, called the Pleroma, to be presented formally to the empire and given a rank. This, Aegyr had told her, would require a test of her strength, a show of what she was capable of. That was what was in her mind when she said to Orion, "perhaps I should make another creature, and present that at the Pleroma. I''ll make it big, and terrifying, and hopefully enough people will faint that I will feel better."


    Orion laughed, and in his face a certain wild spark coloured his eyes and smile. "I would like it very much if you did so."


    The thought cheered her up as they disembarked. This time the Elysian nobles were to go first, then Orion, Aegyr and finally her. As her feet touched Elysian soil, the evening sky suddenly erupted into blue light, as the people who were waiting for them all saluted her calling balls of Dorian fire into the air. They walked down the pier bathed in that soft glow, under the deadly luminaries.


    The crowd had been divided into two: the nobles in their shimmering blue robes, who would be next to her, and the commoners in dark tunics, scattered through the docks to catch sight of her. A carriage had been prepared, and she boarded it with Orion amongst the excited murmurs of the crowd. Aegyr, loyal to his preference for riding, would lead the procession on horseback.


    Corinth was smaller than Caudiceum and definitely smaller than the sprawl of Arqa; it seemed like a sleepy, provincial town that was solely dedicated to its port. It had been built on rather swampy grounds, and was perfectly flat, making it prone to floods. Because of that, Elysian ingenuity had simply built its roads as raised walkways, and their houses and public plazas on raised steps. Immediately it became evident the differences with the other two places she''d visited in that world: Elysium preferred brick houses with red-tiled roofs, their plastered walls covered with beautiful and elaborate paintings simulating architectural features and foliage.


    The governor of the city lived in its outskirts, in a large complex organized around a beautifully laid out central garden. He was to host them for the night, something that soon became evident would definitely be one of the highlights of his tenure. They shared dinner with their family; his wife, his seven children, and his concubine.


    "Do Elysian men also have concubines?" she whispered to Orion as they moved to take their seats.


    "It''s very shameful to have small families in the empire," he explained. "Generally, the higher the rank the more children and concubines a man is expected to have."


    Ophelia whistled, her eyes straying to the highest ranked man in the empire. "How big is Aegyr''s family?"


    Orion grimaced. "That is¡­ a complicated answer. Perhaps you should ask him yourself."


    The dinner hall had been arranged so that the tables formed a square; with their backs to the north-facing wall, and positioned on a raised platform, were respectively Orion, Ophelia and Aegyr. On their left were the Elysian nobles that had sailed with them, and on the right the hosts. In front, facing them, were some of the governor''s retainers and their families.


    Before the servants brought food, the governor serenaded them with a small monologue that propped his sense of self-importance but also celebrated his honoured guests. He toasted to Ophelia, to Aegyr, and to the empire in that order, eliciting the sort of animated response one should expect from anyone who has surrounded themselves with sycophants.


    As Aegyr had warned her, all eyes were on her. The children looked fascinated, the women curious, the men calculating. Due to the layout, thankfully, she didn''t need to engage in small talk with anyone, at least while they ate. It was when they were led to what they called an ''evening room'' that she thought seriously about just walking off to find a place to go to sleep.


    They were received by musicians playing lyres and flutes; the sound was soothing, and not so loud that it would dominate the room. It remained in the background as people began to mix, enjoying more food and wine that servants brought in and out.


    "You''re my chaperone," Ophelia reminded Orion as she stubbornly stuck close to him. "Glare at them so that they won''t bother me."


    "I will try my best, my lady," he said, clearly amused at her distress. He did help her out: as one after the other guests would come by to introduce themselves and make small chat, he''d remind them not to stick around for too long. "We should be fair to everyone who''s trying to meet her highness," he''d say with a not-so-friendly smile.


    Ophelia realized, as the night went on, that she had correctly read the other''s stares as she was presented with the first taste of what one could call the court game. Her life in Byzantium and the rumours surrounding the events at Arqa were foremost in everyone''s minds, as they tried to garner any information that would give them some advantage over the rest of the aristocracy. It became clear that what everyone was after, the most precious commodity in that room, was her favour. If she smiled at what someone said, looks would be exchanged and smirks would be shared; if she frowned, panic would set in.


    It was tiring, but she fared with it as she could. Her directness made it all the more difficult for the nobles to know how to engage her, and they would soon capitulate lest they provoke her ire. Finally, it was acceptable for her to retire, and she left the festivities guided by Orion and a servant.


    "You did well," the praetorian said as she settled in for the night, "they can be that boring. Perhaps, for next time, we should set someone''s hair on fire. That should liven them up a little bit."


    His ask for some entertainment was delivered about twenty minutes later, when Ophelia was already in bed. She heard her room''s doors open slowly and softly, and she sat up to find three young men sneaking inside.


    "Excuse me?" she said, as she willed the candles in the room to light up. Immediately, she realized several things at once: they were all barely dressed, with their eyes and lips covered in gold, they looked very scared, and none of them reached twenty years of age.


    "Your highness," the bravest of them tried to explain, "the master of the house sent us to serve you."


    They will create weaknesses they will try to exploit Aegyr''s voice rang in her mind, and she wondered if this is what he meant. If it was, it was a rather shoddy attempt, one that she could easily take care of.


    "I don''t need serving, I need some quiet so I can go to sleep," she pointed out, and threw the covers off her. As she walked closer to them it became all the more evident to her that the kind of serving they had been sent to do wasn''t their routine profession, and she wondered if such sloppy attempt at trying to entice her favour was merely the result of the Baron''s provincial ways. She walked around them, holding a single finger out. They flinched at her gestures initially; fear soon turned to amazement as the scant clothing they wore began to change. It expanded, wrapping itself around their bodies so that they would not be so exposed to a stranger''s eyes.


    "Go back," she said, "I will deal with your master myself."


    She left the room and the three men inside. She walked back to where the evening''s entertainments were still happening. From outside, in the garden, she could spy through the window that Aegyr had retired, like herself, but Orion was still doing the rounds, seemingly enjoying being the centre of attention. As she saw a servant walk off with a basket full of grapes, she stopped him and asked him to bring it back into the room, and to place it in the middle.


    Confused, he did as she asked. None of the nobles paid any attention to him or the basket that was in the middle of the room. Without revealing herself, from outside one of the windows that faced the courtyard, she focused on the grapes. They bloomed, growing in size vertically, then forming shapes. Like her chaperone had tried to do with the ostraka, she gave them features, slowly morphing them into shapely, naked women.


    The transformation didn''t fail to catch everyone''s attentions; as the grapes began to shift around the floor, growing and contorting into dolls, murmurs and screams suddenly filled the room. Piled on top of one another Ophelia had left for them an offering of women whose skin was the silky smooth green of a ripe grape, and its flesh was juicy, filled with seed.


    Someone made a brave attempt at trying to touch the immobile dolls, which of course prompted Ophelia to indulge her mischievous side. She made them move, which at first started with some trembling as the rigid bodies tried to fight against their own nature. Then, the dolls crawled on the floor, eliciting more gasps and horrified looks from the crowd. She made them stand up with some effort and then had them eerily walk towards the host of the night, whose curiosity had quickly transformed into pure fear.


    They reached out to him, and he finally realised he could use his aether to protect himself. The closest doll had her arms cut off, then her head; it made the body crumble, grape juice dripping and splashing on the floor. The second doll then fell, then the third one, and Ophelia decided after the fourth one that she''d had enough.


    The guests'' terror was interrupted by her laughter. They all turned towards the window she was now leaning into, as she tried to calm herself and dry off the merry tears in her eyes. "My apologies, Baron," she said, "I meant to give you juicy grapes you could turn into the most delicious wine."


    The Baron''s face was pale, and he spluttered something; he clearly didn''t know what to make of her actions. "Oh, I think I might have made a mistake," Ophelia pressed, "perhaps I made too many assumptions about what my host wanted and made him uncomfortable."


    It didn''t occur to Ophelia, when Aegyr warned her about the ways of the Elysian nobles, that perhaps she''d find her lifetime of watching royal dramas on the BBC useful. Passive-aggressiveness and compliments that hid backhanded insults were a true sign of the pure english side of her heritage.


    "M-my most sincere t-thanks, your highness," the confused Baron said, as his eyes darted around the room. It was clearly that none of his guests knew how to feel about the situation, either; all except for one. Orion began laughing uncontrollably, to the point he had to hold his stomach. When Ophelia said nothing about it, everyone decided it''d be best to follow the praetorian primum''s example, and began laughing, too.


    She thought all had been said and done, and went back to her room. The next day, she found that the entire dining hall had been decorated with grapes, and the nervous Baron had decided to take the whole thing as a sign from her to engage in new business ventures.


    "I shall send your highness a bottle of our wine, if you shall allow me the honour," he said, and Ophelia exchanged glances with Orion, refusing to believe that the man was that delusional. They both humoured him.


    "These grapes will make the sourest wine in the world," Orion whispered to her, "but you did well yesterday. That is the sort of tricks that will work well with this lot. I''m curious though, what made you do that?"


    "He sent three prostitutes to my room," she said, frowning. "I don''t know why he did it, but it felt insulting."


    Orion chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nobles in the countryside are a different breed. It''s not unheard of in the capital that families trying to make a good match with one of their guests will send their daughters into their rooms. He must''ve thought it would make sense to do something similar regardless of the genders being reversed."


    "That''s very cheeky."


    "And dangerous," he said. "In the empire, a man having relations with a woman of a higher standing is punishable by death. It is considered a type of stupro."


    Aegyr, who was clueless about the entire situation, only found out when they were two hours into their journey to Aurelia when he made a comment about the strange fondness for grapes that their host had developed overnight. Knowing the implications of the Baron''s actions, Ophelia hesitated to tell him, but Orion decided that it would be too funny to pass up the opportunity to see Aegyr lose his composure.


    And he did. His eyes turned cold, his mouth forced into a sneer. "I will let my men know," he said, looking for all intents and purposes as if he wanted to jump out of the carriage to ride back to Corinth and behead the Baron himself.


    The land near Aurelia was largely flat, which made for a very boring landscape to look at through the carriage window. Fields extended from the side of the road into the horizon; as they headed into winter the moderate temperature of the southern part of the empire allowed for crops to keep growing, but farmers would rotate to their winter produce, which dealt better with the frequent rain of the colder months. Large eucalyptus trees had been planted in groves, sometimes as a way to protect the fields from wind, sometimes as a way to offer shade to farmer''s houses.


    She was surprised to find that signposts had been erected at almost every road crossing they came across, offering the traveller information as to what was in each direction. Sometimes they would also have stone pillars to the side, where people left offerings. As they passed through one that was large enough she could make out the writing in it, she let out a surprised gasp.


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    "That looks like Latin!" she said. "Is that the way you write in Elysium?"


    Aegyr nodded, and produced a scroll that he''d been reading. "It was brought from Byzantium by his majesty the emperor." Ophelia read through it; it wasn''t quite the same as the English alphabet she was familiar with, but it was close enough that she could make out the Elysian words they corresponded to. "Do you understand it?"


    "The letters we use in our alphabet are derived from this one," she explained. "It''s slightly different, but close enough that I could make out some of what it says. It''s a very old alphabet, used to write a language that''s been dead for more than a thousand years."


    She entertained them the rest of the way by showing them, on a wax tablet, the block and cursive styles of writing she knew. There were few words in Latin that had survived in the English language, and she shared it with them; Orion was fascinated, and could recognise a lot of it, as they were also present in old Elysian manuscripts.


    The sight of fields began to change into that of small villages, then towns as they got closer to Aurelia. The people outside wore all dark-coloured clothing that looked like simpler cuts of the traditional aristocratic every day wear. Commoners, Ophelia had been told by Baron Doria, were mostly native Elysians, but foreigners were encouraged and allowed to settle in the Empire, and it wasn''t rare for Elysian commoner families to have diverse backgrounds from the nearby kingdoms. Because of that, their characteristics were a bit unlike those of the aristocracy: they had that strange vibrancy in their hair and eye colour, and seemed altogether taller than the average Elysian noble.


    Before they even realised it, they had arrived at Aurelia. The city had expanded over the centuries as families spilled over the borders of the fortifications that had once surrounded it, and red-tiled roofed villas had been built for the prosperous, simple one-room houses with terraces for the poor. Unlike Arqa and Caudiceum, all roads had been paved to a certain extent. The smoothest, most impressive roads were those that led straight into the old city gates, as they took travellers right into the heart of the city''s administrative buildings.


    They passed by plazas that were bursting with activity; commoners mostly walked and rode in and out of the local markets to buy and sell their wares. The streets, Ophelia noted, were uncommonly clean: teenagers and children would run around with large baskets tied to their backs picking up garbage. It was explained to her that things like horse manure and food waste were sold to make fertilizer, ostraka was sold to schools and the literate to use for record keeping: everything could be recycled, and in the harsh mercantile economy of the city, everything could be sold for a price.


    In spite of Aegyr''s warnings, she kept sticking her head out of the window of the carriage, the small curtain that normally would offer them some privacy unceremoniously driven back the moment they''d arrived within the outskirts of the city. She watched in fascination the wild colours of early autumn paint over a city that seemed to value its aesthetics above all. The streets were lined with birch and ash trees, which by then had begun to turn yellow. The houses tended to be small, simple one-storey affairs, but the white plaster on the outside was often decorated with frescos. Some would be some sort of advertisement for what was sold within its precinct, some would be, like in Corinth, optical illusions to simulate a richer facade. There was graffiti, too, on the walls: people''s names, instructions to reach some tavern or a brothel, a wish for good luck. Blue, the royal Elysian colour, was considered good luck, and so all things that were deemed important were painted in that theme; red was everything barbaric and taboo, green was associated with good health, yellow with disaster and illness and black with love, of all things. Orion had told her, upon seeing a very strange mural on the wall of one of their houses, that ''to turn someone''s teeth black'' was an idiom meant to say that someone had been seduced.


    As they reached the gates of the old city, more and more light blue robes were seen amongst the crowd. In spite of the fashion taking a turn for the bolder, on either side of the streets the colour began to dim as more and more buildings ditched the frescos and the plaster in favour of different marble stones and more elaborate, classical-looking architecture. The road widened, enough that it was able to accommodate their carriage side by side with two more, and still have enough space for the plethora of families making their way to the Grand Plaza. Fathers carried their toddlers on their shoulders, mothers and grandparents hurrying children and teenagers along. The mood was jovial, as if everyone was gathering for a festival.


    At the southern gates they stopped, met with a sea of Knights dressed in their impeccable dark navy robes. Ophelia, who up until then had been distracted by the spectacle of the city around her, suddenly felt a wave of nausea as anxiety gripped her. Nobody, she made her mind up at that time, should be subjected to this much fanfare. She thought of London and the one person she felt most kinship with at that moment, and tried to ask for inspiration from whatever god was listening. One would have to forgive her the impertinence of comparing herself to Queen Lizzie, but she had no other role model to follow in that situation.


    Orion and Aegyr descended first; the Lyre''s Tears in the latter''s ear draw gasps from the crowd as they gathered to see who was about to receive the royal treatment from the Knights. For the occasion she''d been given a different kind of stola to wear: it was made of fine silk threads of a vibrant lapis-lazuli hue, its hems embroidered with a thick gold thread. This, in absence of any other markers, was a sign for the crowd to recognise her, and when she walked off the carriage, it made the gasps turn into joyful screams and cheers.


    In a move that was already all-too-familiar to her, Aegyr brought her to one of the black steeds that had been prepared for the parade to the parliament. This time she''d sit alone on the horse, while Aegyr led the animal from its reigns from the ground. The mount had been richly decorated in gold and blue, with encrusted gems in it. The simplicity of the fashion went out of the door when such pomp was required, and the look seemed to her almost kitsch.


    The Knights opened the road for them, and the parade started. From both sides she saw and heard the hungry gazes of Aurelia; its aristocracy had pooled into the streets for their first-row places. She''d already imagined that her arrival would be taken as a sign of a new age and a vindication of their world view. As their hands reached out to her, as the banners flaming at the top of their poles blended into the deep blue sky, she imagined herself getting caught deeper and deeper into a spiderweb spun from their desires for greater power, wealth, success. Unlike the Romans that they so emulated, the Elysians were at the peak of their history; and if there was one thing Ophelia had learnt from living in her own world is that it was then when people''s greed for more reached its inevitable climax.


    Grander, taller buildings lined the streets of the old city. Some of them were residences for the wealthy, for the high aristocracy; most of them were administrative buildings of some sort, gymnasiums, baths, leisure complexes. At the centre laid the Grand Plaza, with Aurelia''s central temple to the east, and the house of parliament, the Pleroma, to the west. A large statue had been placed in the middle which, to her surprise, did not depict the emperor, but rather was a representation of Elysium herself, winged and triumphantly wielding a sword over the dead bodies of her enemies. The emperor, she''d later come to know, was represented by the golden veins that covered her entire body, which also served as a visual representation of her aether. Smaller pillars had been erected in a semi circle around the statue, representing the seven Elysian virtues. Over them, bronze sculptures represented symbolically the seven achievements of the emperor that illustrated said virtues.


    Space was a luxury in Aurelia, and the bigger the structure the more important it was. The plaza was the size of a cricket pitch, with marble tiles lining the entirety of it. The building of the Pleroma was unlike any she''d seen so far in Lygeum: it was round like the Roman Coliseum, with a dome-like ceiling decorated richly with solar figures. Unlike the Coliseum, however, it was lined with pillars as tall as a four-storey building, which had all been meticulously inscribed with the stories of the emperor''s achievements. He was not a visible figure in his empire, it seemed, but his presence was everywhere.


    After meeting some of the officials at the bottom of the stairs that led to the parliament, she began to climb them, followed by Aegyr and Orion. It all blurred together; the sensation of the stares on her neck, the greetings and smiles of those she would never talk to again, the trepidation of being caught in a position she''d rather not be in. She made it to the inside, and before she took the centre stage of the proceedings that day, it occurred to her that Caudiceum''s forum was a low budget version of the building she was in.


    The Pleroma was made up of all the heads of the main branches of the families of Elysian aristocracy. This helped reduce the number of people in the chamber and keep a tighter control over who was allowed in, like in any good old nepotist regime. At present, Ophelia was facing about one hundred sixty men, forty women (mostly widows whose children were too young to represent their families). They all were wearing a dark green sash over their shoulders, which was traditional wear for sitting in a session at the Pleroma.


    The circular room had been set up, much like Caudiceum''s forum, with steps as seats, so that its members could easily sit and stand up to deliver their arguments. To the west, a space had been left open, and a platform of sorts had been built out of marble, to house the emperor''s throne. Decked in blue and gold, it was mostly symbolic, as the emperor rarely stepped out of his temple in Sophia. But it served as a reminder to the members of the parliament that they were officials, not rulers.


    For her, a chair had been prepared in front of the throne, and at Aegyr''s prompting, she took a seat in it while he and Orion took their places amongst the Pleroma.


    "The most joyful occasion brings us together today," the presiding magistrate began his speech. "As providence would have it that we see the arrival of a citizen from Byzantium, our most holy land from which all gifts were given. Today we celebrate the investiture of her highness Ophelia of Byzantium as it is the good order that this great Empire must keep. The floor is now open for any consul that wishes to speak."


    Several men stood up at the same time. The presiding magistrate pointed at the eldest amongst them, and the rest sat back down. "Your lordship, your highness, I salute you. This old man is indeed overjoyed that he has witnessed such a miracle in his lifetime. It is the concern of our county that matters discussed to her highness'' rank and correct form of address are dealt with first, so that it facilitates other incumbent discussions."


    Multiple murmurs rose in approval. The magistrate announced, "proceed".


    "The proposal of this county is that her highness should be appointed until further notice to the office of princeps; official title as princess."


    Another man stood up, and was given the floor. "This is not a kingdom, Count; it''d be an insult for Elysium to imitate the ways of the barbarians. As the highest title in our land below his majesty the emperor is that of arch-duke, arch-duchess should suffice, and in accordance to our laws, her highness should be given lands to oversee."


    It was at that point that Ophelia decided to tune out of the proceedings, as the consuls began to get more esoteric in their legalese. The overall sense of the discussion, from what she understood, was that her appointment would carry certain legal implications, and given the unprecedented nature of her appearance, nobody was really sure where to put it. Titles in the aristocracy were not just the mere address forms that were given by birthright: in the empire, they were tied to land rights, and unlike in her land of birth, they were unalienable from it. So if she was given the title of archduchess, a duchy would be created for her to manage; however, it seemed like many had reservations about a Byzantine having to deal with large swathes of land, as it felt too mundane for her. Complicating things was the fact that she was a woman, and women did not often hold office in the empire, so she couldn''t just be given a position that would give her rights of administration.


    To her surprise, Aegyr seemed just as bored as she was, and was simply staring stone-faced towards the room. Orion, however, seemed to be whispering something to the people around him, giving the impression he was feeding them ideas.


    "Perhaps it''s best that we settle this matter after his majesty the emperor has been consulted," one of the men sitting behind Orion said. "It is an abuse of the office the Pleroma holds that it should rule over Byzantine matters. This should be resolved in Sophia, not here."


    That rhetoric had no counter-argument, unless someone was in the mood of being accused of heresy. It was then decided that an enquiry would be sent to the main temple in Sophia, and Orion was given order by the presiding magistrate to convey their words back to the emperor.


    She was then called forward. "As the custom normally requires for every coming-of-age ceremony in our great empire, we ask for a demonstration of feat, so that no one in this Pleroma, or any of the families they represent, will ever contest your place in Elysium."


    Ophelia cocked her head, and couldn''t stop the cheeky smile that blossomed in her face. She caught sight of Orion, who was eagerly anticipating the show, and gave him a wink before she stood up. "In Byzantium, it would be often the case that one would seek entertainment from stories and plays meant to scare the audience," she said as she removed the royal blue robe she''d been wearing until then.


    "I particularly enjoyed stories with strange creatures in it," she continued, and threw the robe up into the air, "and thought, perhaps, I could create one for you."


    The stola floated almost as in slow motion, and as it began its descent, it started to mutate. The ethereal cloth trembled, its ends twisting into spikes; from them, four legs emerged. They were skinny, brittle at first, but as the searched for the ground they became wider, meatier. The main body had also expanded, taking a somewhat skeletal shape. From one end, a neck began to protrude. As if someone''s fingers had been trying to push something out, the head emerged, with ten golden orbs on its centre as eyes. It was halfway between a spider and a human, its features barely discernable. As a final touch, almost for decoration, delicate, translucent golden petals the size of a child emerged from its back, floating in the air as if they had been submerged under water.


    There were those amongst the consuls who were brave enough to stay in their seats, and those who ran back, gathering closer to the exits. Ophelia made the creature move in their direction, and screams ensued. Before it would escalate, she made it go back to his knees, as if it was going to sleep. She could see, now that the body of her creation wasn''t in the way, that several consuls had actually fainted, and was not able to contain her laughter.


    While the Pleroma tried to gather its bearings, she gave a thumbs up to Orion, before remembering it would be read differently by everyone else. It seemed, to her favour, that no one noticed or were already too busy trying to process what just had happened to care. Orion was simply beside himself with laughter, and even Aegyr himself had cracked a smile.


    "Is that enough?" she asked the magistrate with a smirk, as she dried the tears in her eyes. Scaring Elysians would never stop being funny. The man, bless his soul, was too stuck in his own formality to be shaken by her, and he announced the end of her test to the rest of the chamber. A rush happened then, as those who''d left their seats tried to save face by going back, and those who had fainted were awkwardly moved to one side to avoid being trampled on.


    Aegyr stood up then. "Will anyone in this room object to her highness receiving the Lyre''s tears?"


    Clearly no one would. He walked up to her, and around the sleeping creature she''d left in the centre of the room, and presented her not one, but two earrings. "As his majesty the Emperor is the only one to wear two, because of your shared origin we bestow two to your highness, as well."


    He leaned in, and fixed one on her left ear, before asking for her right. "Apologies," he whispered, before he pierced it. Once more she felt the sting of his aether and the fresh pine scent from his hair, and before she knew what she was doing she had reached out to take a strand of it in her hand.


    He felt him shudder at the contact. She dropped her hands, muttering an apology; blushing, she wondered what had overcome her. The show had to go on, of course, and she knew she had to let the matter drop. So did he, but before, he decided to take his revenge: sweetly, gently, he tucked her hair behind her ears to reveal the Tears.


    And then, it was done. The Magistrate drew the session to a close, and she was whisked away to the large halls behind the Pleroma''s forum. The afternoon had just started, and it was now time for the festivities, the drinking and eating, and more importantly, the socializing.


    "Remember what I''ve told you," Aegyr whispered in her ear as he escorted her. "I need to report to the consuls so I will be gone for a few hours."


    He wished her good luck before taking his leave. She turned towards Orion with a hopeful expression, and he chuckled at her. "I''m afraid, my lady, I''m also called by my duties. I ought to leave now for Sophia, to relay the Pleroma''s ask to the emperor."


    "Oh no, don''t tell me I''ll have to deal with them on my own."


    "You''ve been doing a wonderful job so far," he smiled. "You can always bring that creature with you; they will be too scared to talk to you. They do like to give themselves airs of importance, and then faint at the slightest sign of trouble."


    That seemed to placate her. "I shall come back soon enough, unless I''m sent to run some other errands. But I will try my best; someone needs to keep Aegyr at bay."


    "I can do that!"


    Orion laughed, and patted her head affectionately. "Oh no, you can''t."


    And ignoring her protests, he left.

 Chapter 15

    She stood in a hall that seemed to stretch for ages, feeling the quiet seep into her bones. It was only the sound of her footsteps that would break through the silence, like small pebbles falling into a pond, agitating the still water. Shortly after midday the shadows became of a particularly deep blue color, cutting across the large rooms with abandon. The jagged lines drew blotches over the pure gray lime wash; it was as if nature itself objected to those simple, geometric spaces full of nothing, and rebelled, burning the white yellow where the sun reached and seeping blue into the spaces it could not embrace.


    She felt almost like she was walking into Aegyr''s mind. There was very little furniture; only what was strictly necessary for it to be considered inhabited. The walls were strangely bare, which only made the rooms seem bigger, and in them, her lonely figure would retrace its steps as it was misled by the maze of hallways. Only the soft lines in the marble would break through the monotony, telling her she was not where she wanted to go.


    In that tomb she''d reside for a week, waiting to hear from the Emperor what was to be her fate.


    "Ah! Your highness!" the high-pitched voice of her sixteen-year-old maidservant echoed through the hall. She was a bright young thing, the third daughter of a Count; as it''d be expected, for her the world could not be brighter than serving the famed Byzantine woman that was under Lord Scipio''s protection. It had been through Aegyr''s influence that she''d been given someone so young, as it''d save her the trouble of having to weed out some old noble woman''s schemes. Calliope was impressionable, and had not yet acquired that commonplace poker face with which her mother and older sisters probably armed themselves with every day.


    No, she was the total opposite of what she was supposed to be, and that made Ophelia like her quite a lot. Calliope ran through the rooms, blue robes fluttering wildly around her.


    "I received word from my mother!" she said as she stopped next to her, barely catching her breath. "Would you like to hear about it?"


    Ophelia nodded. "Let''s sit out in the sun," she proposed, and took the girl''s hand to lead her outside. Some of the rooms in the second floor would have archways leading into what acted as a balcony: a small platform that protruded in the midst of the red tiling of the roof. There was no railing, and the flooring was made with dark wooden planks. As a sign of respect for the visuals of those who walked in the inner courtyard some flower pots had been set up near the border of the balcony, so that the grape ivies would cascade down and partially fence off the gallery downstairs. Two chairs were permanently set up, a remnant of some other time where the house had seen more inhabitants: they were surprisingly luxurious, the dark wood carved handsomely in natural motifs. The elements had certainly done their number on them, particularly on the weave of the seats, but they were still years away from their twilight.


    It was, Ophelia thought, a peculiar sign of neglect, and she wondered how purposeful it was given how meticulous Aegyr had seemed to her.


    His house was¡­ unusual. She''d arrived during the previous evening, after a successful escape from the soiree at the Pleroma facilitated by the grace of Calliope''s mother. All first impressions were temporary: she knew that the night always cast a benevolent veil over all, erasing even the most obvious of imperfections. That''s why she waited until the next day to decide that Aegyr''s staff were perfectly polite and reserved and nothing out of the ordinary. They made sure that her bedding was fresh and her food ready for whenever she was hungry; they divulged none of his secrets and asked for none of hers.


    It was in the cold limewash white of the walls that she found, as the sun rose, the murmurs of a story. That house was full of indiscretions: it practically screamed, for the eye that was attentive to detail, that something had happened under that roof. The layout was square, with an inner courtyard; it consisted of three floors, with one tower on the east side that according to the head butler was the earliest construction in that side of the city, and predated the Elysian empire. She had been given a set of rooms on the west wing; Aegyr''s were next to hers. The kitchen with its pantries and storage rooms, and the servants'' quarters were all in the north wing. In the south there were halls for grand occasions and rooms to entertain guests; it didn''t see much use as Aegyr was seldom at home in the capital, but it was still kept in good shape and reasonably clean.


    It was the east wing that was the most mysterious, where the dust collected on the few tapestries that covered the walls and the furniture was left untouched at the mercy of the elements. Whereas the d¨¦cor was minimalistic and precise in the other wings, all three floors under the old tower offered a more eclectic view, phantom traces of someone else''s taste. That, she''d been told by the staff, was the harem quarters; no more details were given.


    Elysian men of Aegyr''s rank were expected to have large families. She''d heard no gossip to his name, nor mentions of a wife in all of their acquaintance; it was, perhaps, uncouth of her to pry into his business, but having been given little else to occupy herself with, she''d decided to unravel that little mystery.


    Enter Calliope, who owed no fealty to Aegyr and was too young to care about the consequences of her gossip; to her Ophelia had entrusted a little information gathering task, one that she was ready to report for.


    "I shall begin with the bad news," the teenager said, "as my mother spent most of her letter telling me not to ask about such things. She said that it involved too many families outside of our sphere of influence to meddle with."


    "That is interesting in of itself," Ophelia noted.


    "She did mention, however, that his excellency had had a number of concubines, and had fathered about ten children. They are being raised, according to what is whispered in our circles, in a castle at one of his excellency''s duchies."


    "Oh," Ophelia had a hard time imagining the stoic man as a father. "Is that why he''s gone? To see them after such long travel?"


    "No, no, no," Calliope leaned in to whisper, "I spoke to a servant, trying to get some more details. You have seen for yourself the way they act; you''d think you could squeeze more secrets out of a rock. But he did say something to the effect that there''s nothing the children want for, save for a single glance of their father."


    Ophelia paused. "Is that normal? In Elysium?"


    "Well¡­" Calliope mused, "it''s true that in large families some children will be given preference. My mother was quite peculiar in that she raised all seven of us under the same roof. Sometimes the less fortunate children, the ones with the lesser amounts of aether, will be raised separately by a branch of the family. But all of them to be sent away¡­ that is certainly not normal."


    Ophelia tapped her lips as she thought over the matter. "How many concubines did he have? And where are they?"


    Calliope deflated. "I only know he had four. What became of the rest, my mother would not say."


    There was little more said about Aegyr''s family matters after that; yet, the two women knew that it remained a very loud question in both of their minds. The shadows lengthened as if fattened by the mystery of it all, and secretly, both Calliope and Ophelia resolved to find out through their own ways the truth. It was perverse of them to look into a stranger''s life like that; perhaps a more innocent curiosity from the former, but the latter knew she had no excuse. Yet, a voice in the back of her head reminded her of Aegyr''s cruel hold on her at Arqa, the threats on Hyperion''s life. She wasn''t saintly enough to not give in to her nosiness, especially as boredom loomed over her stay in that house for the week.


    In the evening of that first day she sat in her room after supper, looking at the ghostly sight of the old tower that emerged above the harem wing. When she''d walked through the empty, dusty rooms of the third floor she''d come across a closed door in one of the hallways, and a servant had hurriedly appeared to tell her that it was dangerous to climb up to the tower. "It hasn''t been kept properly in a long time," he said, almost out of breath, "and your highness might endanger herself."


    She wondered about that as she walked through those desolate rooms in her mind, examining the details to understand where to find the answer for her burning questions. When the noise from the servant''s quarters had quieted down and the moon shone brightly in the cool autumn air, she emerged from her room. She walked barefoot along the corridors. Had it been anyone else the floors might have groaned in protest, but she forced them to quieten ¨C wrapped in her aether, she almost became a ghost. Her light robes trembled around her, and shimmered as the moon stole sneaky shimmers from that strange fabric.


    In the harem, she became human again, and her feet shuddered with sound as they stepped onto the cold ceramic tiles of the first floor. In the dark, her first instinct was to call forth the dreary glow of the fluorescent bulbs that lit the outdoor hallways outside her council flat, and they emerged like bulbs around her, casting their sick, meek glow onto the already despondent scenery of the room. Her eyes travelled first, her hands searching for something she wasn''t quite sure it was there: shadows were cast in uncomfortable places, teasing her with their empty promises.


    Eventually she went upstairs, and into the third floor. There, the tantalizing aspect of breaking into the tower was put aside in favour of indulging her fastidiousness, and she first examined the rooms that were next to its entrance. It was there when she was rewarded for her intrusiveness, when, almost hidden by a cleverly positioned chest, she found long streaky lines etched onto the limewash. They were deep, suggesting that whoever had made them had gone over them several times; they were also clearly not made with a very sharp object. Scratches.


    And, they were positioned right above where an iron ring still protruded from the wall. They were low; they would''ve been made by someone who was sitting on the floor. Their character was obsessive, certainly they had some urgency to them. She found a second iron ring, also the size of her finger, some half a meter from the first one.


    The final discovery happened when she opened the lid of the chest that had been propped against those scratches, and found the remnants of a metal chain scattered inside. There was also a pair fetters, small enough that they could be used around her wrists, and they were falling apart from the rust that covered them. She again appraised the hooks on the wall and decided they seemed a lot more ominous now that their purpose had been revealed. Just what exactly had happened there?


    As if her thoughts had echoed in the desolate building, something stirred outside. She thought she''d heard hushed voices, and decided to take her leave before she was found peeking where she wasn''t supposed to. Perhaps, in the light of day, things would be easier to explain. On her way back to her chambers she noticed from one of the windows in the second floor two servants making their way into the harem''s quarters.


    In the morning, she rushed to the same room; she thought, perhaps, that someone would confront her, and as they did so, she''d be given leave to ask more about what she''d seen. Confrontation often unveiled small pieces of a puzzle; prohibition normally hinted at something that had once been, but was allowed no more. Sadly, all her ingeniousness went to waste, as no one stopped her. She passed by several maids in the very corridors of the harem, but none said a single word to her other than a polite greeting. And when she arrived at the room she''d been inspecting the night before, she found that the chest had been moved, and a tapestry fixed to the wall to hide the scratches and the iron rings.


    She waited outside the room until she caught the attention of one of the maids, a middle-aged woman who smiled softly at her as she asked if there was anything she could help her with.


    "Yes, actually," Ophelia said, motioning for the maid to follow as she went inside. "There are rings underneath that tapestry, as if they had been used to fix chains to the wall; above them, on the wall, there are deep marks, as if someone had scratched it. Was anyone ever held hostage here?"


    The maid responded without missing a bit, but something in her eyes made it clear that she knew more than what she was letting on. "I don''t quite recollect that happening, your highness, but it is worth noting that this part of the property used to be part of one of the barracks of the Knights of the Black Sun before his excellency''s time."


    Ophelia tried asking some further questions, but she hit once again the same wall as before. The servants would not tell her anything of value.


    She thanked the maid and decided to wander back to the west wing in search of Calliope. Perhaps they could distract each other with some games until that evening; and when it all went quiet, and the servants had all gone to bed, she''d finish her exploration.


    Breaking into the tower of the east wing was almost an afterthought for her; even if the door had been locked with heavy chains her intrusion was but a matter of unravelling iron into a tangle of rusty threads. Metal acted like yarn under her fingers, and she wondered as the stiff cords grew into a pile on the ground if the staff really understood what she was about. None of them were of the aristocracy except for the head butler; they could not use aether, and perhaps, they truly did not know what it was capable of. She''d assumed so far that she''d entered the house as a Byzantine, but perhaps, even the butler was not privy to that information.


    It mattered not; all it meant was that there wasn''t really anything to stop her opening the door, and carefully making her way upstairs. She lit her way with that same fluorescent light she''d evoked the previous day, finding an opponent in the old, uneven steps of the spiral staircase. It wasn''t until she was on the way to the second floor in the tower that she realized she could simply make herself float towards the landing: she had no choice, after all, as several of the stone steps had been utterly destroyed, leaving a gap almost as tall as she was between the landing and the last step.


    There really wasn''t any complexity in that tower: each storey comprised of a single chamber. With tiny slits for windows, she was reminded of the cells in Arqa''s palace; they were certainly smaller than the one Hyperion had been confined in. The first room was bare; only a chair had been left behind. One of its legs had been broken, and unbalanced, it laid on its side on the floor.


    It was in the second storey that something more interesting awaited her. It looked like an attic; and with the cold harsh light of her fluorescent floating bulbs it definitely made her feel like she was walking into a storage room. Three sets of chests had been left in there; a table, several chairs, and stacked against a wall all the necessary parts to assemble a bed frame. Scattered around were personal items of all sorts: the back of a mirror, ivory combs, several broken glass containers, sandals and even a purple stola, which hung from one of the legs of the table, which had been turned on its side.


    The contrast of that cluttered, chaotic room and the bareness of the rest of the harem was striking: if the room had been bigger, perhaps she''d been inclined to think all that furniture had been hurriedly stored there. But it was clear that all that were the belongings of a single person; and by virtue of the natural logic that makes humans assume all mysteries must be linked, Ophelia decided to suspect the owner was the same that had etched their fingernails into the wall in the room below.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    She looked around the floor, reached into the far corners for anything that might give her more clues. When she found nothing of interest, she started opening the chests, going through them. They all had fabrics and clothing in them, and except for the second one, they contained nothing else. But still, something had been hidden in that second chest underneath the stolas: an old manuscript, bound in leather, with pages made of parchment.


    Bright illustrations accompanied elaborate calligraphy: she recognised the latin script the Elysium empire favoured, but would not be able to easily decipher it. It was, after all, a bit like the gothic style of writing that was common in her own world for old manuscripts, which for the eyes of the modern reader were but an impenetrable maze. Around the paragraphs and occupying every bit of free space available, another hand had made their own additions in a friendlier block-style type; the dark blue ink stood in contrast to the black of the main text, its penmanship decidedly less artistic and more personal. As Ophelia tried to make sense of it, she realized it was someone''s confessions, a diary of sorts.


    That he would dare try and sully this great lineage of mine, first daughter to the great Duke of the West, is incomprehensible, Ophelia read with great effort. Where is his love for this Empire? His sense of duty, his pride and honour as the heir to the only arch-duke? How is a man so blind, so incredibly stupid as to not see what''s in front of his eyes?


    The more she read, the easier it became. She continued flipping the manuscript around, passing one page at a time, trying to make sense of that angry woman:


    No one else in this empire can lay claim on him; that is the way things are. That he so ardently defies the proper way of things by twisting my fate so, by forcing my hand in this matter fills me with no small amount of anger. Aegyr, Lord Scipio, how perverse are you? This duke''s daughter is second to none in the potency of her aether, and yet you shun me, you prefer the company of that inferior third daughter.


    Wretched Talia, who by artifice of a man''s whims has given birth four times, being favoured in all things, while I, the rightful wife, am shunned and my child scorned.


    Yes, I did under the right auspice and guidance from my most honourable father put myself forth in Lord Scipio''s way; I did act in a way that could be frowned upon, that could put into question my virtues as a lady, if it wasn''t the case that it was all guided by the right order of things. Lord Scipio and I are bound by fate; if it hadn''t been then, it would''ve been later.


    And I bore him a son, as it was my duty; and he''s a powerful one, the better amongst his children. He knows this, and yet he refuses to acknowledge him in the same manner he does the others; he''s ventured into the wrong path, fostering all sorts of strange, dangerous thoughts. I said to myself, if he dares to claim them all equal at the time of their baptism, I shall make it so that thunder will groan at the site of the temple and many teeth will be gnashed.


    And although I have many times tried to offer him a branch of my holy, an offering of peace, he turned me away, time after time. If I had not been a mother, I would have perhaps tried my womanly arts once again. But for the sake of ensuring my child''s rightful place I was forced to act. Like a good gardener should protect their garden, I took care in getting rid of pesky, filthy pigeons; it will not do to hide an eagle in the nest of a swallow.


    He has now locked me in this horrible place; my child has been taken from me, and I barely see any sun to warm my skin, any bread to fill my belly, any wine to wet my lips. I have yelled and fought, but he has put his Lyre''s Tears on me, and now I am as powerless and pathetic as any other commoner. He has made no secret of the fate that awaits me; in this matter he''s the sole judge and executioner. I can only imagine the lies that he must be feeding my mother, my father; but I have faith in the shrewdness of my bloodline. They will be able to see through his deception, and they shall come to rescue me, give me justice.


    I write this so that it may once land in the hands of my venerable mother, who will seek my justice. Mother, this daughter of yours has been horribly wronged: I implore that you stop at nothing to achieve justice, for the sake of our family name. This book was your gift to me on the occasion of my wedding, as tradition had it; it is fitting that as it is my marriage which saw to my end, that you get it back filled with my intentions. Eternal prosperity to our family, to the once and future Duke in the West, Lord Pylos.


    A few pages of blank margins had been left, but nothing else had been written on the manuscript. Ophelia flipped through its pages again, this time going backwards, to see if she''d missed something. There was nothing else.


    The temptation of taking the document with her was tantalizing for about a few seconds, before she came to her senses: what was she to do with it? Throw it at Aegyr''s feet, demand an explanation? Even if Lady Pilos had met her demise, even if she had been held downstairs, produced the scratches on the wall, what was she expecting to happen? A crew of forensics would not storm in to gather evidence, a court of law would never prosecute Aegyr; Elysium bent to the will of those who had power to speak the loudest.


    She would leave everything as she''d found it, but she would not pretend she hadn''t seen it. She left the tower, purposely leaving the iron threads that had once been chains on the floor in front of the entrance. She didn''t bother silencing her footsteps; she walked with her head held high. However no servants came across her; they had long ago gone to sleep.


    As she was about to enter her room, she realized not everyone had fallen to the charms of the night: the soft light of the lamps glowed warmly, beckoning her from the corridor. She thought perhaps Calliope had come to share a midnight snack with her, then fallen asleep, but she spied a man''s silhouette sitting on the bed and knew the master of the house was back.


    "Out for a midnight stroll?" Aegyr asked when he heard her enter, turning around to face her. "I saw you leaving the east wing."


    Was it an accusation? An invitation for her to ask her questions? His tone, as ever, gave no clue as to what his true thoughts were.


    "There is this story I remember from my childhood; it was the tale of a man named Bluebeard. He was a fabulously wealthy man whose five wives had all mysteriously vanished. In the tale, he seduces a young woman, who agrees to marry him. After she has entered into his household, she''s given the keys to every single room, bar the one that leads to the cellar. She''s told not to look into it; else, terrible things might happen."


    Ophelia sat in one of the chairs that faced the balcony; half of her face was softly illuminated by moonlight, half by candlelight. "She eventually falls prey to her curiosity, steals the key that opens the door to the cellar, and finds that Bluebeard has been keeping the bodies of the wives he murdered downstairs."


    She looked at Aegyr, body halfway turned towards him. "I don''t meant to imply anything, of course; I simply wanted to share what has been on my mind."


    Silence fell heavily on the room; it was tense, full of expectation. In the dim lighting she could not quite tell what the man was thinking, only that he seemed to be deep in thought. His hands were resting calmly, interlaced, on his lap; one might have thought a nervous person would''ve fidgeted. But he was different; and to the observant eye, only the tense line of his shoulders betrayed him.


    "It is true that the east wing is empty because all of its occupants are dead," he said, finally. "If I do share my tale, would you come sit closer to me? I am only human, after all, and these are painful memories."


    Ophelia felt cautious at first; was he seeking her comfort? Or was he looking for her pity? She slowly nodded, and moved to sit on the bed, with enough distance between the two of them not to give him any strange ideas.


    "To celebrate the arrival of spring, the Pylos family, the western dukes, would hold banquets and tournaments, and other such entertainments," Aegyr began after she''d joined him. "I assumed my responsibilities very young; it was my duty to represent my family at their famous soiree. So I went for the first time the same year that their eldest daughter came of age. They''d expressed their intent to formalize an engagement between the two of us, but due to my circumstances I kept postponing its arrangement."


    He looked at the Lyre''s tears that hung in Ophelia''s boudoir. "Our aether makes us in many ways different from other humans, but it doesn''t make us invincible. In my inexperience I failed to see the signs of a zealous father who had much to prove, and a besotted woman who could not control her desires. Through the artifice of poison, I was made unconscious, and lady Pylos celebrated the rites of marriage by herself."


    Ophelia drew back, shocked. "A child was conceived that night," Aegyr continued. "And, as objectionable as their schemes had been, taking her in as my wife was the lesser evil overall."


    "How could that be?" Ophelia indignantly asked. "How could such evil go unpunished?"


    "Evil?" Aegyr was genuinely curious at her words. "She was the best candidate for me; in that her father and her were absolutely right. And some might say that it would''ve been bound to happen sooner or later; certainly, there''s some blame on my part for having neglected my duties to bear an heir for so long."


    "No! There''s no blame on your part," Ophelia reached out to grab his hand in hers. Her eyes were full of fire. "She should''ve waited until you were ready. Nothing excuses her forcing herself on you. Even if you two were meant to be, fate will not give her rights over your agency."


    Aegyr''s lips twitched. "I am touched by your concern; your words are true, Lady Ophelia. Fate did indeed reveal that there''s more to it than just pedigree. That might have put us on the same level as equals, but it''s our decisions that shaped what happened next."


    He put his other hand on hers. "She entered this house with none of my forgiveness. Due to her station I was forced to feign some civility, but knowing of her possessiveness towards me I made sure she knew she was my first wife in name only. She was still pregnant when I brought another concubine, Lady Talia. I showered her with gifts, gave her new servants, and fathered twins with her. My intentions were not entirely insincere, but she soon began to develop a fixation that I did not share."


    "As it was expected of my role, I brought two more concubines in, Lady Priya and Lady Jul. Over the next four years I continued to favour them, and my other seven children were born. I had placed Lady Pylos in an appalling position; her influence was minimal, and despite her family name and the strength of her aether, she was for all intent and purposes at the bottom of the hierarchy. Her anger simmered until it boiled."


    "Over the course of two weeks, while everyone slept, she snuck into Lady Talia''s rooms and spread rubidian powder over her and the children. Although in small doses it causes no harm, prolonged exposure caused the little ones to foam at the mouth and their faces turn sickly yellow. If it hadn''t been for one of the maids who caught her in the act one of the nights, they would have all died."


    "I was both delighted at the opportunity to finally dispose of her, and deeply disturbed that her wickedness knew no bounds. If she''d just harmed the other concubines, she could''ve perhaps been able to get away with it, if not face exile into some other manor in the countryside. But as she''d made the children targets as well, I was within my rights to take her life."


    "I snuck into the tower," Ophelia interrupted him, "and found a manuscript in one of the chests. Lady Pylos had written a letter of sorts in the margin, to her mother. Was she held prisoner before¡­?"


    Aegyr nodded. "Yes, those are her belongings. I¡­ had forgotten they were still there. Was the manuscript, perhaps, a copy of The Tale of Death and the Maiden?"


    Ophelia nodded. "Ah, yes," Aegyr pursued his lips. "It''s a tradition that mothers pass on to their first daughters a copy of that book as part of their dowry. And in cases of divorce, or when the daughter dies before her mother, the book is meant to be sent back to her family."


    "Did you read its contents?"


    "I saw no reason to."


    "She was very angry. She had some hope she would be rescued."


    Aegyr snorted. "To the very end she truly believed in her own exceptionality. I did have to notify her parents and present my case to the Pleroma, but given how strong the evidence was, there was very little argument to be made. Her parents had no choice but to renounce her, and erase her from the family registry to save their own reputation. No one was going to come for her."


    Ophelia tried to recall more from the letter she''d read, but after hearing Aegyr''s own account of the story the details blurred together. There was, however one detail that she was curious about: "how come she didn''t escape? It''s not very difficult to come in and out of that tower. Were Knights keeping an eye on her?"


    Aegyr blinked once before his lips curved slightly. "Lady Ophelia, the Knights escorted you due to your unique circumstances. No one else would be given that honour; they''re either dealt with immediately, or as is the case with Lady Pylos, I forced her to wear my Tears. Such are the qualities of those extraordinary stones, that after attuning to their owner, they will snuff out the aether of anyone who carries them on themselves who happens to have a lesser degree of it."


    "Oh," Ophelia remembered the moment the man had put his pendant on her. "Do you often use it like that, then?"


    "That was an extraordinary case," he explained. "I could''ve used more¡­ ungentlemanly methods to restrain her. But she was still the mother of my child, and I gave her that much mercy."


    "You still chained her to the wall!"


    Aegyr looked confused for a moment, before his eyes lost focus and he found in his memory an explanation for her comment. "Ah; not quite so. But, perhaps I better continue my tale, as we''ll get to that."


    "Lady Talia and the children did not survive unscathed. She became unstable; the shock of what happened and her own growing obsession mixed in unpleasant ways, and she soon became manic, and a menace to herself and others. As the children''s health had become precarious, I made the decision of sending them all north, to be raised in a large property we have in the valley of Uco. I wanted to prevent history from repeating itself, even if it meant separating them from their mothers."


    "The death of Lady Pylos did not deter the others from playing their games. Unbeknownst to me, Lady Priya begun to approach Lady Talia as her health worsened, and through her smooth talking convinced her that Lady Jul was after her life. There was a first attempt on Lady Jul''s life, after which I ordered Lady Talia to be restrained in the room next to the tower. I had not known then of Lady Priya''s schemes; one night she bribed a servant to release Lady Talia, who ran to Lady Jul''s rooms. Poor woman, she was attacked in such a way that one could hardly tell whether it had been done by man or beast."


    "Lady Priya, who witnessed the entire scene, encouraged Lady Talia to turn against herself. I can only imagine that in her wretched state, her mind only tatters of what had once been, she saw some sense in what was being said. Or perhaps, a semblance of sanity brought some remorse with her. The result was the same, regardless: she killed herself then."


    "I would''ve been oblivious to Lady Priya''s meddling if it hadn''t been for her poor choice of lackeys. The man she''d bribed spent all his money and some in drink and games the very next day, and a creditor was sent to our manor to look for him. The butler caught on to it, and after making the necessary inquiries, alerted me as to what had happened. It took about ten minutes of interrogation for him to confess."


    At that point Aegyr moved away from her. A moment of silence passed before he found the right words to continue. "I admit that, perhaps, I overstepped my bounds then. Had that case happened at some other point in time, I would''ve done what was expected and send Lady Priya to her exile. But the madness in the east wing had not left me untouched; I too, began to feel paranoid that if I did not nip it in the bud that it would come back again to haunt me. So I had her executed, as well, and made it seem like Lady Priya had also fallen prey to Lady Talia''s madness."


    His lips twitched. "I cannot say that I can live up to your expectations, lady Ophelia; I have not kept the bodies of my four wives in the cellar. But perhaps it does speak to your good intuition that I cannot altogether disassociate myself from your Bluebeard."


    Ophelia would''ve liked to imagine herself blameless, but there was a bitter taste in her mouth. "I''ve been nosy; I apologise."


    His weight on the bed shifted. Her heart skipped a beat, and then returned to normal when he stood up. It wasn''t the first time he''d intruded in her quarters, but after baring his past for her listening pleasure a certain air of intimacy had slowly settled over the room. It awakened her nerves, made her fingertips twitch: she didn''t know if she wanted things to go one way or the other.


    "On the contrary;" his voice was low, almost a whisper. "I find no small amount of joy that you would take interest in my affairs, lady Ophelia."


    His half-lidded stare met hers. With Phobos she''d felt no need for pauses; even a stare was expressive enough to break through the silence. But Aegyr''s rythim was strange. It could be bare, minimal, the calm before the storm; it could be very intense at times, either filling her with anger and frustration, or as it was the case at that moment, a deep sense of compassion. It ran, it stalled, it ran again for miles, then stopped. She wasn''t quite sure when she''d hit one of those walls he put up, when she''d have to be on guard, when she''d have to coax him to answer.


    His fingers touched her face. She didn''t know why, but she closed her eyes. The world came alive all of the sudden, and she could detect the smallest of tremors in that hand that explored her cheek so reverently. She could hear Aegyr''s breathing had hitched, and the soft shuffle of his stola as he leaned in towards her.


    His scent washed over her like a fresh winter breeze. She opened her eyes, knowing that she''d find that intense icy blue stare looking back. His face was an inch away from her own, and his fingers were still on her cheek.


    She flinched.


    It all crumbled away in a second; a deep anxiety settled at the bottom of her stomach. She could not allow him to go any further. Whatever intimacy they''d built, it wasn''t the type that would invite him into her arms. She was enthralled by his beauty, by the mystery of his taciturn manner, and that made it all very confusing. Was he a mystery to solve or a man she wanted to embrace? She did not fully know, yet.


    He sensed her hesitation: he conceded but did not capitulate, and lightly kissed her on her forehead before moving away. "I will eagerly await for your curiosity, my lady," he said, as he turned to leave.

 Chapter 16

    By mid morning light had flooded the room to the extent that the few shadows that survived drowning were made all the more stark, all the more blue by their perils. Her skin glowed, so did his dark hair, and even Calliope''s hazel eyes seemed to turn into molten gold. The fruits were all so vibrant in colour that it made them feel artificial to her eyes, and she half expected to taste plastic when she bit into them. It was only breakfast, but it felt like they were dining at Mount Olympus, mortals made gods.


    Aegyr had sent for her earlier, told her he''d appreciate her company for the morning meal. If his actions the night before would''ve engendered a sense of awkwardness between any other two humans, he hadn''t quite received that lesson. It was as if he expected things to continue progressing as normal, which put Ophelia on edge. What if he approached her, tried to kiss her once more¡­?


    Fortunately, although whether it was good or bad was highly debatable, a certain message Aegyr had received an hour earlier would make her feel immature for worrying about such things. "I have received word from Sophia," he said, and she heard Calliope beside her gasp, "that his majesty the Emperor has called for the celebration of the Mystae. He has announced that he will appoint your title himself before the rites of baptism are held."


    Calliope almost jumped up: only Aegyr''s stern stare stopped her. "Oh! This is incredible! The Mystae hasn''t been held in over a hundred years!"


    "What is this? A festival?" asked Ophelia.


    "It''s something else entirely," Aegyr explained. "It''s only been held to commemorate special occasions. The first of them marks the start of our calendar; the second was held after the Suebii and Vandal kingdoms were subjugated and incorporated to the empire, the third was held at the end of the Great Long Winter. This would be the fourth time it''s called."


    "What happens in these celebrations?"


    "Certain things will vary according to the occasion, but it is customary to hold baptisms, the Bacchanalia. His majesty might also decide to give special dispensations."


    Ophelia frowned. "The Bacchanalia? That''s where he calls for women to¡­" she trailed off, her sensitivities not quite allowing her to finish that sentence. Calliope, alert teenager she was, picked up where she left off:


    "Make new families!" she smiled, excitedly. "I wish we had the honour of being called."


    "You''re too young for that," Ophelia said. Calliope pouted.


    "I''m not a child! And I''m engaged, I shall have you know. I''ll have my wedding next year," an idea suddenly occurred to her and her eyes went wide. "Oh, your highness! Do you think you''ll be called? It would make the most sense as you come from Byzantium, too!"


    Ophelia paled; that had been her initial thought as well when she''d heard the Bacchanalia mentioned, but she''d forced the thought to the back of her head.


    Aegyr cleared his throat.


    "If that had been the case, it would''ve been made explicit by the messenger," he did not look any better than Ophelia. "He simply requested her presence for the title appointment ceremony."


    There was a certain reticence in his manner that alarmed the woman. "It could still happen, could it?" she asked. "He could still call for me."


    "It''s¡­ not clear at this point what his majesty''s thoughts are on the matter. As Lady Calliope pointed out, it would also be the common expectation from everyone else in Elysium."


    Her eyes strayed towards her confused lady-in-waiting; she did not want to have that conversation in front of her. She stood up, and ordered her and the rest of the servants in the room to leave, and after they did, she sat closer to Aegyr.


    "Please, don''t take me to Sophia," she begged. "This may be tradition to you, but for me it''s cruelty."


    She had expected yet another talk about fate and order and all those things that seemed to be more dogma to him than a simple philosophy, but she found in his initial silence that he was equally as perturbed by the prospects that awaited her. There was struggle in his eyes.


    "I¡­ we have no choice in the matter. But once there, I can request an audience."


    "Choice? There''s plenty," Ophelia whispered, indignant. "You could let me escape as we make our way there."


    "How far do you think you can go, my lady?" Aegyr narrowed his eyes. "It will take you at least a week and a half to leave the Empire on your own; even if we assumed you knew how to make your way out of it. And there''ll be Knights escorting us, dozens of other families on the same route making their way there. You will be hunted down by an entire nation."


    Ophelia stood up. There were tears in her eyes. "So what? Do I have to just resign myself to my fate?"


    "Fate only brings us together; what we make out of it is entirely our own choice," he echoed the words of the previous night. "You will have to meet his majesty at some point or another; that is unavoidable. As to whether you''ll be called to serve as a mistress, I want to believe you will have more power over that than you may think."


    "I didn''t take you for a gambling man," Ophelia spat out. "I know I''m certainly not."


    She stormed off back to her chambers. Her rage and indignation had to be forcibly stomped back to the recesses of her mind as the next few days saw the manor inundated with Knights. The rest of her stay at Aegyr''s manor was tense, and she made no attempt to hide her open hostility. Busy with the preparations of the trip, he stayed away for the most part dealing with the contingency of Knights that would become their escort. Even Calliope decided to avoid the subject of the Mystae altogether, after noticing the sour disposition it tended to bring out in her mistress.


    It took three days to arrange, and once they were ready to go, she left her room without looking back or even daring to lift a finger to prepare. The only thing she truly cared about was the armband from Hyperion that as always was securely stored in a small leather pouch that hang from her waist. Wherever she went, she knew, she''d have to dress up in whichever way they wanted her to: she had no clothes of her own, or even possessions she could cherish. The things she''d brought from London had all been stashed away in Hyperion''s villa in Arqa, and for the first time ever she found herself missing them.


    As she was led by Aegyr into the carriage that would take her to Sophia, she searched around for the invisible strings that moved her limbs; it would not have surprised her at all if she did find them, given how much she''d been divested of her agency by Elysium. Perhaps the tower in the east wing had touched her with a hint of madness as well, as she pondered if she could truly test her own powers by trying a bold, chaotic escape then.


    She fantasized of big explosions and a dash through smoke and falling debris ¨C but as the thought formed into images in her mind, she went back to Arqa and the terrible smell of burning flesh, the hushed moans and the sooth that covered her fingers, and knew it would all remain a fantasy. Perhaps it wouldn''t be a test of her powers as much as a test of her will to do such things, which she knew she''d fail miserably. She''d take being delivered to a strange man over potentially killing anyone.


    Elysium saw to their departure with joy; a caravan had already started, and they were not the only ones en route. Carriages with elaborate emblems filled the streets, the gallop of horses echoing loudly amidst the excited shouts of the commoners who were not able to attend the Mystae. Many guessed as to who the occupants of Lord Scipio''s carriage were by virtue of the number of Knights that were escorting them, and this summoned a wave of curious faces trying to sneak a glance from the sidelines. Ophelia saw flowers being thrown, then sashes, veils, even necklaces and other small objects. As they hit the carriage they made it seem as if it had begun to hail, but it was Calliope who assured her it was all fine:


    "It''s a superstition. They will retrieve whatever they threw later, and believe it brings them good luck, cures them of their ailments, that sort of thing."


    Their pace picked up after they ventured outside of the boundaries of the suburbs. With the Knights clearing their way, their preferential treatment allowed them to cover distance faster, and soon they reached the hills north of Aurelia, in the region they called Domusprimum. The area was not necessarily poorer but lacked the grandiose air of the capital and the population was more scarce, so as they advanced Ophelia truly felt they were venturing into the country.


    It was in Domusprimum where the first signs of the Aaentiean mountain belt was seen; stretching eastwards, they provided Phrygia and Thracia the natural borders for which they''d been made famously unconquerable. Their most famous feature were the Black Mountains, where the earth was of a deep dark colour that stained even the top of the trees that grew on it, but close second came the curious formation of the Domusprimum canyon. Streaked with six different colours, behemoths arose from the creek at the bottom of the valley to render all architecture insignificant. The walls were smooth, and even shone under the sun when the light caught a reflection off some powdered quartz on their surface. At the top of one of the canyons a number of inns offered rest and food for the wearied traveller who was in search of the magnificent landscape; they promised the best goat stew in the region, and tastes of the, according to them, ''world-famous'' Domusprimum cheese.


    Perhaps it had all sounded tantalizing to their party, perhaps it was simply tradition to make a stop in that particular place on the way to Sophia; regardless, they decided to rest there for an hour. The two carriages in their party went to join the line that had already gathered behind one of the inns; the cavalry went to find the rudimentary stables that had been set up as part of that post. Calliope and Ophelia stepped out to stretch their legs.


    "I remember coming here as a child," the teenager said as she stared in amazement at the scene. "It all seems so much smaller."


    Aegyr came up from behind them, and softly placed a hand on Ophelia''s shoulder. He lightly grazed one of the Lyre Tear''s she had been told to wear before leaving Aurelia, which perhaps was a purposeful move as he then said "let''s find somewhere private, and away from all these eyes."


    Around them, the crowd of those departing or arriving at the inns had not failed to notice the glow that illuminated both hers and Aegyr''s necks; she''d heard hushed whispers and gasps, and a multitude of stares that were angrily drinking in their every move. It would take one brave person to come to her before they all descended upon them; before that happened, they needed to get some privacy.


    They walked towards the edge of the cliff, where someone had left multiple tree stumps as some sort of crude chairs for anyone to pick up and sit on. The view was marvellous, even as the sunlight had begun to wane, and it encouraged their silence as they took in the monumental view. So many colours, so much light and shine; in spite of the children''s screams in the background, it felt oddly peaceful.


    Ophelia had one of those moments where the reality of her experience hit her: she realized that she''d never expected to live through such strange moments, and to be in a place like that, surrounded by people like that. It was so unreal it made it all the more evident that she was there and not dreaming in her room; and for that, she felt at least some gratitude.


    Her thoughts were interrupted brusquely when Calliope, careless Calliope, walked closer to the cliff and decided she wanted to try recovering the jar someone had thrown away into the canyon. It had been chipped, it showed that it had been disposed of ¨C but it was of a bright blue colour, and that was interesting enough for her. It was resting precariously on a kind of natural platform four feet below the edge of the cliff, and the girl stood closer trying to call it forth with her aether.


    Her lack of control, or perhaps the distance, made it a difficult task for her: Ophelia, who was nervously watching her, had already begun to step towards her when the girl''s unconscious shifting towards the edge turned dangerous. She shouted, Calliope began to fall; it all happened in a split second.


    Ophelia would remember almost taking a hold of the girl''s arm; unconsciously, her aether grabbed Calliope''s body when she failed to do so, and sent it backwards into safety. Unfortunately, the momentum made Ophelia tip over the edge, and then it was her who was falling.


    A multitude of voices rained on her descent as the screams of the onlookers echoed in the canyon. A shadow followed her, a mass of black hair and a hand that was reaching out for her. For some reason, nothing was changing, despite her doing her damnedest to force yet another aurelian miracle to stop her fall.


    The darkness never came. She was falling, then the next thing she knew she was staring at the night sky, resting on a patch of grass. She gasped for breath, then trembled, reacting as if her body ought to be broken. Her mind was tearing itself from the vision of the reddened canyon walls engulfing her, assembling the picture she was now staring at.


    It took her a few minutes until she started laughing at herself: her eyes, washed clean from months of that strange trip, had taken in her surroundings with the naivety of someone who quite did not know what to expect next. It was strange how it all suddenly revealed itself as foreign, only comparable to what she''d become used to in Arqa, in Caudiceum, in Elysium: she saw the statues and thought they might be close to a temple, drew the shape of the fences as carefully tended tree trunks, turned the park into someone''s villa garden.


    It was the light of the London Eye that made everything come into focus, and staring back at her, welcomed her back to the city that she''d thought she''d never go back to.


    Something took a hold of her chest. The first moment was of doubt ¨C was she really back in London? The second, of deep, deep fear: had it all been real? And the third, of desperation: what if she was stuck there, again, forever? But mercy was kind enough to gift her a sign, and she heard then a spluttering, a cough from a man behind her.


    "Aegyr," she almost shouted, running to him. The shadows had hidden his form, kept him safe from the harsh changing neon lights coming across the Thames. His mind also had chosen to believe that he''d died, and his body took a moment to find out that he was, in fact, in one piece. She knelt next to him, hands reaching out to touch the only proof she had that she hadn''t hallucinated the last few months.


    "What happened?" his eyes scanned her face, before something relaxed in them. He sat up, took in his surroundings, and Ophelia wondered if he was seeing the same thing she''d seen at first. "Where are we?"


    "Somehow¡­ I don''t know how, or why¡­ we ended up in London."


    "London?" it took him a second to process what she had said, before he grabbed her shoulders with an urgency that seemed all-too-endearing. "This is Byzantium?"


    She nodded. Fast as lighting he had jumped to his feet, looking around in pure wonder. It wasn''t long until he caught sight of what lay beyond that little park, beyond the black fence: the street, the banks of the Thames, the cars driving by. The changing lights of the London Eye reflecting on the river waters, on the surface of Cleopatra''s needle, partially obscured by the trees.


    "Byzantium¡­" Ophelia heard him whisper as he pressed himself against the fence, staring out into the world he''d only heard of in myths.


    "The one and only, I suppose," past the initial moment of surprise, Ophelia felt like she was slowly wearing back a suit she''d once worn daily. Westminster borough with all its nightlife, commoner and royal drunks, had a seizable police force patrolling the streets, and the two of them were currently trespassing. The word rolled around her mind lazily, almost as if it''d rather stick to oblivion than come back to warn her of the peculiarities of British culture. But they were back, she remembered, and it was time to go.


    They hopped over the fence: she could not say she expected to count with the cheat codes she''d earned in the other world, but still found it disappointing that she could not quite float herself in and out of places anymore.


    "See? No aether in Byzantium. We''re all plain Janes and Joes, here," she said to the confused Aegyr, who didn''t seem any less enthusiastic about the place.


    "The candles shine so bright here," he said in wonder, looking up.


    "That''s because they''re not candles. They''re lit using electricity¡­ something alike to lightning," Ophelia said.


    "You can create and capture lightning like this?"


    Ophelia laughed; she was delighted by the accidental poetry in his words. "You shall see what else we can do with it. Here, see those?" she pointed at the traffic. "They''re the cars I once told you about. And the silent ones, those are powered by that electricity."


    A bus passed them by. "And they can be so big!" Aegyr exclaimed.


    They slowly made their way north. Understandably the Elysian was initially fascinated by the vision of that enormous wheel that seemed to colour its surroundings, and the river''s water, in different shades of red. Ophelia explained that it was more than just lighting, that it wasn''t a monument; one could ride in it, and it was a popular spot for those who went to visit the city.


    "We ought to try it," Aegyr whispered. He was smiling from ear to ear, like a child who''d just been eating candy. Ophelia, without his notice, offered the always helpful and non-committal ''yes, that''d be nice'' before leading him into the next attraction. She wasn''t sure what time it was, but it clearly wasn''t so late that she''d find groups of hens shouting for a kebab in the middle of a street, so the tube would''ve still been open. They made their way to Embankment station, and finally a certain degree of disappointment of some sort showed on Aegyr''s face: "it feels like the final days of the Bacchanalia," he said disparagingly as he heard the shouts and saw the stumbling of the hard working British party goer.


    It was only when Ophelia caught sight of the faregates that she realized of the logistical problems they were facing: they had no money, and unlike some other stations, Embankment was popular enough to have very attentive staff around them. She thought about pulling some sort of trick, but with her aether it seemed that also her deviousness had also gone away. That was the way of that city, of her life until then: it seemed to weigh on her, crush her spirit into conformity to the point that there was no recourse but to play the game, obey its laws. An invisible custodian had awoken in her head, shutting down her ideas before they became fully formed.


    Welcome to London.


    "What is this small tablet?" Aegyr asked; it seemed that while she was having a small existential crisis he''d wandered around the entrance, exploring all the nooks and crooks of its grubby glory, and had happened upon an Oyster card. Ophelia stared at him in disbelief.


    "Oh lord, please let it have some credit¡­" she said, taking it out of his hands and walking into the station to hold it against the reader of one of the ticket machines. Someone had had twenty pounds fall out of their pocket when they''d lost it. She took a look at the TFL employees; Aegyr''s good luck had given her spirits back. She decided to run a little experiment: if her aether was gone, perhaps the peculiarity of her insignificance in that world would''ve come back.


    She walked Aegyr to the gates, and instructed him on how to use the Oyster to open them. Enthusiastic, he repeated what she told him with no fault whatsoever; waiting on the other side, he watched as she brazenly took her time to climb over the gates. His sharp mind quickly grasped the situation, piecing together what she''d said, what she''d done, and what she''d told him to do. "Can you use this tablet without limit?" he asked curiously. "And why did you climb over the gates, rather than using this tablet?"


    "It''s called an oyster card, by the way," Ophelia explained as she motioned for him to follow her to the escalators. "You can charge it with a certain amount of money, and then every time you use the tube, it subtracts the fare of the journey. This is so you don''t have to manually pay for every single ride, separately. Unfortunately, only one person can use it at a time. I don''t have any currency with me, so for me to travel I had to¡­ do something that''s not allowed."


    "Will you get in trouble?"


    Ophelia smiled. "Fortunately, although we might not be able to use our aether here, I still do have a superpower of some sort: this place loves to ignore me. So I can get away with a lot of things simply because I''m invisible to the folks in here. It''s very strange."


    Aegyr''s expression made it clear that he didn''t understand fully what she meant by that, but he didn''t press it. The roar of the trains as they approached the station, the disembodied voice telling them to mind the gap, and the conductor cracking a dry joke about their destination over the speakers required the full attention of the man from the other world. His eyes drank in every detail, piercing together observations that he''d share with Ophelia from time to time to check their validity. It was the most animated and chatty he''d ever seen the normally aloof, cold man, and she welcomed the change. That he was excited about their crossing into Byzantium was better than her wallowing in the misery of being back.


    They got off at Highgate station. At that time of the night it was mostly empty, although some strange characters were still running around the park to pay their quota of the day''s fitness goals. Her feet had no trouble finding their way through the once daily path she''d make to and from work; she made the same shortcuts, crossed the street in the exact same way she''d done before her journey to that other world. She stared longingly at the chippy she defected to when she wasn''t in the mood for cooking, and speculatively at the Tesco Express, thinking that once she got a hold of her cards they''d need to run some errands.


    They made it to her apartment, finally. She wasn''t one to regularly come back home after a drunken night out, and she wasn''t any more forgetful than the average joe, but in its spite the universe had before done away with things she was entirely sure had been on her person. As if by magic she''d seen coins, notes, a card, and even her driver''s license vanish right before they''d be needed, never to appear again. It engendered in her a certain paranoia for such things, and at some point she''d decided she would not wait to find herself locked outside of her own apartment, and had made a little hidden compartment in the floor fittings outside her door in which she had stashed a spare set of keys.


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    Reaping the benefits of her forethought, she came back into her apartment. She asked Aegyr to make himself at home, although she wasn''t quite sure what that could mean for someone like him. She would find it difficult to situate herself in that broody space, half empty, half filled with memories. It was when she spotted the pictures of her parents and herself she''d hung on the hallway that she almost broke down crying. They were only photographs, some of them of times she''d been too young to remember or hadn''t been present for, and could only pale in comparison to the memories she cherished of them, but they served as anchors for her comfort. They were physical reminders of the people she loved the most; powerful enough to momentarily transport her to happier times. That, she had missed terribly.


    She showed Aegyr around the house; she didn''t have a spare room for him, but the couch was large enough that he would be able to sleep comfortably. The kitchen and the bathroom provided the most entertainment to him: "it''s all made so easy, so instantaneous, I see why you live without servants."


    Ophelia felt grateful for his presence. She would''ve probably crumbled in the couch to cry if she''d come back by herself; he instead allowed her to come into her house like a newborn, trying to make sense of all of the things she''d considered so mundane in a way that could be explained in Elysian. It revitalized all those crumbling corners of her flat with the magic of her adventures; and rather than becoming her entrapment in London, it turned into a refuge where the other world and Earth met.


    While she let Aegyr take his first Byzantine shower, she went through the stack of letters and bills that had been accumulated in her absence. She wondered if anyone at work had noticed she''d gone missing, or if they''d simply written her off, relieved she would not be coming back again; perhaps it was for the better the police had not stormed in to make a wellness check. A look at the dates, and then the date on her laptop, told her she''d been gone for eight months. It was now early May.


    Her stomach rumbled: she was faced with the conundrum of not being prepared to set foot in the kitchen, where surely she''d find the spoils of eight months of rotten food, and the possibility of walking to the chippy, potentially leaving Aegyr in the flat and trust he would not set anything on fire. She was in the middle of making plans when said man walked in fresh from his shower.


    "The Tears are not shining anymore," he said, as he left his on the living room''s table. She had not yet changed out of her Elysian outfit, both earrings now looking strangely dead without their preternatural glow. She turned around to answer, when she noticed he wasn''t wearing anything ¨C except for the towel she''d given him, wrapped around his waist.


    She blushed and turned back around. "We''ll have to go shopping for men''s clothes tomorrow," she said.


    "Is there somewhere I can hang my stola to air it?"


    Ophelia stammered an affirmative reply; she promised she''d take care of it. "I ought to get you something to wear¡­"


    She got the indication that perhaps Aegyr was toying with her when he followed her into her room, feigning ignorance as she rummaged through her drawers. A pair of baggy shorts she''d ordered online emerged as a clear winner: she''d been sent something two sizes too big for her, and she''d been too discouraged from trying to send it back. She held it up to him, trying not to look in the direction of the lean, well-built torso of the man, when he said, "is there something wrong, lady Ophelia? You keep shying away from me."


    "I can''t say I''m used to having men in my flat, much less men in various states of undress" she countered, making a swift escape back to the living room. "I''m going out to get us something to eat. I''ll be back in ten minutes."


    She grabbed her keys and the wallet she''d fished out from one of her jackets, and left. She didn''t bother changing; she knew that even if the entirety of the street was looking at her, it was London, and so she''d either get a pass as an ethnic outfit, or some sort of street wear too avantgarde for people to know about. And chippies, by virtue of the hours and clientele of their trade, were full of men who had perfected the art of small talk as much as they''d mastered the art of getting chips the right level of crunchy: they said enough so that it wouldn''t be awkward, but they would never intrude. Should an alien find themselves wanting to taste some good ole fish and chips in London at two am, they''d find that the hardest question they''d be asked was if they wanted Tango or a Coke to go with it.


    Armed with two battered cods, two orders of chips, a portion of cheese sticks and another one of chicken nuggets, she went back to the flat smelling like grease. Aegyr, thankfully, had changed into the shorts ¨C which seemed just slightly too tight ¨C and was now looking through her bookshelf.


    "Feel free to dig in, I''m just going to change out of this," Ophelia said as she left the bags on the small table in front of the couch and turned the TV on.


    She knew that Aegyr''s antics had worked when, taking a look at the regular set she used as pajamas, she became self-conscious. She ended up grabbing a fresh shirt and pair of joggers, and took a quick shower as well. She didn''t want it to go that way, but she definitely could feel the tell-tales of the famed Netflix and chill session starting to force their way into her flat.


    The concept of takeaway and fried fish wasn''t entirely novel to Aegyr, that she knew; the taste of the beer, however, came as a surprise. "It is very strong," he said. "Is this what you drink every day?"


    "We don''t drink beer as if it was water," Ophelia explained. "Only adults can drink it; you may think of it as a social drink, something to partake of in a public house, or as something that goes with meals."


    "What do children drink, then?"


    "Water; you can drink it from the tap here ¨C you could drink the water you showered with," that earned her a scandalized look from the man.


    Ophelia, who had been zapping through the channels, decided to show him then something she''d talked about at length before. "Oh, we should watch The Thing," she said. "This is that play, which we call movie, which I was reminded of during my initial trip to Arqa."


    What she hadn''t realized was that Aegyr didn''t speak English, and Elysian was not within the subtitle options. It didn''t matter; when she started apologizing, the man insisted on watching it regardless of the language barrier. The spectacle of it was enough for him to be entertained, and movies, when done right, were enough of a visual medium that one could follow a storyline without understanding the dialogue. She let the movie play without offering much in the way of explanations, except when it was necessary: by then the mental exercise of having to find ways to explain things that had been entirely natural to her to someone who spoke a different language and lived a completely different life had begun to strain her.


    It wasn''t until she woke up the next morning that she realized she''d fallen asleep somewhere around the middle of the movie. Disoriented, she thought for a few minutes as she laid with her eyes closed that she was back in Arqa, and then corrected herself: she was in Aurelia, in Aegyr''s manor. It wasn''t until she heard someone else shuffle in the living room that it all came crashing down and she opened her eyes: she was in her own room, with no recollection of having ever got there in the first place.


    "Morning," she greeted Aegyr as she walked into the living room. "Did you, last night¡­?"


    "I carried you to your room when the movie finished," he said. "You were very tired."


    He flicked on the TV, earning him a smile from Ophelia. "Thanks. You learn fast."


    "As strange as this all is to me, there is some logic to it. I myself am surprised that even now I start to find certain things following a certain natural order to them," he was holding a glass of water in his hand as an example.


    "You better ready yourself for today," Ophelia was almost giddy at the prospect, "I will take you to see London proper."


    But first, she recruited him to help her with the chores that ought to be taken care of: cleaning the kitchen, and specifically, the fridge from all the things that had gone bad in those eight months. It wasn''t much, as she didn''t go out of her way to cook and keep a fridge stocked with fresh food, but she''d always been adverse to the sight and smells of spoiled food, and she wanted some sort of support while it all was taken care of.


    "Ugh, I wish I had my aether now," she said, throwing the remains of a roast chicken into the garbage bin Aegyr was holding.


    "I find that a lot of the things that I would''ve done with it are already taken care of," Aegyr commented. "Heating the water for a bath, or preparing a fire for cooking; carrying an animal''s carcass for butchering, or salting it and putting it up for drying. All of that seems irrelevant here."


    "In this city? Yes. Perhaps that''s true of all the cities in the world; but there''s many places where your way of living is still considered normal. We consider them less developed, although many wonder why for all our technology and comforts there is more sadness in the cities than anywhere else."


    "Were you sad in this city?"


    "Mate, I was positively miserable," Ophelia closed the rubbish bag. "Maybe you shall see some more today, but this place doesn''t want me here and it makes a damn good job of letting me know it."


    As there was nothing else for him to wear, Aegyr donned his Elysian clothes again; Ophelia decided to show him some support by also wearing her outfit as well. It had crawled under her skin and made its home there, and she would have to say she preferred them to the clothes she''d wear in London, but it was a strange contrast to the grey of the city. Elysium was more like the Mediterranean countries: had a bright sun, an intense blue sky, and when it rained, it poured dramatically. Such vivacity was foreign to London, where even the spring felt gentle, polite, as if it didn''t want to cause much of a fuss.


    They ventured out to Oxford Street; it was a thursday, so they would avoid the weekend crowds. It was also, thankfully, sunny out; and with all the gardens and the baskets of flowers outside of cafes and pubs in full bloom, it made it all delightfully colourful.


    "You don''t call tailors to make clothes, and very few people sew their own," Ophelia explained, ushering him into one of the megastores. "Here, you come to a store, and you will find different pieces of clothing made in standardized sizes."


    "They can''t possibly make something that fits every size," he followed her lead, stopping to look at the items on display with a critical eye.


    "You''re correct; they don''t. It should fit well enough, but if it doesn''t¡­ well, there''s very little you can do about it."


    The men''s section was as always an explosion of beige and mute dark colours. The fabrics and the shape of the coats, the shirts and even the pants were strange to Aegyr, but he quickly developed a taste for what he liked and what he didn''t. He was partial to the navy blue and the dark green in his clothes, and disliked anything too bright or cheery. Ophelia waited patiently as he selected and tried on his clothes. He''d come out with a full outfit to ask her opinion, to check if it was in line with "Byzantine tastes"; Ophelia found it surreal to see the man she''d thought of as the arbiter of Elysian customs dressed as if he was going to shop at a Waitrose after a Sunday brunch.


    After paying for the full wardrobe, she took him to Soho for lunch. They''d both changed their outfits into something less noticeable at the restroom in Harrod''s, where she pointed out the many luxury items the nouveau riche would buy, before procuring one or two blends of tea she thought Hyperion would''ve loved. It was then that, as she struggled to lead him around the crowd, he grabbed her hand with an impish smile on his face. "I might get lost," he said innocently enough, and given that he was out of his Elysian clothes and looked more like another Londoner, it was easy for Ophelia to give him a pass.


    "It doesn''t matter where we go, there''s always people around," he commented while they walked around Chinatown. "I have yet to see a port, a gate, or fields. It seems like this city goes on forever."


    "It has expanded over the centuries," Ophelia explained. "A thousand years ago, this place was not part of London. We need to keep walking another thirty minutes, perhaps, to reach what was once fenced off behind gates. And this is now considered central London. Where I live, where we came from; that''s also one of the boroughs of the city; it would''ve taken us two hours to walk from there. Perhaps a century and a half ago it was just a village."


    "So it was the case with Aurelia; it reaches for the countryside, ever expanding¡­ It makes one wonder when it will stop, if it will ever collapse on itself. A city ought not to be so big¡­"


    Ophelia shook her head. She conveyed her pessimism:


    "London has only gotten hungrier over the years; whether it''s to bring more people in, or simply for expansion''s sake, it has paved over green fields, turned trees into housing states, transformed sleepy villages into commuter towns with main streets full of shops desperate to convince you not to make the trip down town. And all these malformed growths, all these boroughs end up with no identity of their own outside of the tourist attractions they provide; they''re just there to house folks so they can go to work on the Monday¡­"


    She stopped, and pointed at a cafe. "But, I suppose there are some benefits," she admitted guiltily as ushered him inside. "For example, one can eat and drink at any time of the day they want. There''s food to cater to every taste, entertainment for all pockets, always on, always something happening."


    Coffee, apparently, was something Aegyr had only tasted once and knew by the name qahwah. "That so exotic a drink for me has become so commonplace, it''s simply fascinating," he commented. "And, it does seem different from what I''ve had before; certainly divested of the powder from which it is made, it is altogether more pleasant."


    He took a look around. "It does look like a public house of sorts, with a different beverage and a different type of food. I''ve noticed that there''s many places like this. Do folks prefer eating outside than in their own homes?"


    "Well, a cafe is where you''d go for a snack on a day out, like what we''re doing now. A restaurant is where you go to have your supper or your midday meal; and it can be for a special occasion or simply because you want to have a meal out. It would be too expensive to have a meal outside every day, but it''s not so that you can''t do it every week or every other week," as she explained, in the table next to them a man produced a small gift of a rose encased in an acrylic box to his lover. Ophelia smiled at the romantic scene, and added: "we also might spend a day with a special someone, we call that a date. You''d take them for a meal, or to do something fun together. It''s an essential part of courtship in Byzantium."


    Aegyr followed her gaze, frowning ever so slightly. "Wouldn''t it be¡­ similar to what we''ve done today?"


    Ophelia blushed and put her hands up. "Y-yes¡­" she stammered, "but I wasn''t intending on courting you. You can also do that between friends."


    "You can court your friends?" he cocked an eyebrow. "Pity¡­ if this had been a date, I would''ve accepted any marriage requests sent afterwards. I cannot say that any other man or woman in Elysium could rival this courtship."


    He saw from Ophelia''s gaze, which was clearly avoiding his, that she was desperately looking for a way to shift the topic somewhere else. He felt inspired, and something inside of him had broken loose; Byzantium had worked its magic on him, releasing him from bonds he''d long ago thought would hold him until his death. "Won''t you look my way, Ophelia?" he said, dropping the honorifics. Right then and there it was just the two of them: Byzantium had transformed them, and she had become just a woman and he just a man. "One might think you''re leading a poor man on¡­"


    "I¡­" Ophelia looked conflicted, and then sighed. "What do you want from me, Aegyr? I''m not some holy woman anymore; there''s no fate here, and we are just two nameless faces in the crowd."


    "It has never been about that," the man admitted. "But equally, it is Byzantium who has made you who you are. It''s all this," he gestured around them, "which you hate, but that has transformed you into someone I''ve found deeply fascinating. It is difficult now to think of how it will all play out, but the more I walk these streets the more I''m convinced that it doesn''t matter. You''re absolutely right: we are not prisoners of Elysium''s fate anymore, so I will dare to dream."


    He looked to the side, his gaze searching something in the streets. "I want you," he said so softly she almost missed it. "Even if it''s for a few nights, even if you tire of me; as long as I have you for a single day I''ll be the most blissful man."


    Ophelia stared, dumbfounded, at the man''s passionate confession. She looked away, trying to search her feelings to form the words to respond. Of one thing she was certain¡­ "I can''t say I¡­ like you that unconditionally. You are handsome, of that there''re no doubts; it is difficult for me to deny that I see you as a man. But I can''t quite figure out how to feel about you: sometimes I think you''re the most detestable person ever, sometimes I think you''re entertaining and easy to get along with."


    He reached for her cheek. "If I ask you to use me, would you accept that?"


    It could''ve been seen as pathetic, desperate even, for any other man; but with Aegyr it just felt like it fit perfectly with his strange ways. He was a puzzle that would take forever to piece together. And it was a difficult one to solve: to the uninitiated every thread that was unravelled would appear to knot things together even more tightly. Ophelia had simply grown in her wisdom to not try to predict him.


    "Do you think I could be that cruel?"


    "You don''t know cruelty, my lady," he looked at her pointedly; the tale of his wives was still fresh in her mind. He knew her better than she did him; that much was clear. If he said so, if he chose not to see her shortcomings as cruelty, perhaps it was a call to sublimate the touch of all those women he''d forced himself to embrace. By giving her his consent, he was absolving her of her villainy, and him of his victimhood.


    "As long as it''s within Byzantium," she said finally, unsure of her own words. "I will see you with new eyes. But should we go back¡­ I might not be able to live with you in the same way."


    He agreed, but there was a certain challenge in his eyes. As strangely self-sacrificing as his words had been, he wasn''t so altruistic that he wouldn''t try to keep her within his reach with some artifice or another. Ophelia decided that his tricks would happen regardless of whether she took his hand or not; she might as well choose how and when she''d entangle and disentangle herself. Perhaps it would make it easier to see what was coming.


    The outing became a date after that; hands were held in spite of them walking through empty streets. He would stick to her side, leaning over her when she wasn''t looking, and despite the new clothes and the shower he''d had the previous night, the scent of fresh pine invaded her senses. The tension built up over the evening, but it was pleasurable, a tingle in her belly; perhaps that they''d come out clean during their cafe break had made it all the easier to give wide berth to certain desires. It was clear to Ophelia that he''d woken up a slightly different man, one capable of laughing carefree at some dumb joke she made; and this only egged her on, and she liked him more, she felt equally careless.


    Eventually they stumbled back to her flat after downing a few pints at her local, and it only felt natural that he followed her to her room. She didn''t flinch when he brought their mouths together; she took off the clothes that hid the body she''d not wanted to see the day before, lest she end up as she was then with a handful of Aegyr and a lot of regrets in the morning. But she knew that the taste of London in her skin and in her mouth needed washing, and in absence of a better candidate he would have to do. There, cruelly taken to remind herself where she''d been, where she''d found her heart, she used him that night as her link to that other world. She had him struggling on her sheets, wishing that his scent would remain forever in them so that she''d never smell that scent of loneliness again.


    Whatever it was that she gave out, he took eagerly; his hands followed where she led. There was no hesitation in his pulse, no naivete in his eyes. He was treading known territory, confident that he could show her what she was unfamiliar with. And it was it all culminated, when she let out an airy gasp after his, that she knew that every step she''d taken he''d been silently guiding her.


    Nothing was said after. They held each other in silence, chests and arms sticking together, hands clammy, throats parched. And then, almost as if they''d been together for years, another couple in London, he got up to get a glass of water and she went to take a quick shower. It was only natural that when she got back into bed, he opened his arms, letting her wet hair tickle his chest. Ophelia fell asleep thinking a whole conversation had been had, but in the wake of their arrival into what was no man''s land for the both of them, they had both connected in a strange way.


    The morning after saw the beginning of a descent into uncanny valley. Aegyr had decided to pick up English by greeting her with a timid morning; after a brief trip to the local Tesco, he had memorized most of the words for what they''d bought, as well as thank you for shopping at Tesco (diction included). He found it infinitely amusing that the machine would talk back at him, as he put it, "Byzantium has found a way to make automatas capable of singing platitudes".


    By mid morning, while they were having their breakfast he''d correctly guessed what news meant, and learnt the words for the weather in a perfect BBC accent. It only worsened as the day went on, and a walk to Highgate Cemetery had him improvising a conversation with a woman whose dog had decided to adopt him as a new owner. It was at dinner that she finally cracked, and asked, "how is it that you''re picking up English so quickly?"


    "I am accepting of Byzantium; perhaps, she''s offering me a gift," he said with a carefree smile. Gone was the archduke; in a grey hoodie, slicing bell peppers on her kitchen counter, he looked boyish; he could''ve been a coworker, an old mate from university. "Is this enough?"


    Ophelia nodded. He''d also learnt how to work the oven. "London is quite coquettish when she wants to," she said, thinking back to the twenty pound note Aegyr had found on the street earlier. "I wonder what she has in store for you."


    "For us," he said nonchalantly, correcting her as if she''d just said the sky was red.


    Ophelia would''ve wanted to insist that there was no indication that her status as persona non grata had been revoked, but she knew that it was a concept that was difficult to understand. Just as Aegyr was showing a proficiency for languages that she could''ve only attributed to a wish granted by his aether, there was also little explanation for the rational mind about her and the curse that hung over her head.


    They finished the curry after she''d repeated the instructions in Elysian and English, and settled for another movie night. Not one to spend much time looking for the perfect choice, she decided to go for Starship Troopers for the night, thinking perhaps that a dumb sci-fi action would definitely elicit some interesting responses from the man from the other world. And it did; but they were of an altogether different nature from what she was expecting.


    "This is¡­ weird, huh," she said to herself. So far she''d been translating some of the dialogue, and as she did, Aegyr had begun to pick up more and more; enough that she was needed less and less. This had forced her to pay closer attention to the plot, and she began to notice that the film was not as dumb and thoughtless as she''d thought at first. There were references, and she soon had to explain what fascism meant.


    "It''s a satire," she said, pensively. "They are unquestioningly loyal to their government, happily partaking in the machine of war¡­ Not aware that they''re merely flesh for their cannons."


    "They''re fulfilling their duty to their nation, to their fatherland," Aegyr countered. "They''re defending what''s theirs, and then preventing further damage by taking over the land of their attackers. What''s to satirize about?"


    "Duty? They''re being thrown into the carnage for no other reason than profit. They might think they''re doing it out of duty for the Earth; their leaders, certainly, have other motives."


    "The leaders must ensure the prosperity of the generations to come. That demands a sacrifice. They also have children, grandchildren they want to see thrive."


    "That''s why they have to send the lesser folk to die?"


    "Everyone has their role."


    "You think you''re the protagonist, don''t you?" Ophelia turned around to look at the man in the eye, frustrated. "You feel comfort in knowing that, like Rico, you will get to the end of the movie. But have you ever thought you might not? Now that you''re here in Byzantium, there is no Scipio family name to hide behind, no privileged spot at the top of the Pleroma, no strong aether to wrap yourself in. We are background characters here, and our fate is not set in stone. We might be the bugs being killed, or the soldiers in the background being blasted away."


    That earned her a pause from him. She continued, "and even if you were like Rico back in Elysium, you were nothing but a puppet in the hands of the emperor, and the customs you so lovingly upheld. Are they so dear to you now? I wonder."


    He said nothing. They watched the rest of the movie in silence; when she got up to go to bed, he grabbed her arm to stop her. "Can I sleep with you?" he said softly.


    Ophelia stared at him, more shocked by his command of the language he''d just started interacting with the previous day than anything else. "You can, but only sleep," she tried, and he nodded. When she asked him to repeat what she''d said in Elysian, he offered a perfect translation. Her words were still floating in the air, but she was too tired to pry into his thoughts; perhaps, she would find out in the morning what had made him pause at the vehemence of her argument.


    As they nestled into bed, she snuggled into him. She wasn''t quite in the mood for intimacy, but she sought the smell of pine in his embrace; it made her feel like she was back in Arqa. In her dreams the fresh breeze and the smell of the sea enraptured her, and she walked once again the open courtyards of Hyperion''s villa, searching for chai and good company.


    She woke up the next day alone. The sound of something sizzling in the pan could be heard from the kitchen.


    "Good morning," Aegyr greeted her in that BBC accent he''d picked up. "Sausages?"


    "Will you offer me a full english breakfast next?" she asked with a smile as she put the kettle and some toast on. "Is it a fascination with all these trinkets that keeps you glued to the kitchen?"


    "I had only cooked for myself before, and only in occasions when I was on a journey and had brought no attendants. I always thought of it as something cumbersome," he began serving some of the sausages they''d bought the day before. "But it feels different when you''re cooking for someone else."


    Ophelia opened her mouth, and then promptly closed it. She was violently reminded that she''d never actually known what that was like, either; when her father had been alive, he''d always cooked for her. She''d never had friends over, much less a boyfriend; and to know then that they had something like that in common made her feel strange. "I''ve never cooked for anyone else, either," she felt like she owed him some honesty.


    "We''ve cooked together, haven''t we?" Aegyr smiled. Ophelia prepared a pot of tea and sighed, admitting defeat: "I suppose you could do dinner today, and I''ll do it tomorrow."


    The BBC rambled on about the weather, what the Prime Minister had said, what Russia had done near its borders lately; Ophelia tuned it out, watching the steam rise from her cup of tea as she ate her toast. Aegyr seemed to be hanging to every word said, until he too began to tune it out. There was only so much anyone could digest about men in suits and all their silly conflicts. But he had caught on that certain tensions were brewing between these nations; that no peace was guaranteed, even in Byzantium. As the brows of the presenters became more and more furrowed, as the political commentators came on, it felt like the seeds of something momentous were being sown. A simple look outside the window, however, revealed the same overcast day with the mothers taking their kids to school and the postmen doing their rounds and the kegs being rolled in the streets to their nearest pub.


    And the two of them, sharing a simple breakfast in another nondescript flat in the immensity of London; unknown to the world, their travels absolutely obscured to all those men in suits who seemed to know what was going on.


    "Incredible," he said under his breath in that newfound language, earning a confused look from Ophelia. She had been at the centre of their world, yet here was only another face in the crowd; and even in spite of having been so crudely divested of her crown she still shone brighter than everyone else. It wasn''t her aether that had earned her a place in their world as much as it had been her willingness to find her own way in it. Aegyr wondered if he could be like that too: now that he had no title, no name, no heritage to force him into place, perhaps he would find his own way, too.


    He was overcome by that feeling of childish awe that he''d once felt when his wet nurse had talked to him about Byzantium. Its citizens revelled in the glory of their free will: each of them anonymous, yet the main characters of the movies they carried on their shoulders. That was the true mystery of his promised land: Byzantium was where he could truly be free.

 Chapter 17

    South of the river lived the actors, the madmen and whores. This was true of the past as it was of the present, even if Southwark had been repaved with tourists, even if it had been coated in the glitz and glamour of the Shard, even if no Elephant was left at Elephant and Castle. They had stumbled out of the vaults underneath Waterloo Station slightly dizzy from the fumes of the spray paint cans working furiously to coat every inch of the walls with yet another work of art; at the edges one could see drunks, a john or two, tourists taking pictures, and skaters trying a new trick. The lights were on, and the few hidden restaurants offering their share of greasy american food and novelty cocktails seemed to beckon the lost souls like them, who had nothing else to do but wander aimlessly through the streets of old London.


    A week and a half after their arrival, Aegyr needed no translators. He struck conversation with a rasta who''d been photographing a model, asking the strangest questions with the artlessness of one who''s never been challenged about his inquisitiveness. It wasn''t the first time, and Ophelia much preferred to hang back to avoid the embarrassment, yet every time what had begun as something awkward would evolve into a rather hearty conversation. Gone was the austere figure who only spoke when it was absolutely needed; his presence commanded no fear anymore, and had adopted a certain air of casualness that would''ve been difficult to imagine before. When Ophelia had met him in Arqa, it had been painfully obvious to her that he''d treated everyone as underlings; in Byzantium, it seemed like such things did not matter. He still didn''t make conversations that went nowhere, he still measured very carefully his words; but he talked with anyone and everyone, and what was more surprising, he could make even the dullest banker in the City speak of poetry and art with the conviction of a drama teacher.


    That''s what had filled her days with meaning since her return: observing quietly the unravelling of that man, of that stranger who bloomed slowly but surely. She didn''t know him, but she liked him better. Yet the tragedy of it all was that the more he dropped his Elysian to speak to her in her native tongue, the more he drank the tea and learnt to cook the curries, the more that she felt a certain disquiet begin to brew inside of her. What would remain of that other world where she had not been invisible when he severed all his connections to it? Would she become invisible to him too?


    They walked south of Waterloo, chasing the recommendation of a local pakistani man who had told Aegyr of a specific place where they''d be able to get ''the best biryani in London''. It was as they moved across the Lower Marsh street that they heard a commotion. Aegyr tried to get closer, moved by his curiosity, but Ophelia grabbed him from the arm to stop him.


    "Wait, it''s better not to get involved," she said. A group of teenagers in an assortment of black Superdry and Nike jackets were having an argument; it started with shouting, a shove here and a push there. Then two of them squared up against one another, and a punch was thrown: the fight had started.


    It would''ve served as a spice to their afternoon activities, the background of yet another day in London where bored teenagers beefed to prove something to themselves, if it hadn''t been for someone having brought a knife along with them. The steel blade caught flame under the hazy sun, obscured amidst the grubby hands of a teenager too small to be wielding it so angrily. It proved a point somewhere that it was no fancy thing, a stolen tramontina from someone''s pantry; dangerous nonetheless, and potentially a one way ticket into trouble.


    Aegyr knew the escalation was in the midst of happening; he shook Ophelia off and ran to the group of kids, who were now all engaged in trying their damnedest to hurt each other. A detail that Ophelia had not learnt about in her captivity was that the Order of the Knights of the Black Sun wasn''t merely a name; it wasn''t even only about the aether capabilities of its members, who still were forced to train daily to keep up their strength and stamina. The art of fighting was something that they all were meant to be honed in; their leader, more than anyone else.


    He disarmed one of the teens, pushing him into the ground. That an adult had appeared seemed to agitate some of them even more, while it made others flee: clearly, they all soon would be in trouble. Those who had remained divided further: there were those who shouted at him to mind his business and let go of their friend, and there were those who tried to come at him. That''s what had Ophelia rushing in after him; while every other person filmed the scene or was on the phone with the police, she was afraid things would keep escalating.


    She pushed one of the kids aside, throwing him to the floor. "Aegyr, be careful!" she shouted, as she saw something shine in a girl''s hand. Before throwing himself towards Aegyr, her friend took the knife she''d been hiding in her coat ¨C but the young pup only had the element of surprise on his side, and perhaps the aimless anger of youth, and this would only get him so far. The older man, clearly not one to mind his reaction to those less experienced than him, went for a punch in the face that knocked him out cold.


    "Ah," he gasped, as the last fighter who was still standing rushed towards him. He deflected the knife in time to avoid any serious injury, but it still cut through his hand. Another well-placed kick left the youth on the floor, and Ophelia decided to bark at the rest who were left looking at the scene, unsure about their chances.


    "Fuck off, you pricks," she shouted, pushing one of the girls to the floor. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"


    It wasn''t a minute later that the police had finally arrived, rushing in their green vests with their tasers held high. They descended on them and on the teenagers still left in the scene when they realized none of them were wielding knives anymore. "He''s injured!" Ophelia told them as a constable asked her if she could get up. She heard them call an ambulance, and she took a deep breath.


    "Please let me stay close by, he''s still learning English," she asked the police officer who was escorting her back to the police van. The woman reassured her, and told one of her partners to bring Aegyr with them. "Don''t worry," she said, "we''ll bring him here."


    Contrary to her, who could feel the tension continue to build up as she imagined the bureaucracy of what was to follow, Aegyr seemed to be perfectly calm. His steely eyes seemed to observe all that was going on with a detached curiosity, as if he regarded the whole thing slightly amusing. He answered the police''s questions with ease, never adding more than what was necessary. At some point the officer next to Ophelia seemed to forget she was there at all and wandered off.


    "You may find this cumbersome," she said, walking closer to the Elysian.


    "It''s perfectly reasonable," he answered. The officer next to them had taken out a first aid kit and had helped him bandage his hand while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. "It is quite interesting that your city watch gets involved in petty fights like these."


    "No one else will," Ophelia bit her lip. "What you did was very courageous."


    He cocked his head, "is there no one to teach these children? They didn''t look like street urchins."


    "Oh, perhaps they could be considered so¡­ they have a home, maybe a family or parents, but who knows where they are."


    An officer came to take pictures of Aegyr''s injuries and take their statements. Ophelia was sort of forgotten after that: she noticed that her name and contact details had been jumbled into an unrecognizable mess in the man''s handwriting, and that Aegyr''s name had been noted down as Ofelos. Even the NHS first responders seemed to struggle with what to call him, and after giving him a dose of painkillers and assessing there was no need for stitches, the same name was slipped in their goodbyes.


    When they managed to make it back home two hours later, the whole thing just simmered in the back of her mind. "Did you notice, perhaps, that they kept calling you by the wrong name?" she asked him as they sat in front of the TV, waiting for the food she''d ordered.


    "I did, but I assumed that perhaps, my accent was confusing to them."


    "It wasn''t ¨C and not only that, but my name and contact details were all but squiggles in their notes. Yours were crisp ¨C if wrong."


    Aegyr was evidently confused. Ophelia pressed on, "it is as I said before: this city, this world does not want me here. I am invisible to everyone."


    He reached out with his bandaged hand, lightly touching her face with his fingers. "All the better for me, then. I will keep you all to myself."


    There was no playfulness in his voice: he meant it. The bell rang and she stood up abruptly to get it ¨C a rush to the door that had nothing to do with the delivery man being kept waiting for too long. Standing in the hallway with a bag of chinese food in her arms, she thought the apartment felt too small with two people living in it.


    The knife attack had no impact whatsoever in Aegyr''s perception of London. If anything, it had made him more interested in the work of the police; given that his trade would be closest to a mix between them and the military, it came as no surprise. After learning about police academies, Ophelia naturally popped the question:


    "Do you want to become a police officer?"


    Aegyr looked surprised by the question, as if its answer was too evident for it to exist at all. "It''s only natural, isn''t it?"


    It hit her then; it had been a whisper, something that she hadn''t really paid any attention to, but that still hung in the back of her mind. What was natural was that a decision would had to be made at some point about what should happen next: to pursue a life in London or to find a way back into that other world once again. She hadn''t quite thought about it, but it seemed like both had made up their mind already.


    "Do you want to remain here?"


    His eyes pierced hers. "I do," he said simply, and Ophelia felt like it would be too much to ask why, but she nevertheless braved the question.


    "Lygeum¡­" he said of that other Earth, "awaits me eagerly with its chains. If Byzantium truly is the promised land, and I believe it is, then I would be a fool to scorn her gifts."


    "Do you not miss Elysium? Your office, your land? Your children?"


    "I¡­ did not want them," Aegyr said matter-of-factly. "None of it. Perhaps I would''ve been content to remain there, ignorant of this other life with all its opportunities¡­ but should I go back, I will destroy it all. The thought of them is so odious to me now."


    Ophelia closed her eyes and sighed. "Very well," she said. "That''s your decision to make. I will leave all this for you; the place I am denied on Earth is yours to have."


    She felt him grab her shoulders roughly, and she opened her eyes in surprise. "Stay with me," he begged. There was a wild look in his face. "This is your place too. You belong here."


    She shook her head. "I¡­ there''s nothing for me here. I have no future."


    "You have me. We can build our future together¡­ And even if the rest of the world forgets your name, I will call you until I am unable to speak."


    Her silence was the only compassion she afforded him. He panicked, and desperately searched for her lips, for any stretch of skin he could land his mouth on to try and argue with his body what he could not with his words. It was a lost cause and they both knew it; she held him as she would a child, giving him the comfort of a goodbye that had yet to happen. The nights became longer; he demanded more of her, almost petulantly, making a last ditched effort to convince her to stay. But her heart had never been with him, and much less on that city. In the wake of their lovemaking, their silence failed miserably to hide what she''d warned him about before: that he would be nothing more than a distraction.


    And throughout it all, somehow, they had both convinced themselves that a way would be found to go back. And they were proven right the night Ophelia snuck back into the disused Underground station she''d left from before. Her heart had been stuck in her throat the entire time as she retraced her steps from many months before; she didn''t quite expect to find anything, but also knew that she''d crumble if the crusty old station offered her nothing.


    Elation took a hold of her when set foot in the tunnel. Unlike before, the signs made themselves manifest to let her know that she was welcomed: an echo of voices could be heard emerging from nowhere, and within them she recognised Calliope calling her name. It would''ve been quite the phantasmagorical experience, had her nerves not destroyed any semblance of sanity she had left: she found it soothing, like a balm had been applied over her soul. She very reluctantly had to peel herself away from that moment of happiness, to emerge back into the surface ¨C where Aegyr was waiting for her.


    "It''s there," she breathed, latching onto the man excitedly. "It''s still there. The entrance, the portal, whatever it is¡­"


    It was clear that the glint in her eyes and the sheer joy in her features was breaking the man''s heart. "I will do anything," he promised, "I will be anything if you stay."


    "You''re already free!" she countered, "but I''m not. And I won''t find my freedom here."


    "How will you find it there?" the sadness had turned into frustration. "The Emperor is waiting for you; the moment you arrive back, you will be imprisoned in Sophia."


    "I don''t have competent Lord Scipio to escort me there anymore. I can simply slip away," she laughed. "Unless, of course, you have second thoughts."


    "There is nothing for me there."


    "And there''s nothing for me here, either," Ophelia shrugged, and turned around. She was about to spare him a last glance, when she was enveloped in a hug from behind. "You will find happiness here, Aegyr," she said as she leaned on him. "You don''t need me; you never did."


    She turned around, and kissed him one last time. Those icy blue eyes melted at last, showing the raw emotions behind that facade that had finally managed to crumble away. The man she left now was certainly not the man that had jumped with her into oblivion; it was not the man that had imprisoned her in Arqa, or that had haunted the halls of that manor in Aurelia. If things had been different, if perhaps he had braved going back to Lygeum with her, perhaps she could''ve fallen for him. There was a deep tenderness in him, one that had been almost snuffed out by years of repression. Those who had sought to take advantage of him had coveted him as an object; the great tragedy of it all was that at some point he''d begun to see himself in the same way, too. And it was clear that she''d sparked something in him for many reasons: she was indifferent to his position, she was sitting in a higher station; she could make him anew only because she didn''t need anything from him.


    She''d enjoyed her time with him in London. But she had also learnt that deep within he had a certain lazy disposition, and he would always prefer the world taking care of his affairs for him: he had let Elysium guide his hand, his marriages, his path, and now he would let Byzantium take care of it. It had never occurred to him that he could simply go back and rebel; he just didn''t have it in him. And this, she knew, would mean they could never walk the same path.


    And so she left him in that dark corner where a bunch of nitrous oxide canisters lay about, venturing into the depths of earthy London to get back to her own adventure. She heard the echoes of the voices she was familiar with, and went back once again to descend into total darkness ¨C a familiar feeling, which this time, knowing what it was about, seemed more comforting that anything else.


    As she began to walk towards the set of stairs that had led her to Caudiceum, she wondered if she''d find herself in that same grove. Perhaps she was being presumptuous: if she let her imagination roam free, she could see herself arriving a number of years in the past or in the future, perhaps somewhere in Lygeum she hadn''t been to before. "Trust the process," she said to herself, before surrendering to nothingness.


    -


    Like one who finally emerged from the depths of the sea to take a much needed breath of air, her lungs took in the fresh smell of morning dew. It wasn''t a grove she was laying in, but a field; and it wasn''t night time, which meant that there were no stars in the sky to come greet her back. The sun was rising lazily over the horizon, bathing her and the entire field in a peachy rose glow.


    She laughed. There was no real reason for it; nothing funny had crossed her mind. It was, perhaps, the feeling of relief, the tension that had built up over the last two weeks finally being released. She had feared, oh so much so that she hadn''t even uttered it out loud, that she''d be stuck again in London; and now she knew, with a certainty that had nothing rational to it, that she would never see the city again in her life.


    This time there were no galloping warriors to surprise her; only someone''s dog, who ran to her as soon as he spotted her prone figure. A black labrador, a dumb young pup who thought he''d just discovered another play mate. He showered her with licks; he barked happily when she stood up, trying to fend off the hyperactive canine.


    Figuring the time was as good as any to call back her aether, she fished a ball from the ground, turning earth into rubber, and threw it as far as she was able to. The dog shoot out like an arrow, tongue lolling out of its muzzle as he ran for it.


    "Good boy," Ophelia said between laughs, as the dog brought its prize back.


    "Lazio!" she heard a voice in the distance, and turned to the left to see a woman making her way towards them. "Come here, boy!"


    Ophelia knew the language was familiar: Elysian. "Morning!" she called, following Lazio to meet with his owner. "I seem to have lost my way. Would you mind telling me where I am?"


    "Oh dear, what a rough night you must have spent!" the woman seemed to be only slightly older than her, but already her mannerisms were more in line with what Ophelia would call middle aged. "You are in the hamlet of Sibari. I imagine you''re making your way towards Sophia, isn''t it? You''re only four days away."


    Some of her displeasure must''ve been revealed in her face, as the other woman decided to comment on what she thought Ophelia might be thinking: "Oh! Do not worry, traveller," she tried to comfort her, "you are not missing much. I''m sure you must have heard about the Mystae."


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Has something happened?"


    "Oh, for how long have you been wandering? It must''ve been the talk of every tavern and every inn in the empire; still continues to be so. Her highness Lady Byzantinos disappeared, and the Mystae has been postponed until she''s found."


    Ophelia feigned shock. "She disappeared? How could that be?"


    "It''s not quite clear, traveller, the hows and the whos; one hears all sorts. Me, I am of the mind that there''s some truth to the story that she walked into the fog one night, back into Byzantium."


    "Oh no," Ophelia said with the air of a stepmother in a soap opera, "that''s terrible news! I bet the Knights must be quite busy then, searching for her."


    "They are, they are. I''ve seen them passing by the main road there," the woman pointed to the edge of the field, where a hedge obscured the path beyond. "It''s all quite mad, between them and the nobles, they''re all running around like headless chickens!"


    Ophelia figured then that it''d be better for her to go in the opposite direction. "Say, I am more keen in seeing the lovely views of the country than of travelling speedily. Would that road be my only path to the nearest destination?"


    If the woman thought her question strange, she didn''t show it. Instead, she pointed westwards. In the distance, a line of trees could be seen emerging. "Amongst the folk here, there''s a path through the commons, it goes in that direction. It slips into a valley, and goes around the lake, but it will take you further away from Sophia, and into the town of Kythera."


    "Ah, that sounds delightful," this time the intention was genuine. Ophelia smiled at the woman, gave her thanks and wished her a good day. Behind she left a happy dog and a slightly confused matron, who undoubtedly would tell everyone at the tavern of the strange encounter she''d just had.


    Reaching the line of trees took her about twenty minutes, and finding enough cover for her to change out of her London clothes into the Elysian robes she''d brought in her backpack took her another ten. Although a sign of an empire she felt no lost love for, the texture of the fabric welcomed her back, drawing a sigh of relief when it slid over her skin. This time she''d crossed the world with everything she had brought with her: when she''d left the home, she''d packed quite a few bits and pieces she hoped to make use of. So she stuffed her old clothes inside the bag, and only kept her sneakers on: there was no need to resent modern comforts when the alternative were flat sandals.


    As the morning shifted into noon the air became alive with the sparkle of the sun''s rays trying to make their way through the thick foliage of the pines. The breeze smelt fragrant, and there was a slight bite to it, a certain humidity that presaged the advent of winter. Amidst the evergreen the ash trees had turned into a violent red, the same shade of Phobos'' hair. She wondered how he was faring; if he''d got over her, if he''d had any success in the Kushite kingdom. Had the news about her reached his ears? Did he think of her as a traitor for having given in so easily? Did he regret ever saving her in Iberia, of not killing her in Caudiceum?


    The forest floor began to descend, and the path the woman had suggested snaked down the depression, amidst jagged rock. The corpses of fallen trees had been mostly cleared away from the path, sometimes offering some sort of seating upon which the weary hiker could rest. She spurned them all, knowing she''d take her break when she reached the shore of the lake. As she spotted the edge of the tree line and the glittering surface of the water, she heard the sound of galloping behind her.


    There was an urgency to it that struck a chord within her: it awoke an instinctual fear. It was like the sound of an incoming storm, the rage of a tornado that had not yet hit. It was coming for her. Without looking back, she began to run ¨C she had no idea where she could hide, how she could make her escape but in her panicked mind the lake emerged as a friend, and she searched for it. When she tripped on a rock her body was lifted into the air as her mind just sought to propel her forward, away and into some sort of safety.


    The Knights were on her tail; she knew it, the woman had told them.


    She half ran, half flew into the air, and then she was finally on the shore. The lake expanded to the feet of the mountains that encircled the valley, reflecting their jagged peaks. She stepped on them as she ran into the water, her sneakers never quite managing to sink. She went further and further, feet half sliding over the surface of the lake, until she heard the exasperated neigh of a single horse who could not follow.


    And then ¨C someone''s hand closed around her arm, and she was thrown backwards into someone''s chest.


    She caught sight of a blond strand of hair. "Orion," she said tentatively before turning around, eyes wide with surprise.


    He hugged her tightly. "You''re back," he said, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. "Where did you go? I feared you were¡­"


    "I somehow ended back in Byzantium," Ophelia tried to comfort the man, patting him on the head. "But how did you know where to find me¡­?"


    "I was on my way to Aurelia when I happened upon an alewife who had just met a very strange woman¡­"


    Ophelia stepped away from him, alarmed. "Are the Knights with you?"


    "They are not," Orion looked behind to the single horse that waited for him at the shore. "Fear not, I told her to keep her tale to herself."


    "I''m not going to Sophia," Ophelia narrowed her eyes at the man, clearly distrustful of his presence. "You will not stop me."


    Orion held up his hands. "Fair! Fair! I don''t wish to take you there if you don''t wish to go."


    Ophelia wasn''t convinced. "I''m warning you!"


    "I consider myself warned," Orion smiled cheekily at her. "Now, would you enjoy a chat over the waters like this, or would you rather we sit at the shore and enjoy the sunlight?"


    She looked down, catching a glimpse of both of their reflections. "I suppose it is a rather uncomfortable place to be chatting about," she conceded.


    They made their way back to the shore ¨C Ophelia hung behind the entire time, half expecting a contingent of Knights to emerge from the trees the moment she came closer. But nothing happened, and it was just the two of them sitting by the lake, bathing in the warm glow of the autumnal sun. She noticed that Orion wasn''t wearing the dark blue robes of the Order of the Knights, choosing instead an olive and blue ensemble richly embroidered with silver thread. The moment that the realization hit her that it must have been his civilian attire all sort of thoughts began to brew in her mind. She didn''t know much about his family, didn''t even know his surname; she wondered where he came from, if it was anything like Aegyr and his tragic tale with the multiple wives.


    "How did you cross into Byzantium?" he asked, openly fascinated. "I hadn''t thought it possible that one could travel from here to there¡­"


    "Getting there was just as mysterious as coming here," Ophelia shrugged. "I was helping my maid Calliope, who had been about to fall into the cliffs at Domusprimum, which caused me to fall in her stead. Aegyr jumped after me, and we both fell¡­ it all went black, and the next thing we knew, we were in London, about eight months after I''d left."


    "Lord Scipio crossed into Byzantium?"


    "Yes," Ophelia smiled softly. "And he took to it, as well! But I found it as detestable as before, so I decided to come back."


    To say that Orion was shocked was an understatement. "Lord Scipio¡­ decided to stay?" Ophelia nodded. "Well¡­ that is unexpected. As much as everything else, perhaps¡­ I would''ve thought him far too stuck in his own ways to welcome the changes a new world would require of him."


    "I think it allowed to distance himself from certain things he hadn''t been able to examine before," Ophelia explained. "Of course, a new environment tends to transform us into unexpected versions of ourselves. We are put to the test, and we either flourish through, or suffer for it. He certainly changed significantly in those two weeks; but if it makes you feel at ease, I think it was for the better. He was a far more agreeable person when I left him."


    "And you? Why come back?" Orion gave her a lopsided smile. "I thought you''d take your chance to escape from the Emperor."


    "I don''t belong in Byzantium," Ophelia said simply. "It''s easier to fight one person than the entire universe. To wake up every day hating where I am, reminding myself of the place I want to be in, all to avoid one man? What an insufferable idea. Which reminds me..."


    She decided to make use of her inventory at last. She opened her bag, and retrieved a bar of Cadbury''s chocolate. "I took some bits and pieces from London with me. If you help me escape from the Emperor, I shall give you this."


    She held the bar up to him, and he eyed her with interest, sniggering at her proposal. "It''s hard to tempt me with the unknown, your highness."


    "It''s sweet, and it melts in your mouth. You will never know anything quite like this."


    "Hmm, I can think of other sweet things that I''d rather melt in my mouth," he said suggestively. Ophelia blushed, and swatted his arm in indignation.


    "Be serious!"


    "I am," Orion''s half lidded stare sent a jolt down her spine. What had she missed? "I am yet to recover from the shock of thinking you were dead. I would appreciate some comfort, so if you want me to help you, gift us a kiss."


    Ophelia spluttered, taken aback. "W-where is this coming from? I''d have thought Elysians..."


    "I''m not very Elysian, aren''t I?" Orion shrugged before he tapped his lips. "One must give as much as they take. A Byzantine''s kiss is certainly worth the trouble of hiding the most wanted woman in the empire, isn''t it?"


    Heat pooled in Ophelia''s cheeks. "Only a kiss ¨C nothing more," she said, but before she knew it she was lying on her back and Orion had climbed on top of her, both of his hands at the sides of her head. She was about to protest when his lips covered hers. He did nothing more ¨C just as she''d asked, but he did take full license to explore her mouth with a patience someone would''ve deemed almost saintly.


    He moved away only slightly so ¨C Ophelia opened her eyes, staring into his warm brown eyes and thinking she would melt in their heat. When had he begun yearning for her like that? Had she been that blind to his advances, or had he been hidden by Aegyr''s shadow?


    She didn''t want to ask. "Was it comforting?"


    "No," he replied honestly. "It was addictive. But I''ll wait for the next bargain."


    "Until then," Ophelia opened the chocolate bar, broke a piece and offered it to him. He opened his mouth, and there was a moment of hesitation before she sighed and fed it to him. His eyes went wide after a few seconds.


    "How strange, so smooth, so rich¡­ It is not sticky like honey, but it''s just as sweet. How do you call this?"


    "Chocolate. There''s all kinds, as well! Some of them might have spices added; you can also melt it in milk and have it hot during winter, as a drink."


    He asked her for the bar, then broke another piece. "Say ''ah''," he asked as he held the piece for her. Ophelia shook her head. "How cruel!" he complained, pouting. "I am only enjoying that this is possible. For two weeks I thought you dead, I was miserable; I could barely eat¡­"


    Ophelia ate the chocolate from his fingers just to silence him. He smiled, clearly proud of himself for his win. "Let us begin our escape then," he proposed, getting up. "You will have to tell me all about your little trip with Lord Scipio in Byzantium."


    They took off with the sun shining on their faces, and arrived at their first destination with the sun dying at the sole of their feet. They''d walked around the lake, into the trees, and across the valley; they''d come across villagers going about their daily routine, walked through fields where the cattle watched them curiously as they passed by. It was rural in a way that was familiar to Ophelia, who''d only rarely had visited the countryside in England.


    She''d told him some bits and pieces of her past two weeks; he threaded skilfully through her tale by plucking details with opportune questions, sometimes taking care not to ask after certain subjects. She wondered if this was out of consideration or if he truly wanted to evade the topic altogether. When she told him Aegyr and her had shared a room, he didn''t dig any further into it; he did, however, ask her at some point:


    "I may be presumptuous for saying this, but I was of the impression you had more affection for Lord Scipio than you let on. Did it ever occur to you to stay with him?"


    "No," Ophelia shrugged. "There was no reason for me to even think about it as a possibility."


    "Poor Lord Scipio. He was rather taken by you."


    Ophelia looked away, uncomfortable. "I would be lying if I said I didn''t hold any affection for him. But it seems like everyone''s got so many conditions attached to them¡­"


    "Oh?"


    She didn''t respond initially. It was a tortured answer, one that had to be coaxed out by Orion with another question; her voice was small, unsure when it spoke. Certain things end up locked inside someone''s heart for a while, and it feels strange to see them out in the open for someone else to dissect. "I guess time runs different here, in a way. With Phobos a similar thing happened: perhaps a spark of something would leave us chasing after one another, and this would grow. I would think of what lay beyond, we would imagine a future after everything was said and done¡­ but then I''d have to make a choice, and this choice in both cases was always to either stay and weather through a place and time I hated, or walk away. And I don''t think either of them fully understood that if I stayed with them I would be sacrificing myself; and my love for the two was never strong enough to merit doing such thing."


    "If that love had been strong, then, would you have stayed back? Or gone with the Phrygian prince?"


    Ophelia opened her mouth to answer yes, of course ¨C but realized she wasn''t quite sure about that. "I''d always assumed so¡­ but I am finding out that perhaps, I''m not so romantic as I had thought. But I can imagine trying harder to make it work, at least."


    She decided she''d monopolized the conversation long enough. "What about yourself? What has love taught you?"


    It was long overdue that she break through the mystery that had been the praetorian. They''d travelled together, always sharing thoughts about the world but never quite getting personal ¨C at least on his side. She thought perhaps that she''d find some reticence on his end, but he had no qualms about opening up to her.


    "I''ve never been in love, I don''t think," Orion said. "I''ve had passing fancies, folks I enjoyed spending time with, much like you have done¡­ but I never quite imagined committing to them."


    "Aren''t you supposed to¡­ marry young and have many children?"


    "My position afforded me all the excuses I needed to avoid the games of the marriage market," Orion smiled disarmingly. "As I spent most of my time on the road, there was seldom any need or occasion for me to appear amidst the glitz and pomp of the social elite."


    "So no wives, no children?"


    He laughed. "Oh, I''m a rascal, your highness. Do not think I would ever be so virginal ¨C I made many women my wives for a night or two, and left many children behind me. But, in my defence, I made sure they were all taken care of."


    "Does it not feel sad to leave them behind?"


    "The Elysian in me thinks that there''s a purpose to everything. I know the moment I embrace someone what their role should be; and I don''t think there was any point in forcing anything to happen which shouldn''t have happened. If they had any other expectations, they were fools for thinking so ¨C and there is little use in agonizing over someone else''s foolishness."


    Orion regarded her with a contemplative gaze. "Your situation with the Phrygian and Lord Scipio is the prime example that just because you were brought together with someone at some point in time doesn''t necessarily mean it was fated to be. Their stations in life and yours were completely different; the way you see the world is completely different to theirs. They''re fools for not seeing that so clearly."


    The conversation veered off into more practical matters after that as they made their way into town. A question had to be begged if Orion would make the same mistake the other two had made, but Ophelia didn''t quite feel like forcing that conversation right then and there.


    The town was but a handful of houses, a temple and two inns, set about a four-way crossroads. It seemed like there was a good traffic of pilgrims still, enough that their arrival didn''t raise any eyebrows. They were subjected to the same politely inquisitive staring that any other passer would experience in little commuter towns like that, and written off as two Elysian nobles who probably were out doing something slightly eccentric. It was the quality of their robes and the self-assured way in which Orion carried himself that set them apart, and also provided them with a certain degree of privacy: commoners in Elysium knew not to dig too deep into the matters of the aristocracy.


    This divide went so deep, it conditioned their behaviour that much, that no one came close to speak to them. As Orion dealt with the innkeeper, Ophelia realized that no one had spoken to them before being spoken to first; no one met their eyes, and seemed to actively avoid looking in their general direction. It was as if they were convinced they were meant to walk in different worlds. It made her feel a little lonely, and all the more desperate to leave the Empire.


    They were given a special set of rooms reserved for the occasional visit from the Baron on whose land the town was in. There was a separate kitchen and stables, and a second entrance they could use to avoid mixing with the regular crowd. Staff was rushed in to prepare a meal and tend to Orion''s horse; when they walked up to the set of rooms in the second floor they found two maids furiously trying to dust off the surfaces.


    "No need ladies," Orion said as he used his aether to freshen up the room and light the candles that hung from the chandelier. "It''ll be quicker if we take care of it."


    The two maids jumped at seeing his power in display; their eyes went wide with both amazement and fear, before they remembered the etiquette they''d been taught from birth. They offered them a silent bow of their heads before rushing out of the room.


    Orion caught sight of Ophelia''s scowl. "The people in Elysium," she answered when he asked her what had caused her discontentment, "they''re trapped in this illusion that our differences should separate us. That because we''re perceived as nobles, that they can''t talk with us, sit with us, look at us. It feels like they believe that they''re inferior, and for what? Because we can do some tricks? Beyond all that we all love, fight, have fun, die the same way."


    "They''re just afraid, your highness, and how could they not be?" Orion held up his hand, and a blue flame lit up at the end of his fingers. "Would you sit and talk with a storm, with a raging volcano, or the plague? Would you not rather avoid them altogether, hoping that they will leave you alone if you do so?"


    "But we are not a storm, or a volcano, or death. We''re humans, like them."


    "When your whims are capable of making or destroying entire towns, when a single flicker of anger in your eyes can conjure the freezing cold of the underworld, can you call yourself human, at all?" Orion laughed. "You are not in Byzantium anymore, your highness. Here, you are a different type of existence."


    Ophelia''s scowl had only deepened, but this didn''t deter the praetorian. "Regardless of how you want to perceive yourself, they will always think of you this way," he said. "And it''s better that they fear you than they be foolish enough to think they can control you."


    She didn''t concede his point, but also didn''t bother arguing it any further. She went to her room, prepared it for the night and went about refreshing herself: the first bath when she arrived somewhere new felt almost ritualistic, as if she was washing off the remains of the previous location. Off she scrubbed London''s sooth. Rose water and scented oils removed Aegyr''s touch from her skin, and as she emerged from the bath, she truly felt like she''d come back and the previous two weeks had been nothing but a hazy dream.


    They ate together, then at her insistence played a few rounds of a card game Orion had taught her on their trip to Elysium. She''d developed a knack for it, and enjoyed seeing the other''s frustration at seeing his student besting the master in such a short span of time.


    She retired to bed after the yawning had become unbearable, but as she slipped the covers over her body the sleepiness washed away. She was left wide awake, turning around as she tried to find something to entertain her mind with until she could fall asleep. At some point she grabbed a shawl and sat in front of the window, watching as the wind picked up and began to play figures with the trees outside.


    And then, she heard steps outside her door; it opened, and Orion slipped in. "I heard you were still awake," he said as she turned around. His skin glistened in the moonlight, and he was barefoot, wearing only a toga wrapped around his midsection. It was strange to see him with his hair down, wavy blond locks falling around his shoulders like a shawl.


    "All my fatigue left me," Ophelia said. "I don''t know why."


    He walked up to her, blocking the window from her view and resting his hands on either side of the armrests of the chair she was sitting in. "If you''re bored, I can think of another game to play."


    Ophelia frowned. "I said one kiss ¨C no more than that."


    "It''s not a bargain ¨C it''s an invitation."


    Ophelia used her aether to push him back, ever so gently, and stood up. He wasn''t as tall as Phobos, or even Aegyr, but she still had to look up to reach his eyes when she stood so close to him. "What has got into you? Why do you seek me so intently all of the sudden?"


    "That I did not do it before wasn''t because I didn''t want to," he replied matter-of-factly. "But how can a man approach a woman when there''s so many flies about? It will make him look like shit."


    She laughed at his choice of phrase. He continued. "But now that you''re a fugitive and not the apple of Lord Scipio''s eyes, I think I ought to take my chance to be a bit naughtier."


    "You will make me your wife for a night or two?" Ophelia, amused at the memory of their earlier conversation, decided to play his game for a bit. He smirked at her lip.


    "For you I can spare a week or two if you so desire."


    Ophelia put some distance between the two. "I let Aegyr into my bed the night we arrived in Byzantium on the condition that he accept that I would use him; I didn''t promise him affection, or even satisfaction, and I did as I wanted. I don''t see why I should take you under different terms, if you''re willing."


    "How cruel," Orion pouted, but he didn''t seem discouraged. "But if you warn you won''t betray, is it?"


    He took a step forward and grabbed her chin, using his index finger to caress the line of her jaw. "I was hoping I could offer you something different. You see, perhaps, you could let me use you instead. I will offer you complete freedom; all those second thoughts and all those conditions that worry you so much will not exist. Let my hand guide yours, put yourself at my mercy, and I will give you the freedom to experience the greatest heights without any worry."


    There was a moment of silence. Ophelia was trying to untangle the meaning behind his words, and she slowly came to the realization of what he was offering. "Your daring ways never cease to amaze me," she said. "How bold of you to propose this at this time. Don''t you think I might want to sleep alone for a bit?"


    "You think I''m bold?" the finger slid next to her mouth. "Why, I think you haven''t seen your reflection in a long time, your highness. There''s a hunger in your eyes that would scare the lesser man; I know you, and I know you''re always seeking to explore what''s unknown to you. And now that you''re back where you belong, you must be itching for the next adventure."


    He dropped his hand and stepped back. Looking down below, his hair fell to cover part of his face. "I''ll leave now; you may think about my words for a few days if you want."

 Chapter 18

    She took the news of their new route with the grace of a holiday maker who had just been told that their flight had been cancelled. Her face fell, she bit her lip, and considered how much it would cost her to find an alternative route; it was all done, however, gracefully and without uttering a single word. Orion had expected his words not to have the best reception and had come prepared:


    "It is a beautiful city, most worthy of spending some time around. And I can guarantee it''s full of places where no one will think to look for you."


    "Accidents happen, don''t they?" Ophelia pouted. "Are you sure we couldn''t meet the caravans closer to the border?"


    "We could, but they don''t risk stowaways. They ought to have every member of their party registered in their border permits, and the closest place to the main route here to get them is Sophia," Orion nudged her. "And, it''s easier to hide when there''s more people. In a small town we''ll become the object of their gossip very quickly."


    Ophelia couldn''t argue with that logic, and given her limited knowledge of that world, there was little she could do but trust the praetorian. The previous day they''d both agreed to let the lazy afternoon treat them to a long walk they could use to catch up; this time, they''d journey properly on horseback, trying to close as much distance with the city as possible.


    The saddle that was meant for one rider had trouble accommodating two. Orion had modified it with his aether so that at least it''d be possible for Ophelia to sit, but she had to stay very close to him. After a while, the prodding from the leather bits that stuck out and the constant shuffling to make sure she stayed in balance began to grate on her. It wasn''t quite like riding with the Phrygians, who usually used bigger steeds and bigger saddles; or when she''d been paraded around by Aegyr in Arqa, where the trip had been short enough.


    "Have you ever had those dreams where you''re able to kick up and fly?" she asked, so caught up in her own discomfort that she''d spent several minutes fantasizing of a way to ease her troubles.


    "Once or twice, yes," Orion replied, curious as to where her mind was going.


    "Have you ever tried to do that while awake?"


    He laughed. "You want to fly?"


    "Might as well give it a try."


    They dismounted, and Orion sat back with his arms crossed to watch her attempts with a small smile. She thought about the way she''d float up and down the way most Elysian nobles did when riding or leaving a boat; something else needed to happen for her to go higher, and move at a relatively fast speed. If she thought about rollercoasters, and her body being carried by an unseen carriage, she could feel her aether responding: she floated one or two meters up into the air, then much like a broken videogame, she was propelled to move forwards.


    "Oh no, no, no," she exclaimed, and immediately slowed down to sit back on the ground. She didn''t remember the words for ''vestibular system'' but she knew that something in her inner ear was prepared to tell her body if she was in balance or now, and how to react to movement; moving without exercising any part of her body sent mixed signals to her brain, and it made her feel sick. "That wasn''t good," she murmured, as she tried to regain her composure.


    Behind her, Orion had brought his sympathies. "I have tried it once or twice, but as you''ve seen, it feels incredibly unpleasant."


    Ophelia stood up again; again armed with her very scarce knowledge of the senses, she figured she could perhaps try something else. The superman strategy was out of the window; but there was still something she could appropriate from videogame logic: power jumps.


    She jumped into the air this time, and with her aether she made it so that her body lost some of its debt to gravity ¨C she covered more distance and didn''t fall as quickly, giving her time to kick up again mid-air into her next jump. The feeling of weightlessness still churned her stomach, but the more she tried the less nauseous she felt: and without anyone in that world knowing what those terms meant, she had in some way learnt a cheat code to speedrun her way through it.


    She landed back next to Orion triumphantly after doing a few laps. "Well, that works better," she said. He clapped, smiling brightly at her success.


    "I had never thought of that," he said in awe. "I have enhanced the impact of a hit at times, or made it so a blow directed at me would fail to connect at the last minute, but I never thought about making it so I could cover more distances."


    "Two minds are better than one," Ophelia winked. "Want to try it?"


    She shared with him how she thought about it; after a few tries, he had more or less figured out what she meant. And then, shortly, he was also doing some speed running of his own. "Oh, how useful this will be. I''ve always been exasperated that there hasn''t been a way to improve travel times for centuries¡­"


    Ophelia was about to propose that they try to see how far they can make it to Sophia that way, but as she was about to say that, voices began to be heard in the distance.


    They had stopped to try their tricks right next to the main road; it was inevitable that some other traveller would sooner or later pass them by. She heard the calm gallop of horses and knew that these weren''t locals, who normally either walked or used simple mule-drawn carriages to go to and from the fields. "Should we hide?" she asked Orion, knowing that if she''d picked up on it he''d have also noticed it.


    "They will see my horse," his steed was of a specific breed that was only given to high level officials, and was very easily recognisable. "Hide yourself, and I will try to cover for you."


    The trees around them didn''t give them enough cover, and beyond there was nothing but fields. Ophelia decided then that it would be better to hide up rather than on the ground, and floated herself to the top of a particularly bushy oak tree, hoping it would do the trick. She tried to ask Orion if that was good, but his attention was on the Knights that were coming to a stop next to his horse.


    "Greetings, my lord!" there were two of them, equally dressed in their dark blue tunics. "We''re on our way to Sophia. Is that perhaps where you''re headed?"


    Orion was all charisma. He walked closer to them with a smile on his face. "I was on my way back; I''ve been made a messenger boy, and I must carry a missive from the high priest back to Aurelia."


    "Oh, you''re the praetorian primum, I recognise you!" one of the Knights said. "You brought her highness to the Pleroma on the Announcement day!"


    "Aye, that I did, lord¡­?"


    "Baron Janus at your service, my lord," the knight presented himself. "Has there been any news about her highness? I was extremely shocked when I heard about her disappearance."


    "I''m afraid I''m not at the liberty to share what I know. But there has been some fortuitous developments."


    "Ah, I hope she''s found soon," replied the baron.


    His companion was eager to bring up something that clearly had been a topic of conversation on their travels: "I have been pressing the Baron for details on her highness the whole way through, my lord; forgive my impertinence but I''m curious to hear your thoughts as I know you also had the fortune of escorting her from Arqa. The Baron thinks of her highness as quite frightening; would you agree as well?"


    Ophelia perked up at that. Were her antics that scary at the Pleroma?


    "She can be a handful, yes," Orion replied with a smirk. "And perhaps to some folks her Byzantine heritage can come off as very scary; but one can never complain about a lack of entertainment when she''s around."


    "I wish I had been able to see her," the unnamed Knight lamented. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts, my lord."


    "Would you like to see her?" Orion said to the man with a wink. "Why is that?"


    "W-well," the Knight spluttered, clearly caught off guard by the question, "I''ve heard she''s very beautiful; and seeing her aether would perhaps be a sight one only experiences once in a thousand years¡­"


    Orion laughed. "You''re correct on both accounts, my esteemed friend. Maybe today could be your lucky day¡­"


    Ophelia hadn''t been sure what game Orion had been playing until then, but the moment she felt the trunk of the tree shake underneath her it became clearer that something was up. Paralysed by her fear of being caught, she didn''t think to move until it was too late ¨C the oak tree suddenly gained a mind of its own, and its roots came alive, emerging with great effort from the ground. It stood on those wooden gnarly feet and began to walk towards where the Knights and Orion had been chatting. Ophelia, grabbing onto the trunk for all her life was worth felt very much like a scared cat that is afraid to jump down from the tree.


    "What the fuck are you doing?!" she switched to English to scream at the praetorian, who was now laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. He made the tree swivel, and Ophelia slipped. Before she could react she felt herself being gently moved ¨C right into Orion''s arms.


    "Oh, I seem to have caught myself a woman," he said with a grand old shit-eating grin. Ophelia, still in his arms, beat at his chest. "Wouldn''t you look at it, my friend? Byzantines are falling off the trees nowadays."


    "Orion!" she shouted, indignant. "What are you doing?"


    She was finally allowed to stand back on her feet. The Knight who had seen her at the Pleroma jumped off his horse, his face red with tears. The other one was frozen, absolutely struck dumb by what was happening.


    "Your highness," the Baron fell to his knees, "it brings me such happiness to see you alive and well. We were so worried¡­"


    Ophelia exchanged a glance with Orion, who simply shrugged as if he meant to say that it was all hers to deal with. She put a hand on the man''s shoulder to comfort him, "Ah, a little accident brought me back to Byzantium. I was only able to make my way back two days ago."


    The Baron turned around and made wild gestures at the other man to join him. This made the frozen Knight react, who then promptly dismounted and bowed deeply to her. "I am beyond grateful for this opportunity to meet you, your highness."


    Ophelia, who didn''t know what to say to such reverence, smiled awkwardly at the both of them. "I heard your name, Baron Janus, what about yours¡­?"


    The fact that she''d remembered his name brought a wide smile to his face; his companion, as well, was ecstatic that Ophelia of Byzantium wanted to know his name. "Nemo of the County of Uquirra," he said.


    "A pleasure," Ophelia said, smiling at Nemo, who up close seemed to be younger than the Baron, and certainly younger than her. The man blushed and ducked his head.


    "I think it''s high time we go back to the road," Orion said, offering a hand to Ophelia. "We''ve got a long way to go."


    "Ah yes, my lord had said about being on the way to Aurelia earlier? Could it be that the Mystae will not be held in Sophia after all?"


    "It is not clear at this time," Orion smiled. "His majesty the Emperor himself is on the road to Aurelia, I''ve heard. We''ve just been told to go there."


    The Baron nodded thoughtfully and thanked him for the information. Orion then walked Ophelia to his horse, and asked her to mount it, and they both set off in the opposite direction they were supposed to go.


    "Before you get angry," he said in her ear, "this is just a little decoy. We shall go just a little bit further, then turn back. Do you know how to put two men to sleep?"


    Ophelia, confused, said she wasn''t. "Push on their minds, a bit like this," she felt a bit of pressure on her forehead, which she instinctively pushed back against. "Unlike you, they probably won''t be able to fight it, and will fall unconscious."


    He asked her to try it. "Good¡­ although as exciting as it feels to have you forcefully pushing against me, do be more gentle. They won''t need as much strength."


    Ophelia blushed. "Must you be so corny?"


    "I''m quite the rogue character, aren''t I?"


    Orion soon stopped his horse, and told her they''d be trying out that little flying jump trick she''d invented earlier. "They won''t hear us approach," he said with a wink, and kicked off the ground. She followed him, wondering at how strangely¡­ powerful he seemed to be all of the sudden. When she''d met him in Arqa and during their journey towards the empire she admitted she didn''t quite see much of his strength, but his attempts at shaping a little creature using her methods had left her the impression that he was coming a little bit under Aegyr. She had been wrong, she could tell now: perhaps it was all part of his role as a praetorian, which much like an intelligence agent needed to show different faces to different people. In the presence of Aegyr, perhaps, he''d wanted to play the role of subordinate; now that they were alone, perhaps he just wanted to show he could catch up to her.


    That he was naturally mischievous didn''t help at all to lessen the sensation that Ophelia was seeing a carefully constructed mask. She wondered what was his reason for showing her that side of himself. As she followed in his footsteps, she felt for the first time that perhaps she should have continued running when he found her at the lake. There was something risky about trusting him, and she didn''t know if she could afford to gamble right then and there.


    They caught up to the Knights soon enough. The flying steps were not only quick to cover distances ¨C they also made no sound, and allowed them to travel almost completely silent. Of course, she realized, that there was some stamina needed to keep it up for prolonged periods of time ¨C she was, after all, jumping into the air. Orion, who was more used to physical activity than her, had no trouble; she, on the other side, had begun to get winded. She tried not to make her breathing too loud; as they both dropped to the ground, before their feet made contact, they both launched their attack on the Knights.


    The Baron and the young man of the County both instantly collapsed, their bodies losing all their strength like puppets whose strings have been cut. Ophelia and Orion both eased them out of their mounts, and carried them to the side of the road, hidden more or less from view by a hedge and a few trees, and walked their steeds to accompany them.


    "How long will it take them to wake up?" Ophelia asked. The praetorian shrugged.


    "Anywhere from four hours to two days. I''ve had different degrees of success with this trick." Ophelia''s look of alarm elicited a chuckle from him. "They will be fine," he clarified. "If they''re not found by another traveller, they will definitely be found by the farmer who works this field."


    As they prepared to go back to pick up Orion''s steed, Ophelia asked:


    "What''s the point of all this? They will know it was us. They will tell everyone they saw me ¨C accompanied by you. You''ll be complicit in my escape," and then she went on, one eyebrow arched. "Unless, of course, you are not trying to help me escape."


    Orion held up his hands.


    "I am at your beck and call, your highness," he said. "But you see ¨C my position is such that it doesn''t answer to anyone but the Emperor himself, and as his most trusted agent I am privy as to some of the workings of his mind. And I happen to know that should Elysium fail to convince you to stay, his majesty would rather I keep an eye on you. So do not worry for me ¨C I will not be branded a traitor any time soon."


    "That doesn''t make me feel better at all!" Ophelia pouted. "Are you not trying to just take me back to Sophia to meet the Emperor?"


    "I''m a good boy, I promise," he said, but it didn''t make her feel any better. Before she could continue with her protests, he took her hand, and carried her into the air. They made it back to his loyal steed, who was leisurely grazing at the side of the road.


    The journey to Sophia continued, and they passed by the sleeping Knights. The next two days passed without much fanfare, except for a little prank they decided to play on a passing caravan from one of the many nobles leaving the great holy city after the Mystae had been called off. From afar, Ophelia had recognised the coat of armour on the carriage as one she''d been shown by a pompous Count in the after party of her presentation in the Pleroma.


    "Oh, please don''t even try pulling what you did with the Knights," she said, "you could punch that man in the face and he would remain conscious solely by his will to keep speaking to you about some nonsense or another."


    "Poor thing clearly doesn''t have anything interesting to talk about," Orion countered. "Let''s give him a little gift to carry back."


    And so they waited until the carriage was close enough and then, hidden behind the hedges, they transformed the leaves of a nearby willow tree into jackdaws. The mindless birds flocked towards the procession, flying over and through the vehicle, which had no doors or windows to speak of. They attacked the two young men who were on horseback, lightly pecking at their hair. The commotion made the carriages stop and the two men inside ran out screaming, trying to bat away the mischievous birds.


    And when they had begun to use their aether to try and blow them away, both tricksters decided to drop the illusion and the jackdaws once again turned back into leaves. A shower of brown and yellow fell on the confused Count and his companions, who began demanding in a loud voice an explanation for what had just happened. They obviously never got it, as Orion and Ophelia left the scene of their crime holding their stomachs in laughter.


    The arrival to Sophia sobered Ophelia up pretty quickly. The holy city, as it was called, had grown around a sprawling complex of temples and residences built over and around seven hills. Each one had been named after one of the Emperor''s labours, which much like Herakles'' on Earth were a number of tales that acted as fables to teach children about virtues. The one furthest to the north was the tallest, and it was where the Emperor himself resided: the whole complex occupied the entire hill, with gardens and groves so colourful their beauty could be admired even as one approached the city. The setting sun stole a glimmer or two of the roof of the central temple at the top of the hill, which had been covered entirely in gold.


    Similarly, the other six hills had been turned into copies of that bright, breath-taking centre piece of various grades of quality: more temples adorned their zeniths, and one could tell that the rich and the privileged had tried to laid their stake on the city by building their residence close to where they could get a direct line of sight to the holiest temple in all of Elysium.


    As they began to ride into Sophia proper, Ophelia noticed that there was an abundance of children and young men and women on the streets, often wearing similar beige robes. Orion told her that Sophia was also seen as a city of learning: it was where most of the Empire''s academies were, and also where scholars congregated to research aether and find new applications of their incredible powers. She imagined that perhaps it was also slave to the peculiarities of university towns like Cambridge or Oxford, where the young students both pursued their intellectual growth and also engaged with the passions and nonsense of teenage and early adulthood drama.


    They ducked into the narrow alleyways of the east side of the city, where the bustle and hustle of the caravans that came into town to acquire their border permits usually arranged their overnight stays. It was seedier than the bright west, the solemn north or the cheerful south; a place that contained all the darker aspects every city needed to offer. Orion pointed out the brothels to her, the inns where the itinerant prostitutes would stay at; he told her where she could get all manners of contraband, and where she could find fake permits. When she asked him why he didn''t do anything about all the unlawfulness as a diligent agent of the Empire, he replied "the more you fight it, the worse it becomes. It will never go away; so it''s better to simply let it run its course, allow it to feel the tension but never flourish more than it''s necessary."


    "It''s a necessary evil, your highness. Everything has its place in Elysium, even things like this."


    They stayed in one of the better inns, the one that was clearly mostly occupied by well-to-do merchants and low-level bureaucrats. "This is where I stay when I come into the city," Orion said with a wink. "They''re also good at keeping their silence."


    That night, Ophelia had been idly staring out of the window while they finished their meal, when a strange sense of anxiety began to creep on her. Perhaps it was the city, or an aftershock of her stay in London: something was not quite right. She looked over at Orion, and knew that he was partly to blame. Unlike any of his other travel companions so far, she wasn''t quite sure what to make of him or his intentions. Even Aegyr, brick wall that he was at times, turned out to be a fairly simple man once she''d got to know him well enough. There had been a certain openness about Hyperion, Phobos and yes, even Aegyr about what they wanted out of her. With Orion, she could offer an explanation that she''d always second-guess.


    So she decided to place a bet, and offer him a test without his knowledge. And as it was the case when someone arrives somewhere strange and new she felt like she could use some company that night. When he took some of the chocolate she''d offered days before, she asked for a piece for herself, and then, without him expecting it she ate it out of his fingers. A half-lidded stare did the rest of the talking, and then he was on her, fingers entangling in her hair and lips eagerly exploring her mouth.


    And then, he stopped. "Remember what I said about my offer?" he asked, brown eyes boring into hers with an intensity that felt like it was going to scorch her insides. She nodded. "Strip for me."


    Ophelia''s eyes didn''t leave his face as she slowly undid her belt, and one by one removed her toga and her tunic. It wasn''t that she was completely alien to what he was proposing; she had certainly never experienced it first hand, but she had heard about it, read about it. By all appearances she surrendered her agency: she only moved when he said to, only did as much as he wanted; when he touched and took her beyond what she was comfortable with, she said nothing.


    It was exciting, it felt forbidden and all the typical things most would feel about that sort of situation. But underneath it all she knew she had the key to stop it all; and she knew he wasn''t aware of her intentions. Sometimes people revealed themselves when they thought others vulnerable: when she indulged in her own humiliation she thought, perhaps, that he''d cross a line and the mask he''d been wearing would crack, and she''d finally relieve her anxiety that he''d betray her. But if he was intending to do so it would not happen in the bedroom: he pushed her but never went too far, always managing to wring a pleasured gasp out of her in the end.


    And at the end of it all he cradled her, and softly kissed every mark his hands had left on her body. They both laughed at their own naughtiness: their bodies sticking to each other, back to being partners in crime, spent and speechless. Ophelia fell asleep thinking of nothing, the night transforming into day in the blink of an eye.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The anxiety did not disappear in the early hours of the morning; but she was able to put it in the back of her head again, and falling on top of a helpless praetorian who was trying to get out of bed, she trapped him against the floor. "I rather like breaking my fast this way," he said as he arched upwards under her weight, his finger digging into the marks of the previous night.


    They missed the morning altogether; it was near noon that they left their rooms under the knowing eyes of an amused innkeeper. Ophelia''s hair was down, falling over her shoulders to hide the sides of her neck, but Orion proudly kept his up in his usual ponytail, showing the fresh remnants of the woman''s breakfast meal. She had tried to no avail to convince him to hide them, but he''d have none of it: "a man ought to celebrate being the object of such passion" he said.


    He led her through the streets with abandon. He ducked into alleyways, turned corners without really bothering to look at the scrawled signs on the walls; he knew where to take care in the road, where to rush through the never ending lines of carriages and horses. It felt a lot like they were back in Arqa that first afternoon of their acquaintance, and just like that time, he decided to take her somewhere to have a taste of the local cuisine.


    "Today, your highness, I shall be your guide," he said proudly. "There are many wonders in Sophia''s east side. I thought, perhaps, as we make our way to the post where the caravans make their stop, that I could show you around."


    "And, so as to not lose to those pesky Arqans, I will show you what the commoners eat in the streets."


    He led her to a big plaza. In the centre a single pump acted as a sort of meeting place: groups of two to four women chatted away in its vicinity, the large stone tiles ground and wet by the buckets of water they''d have to carry back home. Children ran around, some of them selling flowers or little clay pipes made by their parents; they all looked well fed, healthy, but their partial nakedness made evident that the east side was not as prosperous as the northern parts of the city. It felt decidedly seedier than perhaps the parts of Aurelia she''d seen, but less so than the crowded streets of Caudiceum. Merchants could often be seen chatting away to someone a few feet from their stalls, a true sign of how little they feared petty thieves.


    There was no permanent market building: those who sold food cooked to eat did so by bringing in clay pots the size of a stool where they kept hot coals. Over them they''d have cauldrons or grills to cook or keep warm whatever it was that they were selling. And there was a bit of everything: stews, grilled cheese, vegetables and rabbit meat skewers, sweet oatmeal buns filled with berry compote, and all manners of drink. Orion brought her over to a specific stand, which he said belonged to a blind lady who''d been minding it for about forty five years.


    "I was a wee lass when I started, aye," she said after Orion had introduced her to Ophelia. "Met all sorts, knew his papa as well. You''d swear the man had a water nymph turn his reflection into flesh, so similar they are."


    "Oh, you grew up around here?" Ophelia perked up.


    "My father acted as high priest at the central temple after his time as a Knight, and he would bring us into Sophia once every few months. At that time the central notary was not far from this plaza, which made the east side of the city a far more reputable area. That''s how he came to know lady Isabelle."


    "Changed a lot this city has," Isabelle reminisced. "Lass, my house is only a few minutes walk from here. I was born there, I raised my five children there, I shall die there as well. But I am a rare breed; many of my friends have moved away to the west or the south sides, as over the years we''ve seen more and more folks move in. They do not want to work for an honest coin; they look for the contraband, or to do away with some poor trader''s lot. And with them came the drunks, the whores, the terrible lot."


    "Is it not safe anymore?" asked Ophelia.


    "I am an old fox, it would be shameful for me to fall prey to some of what these younglings think they can do. But sweethearts like you, all youth and no brain ¨C and pardon me, I mean no ill, darling, I was a kindred heart at your age as well- they fall for it so easily. They walk about, and then get their coins stolen."


    Ophelia wondered how a blind lady could remain safe from the unfortunate lottery that could be inner city living, but she didn''t pry any further. Orion rolled his eyes affectionately, obviously already familiar with Isabelle''s rants, and pointed towards the little round dumplings the woman was selling.


    "They''re called globuli," he said. "Some folks like to take curd cheese, cover it in honey and then dip it into hot oil, but lady Isabelle has figured that it makes a difference when one makes the curd cheese with the honey. And these¡­" he removed the top of a large urn that was at the feet of the old woman, "are also absolutely delicious."


    "Pears in wine," not a common dessert in her neck of the woods, Ophelia had only tasted it once or twice during a holiday. It hadn''t been the most memorable experience, mostly due to her being not of drinking age and not partial to the strong taste of the wine.


    She tried them both; to Orion''s credit, both the globuli and the pears made such an impression that her eyes immediately widened as the taste hit her tongue. She went for seconds, telling the praetorian about her previous experiences with the dessert. "But this is much softer, and the wine is less acrid," she explained. "And the cinnamon adds just the right touch of spice."


    "Each season lady Isabelle sells something different. Over the years it has become a custom for me to receive each solstice and equinox with a taste of her menu. It does make the passing of time a bit less tedious, when one has something to look forward to," he smiled sadly. "She''s not getting any younger, and none of her children decided to continue her trade. It will be very sad when she''s no longer there."


    "My friend, you are too young to be speaking like that," Ophelia laughed, patting him on the arm. "She has many years ahead of her."


    "I wish it was more," he smirked at her. "Will you stick around when she''s gone? It would help me get over the sadness."


    "Are you not tired of me already?"


    He rested his head on her shoulder. "I can never get bored when I''m with you," he murmured. "It has never been an issue for me to read others; and although I think I know a bit of what''s going on in that little brain of yours, you always manage to do something that completely breaks the character I''ve built for you."


    Ophelia looked at his profile from the corner of her eye. "If I ever satiate your curiosity, I wonder; will you stop looking my way?"


    "Hmm, I think you and I will never stop surprising the other."


    On that she could agree.


    Off they went after their late brunch to the post ¨C which was little more than a large field with a well, some shoddy stables and a public bath building next to it. As one would expect of a place full of itinerant merchants, one could spot all manners of people in there: of all colours and sizes, from all corners of the globe. A few Knights were always on stand by nearby; different cultures could clash easily, and as Orion had told her, the last few years tensions had been growing due to the rapidly changing landscape of the economy around the Atlantean sea. Trade routes had been opened and closed due to the heightened intervention of Elysian interests in foreign politics, and this made some their fortune, and for others it meant facing ruin. Discussions could turn nasty very easily, and it wasn''t uncommon to see some escalating into a proper knife fight.


    She heard all sorts of languages, most of which she knew not the names for. They walked around; Orion explained to her that he was looking for some signs of a specific type of caravan. "They should have some women, so as not to arise suspicions of a bride kidnapping at the border. Ideally, with children. Fabric or wool merchants would be the best, as they ought to have some space for us to sit. And they shouldn''t be Iberians, or any of the Free Cities: they talk too much. Perhaps Kushites, who are known for keeping quiet."


    All the caravans looked too similar for her to make any meaningful distinction, so she stood behind and simply observed the comings and goings of the people around her. Firepits had been built as a sort of meeting point for the caravans, and even in the middle of the day they drew folks around them as they cooked their lunch, talked or generally relaxed. The mood that afternoon was easy going; she knew that if she wanted she could strike a conversation and easily make a friend.


    Orion at some point wandered off with a man that had come up to them to offer his services. They weren''t the only ones who were sniffing out the caravans, as it was usual for pilgrims and travellers to pay a fee to become luggage of some sort to travel outside of the empire. It was safer: strength in numbers, ready to cross the mountains into Thracia or Phrygia, and for the inexperienced, the only way to get across both famously battle-mad nations unscathed.


    "Wait for me; I shall make the arrangements and come back," he said to her and she nodded. Her idle eyes soon found entertainment cataloguing the various peoples she found, trying to guess which ones belonged to the same nation. It was during that exercise that she came across a group of men and women wearing clothing of a style that seemed familiar to her.


    Propelled by a hunch, she walked closer to them, and she soon began to recognise the tale-tell thrills of the Chaldean language. The elaborate jewellery and the clothing of the women were not unlike what she''d worn during the Tripartite Council after her stint with the Phrygians. A sharp pain shot through her chest, reminding her of the one Chaldean she missed the most ¨C she wanted so badly to see him, to know he was well and good¡­


    It was when she was about to walk up to them to strike a conversation that Orion''s hand on her shoulder distracted her. "All settled! They will be leaving for Thracia in two days," he announced. "Until then, we better have a bit of a sight-seeing tour; what do you reckon?"


    She gestured towards the Chaldeans. "Oh ¨C I have something to ask them about¡­"


    Orion looked in the direction she was pointing in and fast as lighting put two and two together. "Yes," he said, "If you''re looking for news of your merchant friend, I heard he''s back to the usual in Caudiceum. He left Arqa after being released."


    "Oh," it made sense, Ophelia thought, that after she was gone he''d be able to go back to business as usual. But it didn''t stop the disappointment as she would''ve liked to think, selfish as she was, that he''d have come to Elysium at some point or another.


    Some of her feelings showed in her face, as Orion commented, "mercurial people, these Chaldeans. One can never fully understand their heart."


    She let him guide her away from the post and the caravans, seeking comfort in the distraction of their day''s itinerary. In the relative lawlessness of east Sophia there was all sorts of colourful enterprises: they''d pass by prostitutes and their johns, discussing their trade under the sun, at an alley corner. Sellers would proudly announce their latest snake oil cure right next to some shack where a miracle man would be waiting in a drunken daze for someone to call on him. Much like certain street corners in London, every now and then they''d come across someone or another proudly shouting about their beliefs, preaching about the immanence of the soul or the duality of the spirit.


    Ophelia had never been a religious person; she had never had any thoughts on the nature of her soul or her fate after death. The world was already an incredibly intricate place to figure out for her to worry about transcendental matters. And that the Britain she''d grown up in was fundamentally christian was something she could ignore for the most part: the chapels and the churches and the baptist halls were all background noise to her every day life. And this was possible because deep inside, despite being shaped by it, her country was not necessarily ruled by its religious rituals. This was not so much the case with Elysium, where religion was more intrinsically intertwined with people''s every day lives ¨C partly, perhaps, because in the Empire its ruler was considered divine.


    This was something quite paradoxical to Ophelia: how can a man of flesh and blood be also considered a god? But for the Elysians divine nature was not altogether separate from the material, and that they were able to experience it so directly, that they were able to consider themselves under its protection simply by virtue of where they were living explained why they were so fervent about their belief. The street preachers claimed all sorts of things, but just like Aegyr and Baron Doria had tirelessly repeated to her, they all agreed that there was one order and that it was decreed by the Emperor, the sole just ruler.


    "Enjoy His grace, oh, my brethren, aren''t we all so lucky to be under His wing?" claimed one who seemed to be on the verge of falling into song. "Look at the nations around us and see their misery, their poverty, their hunger. Not even the unluckiest amongst us has to endure that level of indignity. Is that not a sign of His grace?"


    "And the sign of the times of plenty has arrived," another one shouted. "Our gracious godly emperor has found a new saintess, a new mother to bring eternal prosperity to us! The golden era of Elysium is about to begin!"


    Ophelia tried to hide her disgust. "How scary it is to feel other''s expectations," she murmured to Orion as they passed the preacher by. "That they make of me a character in their play, it feels almost as if I was divested of my humanity."


    Orion had no sympathy to offer. "It is as I said, remember? Whether you like it or not, your steps will always cause earthquakes¡­ such is the price to pay for your aether."


    He fixed his gaze on her. "Perhaps Lord Scipio did you no favours with the way he explained the Elysian doctrine. But in its heart, it''s exactly this: power conditions the paths you walk. A powerless person cannot rule an empire; that is an oxymoron at best, and at worst it''s the sign of the end of history. In the same way, a powerful person will never remain anonymous and unburdened. Power begets responsibilities. That is what we mean when we talk about order."


    "Then why are you helping me get away? Shouldn''t this be considered a heresy?"


    Orion stole a quick kiss from her, leaving a smirk at the edge of her sight when he turned towards the busy street. "I''ve said it before; if you should consider me a philanthropist, I will be your chaperone. If you should consider me a selfish prick, I will be an opportunist. Either way, I am confident one day you''ll understand this as well as I do."


    Ophelia raised an eyebrow. "Let''s say that at some point I end up agreeing with that; by the time that happens we''ll both have grey hairs. Will you not resent trapping me here?"


    "No need to be so drastic," he laughed. "I have confidence you''ll see it my way sooner rather than later."


    Ophelia rolled her eyes, but left the conversation at that. They hiked up one of the hills to catch the colourful sight of the setting sun on Sophia. With its ample gardens and expressive population the city was certainly enchanting, which made it all the more tragic that circumstances had cast such a gloomy shadow over them all. That she saw such an interesting and beautiful place as nothing more than a potential golden cage was regrettable, and she hoped she could one day visit the city with a different disposition.


    They made their way back to their inn as the moon slowly rose over the rooftops that covered the hill. The next day, Orion had informed her, should be used to prepare their provisions for their trip. It was clear to Ophelia at that point that the praetorian saw it all as some passing fancy of her; that he would one day escort her back in triumph, having convinced her that her place was there. She had to give it to him that unlike Aegyr, he seemed more at ease with letting her roam free enough so that she''d think her decisions were hers, rather than outright force her to go where she didn''t want to go. It was very sneaky, it was very dirty, and perhaps, could''ve been more effective if she hadn''t been as brave as she was. He was a convenient excuse to those who liked to indulge in comfort: she could''ve allowed him to convince her to stay or go back to Sophia only so that she didn''t have to face the world outside on her own. After all, it seemed pretty easy to just go along with what the Elysians wanted of her¡­ but the exciting unknowns of what she had yet to see of Lygeum called to her, and she very much preferred their dangers to the safe, controlled environment that was the empire.


    And then, of course, the feeling in the back of her head that something was wrong.


    She had her breakfast once again in the morning and they left before noon this time; they had food at the same market as the day before, except this time Orion told her that he needed to briefly meet one of the other praetorians who happened to be in town to relay some information. She left Ophelia to her own devices and asked her to mind her notoriety ¨C no public displays of her aether, and no talking to strangers, lest she "charm some other soul into obeying her wicked will". She did, however, retrace some of the steps of the previous day, and ended passing by some of the open lounges where the mostly male clientele enjoyed the local version of a shisha.


    It was there where she found a scene that at first made her think that pleasure district was indeed a name well earned, before she did a double take. From the streets anyone could peer into the open tent-like interiors of those shisha lounges and find groups of men having beer and smoking. There were those who did it by themselves, and those who hired pleasure girls to liven up the atmosphere. It was one of the latter who she thought she''d spotted before the long, silky blond hair of a courtesan and the two women sticking themselves to the only man in the group reminded her of a familiar scene.


    She thought about passing by, chiding herself for fantasizing a reunion that would not happen. But then her traitorous eyes strayed, a familiar hazel gaze crossed hers, and she lost her breath.


    "Hyperion," she said in a raspy voice as she ran into the lounge. The man had sprung to his feet, forgetting all about his companions, and opening his arms, received her with the biggest hug either of them had enjoyed to that moment.


    "Ophelia, darling princess, I knew I would find you here," he said as he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. Ophelia felt the embrace of his scent of myrrh and almost let herself fall: all her anxieties suddenly vanished, all the tension violently snatched away by the presence of the man that comforted her the most. She wished she could stay there for an eternity, her face against that warm chest, feeling like she was finally home.


    "I thought you were in Caudiceum," she murmured.


    "As soon as it was safe for me to leave Arqa, I embarked to the Empire," he reluctantly let her go, before looking to the party he''d left behind. "Uri," he said to one of the girls. "Take it from here. I ought to catch up with an old friend."


    And then he led her inside the lounge, to a small private room in the back. "It was very difficult to hear any news about you that weren''t outrageous rumours. But as soon as it was said that the Mystae would be held, I rushed here. I had hoped I would be able to see you¡­"


    Ophelia smiled. "I wonder what is said about me; it will probably make a better story than what actually happened."


    "The usual; idle tongues work the same regardless of the nation you''re in. The most interesting one, however, was about how you summoned daimones in the Pleroma to scare the officials."


    "Ah, that one is partially true. In the boredom of the sail from Arqa we discovered one could make these sort of creatures that seem to look alive and move by themselves. I rather liked doing them quite horrible to the eyes, to get a raise out of people."


    Hyperion laughed. "Of course, agent of chaos that you are, that you would do such things in the middle of perfect Elysium. And what about your disappearance? Everything under the sun has been named as its cause."


    "Oh ¨C what about falling back in Byzantium?" Hyperion''s eyes widened. "Aegyr and I went back to my home city. He decided to stay; I left."


    Hyperion''s barrage of questions required a more thorough review of the events; gladly, Ophelia recounted her visit to London, the events that led to it, and even her adventures inside the murder mystery house that was Aegyr''s Aurelian manor. It was clear that her decision to come back filled him with no small amount of relief: that Aegyr was also safely stowed in that other world also came as a pleasant surprise. The merchant cared very little for his reasons, which Ophelia had tried to talk about in broad terms; as far as he knew, the less he saw of his jailer, the better. "Nefarious that silly man was," he said, "and jealous, so petty that it was almost comical."


    "Oh?"


    "He came to visit me shortly after you did, simply to warn me not to ever seek you again. He told me that should he hear of my presence in Elysium in the same place where you resided, he''d personally come to dispose of me."


    "What did you say to him?"


    Hyperion smirked. "I reminded him of a fable well known to those who grew up in the ports on the Atlantean Sea, of a man who fashioned wings out of wax and feathers to fly closer to the sun, enraptured by its beauty. He falls to his death when the warmth of its rays melt the wax, thus destroying his wings."


    Ophelia let out a dry laugh. "Icarus! I''ve heard of a similar myth."


    As they finished their catching up, the proposition of what would come next landed on Hyperion''s mouth:


    "So, what is it that you require now? A boat, a carriage, a single horse? I have all three for you."


    During their conversation, something had taken shape slowly and then hardened in the back of her head. Like a clay pot that needed cooking in the oven, she''d slowly given shape to the notion that Orion was a risky gamble, and then had solidified her mistrust into the decision that she needed to do something to escape on her own.


    "A praetorian has been accompanying me ever since I arrived," she confessed to Hyperion. "He said he''d help me but I know better than to fully trust him. Even if I do leave Elysium now, he''ll make sure I come back at some point."


    "Someone else must know about our movements, where we''re headed, all that," she continued. "And they''re letting us be. But I''m thinking, as we are not far from the border now, that I can simply escape on my own. It''ll come as a surprise to him ¨C and I''ll lose the Knights and whoever is after me."


    "On your own?" Hyperion looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "How so? Have you learnt how to ride a horse?"


    "A Byzantine has tricks," she smirked. "I do not need a horse to travel fast. And even if I did, the last thing I want is a repeat of my past mistakes. I''d rather not compromise you; you''ve put yourself on the line enough for me already."


    The Chaldean gently grabbed her hands, a very deep and serious look on his face as he reproached her: "I feel like the Phrygian is speaking to me. Relying on me will never be a mistake, princess; it is a fate I''d share gladly."


    Ophelia shook her head. "To all its due; you can wait for me outside of the Empire and we can go elsewhere together."


    That seemed to placate him somewhat, but his doubts still retained her for another ten minutes. She caught sight of another, darker, blond mane somewhere in the streets, and decided it was time she returned. "I must go now," she said, stealing another hug from him. "Meet me in Thrace in five days. I will be waiting."


    Any qualms he still had seemed to be mollified by that one promise. He tenderly kissed the top of her head and told her not to cause too much trouble, "you must give us the opportunity to keep up with you" he said with a smile.


    Ophelia felt reinvigorated after their meeting; it was like the air had been washed after a storm, leaving a clear sky behind. It had been made obvious merely by speaking to Hyperion that she needed to leave Elysium: the chat had awoken a certain longing for what she''d once called home, which was wherever the merchant and his merry band of aides would be. She felt like ages had been spent with someone or another moving her around a chessboard, forcing her to a fate she wasn''t fully comfortable with.


    She was all smiles with Orion when she reunited with him. She had come to develop a soft spot for him: it was impossible not to, when he was all charisma and wit and the only troublemaker that seemed to break through the rigid social structure of Elysium. But she also had come to learn that he was no revolutionary: he didn''t understand what he saw as her wild ways, and even though he made for an interesting companion it was clear that soon it would be imperative for them to part ways. So they spent the rest of the day visiting some more of his favourite spots in the city, venturing slightly into the south side where the merchants and the craftsmen resided, before once again escaping the nightly bustle to go back to their inn.


    She didn''t quite have the heart to embrace him in her bed and then run away without saying a word, so she gave the eternal I don''t feel well excuse for the night, and simply tucked herself away under the sheets. He didn''t mind; he rested with her, soon falling asleep holding her in his arms. It was past midnight when she dared to move again ¨C the moon was bright and fiery outside, and cast everything in a silver glow. She saw his peaceful face and felt a bit of remorse about what she was about to do ¨C he looked so unguarded, so innocent that it was impossible to suppress a tender feeling of regret.


    Caressing his temples, she did what he''d taught her a few days before, and pushed her aether into him. Seeing that he was asleep it was difficult for her to assess whether it had worked or not, but he did not stir or rise awake when she changed into the robes she''d been wearing during the day, took the bag she''d brought from London, and left the room.


    There was no need for her to feign care for stealth after that: she used the flying jump trick to move eastwards, towards one of the many roads that led outside of the city. Thankfully not many people were perusing the sky at that point, and those that did were in a state that made all they witnessed highly debatable to everyone else. She landed soon near the border of the city, feeling winded enough to know she''d need to take an alternative means of transport beyond that. There were no fortifications or gates in Sophia: there was no need to, as the Emperor was enough to defend it; there were, however, posts by the side of the roads at the edge of the city where city guards would check anyone coming through. As she walked closer to them, she caught sight of the stables, and some of the steeds that were resting inside.


    An idea struck her. None of the guards were nobles; and so her aether flew smoothly around them, putting each one of them to sleep. Man that she saw was a man that fell unconscious to her feet: there would be no witnesses to her escape, and much less anyone to go after her. She walked into the stables with the swagger of one who owns the place: she chose the first horse she saw, and concentrating on her desire to escape, bent the animal to her will.


    It would perhaps beg the question of whether she''d be able to do something similar with a more active intelligence, perhaps like that of another human. She doubted it: it took her considerable effort to get the animal to actually move, even after falling under her spell, and once it did, she felt like any slip of her concentration would make it regain control of itself again. Then she figured out that perhaps she didn''t need to snuff out its consciousness entirely; perhaps what she needed to do was to influence it so it would do her commands. She tried that instead and found much better results: almost like she''d become the voice in the back of the horse''s head, directing its every move without it realizing where the thought had come from.


    She mounted it, and asked it to walk forward. Some tentative steps were followed by more assured ones; almost like it was testing the direction of her words. When she pressed on, it seemed to convince itself of its need to gallop towards wherever she was asking it to go, and soon she found herself holding in for dear life as it trotted forwards.


    No one was on the roads except herself. Illuminated by the soft, beautiful glow of the moon, on and on she went to the unknown. Or that''s what she had expected, before she found herself falling to the ground covered in the horse''s blood. Something had suddenly cut its head cleanly through, sending it bouncing into the middle of the road with a sickening wet sound.


    "What-?" she exclaimed before almost three dozen dark figures surrounded her. They had followed her from behind, their horses'' galloping hooves making no sound as their rider''s aether blocked every stamp on the ground. She''d been so focused on moving her steed forwards that she''d not realized she was being followed ¨C and by such an impressive retinue, the dark blue of their robes turning black by the witching hour. She spotted blurry faces, all of them nobles, Knights, ready to drag her back kicking and screaming if it need be.


    "Ah, gentlemen, I''m afraid you''ve got the wrong person," she said with a nervous smile, looking around the sea of impassive faces. None of them reacted to her words. She was about to try a change of tactics when someone else emerged from the crowd.


    "No, no, I am pretty sure they meant to get our lady Ophelia," said a familiar voice. Orion emerged from the wall of blue-black sour-looking figures crowned by his attire, standing out by virtue of its difference in colour and style. Gone were the demure robes she''d left him in, instead dressing himself in a far more grandiose set ¨C with purple and gold making him look like the exulted official he was supposed to be. It wasn''t the only thing about his appearance that caught Ophelia''s attention ¨C his hair, as well, was down and neatly tucked behind him, almost a polar opposite from the messy buns and ponytails he''d preferred so far.


    "Have you decided to betray me?" Ophelia said through gritted teeth.


    "You could see it that way; but I''d rather you offer me some of your sympathies and think of it as a change of tactics," he made a gesture to the knights behind him to bring something forward. A box appeared in someone''s hands and opened it revealed a pale, blurry white square of something¡­ And as Orion''s hands tenderly picked them off its resting place, a pair of Lyre''s Tears glinted in the moonlight. "I''m afraid I behave terribly when I''m around you, Ophelia dear; you do the darnedest things and it''s difficult for a man like myself to not want to respond in kind."


    A chill went down Ophelia''s spine ¨C a simple physical reaction to the deep feeling of uneasiness that kept growing. Although not a stickler for etiquette, Orion had always preferred to call her your highness, particularly in front of other people. That he was so purposefully using her name felt like a portent of what was to come.


    For a few tense seconds, which had her frozen on the spot, silently watching the other''s movements, she thought he''d brought the Tears in the same way that Aegyr had used them as shackles on his wife. But then instead, he brought them up to his ears and fixed them on himself. A soft golden glow illuminated his throat and the sides of his face, much like her own earrings did.


    He smiled at her, and she dreaded to hear his next words:


    "I guess it''s nigh time I introduce myself properly, Ophelia. My name is Aurelius, Emperor of the Elysian empire."

 Chapter 19

    There was no mystery to how it would end, but it did not deter her. The odds were not in her favour: she was grossly outnumbered, facing those who had far more experience than her in using their powers for battle. But the pit in her stomach had widened, and it had called forth a certain angry desperation, a whirlwind of confused emotions ¨C all of whom were fertile ground for her aether to grow and fester, and bring something forth.


    There was no rhyme and reason to what she did; it was very much like a child''s floundering efforts at trying to fight off an older brother. And even if her attempts culminated in strong, swift attacks, Orion was there to counter her. One, two, three times she felt his aether clash violently against hers: and each time it would end up overpowering her, leaving her more and more breathless and exhausted.


    And then, a mistake, she floundered: and he was on her, restraining her as she laid on the ground breathless, eyes watering in anger and fear. He sat next to her and with a surprising tenderness given the scale of the battle they''d just engaged in, he placed her head on his lap. Without saying a word, without taking his eyes off hers, he took out his Lyre''s tears and placed them on her. Ophelia gasped as she felt something go out, like a candle, inside of her ¨C her aether grievously suppressed by his, so sudden and so surprising the shock of it made her entire body tremble.


    Then it all went dark. Perhaps her body, so used to the aether it had been holding on to, could not bear the shock of its absence. Perhaps it had been him who had forced her unconscious. She''d never find out.


    When she slowly came to be, the memories of the night before were almost washed away by the words of a man next to her, who was softly reading something about Elysium¡­


    Once upon a time, the voice had begun, a warrior from a far away land called Thracia fell shamefully in battle, and was taken captive by a general from eternal Rome. He was stripped of his status, reduced to servitude, and at the side of his new master travelled to the city of Byzantium. For years he could do naught but yearn for his freedom; that is, until he met a strange woman. A priestess, bound to a goddess, triple, that resided underground. She offered her hand to him, and said: should you want your shackles gone, come to me and ready your body and your soul to experience the mysteries that hide in the deep darkness of the interior of the earth.


    The warrior followed her, and in a cave far away from Byzantium and from his earthly master''s eyes, he drunk and ate from the hand of three priestesses. He sacrificed for them, and they all sung and chanted spells and recitations of all sorts. But he did not see the mark in his forehead disappear, and he grew impatient. When the priestesses raised their knives to offer another sacrifice, the anger in his heart thought the worst: that he had become their victim. And so, thinking it was in his stead, he killed them, and confused and disoriented wandered into the cave, falling deeper and deeper into its recesses...


    A path of blood led him to another entrance of the cave, one that was the furthest away from Byzantium as one could be¡­ the sun greeted him once again, in a new land called Lygeum. But the warrior thought he was still in Byzantium, and he wandered on trying to find his way back to the city.


    This was a different time, one of much unlawfulness and chaos. Bands of rogue thieves often roamed the countryside roads to attack unsuspecting travellers. The warrior came across one of these bands, and it was while he fought for his life that he discovered something within him had awakened¡­ a strange power, aether, which gave him command over the natural world.


    From the thieves he learnt the names of the kingdoms he was wandering about: Hatti and Ebla. To Hattusa, the grandest city in Hatti, he set forth. He joined their courtly circles offering his skills as a diplomat and a warrior. Both kingdoms were small, rife with disputes between local princes. Both in Ebla and in Hatti the Kings were powerless, and often let their corrupt officials make important state decisions.


    And then, one day, a horde came from the east. They spoke various tongues, fed on horse and dog meat, and only fought with bows and spears. They were barbarians, interested in nothing but pillage and violence, and as they advanced through the roads to Hattusa they found almost no resistance from the weak, unprepared local princes and officials.


    The warrior stepped up to defend his new homeland, and went from door to door in Hattusa to ask for men who would take up arms to defend their city from the hoards. Many were already fleeing, but there were those whose blood boiled at the injustice and whose bravery matched the warrior''s. In total forty men joined the warrior, and armed, they stood at Hattusa''s gates for three days and three nights to wait for the horde to come.


    The forty men had nothing but a shield and a sword; the horde''s numbers were in the hundreds, and they were all battle-mad, without fear of death. But they raised their swords bravely, and as they did so the warrior leapt forward and from his hand a dragon emerged. Its body was made of blue fire, and it burnt intensely, eating away at whatever it touched in less than a minute. It ravaged through the hoard, turning the field in front of Hattusa''s gates blue in the middle of the day. No screams were heard, sudden as it was, and it remained burning whatever it could find on the bodies of the attackers. This happened on a Wednesday, which was called Doria''s day by the Hattians, and this is the reason why its name has become "Dorian fire".


    During the next ten days and ten nights, the warrior and his men travelled towards the border, driving back the other hordes with the blue fire. Those few who survived were sent back east to warn others not to dare attempt the same again. Those who died were so numerous that one could walk from the border to the capital by stepping only on their blackened remains.


    The might of the warrior''s power left a deep impression in his men. In a city of thousands, only them had responded to his call, wanting to defend their city: they felt sad and angry at what had become of their peoples. The Hattians had become lazy, self-serving, weak, fearful, their king powerless to do anything but cower inside his palace. They saw the arrival of the warrior as a sign that a new dawn was emerging, and heralded him as a saintly figure, a demigod, and resolved to make him king when they arrived in Hattusa.


    The night of their arrival, the warrior''s men killed the king and announced the warrior as their new lord. All princes were made to swear fealty to him, and over the following years they worked as loyal generals to the new king. The kingdom of Elba surrendered to them soon enough, and out of their union the Kingdom of Elysium was born, and their first and only king became the warrior Aurelius¡­


    Groggily, Ophelia opened her eyes when she heard that name; half-conscious, she''d almost seen the narration play out like a movie, blending in with a dream she''d now forgot. She saw pristine white sheets, and in a chair next to her Orion ¨C now, Aurelius- wearing the shimmering Elysian robes, in royal purple rather than blue.


    "How are you feeling?" he asked when he noticed she was fully awake. "I feared I had gone overboard."


    "I''m not sure what happened but I feel fine," Ophelia answered as she sat up. Something dangled from her ears ¨C she was still wearing his Tears.


    "It was a gratifying first to be in a scuffle of that magnitude," he smiled. In his hands he held open the manuscript he''d been reading from. He closed it, and left it to the side. "It''s been a century perhaps since I had to exert myself like that. But do try to avoid that in the future. It''s not becoming of a man to hurt a lady like that."


    Ophelia sighed. "I have no interest in fighting anyone, much less yourself¡­ but why do you keep forcing me to? It''d be so much easier if you let me be."


    "It would be easier, perhaps, in the first few months; years, even. But Ophelia, haven''t you realised already? Trouble will follow wherever you go. You''ve got no ambitions of your own, and readily empathise with others: take for example, our obtuse Phrygian friends. Hadn''t been they so limited in their vision they would''ve readily used you to escalate their rebellion into a civil war ¨C something their neighbouring nations have been expecting for years. Thracia, the eastern coalition, Elysium itself¡­ if you had stepped into that battlefield, I assure you, we would all be neck-deep in bloody war."


    He levelled her with a steely gaze. "I am acting in the best interests of this world, Ophelia. When I came here, I found nothing but petty disputes, backward kingdoms too lost in tribal warfare to amount to anything. When I formed the Elysian empire, what I wanted was to use my gifts to bring order and civilization to this world. It was my duty, my responsibility given the great power I had."


    "And as I said before when we arrived in Sophia, you''re no mere mortal anymore. This is your responsibility, too. You can bring your knowledge of London, make this into a better world."


    Ophelia didn''t flinch at his rhetoric. "Fair enough that perhaps I have jumped into matters I did not have context on," she conceded. "But when has that potential for disaster truly been realized? If I am such a menace, where are the pile of bodies that I should''ve left behind? Because, left and right all I''ve seen was either Elysians doing the killing and others responding in kind, zealous terrorists from the Free Cities¡­"


    He lightly shook his head, not to stop her from speaking, but rather to emphasize that she wasn''t getting the point he was trying to make. He explained:


    "The longer one lives the more their perspective broadens. I''ve made empires rise and fall to benefit the vision I had for this world¡­ and this has allowed me to get a very accurate sense of the consequences that span from the crux of every possible decision. I am not holding you accountable for wrongs you are not responsible for; I am simply explaining why it is necessary for you to be responsible."


    "You have seen the folks in Sophia," he continued. "While the empire is not perfect, its lows are not as low as you''ve seen in Caudiceum, I imagine, or what you''ve seen in Arqa. A woman without the considerable aether that you have can walk the streets at night without fear; a man can take to the roads and never fear losing his life to bandits. Where else is this possible? That is why every child in this empire learns about the importance of order: it''s not an empty promise, it''s a truth that underlines our prosperity."


    Ophelia frowned. "But it''s fine as long as chaos happens elsewhere, like in Phrygia or in the Free Cities?"


    "No," the man softly shook his head. "Because eventually it''ll creep up to our shores. So, we pacify them, improve them, and with their prosperity our empire grows brighter."


    "I don''t believe this," Ophelia bit back. The sheets around her legs had become crumpled as she had turned to face Aurelius in the heat of their exchange. "All of this is always a zero-sum game. Unbound prosperity is always someone else''s loss. Even if it''s not material."


    "Zero¡­ sum game?" the argument was stalled briefly when Ophelia realized she''d just dropped a modern concept on the Byzantine man. She explained what it was as best as she could, and after a few seconds of silent where he processed what she''d meant, he said: "All I can say is that experience will prove you wrong, but then again ¨C that is also part of why I want you here."


    "What do you mean?"


    "You don''t believe my words ¨C I can see that. Of course, after everything that has happened you would not be receptive to hearing them ¨C but you shall see as time passes by that there''s rhyme and reason to what I say. I hope by staying here you will come to agree with me."


    Ophelia''s eyes turned into pure steel. "And if I don''t, will you kill me?"


    "I did consider that option before I met you," the man wryly smiled, "but why should I be so barbaric to punish the ignorance that has no malice? You are young still; you learn quickly and ¨C dare I say it ¨C you are no foolish woman."


    Ophelia pursed her lips. "You''re awfully sure that you can persuade me."


    In a gesture Orion was brought back to her: the man smiled enigmatically as he shrugged. "I could say you''re awfully sure you won''t be persuaded to see things my way. Obstinacy is often a rowdy child of discontent, one that tends to disappear with time."


    He stood up, walking over to the side of the room. "You can take my Tears off when you want ¨C I would not want you handicapped like that in this palace of all places. But, should you feel like you were itching to try something, I think it bears a warning: raise your hand at me as much as you like, but it might be your Chaldean friend or the pesky Phrygian prince I might take my anger out on."


    Ophelia''s fists closed angrily, and through gritted teeth she said, "stop with the mockery. Just call me a prisoner."


    She got a smirk in return.


    "If it pleases you: you are here as my prisoner, Ophelia. But I do pray you''ll choose to stay here out of your own volition soon enough."


    She felt it was a strange thing to ask that a prisoner come to love their own captivity. He paid no mind to her feelings then; it was obvious that he knew what she was thinking and saw no reason to respond. Instead, he offered his hand:


    "You must be famished," he said, "perhaps now it would be a good time to walk about so I can show you the palace."


    A very petty part of her thought about digging her heels in and turning her back on him; on principle, she''d starve to protest him. But she also knew that it would get her nowhere: he''d happily let her suffer the consequences of her tantrum, which would underline everything he''d said about her before. So, instead, she took off the shackles that were suppressing her aether, and rose from the bed ¨C she was wearing the same outfit from the day before, which stank of horse, sweat and grime, and was also stained with her poor stolen steed''s blood.


    "To your right," Aurelius said when he noticed her searching gaze.


    The room was bright and spacious: had she not seen a bed she''d have thought it was a ballroom. The ceilings were tall and of a style she''d yet to see elsewhere in Lygeum: the gothic arches of dark masonry stone made her think of old English churches and abandoned monasteries. Aurelius was standing next to a colonnade, which acted as the only division between the room and a luscious conservatory ¨C the roof of which was a vaulted structure of steel and glass sealed with lead. On the other side, displayed in a way that reminded her of modern art installations, were a number of elaborate, delicate-looking Elysian robes. Wooden hangers protruded from the wall, keeping the fabric pristine for its next use; full sets hung from each bar, covering the space floor to ceiling.


    She marvelled at the strangely modern design of that wardrobe, but then understood why it was convenient: by calling on her aether she could simply float her choice of garment down into her arms. She grabbed the first one she saw, without giving it much thought: it was a set of shimmering yellow-orange robes, with a belt delicately embroidered in pink silk. She then spotted the divider screen to the side, and shot Aurelius a wary look.


    "Take your time," he said, leisurely taking a seat on the steps that led to the garden.


    London had reminded her that she wasn''t entirely sold on open-plan rooms where she could sleep and bathe and sit down with guests. There was an anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach, which could''ve been soothed by a boxy little room with a bathtub, a toilet and a sink in it, and a door to ward off the rest of the world. It did not help that a man she''d been intimate with but now felt like a complete stranger was sitting a few meters from her, with only a flimsy screen in between.


    She quickly washed herself, put on the fresh change of clothes, and walked back to where Aurelius was calmly watching the butterflies of the conservatory flop around.


    "I had four of these gardens made," he said when she approached. "The technology for making glass had been forgotten in Lygeum when I arrived. I had always been fascinated by the great family estates in Rome and their glass panes, so I taught an artisan the little I knew and ordered him to continue experimenting. His son eventually managed to produce clear glass."


    "In my time, all houses have windows with glass panes," Ophelia commented. "It is a favourite for buildings; they may be twenty stories high, with outer walls entirely made of glass."


    He nodded thoughtfully and made a gesture for her to follow as he begun to walk through the garden. It wasn''t very big, but it was overflowing with all kinds of ferns and ash trees.


    "You said your city was named London. Where exactly is it located?"


    "It''s in northern Europe¡­" she realized it would be a difficult conversation to have with someone whose cartography differed from hers by a thousand years of history and extinct languages."Its old name is Londinium."


    "Londinium", in Aurelius'' accent it came alive, the dust of two millennia of invasions, conquests and re-conquest falling off to reveal what it had once originally been. "Ah, yes. That northern province of Britannia, always rife with strife. As any border province¡­"


    They wandered off out of the garden and into a gallery: there were only three doors in them, and its most curious feature were the very familiar statues that adorned it. There was something of that style that recalled the white marble beauty of the many Greek and Roman gods imprisoned in the British Museum. These, however, had been delicately painted: their deadened eyes came alive with fine lines of lapislazuli blue and black, their clothes stained with deep, rich reds and ochres and greens of all shades. It felt a bit sacrilegious to her to lay colour to the perfect, unstained white; it made them look a bit like porcelain figures, divested of some of the grandeur they could''ve had.


    "Do you recognise Iupitter?" he asked when he noticed her intent staring. Ophelia blinked at him once, twice, before she was able to translate the name and then it dawned on her that she was staring at the figures of the ancient pagan gods of Rome. "Mithras, Sol, Hecate, Serapis, Ianus," he enumerated in order as they passed by each statue.


    "They have been long gone," Ophelia said, not recognising most of the names. "We do learn about some of the gods, but they''re all stories from ancient times."


    "In a way, perhaps, it''s the same for me: they''re nothing but memories. But I do find myself thinking about them every so often. I understand a lot more about them now that I find myself wearing their shoes."


    Ophelia stopped to look behind them, search the gaze of the immobile gods. "By my time, the many gods with human faces, virtues and vices were long gone: in their stead there was a single omniscient, all-powerful, benevolent god that had no other name. And his son, of course, who was sent to us to sacrifice himself for all of humanity''s souls," she smiled, wondering if he''d recognise who she was talking about. "I don''t think I would ever be able to claim I''m anywhere close to understanding either of them."


    She snickered. "Unless, of course, I also find myself crucified by a Roman."


    Admittedly, all she knew of Christianity she''d learnt from Monty Python. But if the theology of the Church of England was remote to her, the gods Aurelius had brought with himself were even further away, lost beyond the years and the rise and fall of hundreds of civilizations.


    The last reference was enough to spark some recognition in the other man''s face, whose scowl seemed tinged with equal amounts of disdain and perplexity. "You are speaking of the Christianos, that superstitious lot, who drown their children and believe they will become immortal after death."


    "Christianity, yes," Ophelia nodded. "Although perhaps a millennium or two have changed many things about it."


    Aurelius snorted. "How strange that they survived when the gods of Rome did not. I saw many of them executed for not performing the sacrifices to the well-being of the emperor. Is it not foolish to refuse the acts that all their ancestors did on the daily?"


    "I can''t say I''d have an answer to that¡ªI''ve never been particularly religious."


    The man turned around and continued walking ¨C an unspoken invitation for her to follow. Pensively, he said, "religion can be quite useful ¨C it comforts the masses, gives them a reason to unite under a banner. One does not need to manufacture it ¨C simply play to what''s already a natural instinct for most men, and let them come to their own conclusions."


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Is that what you did in Elysium?" Ophelia asked.


    "Exactly. Given the miraculous nature of my powers, it wasn''t long until I was seen as a demigod of sorts. In the beginning they squashed me into the pantheons of the old kingdoms, said I was so-and-so''s child. But then I decided it would be best to forge a new identity; there would be less discord in the longer term if everyone danced to the same tune. So I borrowed Byzantium''s name and crafted it to be a land beyond all lands, a paradise. And from there, the myth took a life of its own."


    They arrived at a circular room, lavishly decorated with tapestries depicting warriors, athletes and musicians appealing to the object of their affection. They were colourful scenes of courtly love, arising from a sea of blue chaises, lounge chairs and recliners, and the ebony and ivory tables in between. What felt the most curious to her were the eastern-style vases, which were the size of an adult man, and which contained arrangements of flowers and tropical leaves made of cloth. They were of a very skilled construction, often bearing enough resemblance to their real-life counterparts but adorned with the fantasy of a made-up object. What should''ve been green was instead of a dark pink or a deep ochre, and it made the entire room feel warm and inviting.


    "There''s a guest room behind each door," he said pointing to the twelve doors that lined the walls around them.


    Ophelia looked perplexed. "Do you often receive people?"


    Aurelius wasn''t expecting that reaction: he laughed, then smiled deviously as he answered, "mmh, every so many years, yes. But only women."


    Ophelia blushed fiercely, and her eyes roamed the room again. What had not been seen was now more apparent than ever: that it was a space for lovers, for rendezvous in the nights of the Bacchanalia. "What a strange custom you invented."


    "It was only by chance that I realised that my progeny would inherit some of these powers," he said innocently enough, picking up one of the fake roses that adorned the room and playing with its stem. "It occurred to me at first that rather than one I could have many heirs. But then, I stopped growing old, so the question of succession became moot. So, I gave them lands, titles, and then slowly built up an aristocracy that owed its absolute loyalty to me. And, as I did it, I brought in princesses, or the daughters of diplomats or foreign generals, and made them part of the Empire."


    He looked at the rose in his hand, and his aether transformed the petals from deep red into sky blue. "It is to ensure the Empire''s stability," he offered the flower to Ophelia with a lopsided smile. "Although the men around me hold a great deal of importance over such things, over the years I''ve grown to dislike sharing a woman''s first night. And the lot that normally I send for, it is their duty to hold on to that for as long as possible, so by the time they cross these doors they''re nothing but a nervous wreck, always feeling pain and pretending they enjoy it more than they do."


    The ordeal sounded hellish on all accounts. Ophelia had a faint memory of her first time ¨C it had been at sixteen, with a boy whose name she''d forgotten but she''d thought she fancied for a few weeks in high school. Amidst the madness of preparing for her A levels she had, in a nervous crisis, decided she was ready to make that leap, and after she''d crashed into a party and they''d both had had a can or two, it happened. It was sloppy and disappointing, and it certainly hurt; she discovered she wasn''t as into it as she''d thought, and she''d left him asleep in his friend''s bed. The next day no one remembered her face, no one had seen her at the party, which was as disappointing as it was an absolute relief.


    She figured it would''ve been the same had the boy been an absolute stranger; but she had been raised by a father who had come of age in the seventies, who''d met her mother in a hippie commune. She had grown up without some of the usual trappings that other women might''ve had, and this included her carefree attitude when it came to sex. This wasn''t the case for the noblewomen and princesses that had passed through that hall: for them it must''ve been as exciting as it was scary, venturing into the unknown after a long life of growing up with taboos about their own bodies.


    "If it''s so odious, why not do something else? Why not get rid of this thing altogether?"


    He smiled, and stepped in front of her. "I could," he said, bending down so that their faces were closer together. "If someone were to make this hall hers, and bear a few heirs for me, why bother with those princesses?"


    Ophelia moved away. "Isn''t that the reason I was going to be brought here for?" she bit back angrily.


    "I wonder why is it that you make me such a villain," he grabbed her by her waist before she could walk any further away from him, and embraced her forcefully against him. "I''ve yet to do anything to a woman who''s unwilling. And besides, you and I have already laid together, haven''t we?"


    "That was when I¡­" Ophelia tried to say before he continued, "I had your consent for everything I did."


    "You lied about who you were!"


    "I hid who I was, yes," he whispered in her ear, his hands moving across her body. "But what exactly is the complaint? That I didn''t bring the manuscript with my family lineage into bed with me, or that I made you moan the wrong name?"


    Ophelia grabbed his arms and complimenting her strength with her aether, she moved them away from her body. "I trusted you,"she stepped out of his embrace and turned to face him. "It''s as simple as that. You broke my trust."


    "Very well," Aurelius held up his hands, although it was clear he hadn''t yet been defeated. "I shall endeavour to regain your trust, then."


    They moved to the next set of rooms in tense silence. They visited another inner courtyard, this one open to the blue skies above. He paid no mind to her clipped answers as he spoke of what he used each space for: it became clear that most of them were merely for the sake of the very infrequent ceremonies he''d hold, be they the product of a Mystae or a rite of baptism. When they reached the large dining hall, something that had been parading around in her mind since earlier finally fought to break out:


    "Do you have no maids or butlers?"


    She had yet to see another living soul in that palace, and in the absence of their shadows, she also missed the remnants of their every day activities: there were no buckets by the side of the doors to the courtyard to bring water in and out of the building, no wells, no stools for them to reach the lamps to light their candles. It was strangely modern; the necessities being hidden in the plumbing or the wiring in the wall, except that there were no such things.


    "I have no need of them," he said, turning to look at the massive, empty hall. Grandiose and luxuriously furnished as it was, Ophelia thought it felt a bit ridiculous if that entire palace only housed one person. "Anything they can do for me I can use my powers for. And as you can see, I''ve rather valued my anonymity until now. Keeping servants around me tends to undermine this sooner or later."


    "Is that why none of the walls facing the outside have windows in them? To keep your privacy?"


    Aurelius smiled and nodded. "You''ve seen only the north side so far, which overlooks the Temple. I thought that as many people gather there on certain occasions, it''s better to prevent any misguided curiosity from finding its way in."


    He made a gesture for her to follow. To the south there was a sitting room of sorts: facing in the same direction three windows burned red and orange with sycamore trees. Beyond them one could see the urban sprawl of the other six hills in Sophia, manor houses and humble thatched roofs sprinkled in blue and cold, pale green. It was the most breathtaking of sights, and Ophelia couldn''t help but gasp, excitedly running towards the windows.


    "As you can imagine, I keep my rooms in the southernmost buildings" ¨C Aurelius pointed towards the annex that could be seen to their right. It had been built making use of a natural outcrop in the hill, raising the foundations a few feet above the rest of the house. "The view is even better from them," he winked, and laughed when Ophelia sent him a dirty look.


    As she turned her back to him, she could not help but notice the musical instruments on one side of the room, the comfortable lounge chairs, and the few board games that were out on display on the marble tables. It was clearly a room for an evening''s entertainment, yet somehow, she doubted it''d seen any use at all.


    "Do you not get lonely living here all by yourself?" she asked.


    "In the last century or so, I''ve spent most of my time abroad or travelling around the empire; I only occasionally use this palace. By virtue of the brevity of my stays here it acts more like a respite from the bustle of the outside world ¨C I do not stay long enough for that to become odious."


    He seemed to anticipate her thoughts and smiled warmly. "But, given things are bound to change now, it might be worth bringing a few people in. Perhaps, that maid of yours that Aegyr had brought: we could send for her."


    "What about your¡­ anonymity?"


    "I had planned to let them see my face during the Mystae. Going too long without a visible Emperor makes some people nervous."


    "What a shock they will receive when you look entirely different to the statues and the art they''ve seen."


    Aurelius laughed. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"


    Ophelia shrugged. "It is a matter of taste."


    The last noteworthy stop in their itinerary was the library: set in the west wing, a building on its own rather than a simple room, it stood proud amidst a large, elaborate garden full of artificial ponds, wells and streams. Its facade was made of a slightly pinkish, pale sandstone streaked with delicate greenish veins. The touch of dew, rather than stain it darker, made it glimmer in the pale sunshine: it made it look ephemeral, as if they were stepping into that famed garden in Eden rather than a private palace''s courtyard. More than once she had to stop to admire her surroundings: a vision of a web of petals and uniquely-coloured thin branches flush red against the bright blue sky, or a pale land bridge only a few feet long awakening and dying at the branches of old yew trees. She saw butterflies and fireflies, heard beautiful chirps hiding down in the foliage and above in the trees. It was almost cartoonish in its perfection.


    "This is, perhaps, the part of the palace I''ve worked on the most," Aurelius said proudly as he noticed her staring. "It''s my vision of an eternal spring, a land with limitless prosperity¡­ et in Arcadia, ego sum."


    Ophelia raised her hand, and a butterfly landed on it. Like the rest of her kind in that garden, its wings were of a powdery golden colour. She noticed they all fluttered sluggishly, as if drunk. "How much of this flourished naturally, and how much of this depends on your power?"


    Aurelius smiled, but did not answer. He stepped next to her and delicately grabbed a single wing from the little traveller that had sought repose in Ophelia''s hand, and laid it on his palm. Then, from every corner of the garden butterflies began to seek him, all heading towards the sleeping creature lying helpless in his hand. They fed on it, ripped it apart with their own tiny appendages, their wings bleeding red with the evidence of their crime. No more gold dust swatting through the air ¨C a deep red would stain the sky from then onwards.


    And then, they dispersed. Nothing had been left behind.


    "It thrives on its own, but it does require some of my attention every now and then," he said as he closed his palm. "Left to their own devices, they devolve into chaos."


    "Wouldn''t it be better to let them survive on their own? What will happen when you''re not here anymore?"


    Aurelius'' smile became slightly strained, finding the notion of his own absence, or death, insulting. "It''s no use wondering about the impossible."


    Ophelia''s consternation broke through her expression, brows straining under the weight of what she was about to ask: "are you truly immortal?"


    "Will I live to see the end of time? I don''t think so. But will I live enough to ensure this garden thrives? Yes," he fixed his gaze on her. "And you will, too. You will have gardens of your own to take care of, at some point."


    Ophelia didn''t look away.


    "I can''t see myself ever maintaining something that simply wants to go in a different direction. I don''t see a future where I will be needed."


    Rather than arguing the point, Aurelius chuckled and shrugged. It was evident that her words were falling on deaf ears: he thought her naive, spitting only arguments begotten by her emotions at that moment.


    They continued towards the library: the building was a simple affair of one room with walls hidden behind dark wooden shelves. From floor to ceiling it was stacked with scrolls and manuscripts written on parchment, its spines so thick and pages so big that they had to be laid one on top of the other rather than vertically. Ophelia had heard of the library of Alexandria before; famous more so because of the tragedy that befell it rather than for its contributions to human knowledge, and if she''d ever stopped to give it a physical form it probably would''ve looked exactly like that in her imagination.


    "There''s a central library in Sophia where copies of every book of every kind are stored. When a foreign delegation arrives, it''s customary for them to bring newly written treatises for us to copy; it''s a long standing tradition now in Elysium. Those I enjoy or find interesting I keep here."


    One had been left open by the side of a reclining chair in the middle of the room. Ophelia, ever curious, picked it up to see what he''d been reading last. To her disappointment, she did not recognise the script.


    "I can teach you to read Iberian," the man noted and with a gesture of his hand a scroll floated down from one of the upper shelves. He rolled it open, showing a tight, spidery type surrounded by beautifully drawn pictures of different mythical monsters. "Or Xi''an; I have quite a few books in different languages I''ve picked up over the years."


    "I still have to get better at my Akkadian and Elysian," she noted.


    Aurelius wrapped up their visit by offering the library to her: "like anywhere else in this palace, you are welcome to spend as much time as you like here."


    The world was hers for the taking, he suggested, yet it was clear that the world he offered was strictly confined to the limits of the windowless walls, and should he be generous, the holy hill itself. The temple, he warned her, was the only place where outsiders were allowed, and as such, certain precautions had to be taken.


    "You have undoubtedly experienced some of this, but one finds that the same statue commands a different response when out in a public square than it does when it''s within the four walls of a temple. The Elysians who regarded you as a noble of sorts will now look at you in a different way: this temple is what makes us divine in their eyes. And while there''s awe and fear when faced with existences that are beyond someone''s comprehension, there''s also a deep-seated greed born in every man and every woman that cares very little for titles and hierarchies. They will do anything to make their dreams, their wishes come true: especially under this roof."


    He showed her to an antechamber, which was accessed after walking a long hallway from the north wing. It was a modest thing, with only a single door leading to the next room. "There''s a hall beyond this door; when I offer public audiences I do it from there. But I''ve designed it so that those who come to see me stay as far away as possible."


    "Why is that?" Ophelia wondered out loud. "What happened?"


    "A long time ago I used to appear often in public; I took part in processions, I regularly held audiences," Aurelius placed his hands behind his back, resting against the door to the hall he was describing. "Over the years there''s waves of extremism and fanaticism that come and go; at its worst, I''d have folks accusing each other of heresy and carrying out assassinations in front of me to prove their loyalty. I''ve had desperate women throw their newly-born infants in my direction in the hopes I''ll bless them or cure them of a disease. At one point I had a teenage girl harm herself so that I''d use my aether to cure her."


    "Isn''t that simply the result of the cult you yourself started?"


    "No" Aurelius denied sharply. "It is merely the result of mixing amongst them as equals. Once I became more withdrawn, a myth began to form in their minds, and I became more intangible, less likely to receive at my feet the dead they want to throw at me."


    With a touch of his hand the door behind him slowly opened, and beyond, a bell rang. Its sound was watery, delightful; a sign to mark that he was entering the temple. They stepped onto a wooden platform. On it there was a throne. Separating them from the rest of the hall were screens made of reed that hung from the ceiling, with beautiful patterns printed onto them. From the space between each screen Ophelia spied a large staircase descending towards dozens of wooden pews.


    "It will be full during the Mystae," his voice said next to her ear, almost making her jump. "I''ve thought that it''d be quite the spectacle if I were to burn all these screens with Dorian fire to reveal myself."


    It was already evening time, and Ophelia''s next question was solved by him pointing to a small altar to the side of the platform. There, a single tray made of ebony-like wood had been left with very little space that was not covered by a dish, a jar of wine or a fresh, ripe fruit. "Now, onto the last bit of today''s tour: the caretakers of the temple always leave what they call offerings. I rather think of it as one less trip I must make to the city."


    They carried the entire tray using their powers back into the dining hall, which was the first room out of the hallway that connected the temple with the main palace. Aurelius'' mood had picked up as they sat down, clearly excited at sharing his first dinner in a long time ¨C at least, under his actual name. He chatted away about everything and nothing, and whenever he touched a topic Ophelia would argue, he''d shut her down with a smile, waving away her arguments with the rhetorical equivalent of ''because I say so''. By the time she was allowed to return to her room, she wanted nothing more than to hide in bed for the next few weeks, unable to deal with the man''s attitude for extended periods of time.


    It was clear that now that the cat was out of the bag, Orion who simply walked circles around the topics they disagreed in had turned into Aurelius who preferred patronizing her on account of his age and his experience. With the mantra that one day she''ll also see it his way, nothing she said every merited a debate from his end, which made it increasingly obvious that she was there for him to play with, and nothing more.


    But then the next few days showed her that perhaps there was something more literal to that thought than she''d initially expected. Aurelius the master of the palace had dissolved in the praetorian she''d almost opened her heart to: showing Orion was still present, but not so visible. It had all begun during the morning when he''d asked her if she fancied trying out chasing each other using the flying jump trick she''d invented, to test out how long they could go for. It caught her by surprise; she''d expected him to continue trying to ease her into her new life in his palace, but it seemed that he wasn''t without a childlike side, even as the emperor.


    "As a praetorian I must measure my strength," he confessed during lunch. "Ever since I decided to stop showing my face in public, I have not had the opportunity to test my limits, even through games like these."


    He shot her a disarmingly bright smile. "And I am lucky you are partial to playing, as well."


    "It beats watching life go by, I guess," Ophelia offered him a tentative smile of her own. "If you''re going to keep me here you might as well keep me entertained as well!"


    "I will do my best," he promised with a laugh.


    Ophelia hoped that, if she should remain a captive there, she''d be treated to more days like that rather than the evenings arguing over Elysian theology. If he had noticed her reaching out for an olive branch, he did well in never mentioning it. She didn''t challenge him, didn''t say that she knew he was keeping her amused so that she''d forget her captivity, her frustration and her anger. They both put the real world on hold, stepping somewhere where none of their recent history had happened. And so, three days passed by.


    Their initial game of chasing each other naturally developed into its own version of tag, with them wrecking havoc around the empty, pristine palace. Competitiveness was born almost immediately amidst a knowing grin and a laugh: and when anything is at stake inventiveness comes forth. Ophelia, for example, discovered that she could make a shadow appear somewhere else, and have it move so that Aurelius would think it was her. He, in turn, learnt he could make a voice come out of nowhere, and he used it to distract her a few times. Tag turned almost naturally to hide-and-seek the second day, which became a treasure hunt on the third.


    It could''ve gone on longer. A part of her wanted to sink into the comfort of that simple life, chasing easy distractions, like a child completely unaware of what was happening outside. Another one rebelled against the invisible hand that seemed to be trying to ease her into conformity; Aurelius was not stupid and was clearly not just using that time to test his own powers, but to see the limits of what she was capable of. And, of course, to win her over. He took out the rogue, cheeky character that she found familiar, and hit her with a dose of his charisma. Ophelia was not strong or vindictive enough to hold a grudge for long, and had they gone on like that for longer, he''d have certainly succeeded at getting into her good graces.


    But then, during the evening of the fourth day, she was brought back to reality.


    Aurelius had asked her to bring the food from the temple while he took a bath. As she opened the door to the main hall, she decided to quiet the chime from the bell that would announce her presence in the room. She wanted to explore what was behind the screens, and perhaps, like a ghost she could slip into the main hall unnoticed and be confused with a parishioner.


    She gathered the short golden robes she was wearing, and slowly tiptoed towards the altar. The food hadn''t yet been left there; but she had arrived in time, as the soft murmurs of three voices emerged from the far end of the hall. They were all men, and from within the screens Ophelia spied their peculiar figures: they wore simple white robes and had shaved off all their hair.


    "¡­ terrible. I have half a mind to search for another merchant. Perhaps some of those Chaldeans¡­" one of them, the youngest, was saying as the three of them slowly but surely carried the tray forward to the altar.


    "Them? They are scalpers, my friend," another one replied.


    "They might be expensive, but their wares are always of the highest quality. And as much as Omar is your friend, Leo, he is very unreliable. Remember when he brought that dragonfly fruit that had been painted on to make it look like kumquats?"


    "I agree with Ilex," the third one weighted on. "We only have a month until the Mystae, and we can''t afford any mistakes. Omar had his chance to prove himself."


    "And I don''t think money will be an issue!" Ilex laughed. "We are to prepare for a wedding that will rewrite history."


    "They''ve already sent for forty tailors to make his imperial majesty''s clothes, and another forty for her highness," Leo had seemed to forget the slight towards his friend Omar, and excitedly shared the latest he''d heard. "It all will be made from silk from the Black mountains. One of the laundry girls'' cousins is an apprentice to one of the famous master craftsmen from there: she said they are working from sunrise until late into the night to deliver the fabric itself in time for the tailoring."


    A heavy weight dropped in Ophelia''s stomach. A wedding. Her wedding, for no one else presumed the title her highness in Elysium. She had not entertained the thought in a few days, lulled into complacency first by Orion''s indirect promises of the emperor''s supposed leniency, and then by Aurelius'' silence on the matter. How naive had she allowed herself to become that she''d left it go unsaid, that in her mind she''d convinced herself that it would not happen, at least without her consent. The emperor had accused her of treating him like a villain, and she''d let herself be convinced of his innocence.


    She stood frozen on the spot when the screens in front of the altar were suddenly raised. The three men carrying the sumptuous offering were about to place it on the white marble as per their usual routine when they spotted her: it took them a second or two to react, as she was a feet or so away from them, two steps higher. The fine golden robes and the rumours of her previous presence in Aurelia were the only presentation they required: they all dropped to their knees in a dramatic gesture, the tray balancing precariously above their heads thanks to their combined powers.


    "Your highness!" the third, unnamed man, greeted her. "Forgive our transgression, we didn''t hear the bell¡­"


    "I silenced it" Ophelia murmured, the wheels in her mind beginning to set in motion a plan. The initial shock had slowly morphed into a silent, cold fury, which gave her the fertile ground she needed for her scheming to sprout and bloom.


    "In all fairness I was the one eavesdropping into your conversation," she motioned for them to stand up, which they immediately obeyed. "I can''t help but agree with mister Ilex that the Chaldeans would be a wise choice."


    The man in question shook at hearing his name coming from her, eyes wide with surprise and devotion. Ophelia didn''t consider herself much of a strategist, but she knew an opportunity when she saw it. She continued: "among them there''s a man by the name of Hyperion. He has vast dealings across the Atlantean sea; his silks are of the highest quality. Should you need to change merchants, I recommend him."


    Ilex grinned from ear to ear. "Certainly, your highness! We''ll see to it that he''s called in!"


    Ophelia faked a smile she didn''t feel. The three of them finished their duty by setting the tray on the altar, and bowed out into the hall, walking backwards so as not to turn their backs on her. The screens were softly returned to their place, and Ophelia took the tray with her powers. Before leaving, she softly thanked them ¨C her whisper echoing in the immensity of the hall, ever so hampered by the reed screens separating her from the rest.


    She took a breath before making her way back, trying to control her expression. Aurelius would not know she had learnt of his scheming; she''d pretend that nothing had changed, and she was still within his grasp. Perhaps he had been right in saying she would grow gardens of her own in Elysium; she knew she would soon be planting her own seeds, unseen, in the immensity of one of Aurelius'' gardens.

 Chapter 20

    A strand of hair fell on her nose, tickling her ever so slightly every time the soft breeze would make it move from one side to the other. Around her the garden was alive with the soft sway of the leaves in the trees; if she concentrated on it, she would be able to hear the buzzing of the fireflies and bees hanging over the flowering bushes, like a soliloquy of the little workers that inhabited that artificial paradise.


    She''d been reading the same page repeatedly, unable to concentrate on the words ¨C her rebellious mind was adamant that it should be somewhere else, replaying certain conversations in her head, going over some details that had been concocted by her imagination of things to be. Almost as if the heavens had heard of her plight, a delicate butterfly fluttered over to her ¨C red and orange, as it had been since the day she''d first seen that garden.


    The butterfly knew her ¨C it sought her specifically, posing itself on the open pages of the manuscript she was struggling to read. This was no marvel; it was one of hers, a small creation she''d come up with after an infant memory of hers had resurfaced to remind her of a cartoon show she used to like. Like she''d done before with her other creatures she''d imbued it with a sense of purpose, but no real will or intelligence. It would fly to its destination and back and nothing more, which made it an excellent tool for discreet communication.


    And once it''d arrive, a single tap on its wings would turn it into paper ¨C a strange one, stringier than what she was used to, as if it had been really made with butterfly wings. But it was perfectly serviceable, and allowed her to receive missives like the one that had just landed on her lap:


    I have received some news about what will happen the night before, it read. There is of course a difference between what has been announced to the public at large and what will happen between close doors. As I''ve said before, a large lantern festival will be held in the streets that night, but my source says that a few of the top brass in Aurelia, at the Pleroma, have been requested to attend a private ceremony at the Temple. They have not received any more details than that.


    H.


    She held the letter up and burnt it. She sighed, setting the manuscript aside. Hyperion''s words had done little to quieten the fire in her mind: now she only felt like speculating different scenarios, rather than doing something a bit more constructive. Those little butterflies were her only connection with the outside world, and while she appreciated the small window of opportunity they had offered her to try and find a way out of that palace, she''d found she had no patience for all that sitting around, asking questions and receiving updates from the Chaldean merchant. She was itching to do something, but sitting around and pretending everything was fine was exactly the thing she was meant to be doing.


    Aurelius was blissfully unaware that she''d learnt that a wedding was meant to go ahead during the Mystae. After that evening it seemed like the preparations had begun to pick up steam, and he''d been absent for hours on end, presumably working on the necessary details for the ceremonies that were to happen. She''d wandered off in the open fields to the south of the property often while he was away, having discovered that from the top of some of the old trees she was able to get a full view of the Temple''s entrance.


    She witnessed various carriages coming and going, and carts full of goods making their way into the complex to leave empty. The bustle was constant, and she spotted a few times the men she''d seen at the audience hall coming out to greet their guests and show them inside. It was while she idly sat around that she had set out to find a way to communicate with the arrivals she was waiting for. At first, she thought of transforming some of the leaves in the trees to paper, and then floating the letter into an open window of a carriage ¨C then she thought about making them into origami birds of some sort, realized she had no idea how to fold paper into animal shapes, and finally turned to the idea of folding the paper and having it fly like a butterfly. But as she made her first attempt, her aether went one step ahead and turned the paper into what seemed to be at first the actual thing, except that it didn''t move. A few more tries and it was going where she willed it to; then it was changing shape when touched.


    By the time she spotted Hyperion''s carriage, two days after she had suggested he be called to supply the palace, they were fully functional. She was so excited when she saw it arriving that she quickly scrawled ''I was able to get you into the Temple ¨C the Emperor knows nothing of this. I didn''t know the wedding was on. If you see this, look for me tomorrow over the palace''s walls, to the south. O.'' in her spotty Akkadian and sent a butterfly to fly into the merchant''s carriage.


    Long after sunset a hesitant butterfly made her way through the winter garden to which her room opened, and very tiredly fell into her lap, dramatically losing its shape back into paper. You ought to practice your Akkadian more, my princess of chaos, the letter read. Very clever of you. H.


    She wished she could''ve held onto that glimmer of hope that had crystallized in a few words elegantly scrawled in ink. She giggled as she thought of Hyperion''s bemused face at her little trick, and with a heavy heart burned the letter, knowing she had to be careful about leaving traces that could get him in trouble. But that night she went to sleep smiling, feeling almost as light and carefree as she''d done in Arqa at some point¡­


    The next day she sat on the roof above her own room, hiding behind a statue of an eagle that crowned the column below. She had snuck an Akkadian scroll from Aurelius'' collection to amuse herself while she waited for Hyperion to arrive; trying to improve her calligraphy, she copied sections of the text. It wasn''t long until his carriage was made visible in the path to the Temple''s entrance ¨C she quickly scribbled a note, forgetting she was supposed to show a more refined used of the scribal script. Tell me of what''s happening outside. I can''t leave ¨C he''s threatened to harm you and Phobos if I do. I was hoping the Mystae would present me with an opportunity.


    A butterfly emerged from her hands as soon as the last letter had begun to dry, and off it went in search of its recipient. The little red and black smudge met the carriage midway through its journey to the Temple ¨C it slowed down its march noticeably at some point as its owner stuck his head out looking for something in the south wall.


    Only then Ophelia revealed herself, timidly waving from behind the statue. She saw Hyperion return the gesture, before sitting back inside his carriage. A few minutes later, the black and red stain fluttered away, carrying the beginning of a surprisingly active conversation:


    This is a first time a Chaldean has been asked to become a knight brave enough to save the princess from the dragon. I do expect you will allow me to be cheeky after this, my lady, or my heart won''t be able to take all this excitement. After I learnt that the Emperor himself had taken you to the temple, I admit I had lost hope. Send me a few of your empty butterflies, and I will send you updates over the next few days. H.


    The whole ordeal would make Ophelia yearn for the convenience of phones and texting. The butterflies were decent replacements, but within the bounds of the Temple they still took an hour or two before a reply had been received, and to her who had been ruined by modern technology it was too agonizingly slow. Hyperion was fascinated by her ingeniousness, adding his own improvements to the process: he asked for butterflies in advance, so that Ophelia didn''t have to keep polling him to ask for updates ¨C she could just receive it at the right time when Hyperion heard anything relevant.


    There was not a day that would pass by without several notes from the merchant. At the beginning he shared what he knew so far:


    The caravans have begun to make their way back: the word has spread that the Byzantine Saintess, as they''re calling you, has been found. The merchants have flooded the city in expectation of the festivals that will be held, and so the roads are veritably flooded by people from all nations. Arrangements have been made to receive diplomats and delegations from friendly nations. It seems like this spectacle is not meant for Elysian eyes alone. H.


    They''re preparing the notices to be proclaimed: the Mystae will begin with a ceremony at dawn in the temple, with all the other temples in the city holding sacrifices simultaneously. Foreign merchants will be allowed to trade without levies in the four squares until end. Second and third days, the Emperor will be holding baptism ceremonies and meeting close doors with the Pleroma. On the fourth day, a lantern festival. Fifth day, the wedding. Sixth day it''s the proclamation ¨C which I assume it''s the official investiture of your title, followed by three days of games and races at the Imperial arena. H.


    It was then that Ophelia produced a chance encounter with one of the Temple overseers; one of Ilex''s peers, who had been tasked with the cleaning of the hall on that day. She snuck in as she''d done before, silencing the bell so as not to frighten him away, and through the screens she whispered a greeting. Past the initial moment of frightened reverence, he curiously drew closer, and struck a little conversation with her. "I''m very anxious about the wedding," Ophelia lied, pretending she was more of a frail, frightened bride than she was. "I keep having all these dreams where things go comically wrong, and the Empire becomes a laughingstock. It is silly, isn''t it?"


    "You have my sympathies, your highness, I was married just last spring. I remember how scared I was that it would all fall through at the last minute, and my bride''s father would decide to give her hand to someone else."


    Ophelia smiled, aware he couldn''t see her. "It is a horrible feeling, it is. There are too many details to take care of. Just yesterday, I was trying to find out if the Prior had spoken to the head seamstress about the details of the fittings, but it seemed like nobody I asked knew much about the matter. It gives me the horrible feeling that too many things are being left to luck''s draw."


    She wasn''t sure if what she was saying would make sense or not; she knew there was an office named Prior which Hyperion had dealings with. Given that the merchant had secured the deal for supplying the fabric for some of the dresses of the ceremonies to come, she assumed there was such a thing as a seamstress or a tailor who would be producing the garments. Luckily her educated guess paid off, and it brought forth an almost panicked response from the other man:


    "Oh, rest assured your highness it''s all being taken care of by the Lord Protector. He arrived in the city yesterday ¨C but he has been arranging it all from Aurelia so far."


    "I''m afraid my last stay at the Pleroma is a bit blurry so will you excuse me if I ask for his name?"


    "Lord Ilya, your highness. He is due to visit quite regularly from tomorrow onwards, I believe he will be meeting his majesty the emperor."


    Ophelia retreated from the topic and redirected the chat somewhere else before hurriedly stepping out into the nearest garden and making a brand new butterfly. She would be presumptuous to think that the Lord Protector held the same office as it was in Arqa, but she was ready to place a bet. Regardless of what his position entailed in Elysium, she was sure she''d just found the man that Hyperion would need to cosy up to find out more details about the entire Mystae.


    The Chaldean, as it turned out, had a better idea of who Lord Ilya was: in his own words, a poor bloke who''s only affair was to organize the affairs of others at the Pleroma, which in Ophelia''s limited understanding made him akin to a whip in the British parliament. It is good to know he will be around, Hyperion wrote, I will have him followed; a chance encounter perhaps could lead to a beautiful friendship.


    And a beautiful friendship it was, that in the space of two days and an evening of expensive entertainment and drinks had told Hyperion that the wedding ritual will be unique, unlike any other Elysian wedding. The emperor will take you to the altar, where seven attendants will bring seven offerings, all of which both of you will have to consume. Then both of you shall be crowned by Fortuna, and hand-fasted by the high priest. A series of miracles will take place then, although no one knows of their nature: they are to be a demonstration of yours and the emperor''s might.


    Mysteriously enough, that wasn''t the only friend Hyperion had made that night, as he ended the missive with: the foreigners are quite chatty in this town, and many old boots are walking similar paths again. I might not be a lone knight in this quest. H.


    Elucidating the meaning behind his words was a task pushed to the side when, the morning after, Aurelius showed up at her room while she was still in the process of getting out of bed.


    "I had begun to think of you as a creature of the night, unable to survive sunlight," Ophelia commented, sitting up still trying to shake the sleep off her eyes.


    She had grown used to having the day to herself so she could plot with Hyperion her next steps to get out of the wedding that Aurelius had yet to tell her about. But as far as he knew she had nothing to do all day but wander around the palace and read books, and it only made sense to comment on his absence after his initial few days of games and leisure together. He''d made a point of sharing dinner together with her, but he was seldom seen before sunset.


    "It is a curious case of getting more and more done, yet seeing the list of pending tasks grow longer by the minute. But perhaps it is my fault ¨C I do obsess over the little details."


    He sat in one of the chairs that looked out to the garden; Ophelia got up to join him. "I am ticking off one now," he graced her with a lopsided smile. "I do know there''s only so much anyone''s sanity can resist if all there is to do is read old, boring scrolls. I had someone send for your maidservant, the one Aegyr had procured for you. You will be seeing her this afternoon."


    Ophelia couldn''t say she was someone who obsessed over future possibilities outside of what moderate amount of fantasizing she might do to remember a future different from the one she was headed to, but that was something she wouldn''t have been able to see coming in a million years. "Calliope?" she whispered, shocked.


    He smiled. "I heard the relationship between you two was good."


    "It is ¨C I just didn''t expect to see her again, if I''m to be honest," Ophelia felt a pang of guilt that her first thought was worry that her butterflies might now attract unwanted attention if the hyperactive teenager constantly trailed after her. She was excited to see her again ¨C the distraction of her happy chatter was something she longed for.


    The reunion, however, wasn''t at all what Ophelia had imagined ¨C she had prepared herself to receive an armful of the young woman, all smiles, talking excitedly about all that had happened since they last saw each other. Instead, she saw her timid figure walking demurely in the company of a Knight towards her room: Ophelia stood from her chair to receive her with a smile, but Calliope fiercely avoided her gaze right until the moment she stopped a few feet away from her.


    "It is so nice to see you again," Ophelia tried, somewhat deflated by the girl''s attitude, with an awkward smile and an even more awkward tone of voice. "I hope the journey was pleasant."


    "It was, your highness," the reply came automatically, and for a brief moment their eyes finally met ¨C and in them, Ophelia saw remorse and a deep seated guilt.


    A conversation needed to happen between the two of them. She turned to the knight, and thanked him for his services, politely asking him to leave. Her distant tone seemed to shake goosebumps out of Calliope, who only shrunk in on herself even further.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Once they were both alone, Ophelia made a gesture for the younger woman to take a seat.


    "I can see your eyes look at me with guilt," she said. "What is it that troubles you?"


    "Your highness!" for a moment, old Calliope was back. Then, her eyes shied away from her again, looking for solace in the garden. "I¡­"


    She went silent, words struggling to come out of her mouth. Then, suddenly, she broke down and started crying: big ugly sobs wracked her body as she hid her face in her hands. "I''m sorry, oh I''m so sorry your highness," she cried, trying dramatically to contain the tears by wiping her cheeks over and over again with her hands. Ophelia knelt in front of her, delicately placing her hands on the girl''s knees to comfort her.


    "What are you sorry for?"


    "F-for huh, for m-making you fall! If I h-hadn''t b-been so careless, you w-would not have fallen¡­" her voice died down slightly. "It''s all my fault," she almost whispered.


    "Oh, no," Ophelia pulled her into an embrace. "No, don''t blame yourself, my friend! It was an accident. In other circumstances, nothing should''ve happened. But it seems like Byzantium wanted me back for a bit."


    "E-everyone said it w-wouldn''t had h-happened had I been not so useless¡­ Now Lord Scipio is gone, and t-the Mystae were almost ruined¡­"


    "Who did?" Ophelia leaned back. Calliope gave her a desperate look, "few I talked to did not repeat it back to me: my family, my wet nurse, my friends¡­ they are right, oh they are so right."


    The girl grabbed Ophelia''s hands: the chair she was sitting on was roughly moved back as she threw herself to the floor, head bowed down. Her forehead was trembling barely above their hands as she said, "please allow me to make it up to you, your highness. Have mercy and grant me your grace to right my wrongs."


    Sadness gripped Ophelia''s heart at the sorry sight. "I do not believe there''s anything I have to blame you for, Calliope. As you can see, I am absolutely fine, and as for Lord Scipio¡­ he made a choice to stay in Byzantium. But should you want to do anything for me: keep me company while I stay in the palace and be my confidante. If you offer me your unconditional loyalty, there''ll never be anything I can reproach you for."


    Calliope''s head snapped up: her eyes were teary but filled with a renewed vigour. "Yes," she whispered, her gaze turning fanatical. "You have my loyalty forever, your highness. My life is in your hands."


    Ophelia nodded, unsure if she had intended to inspire that intense of a reaction with her words. But Calliope''s old self seemed to claw its way back from despondency, and they spent the rest of the day catching up as Ophelia now took on the role of the tourist guide, showing the younger woman around the palace.


    However, it was not quite what it had been at Aegyr''s residence. Calliope''s air of naivety was gone, and despite how at one point the very idea of being at the palace would''ve sent her into ardent excitement, she seemed almost indifferent to it: she cared nothing that she was at the heart of Sophia, the holy city, walking through the same rooms her Emperor transited daily. She asked no questions about Aurelius, and altogether avoided initiating conversations ¨C instead, she waited for Ophelia to pick the topic, attentively hanging on to her every word. It soon became evident that she was altogether serious about offering her life to the older woman, which made Ophelia wonder how long it''d go on for.


    There were also more practical considerations: there were no servants inside the palace, but now that there was someone of a lower rank than her it was not possible for Ophelia to do the mundane tasks she''d been doing so far. Aurelius was the one to explain it when he passed by the library to snatch her away for dinner:


    "You can see it as a symbolic gesture," he suggested while they walked to the dining room. "She is there to attend to you; if you deny her that, it is just as well that you call her useless, unfit to stand where she stands. And for her, do not forget, it is a great honour; after all, there has been no other servants in the palace for hundreds of years."


    "Does everyone else see it that way? She was in tears today; it seems like everyone was of the mind she was to blame for my and Aegyr''s disappearance."


    Aurelius seemed to side quite strongly with Calliope''s critics.


    "It is her carelessness that forced you to intervene, was it not?" he said quite curtly. "Had she acted as it was expected of her, with the restraint that young women ought to show, it all would''ve gone down differently. That Byzantium took Aegyr away from us is a loss everyone at the Pleroma, and I particularly, feel very deeply about. And it was the strength of the fate that ties you to Lygeum that made up for her mistake; your presence here, now, is despite her actions."


    "It is because I''ve been told you cherish her greatly that I had her called, nothing else. As far as I''m concerned, her usefulness will run out the moment you tire of her. So, consider her life yours, do with it what you will. Should she become odious, I''ll strip her of her status and banish her."


    Ophelia grimaced but kept silent. There was little use in arguing: even if she came to hate the other woman, she''d never tell on her if that were to be the consequence.


    That she became a maid in all but name was something that the girl in question didn''t mind at all: she seemed grateful for it, as she kept repeating to her. Her control over her aether, however, was not as great as hers or as the Knight''s, and so many of the tasks were gruelling and manual, like cleaning the floors or doing the laundry. And although Ophelia sometimes stayed nearby to chat to her as she carried her duties, this gave her also plenty of opportunities to receive her precious butterfly updates.


    And this is how, on the second day, she found a plan had been set in motion to kidnap her: I''ve made a few friends here and there and rekindled some old flames. We''ve been very wicked and thought that we should do away with a princess for our prize. But setting the stage for it requires some finesse: the dragon that guards her is clever and will not be fooled unless it is all more than play-acting. So this is what we''ve thought: let someone who carries one of the seven holy communions swap wine for poison, and having drunk the neutralizing elixir beforehand, let a princess partake in the seven blessings. Her apparent death will throw many into chaos: a lucky Chaldean will take his prize, and let our kind friends deal with the aftermath. Now, what do you think of my story? It is a thrilling tale of deception, I bet. H.


    It is as clever as it is stupid, she replied. I''m in. I should be eager to know how the princess will get a hold of the antidote.


    Hyperion''s instructions were disappointing. They were as clear as a rapidly written: it will come with a shipment of fabrics, which is to say, they were not at all. Fabrics were being carried into the Temple every day: for curtains, for table dressings, for clothes. Ophelia thought about sending more butterflies to ask for more substantial directions, but her leisure time was cut short: Aurelius brought her to his wing to gift her a ''surprise'', as he put it.


    Exhibited on a hollow wooden mannequin that had been delicately carved to resemble the soft outline of a human, she found two dress pieces in matching colours. Intense sapphire blue outer robes made of silk and gold thread rested atop a two piece for him, and a dress for her. The outer clothes were grandiose, long and draping over the floor; the inner ones were meant to be more refined and simpler, more closely hugging the figure. Four chains of different sizes and embedded with sapphires and emeralds hung as belts from the waist of the male kit; for the female side, an x-shaped body chain of pure gold framed the chest.


    In front of the robes, two crowns were resting on velvet-lined cushions on top of two marble pillars.


    "Is this for the Mystae?" Ophelia innocently asked, already dreading the answer. Of course, she knew that it was for a specific part of the celebrations, the zenith that would be a wedding: she hoped that Aurelius would finally come clean about it.


    And he did. "It is for a special ceremony, yes. Your presence in the palace will be undoubtedly a matter of speculation across the empire and beyond, and I''d like to put the matter to rest before it grows legs of its own. You are knowledgeable of what the rumours have said about us¡­"


    Ophelia held some of the fabric of the robe meant for her, trading gazes with the man who was watching her every move like a hawk. "That we are to be wed?" she asked, although both knew the answer. He nodded.


    To Ophelia''s modern sensibilities, that situation was a strange (if not awkward) one. She had been brought up in a world where marriage meant the culmination of a romantic union; to a certain extent, she''d assumed that it was the same case in Lygeum until Phobos had fervently expressed his desire to take her hand. He was a prince in a battle for his throne: his marriage was only one more weapon to fight with. And Aurelius, she figured, was in a similar position: what better way to take advantage of her power and image than to bring her in as his wife?


    Her expression was clearly not one of elation, which elicited a chuckle from him. "No woman in the Empire could dream of anything more exulting than being taken in as an empress to stand by my side, yet you clearly would rather anything else. Of course, this comes as no surprise, but I hope you''ll humour me for now."


    There was no defiance in Ophelia''s eyes, at least not the angry, reactionary type; instead, a cold, silent determination had taken a hold of her and when she spoke, her voice did not tremble: "when you say humour, I wonder if you realize that you''re just asking for absolute compliance ¨C what, then, is the value of a seat that''s just meant to be occupied by a doll?"


    "It is all for the greater good; the valueless hold value in that it''s all part of a grand scheme of things. For now, consider it your responsibility as a Byzantine, that in this way you cement the right order of things. Later, you will be able to build your own path..."


    Ophelia dropped the fabric. "I had never thought of marrying; it is curious, however, that I feel so disappointed at the thought of it being something devoid of sentimentality."


    Aurelius took a step towards her. "Do you really expect it to be a loveless union?"


    "Do we really hold much love towards each other or are we just bound by the accident of coming here from a different world?" Ophelia replied coldly. "Even if I were to forgive your deceit, would that be enough to grow a genuine love when I am nothing but a tool to you?"


    "You are not a tool to me," Aurelius declared passionately, "you think that because I said nothing about my identity I made everything else up. I might do what my position requires of me, I might lie to some and hide the truth from others, but I am yet to be able to fabricate emotions I do not feel. I do cherish you, Ophelia, and I know you hurt ¨C but I hope you will learn to forgive me, and hopefully, cherish me in the same manner."


    "You gamble more than what you''d like to admit. You don''t seem to think it possible that I might grow to resent you more because of this."


    Aurelius grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. "As young as you are, every minute you spend angry might feel like months," he said, embracing the woman who had stood still in his arms. "So naturally, you think it will last forever. But time does strange things as it runs: it can wear down mountains, dry up oceans, and soothe every unforgivable mistake. You will see as the seasons change your heart will also slowly open up: be warned, I will be waiting to take it for myself."


    It wasn''t the first time he talked about the passing of the years as if it was a trivial thing: had he forgot that she, like every other Elysian under him, also aged? Was he so divorced from the passing of time that he had yet to think about her inevitable death? There was something in between the lines that kept bothering her, because it felt he wasn''t talking about years or even decades when he called on Father Time to settle an argument.


    She meant to question him about it, but he had already moved on to explain the ceremony: she faked her surprise, as it added very little detail on top of what Hyperion had already told her. "The night before we''ll have a small ceremony at the Temple with a select few nobles," Aurelius added. "It''s a first of its kind; I normally hold it in private."


    Ophelia remembered Hyperion''s note and perked up to hear more. "What kind of ceremony is it?"


    "An offering," he answered simply, "for the prosperity of the Empire."


    There was no more room for questions. "I''ve given instructions to your maid to prepare for it; we shall need her help."


    Her steps were swift when she made her way back to her chambers; if Aurelius would not tell, perhaps he intended Calliope to deliver the news. But when she saw the girl it felt like hitting a brick wall:


    "I would not dare to ruin her highness'' big moment," she said as she stood up from the mess of fabrics and boxes she was trying to organize. There was anxiety behind her smile, and it almost came off as a grimace more than anything else, "it is better that it remains as a surprise."


    Ophelia tried to press on, but Calliope took out her entire arsenal to refuse her: "it is incredibly presumptuous of me, but if her highness would allow me to keep this secret for now I''d be the happiest. I only wish to keep from spoiling a little humble gift I am able to give your highness."


    Her hapless eyes silenced the older woman, who could not deny her when she acted so pitiful. But knowing that Calliope was in cahoots with Aurelius put her slightly on edge, no matter how well-intentioned she was: Ophelia knew that if it was twisted to make it seem like it''d benefit her in the end, the girl could do anything.


    Talk about the wedding and the ceremony the night before had almost made her forget about the little package she was expecting from Hyperion. She looked at the fabrics the Knights had brought from the Temple, and with a small gesture, sent them all into the air. Those that had been folded unfolded, and those that laid crumpled extended and unravelled to show their charms. Some of them had already been cut and made into garments, others were clearly meant to be used for decorating.


    "Sorry, I was curious," Ophelia said at Calliope, who had rushed to tell her it was fine, she could organise them herself. "They''re incredibly pretty. What are the clothes for?"


    A lengthy explanation of her schedule and every garment she''d wear for it followed. While half of her listened to her maid, the other half examined the fabrics closely, trying to find bumps amidst them. When she found nothing, she searched the floor around them, in the hopes that something had fallen out of the bundles.


    Perhaps it was hidden in the garments. "Do you think I could try them?" she asked the girl, who perked up at the suggestion. The fabrics folded itself into a neat pile in a corner, while the garments landed softly on her bed.


    "This dress is a very popular style nowadays," Calliope said as she picked up a lapis-lazuli velvet dress. It reminded Ophelia of the sort of thing medieval queens in movies would wear: tight silhouettes with wide, trailing sleeves. It was meant to be worn with a heavy cape lined in fur, which fell low on her shoulders and had holes from where her arms could go through. "I kept asking my mother to have one made, but she''s too conservative; she thinks these foreign styles are unrefined, unlike the traditional dress."


    "I think it looks very regal," Ophelia said as she changed behind the screen. She felt every inch of the fabric, trying to find hidden pockets which could be hiding the antidote she was looking for.


    Calliope had stars in her eyes when she saw her dressed.


    "Oh, your highness, you will be the talk of the entire empire! There''s this beautiful bottle green sash that I think will garner a lot of attention. I can imagine this style will only become more popular because of you."


    She tried a few more dresses. One of them stood out, a black satin gown parted to the side, which was meant to be held together by a deep red sash. It was light, but not thin enough that she''d consider it intimate. Calliope was initially confused by it, as she said she''d never seen anything quite like that before, until she realized what it had been made for: "oh, I remember now," she explained. "This is for the ceremony on the day before the wedding. There''s a black robe here as well that you can wear over it."


    "Black," Ophelia said thoughtfully. "Most of the dresses are either different shades of green or blue; what does black mean?"


    "Love," Calliope said dreamily. "Deep, unconditional love."


    "But the sash is red," Ophelia held the fabric in her fingers, trying to remember what she''d learnt before. "I remember red meant something unpleasant¡­"


    "Yes¡­ an actor in a play who wears red normally represents a brute, or a violent murderer, a villain¡­ that sort."


    "That''s strange. Shouldn''t it be royal blue? This sash?"


    "It could also represent the offering to be made," Calliope said slowly as she mulled it over. "It is a pretty colour, regardless. Perhaps it''s a gift from a foreign official. The Thracians are known for their red belts. And the Phrygians, for their red hair..."


    None of the options eased Ophelia''s wariness over the sash. But she took the ensemble behind the screen, examined it, and put it on. It was when her arms slid through the sleeves of the inner satin robe that she had her eureka moment ¨C she felt a small patch had been sown to the inner lining of the garment. She turned the sleeve around and found a very loosely stitched square of black satin, which could be removed by delicately pulling the fabric away. It was hiding a small tube half the size of her pinky finger, made of blue fa?ence. The ends had been sealed with red wax, and she shook it slightly to see if there was any liquid in it.


    The next step was to hide the vial somewhere ¨C but it was so delicate that she didn''t dare just leave it anywhere. In Elysium and in Lygeum in general the trend was less towards the clutter she''d grown used to and more towards functional, simple furniture. There wasn''t much decoration, and many of the elements around her room were either for holding something of common use or for storing what was of immediate necessity. This meant that there were few places where she could hide a very suspicious vial that could easily break: there were no big chests full of fabrics and clothes as she''d seen elsewhere, as they were displayed on the racks on the wall. The jugs and bowls that were kept for the toilette were left amidst vases of flowers on top of tables with no drawers. Thus, her only option, she figured, was to keep the vial with herself at all times.


    She placed the antidote back in the fake pocket, sealed it once again with her aether, and came out to show Calliope how the outfit looked. "It almost feels like a wedding dress," the young girl said with a wide smile. "All that black, it is very passionate. I think, had I the chance to get married, I would choose something like that for my dress."


    "I thought you had a fiance," Ophelia said, confused. "Am I misremembering things?"


    "Oh," Calliope''s smile turned sad. "After your disappearance¡­ his family decided to break things off."


    Ophelia became incensed. "Oh, how dare¡­ when all this is said and done, we''ll give them a little grief. Preposterous!"


    "They''re acting in the best interests of their family, your highness; I do not blame them. Perhaps, it is for the better; I see a brighter future ahead of me."


    Her optimism made Ophelia feel slightly better; then she realised that what her and Hyperion were planning for the day of the wedding might very well put poor Calliope in a delicate situation. She resolved then to take care of her, and grabbed the girls'' hands in her own, and said, "if you ever feel despair, my good friend, remember that I will do everything I can to take care of you. I will clear the path in front of you so that you never doubt your steps."


    The girl''s eyes tried to swallow up her emotions, but it was too much for them: tears collected and then fell. "T-thank you, y-your highness," she said, squeezing the palms that held her, "I will never forget this."

 Chapter 21 [End]

    There were no clocks ticking on the wall of her room, but had they been there she''d have seen their hands moving swifter by the day. A whirlwind of faces passed by the palace, seamstresses, tailors, shoemakers, expert perfumers; she was passed around from hand to hand, dressed up and posed like a doll, getting her ready for the Mystae.


    The celebrations were in full swing by the time she''d begun to receive the craftsmen. She''d missed the inauguration ¨C quite on purpose, as her presence was not required, it was held at dawn and she''d be damned if she made an effort to wake up early to attend what was essentially the opening ceremony to her jail sentence. She spent the initial days by herself, accompanied only by Calliope and the occasional red butterfly from Hyperion. Aurelius had been absorbed completely by his duties as he held baptisms during the day and met with the representatives of the Pleroma at night.


    "Don''t feel obligated to stay here," Ophelia said to her maid as she came back, exhausted, from two hours of trying to deal with the nobles in the Temple who wanted to see her. "Escape for a bit into the city, enjoy the festivities. I will be fine."


    "My place is by you, your highness," she replied with a weak smile as she took a seat. "But thank you."


    The nobles are positively besieging the Temple right now, she remembered Hyperion''s last note. One of my clients is Count Volusus, who I might say is rather fond of drink, and has mentioned that he''s tried to put in word so that his daughter enters the palace as your attendant. Should you not be aware, I might say that your current one is a rather unpopular character ¨C since before the Mystae began there''s been complaints raised at the Pleroma about the character of this poor girl, whose only crime seems to have caused you to drop into Byzantium for a few weeks.


    Ophelia wanted to ask Calliope if she''d been dealing with the nobles'' attitudes, but she found every question reflected. "It is par on course that every father wants the best for his daughter," the girl said, "and my position is the most enviable one. I foresaw this happening, so please don''t worry your highness ¨C I am not bothered by their nagging."


    The day before the grand wedding was held started with a butterfly landing on her nose, very early in the morning, which carried a small note from Hyperion: may Fortuna bless your feet before they touch the floor today. As if he''d possessed an aether capable of restoring one''s mood, she felt all her worries ease immediately. Calliope commented on her bright face, smiling to herself as she prepared the strange black satin robes for the ceremony.


    It would all be held in the evening while the city was ablaze with the lights from the lantern festival: she''d been told that the Knights would make a display at one of the seven hills with their Dorian fire, summoning figures of all sorts for the enjoyment of the crowd. In the city, the canals and the streams that ran by the side of the streets would receive the barrage of reed barques and other figures that would be set on sail, downstream, to where an expectant priest would collect them all and burn them in seven bonfires. It was a practice normally reserved for summer festivals, but given the occasion the priests had deemed it safe for borrowing.


    Ophelia would miss it all. Her day would be spent taking the ritual seven ablutions that Aurelius had instructed Calliope to prepare for her: she did not understand why they were needed, and neither did the younger woman. For the expectant mind that was trying to figure out what the surprise of the night would be this was an important clue: if an Elysian didn''t know about it, then it followed that it was either something Aurelius had invented or had brought from the time of Byzantium. So perhaps, she was to prepare for something entirely novel or something that was reserved only to those who were not native to Lygeum.


    She took a regular cold bath, then a hot one; followed by a light breakfast of fruit, which would be the only food she''d have for the day. Then, alternate between steam and cold baths of progressively longer durations until she felt like she was more water than flesh. The incense and the perfume were strong, and combined with the fasting it made her head slightly dizzy. By the time the sun had begun to set and she emerged from the last one already enrobed in black, she felt like she was floating more than walking and her head was at least two feet away from her body at all times.


    "You''ll have to take care of me," Ophelia asked Calliope, "I feel very strange."


    "Don''t worry your highness," the girl said nervously, "it is exactly what I intend to do."


    She was led into the Temple, where Aurelius was already sitting behind the drawn screens. He was wearing similar robes to hers, black satin with a fiery red sash. The golden glow of the Lyre''s tears they both wore turned the smile on his face warmer, more welcoming. He took Ophelia''s hands in his when they entered, and led her to sit on a throne chair that had been placed next to his. "Whatever happens tonight," he whispered in her ear, "remember it has to be done for the greater good."


    Ophelia, even in her dazed state, shot an anxious look at the man. He had sat next to her, while Calliope hung behind, hands clasped on her lap, thousand-mile stare fixed on nothing. Again, that strange transformation happened in front of her eyes, where every muscle and every bone rearranged itself so that there was nothing in Aurelius of Orion: beside her sat the famous Emperor of Elysium who many regarded as almost a deity, looking forwards with a heavy, fiery stare at the men who gathered beyond the screens.


    "It''s been a long time since you''ve felt my generosity;" he said, voice deep and thunderous commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "I feel like I''ve been a neglecting father in the last few centuries; I must say I was reticent to admit the successes achieved without my direction. Call it the inability of a father to recognise that their children are ready to leave the nest and forge a life of their own," he chuckled.


    "But you''ve done splendidly for the Empire, for yourselves; you''ve shown me that we have a nation of cunning, powerful people, and our vision has been confirmed by fate. And perhaps it is time that I impart a secret of my own, something that shall seed the future of generations to come. The Empire must not simply thrive on its own, growing fat and indolent in its own success ¨C it must share the pains of the chaotic world beyond, bringing order and civilization until all life on Lygeum is at peace."


    "But for this I will need even stronger warriors, more fearless and daring than any beast, more cunning than any thief, wiser than any hermit. It is not aether alone that begets this; it is time, experience. Today, I shall show you all the biggest of my miracles ¨C eternal life."


    As murmurs grew excitedly amidst the small crowd, the entire hall was swept in bright blue light. Dorian fire ate through the screens that separated the emperor from his subjects, dramatically flaring away when nothing was left. The white hall was inked blue ¨C and then, after centuries of anonymity, the ten or so members of the Pleroma in attendance were able to see their Emperor face to face. They all fell down to their knees, hands over their heart and heads bowed in respect. In unison, all shouted: "AVE AURELIUS".


    "What I will show you tonight cannot be done by anyone but those from Byzantium," he warned to the kneeling crowd. "Try as you might, you will fail. You could lose your life. This is to say that one should not covet for more than what is their lot in life ¨C I am here to provide, and that is what I shall do, to the right people, at the right time. Now, rise."


    Ophelia had grown increasingly anxious since the words ''eternal life'' had been uttered. She shot a look towards Calliope to gauge her reaction to it all ¨C and found her stony-faced, bearing no mark of surprise on her expression. That was enough to confirm her suspicions ¨C try as she might the girl had no ability to hide her emotions, and a bomb being dropped like that was hardly the type of thing anyone could be blas¨¦ about. She knew; Aurelius had shared it with her before hand, which prompted the question: what for?


    Aurelius raised a hand; a signal for Calliope to come forward. Ophelia watched as several dark stares were thrown her way, perhaps wondering why she''d been allowed to take part in Aurelius'' company before they had. With the girl merely a foot away from him and with her back to the crowd, the emperor touched first her heart with index and middle finger, then her lips and forehead and lastly her belly. Each time the fingers made contact with her, a golden light flashed as his aether shot into her. This was a supremely unpleasant experience for her, who began to tremble; it became so bad by the time he touched her stomach that she had to hold on to his arms to remain on her feet.


    "You have pledged your life to Ophelia, haven''t you?" Aurelius said softly to her. "It is time now to carry your duty."


    She nodded; in spite of her best efforts she could not stop the grimace of pain creeping into her face. Even the tiniest movements brought her agony, with muscles protesting the energy that had invaded her body. She slowly walked towards Ophelia, who rushed to her side.


    "What is happening, Calliope?" Ophelia felt a trickle of terror break through her anxiety. "What does he mean?"


    The younger girl looked up; she was in Ophelia''s arms, trying as hard as she could not to crumble into a shivering mess on the floor. Her eyes were unfocused, crazed with devotion: "your reign of peace will last forever, your highness. This is my gift to you."


    And then from within her robes she produced a small knife, and with it she stabbed herself in the neck with such violence that a sickening crunch was heard as the blade went through tendons and hit the bones. Blood spilled onto the floor, rained onto Ophelia''s black satin robes. In a moment of deliriousness afforded by the long-running seconds after a great shock, she thought that the strategy perhaps had been to choose a colour that would not show the clear stains of blood. This thought, like many others that mocked the nature of what was happening, flooded her head: and then, she sobbed: "Calliope¡­"


    Calliope, barely holding on, weakly raised her hand and smeared her blood on Ophelia''s mouth. The shock had turned her into stone, immobile; she felt the persistent fingers trying desperately to push into her mouth. Someone''s aether carried through what was still spilling from her neck, and Ophelia''s mouth became filled with tangy metallic blood. She choked, and the motion shook her awake: with a cry, she half spat out what she hadn''t swallowed while at the same time catching the girl''s crumbling body in her arms. She tried her damnedest to stop the bleeding, shouting Calliope''s name over and over again.


    It was a futile effort, a symbolic act of desperation. Calliope laid limp in her arms as Ophelia''s body was wracked with sobs, hunched over the corpse of her attendant. Something was burning in her chest, which was wet and sticky with Calliope''s still warm blood. Her mouth, her neck, her hands were a reddish mess, and she must''ve looked like a wraith when Aurelius gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from the girl''s body.


    "This is not a gift easily given," she heard him say to their audience. She''d forgotten they were not alone; but it all looked and sounded distant, as if it was happening on a stage hundreds of miles away. "A costly price must be paid for it. Let us remain faithful witnesses to Lady Thanatos'' great service to the empire. In great light a star shines bright for her."


    "In great light a star shines bright for Lady Thanatos," the men of the Pleroma echoed; a common ritual phrase for honouring the dead.


    Ophelia''s sobs had not stopped. They echoed around the room, roaming like lonely ghosts that wandered unseen and unheard by the living. Aurelius'' grip on her shoulders was almost bruising, and it did not falter as he continued giving his eulogy for Calliope. The men of the Pleroma barely had any mind for anything that wasn''t their emperor: almost as if they were hypnotised by his presence, they spared no glances for Ophelia or even the corpse of the girl laying at her feet.


    "Let this be the start of a golden era," Aurelius promised confidently, despite the grieving woman in his arms. "Glory to Elysium!"


    "Glory to Elysium! Ave Aurelius!"


    The men of the Pleroma did not stop their chants. They repeated them enthusiastically while Aurelius and Ophelia took their leave ¨C the former picking up the latter in his arms as she was unable to do much but stumble out. She felt weak, sickened, almost delirious ¨C it wasn''t just the shock or the grief, it was that combined with the burning in her chest and the ritual that she''d gone through beforehand.


    "It''s normal," Aurelius reassured her. "It''s your first time ¨C your aether is adjusting¡­"


    Outside of the Temple, in the little room that led to it and still hearing the chant go on behind them, Ophelia mustered up all her strength to grab Aurelius'' collar and look at him in the eye:


    "What ¨C what have you done to me?"


    "I made you like me," he said with a soft smile. "Gave you youth eternal."


    "You made Calliope kill herself," she spat out. "Why did you do that?"


    "It was merely a suggestion; she stepped forward quite willingly. She really did adore you."


    "She wouldn''t¡­" Ophelia could not bear it and broke into tears once more. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, she tried to hide her face against his shoulder.


    "Never doubts the depths of loyalty from your subjects in this Empire, Ophelia," Aurelius murmured as he held her tight, trying to comfort her. "And do not reject their sacrifices. She was very brave in doing what she did, braver than many warriors I''ve seen."


    He took her into his chambers. Sophia could be seen in its entirety from it; it shone brightly under the dark starry sky that night more than any other, as its streets were covered in colourful lanterns. Bright blue flames could be seen emerging like silent fireworks against the speckles of stardust above; as the Knights began their demonstration soon other nobles began joining in. That such joviality enveloped them when her heart was in agony felt almost sacrilegious, and for a second filled with irrationality she hated everyone: Aurelius, the Pleroma, the nobles, the people of the city of Sophia who dared to celebrate while Calliope''s corpse lay like a broken doll on the floors of the Temple.


    He laid her on the bed, and she felt exhausted: anything could''ve happened and she wouldn''t have done anything to stop it. Her mind was far away, in a dark little room where her fingers twitched remembering the cooling corpse of her friend in her arms.


    Aurelius had a chair move in front of her and he took a seat. A bowl landed on his lap the moment he did so, water filled it up as if fed from a tap. Slowly and with great tenderness, he dipped a cloth in the water and began cleaning the blood off Ophelia''s face and neck. "I must sound like a forgetful preacher by now, but time does tend to ease the pain. You shall see the sun rise again on the east, the moon shining bright during the night, children grow up, become fathers and mothers, wither and die, you shall see their grandchildren become adults, and understand that life goes on. One person''s death is, sad as it may seem, like a single pebble falling off the tallest mountain."


    "But," he continued, "a pebble might find itself making more noise, or causing a great avalanche in the right circumstances. Calliope could''ve lived a full life as a nobody, forgotten right after she died as an old woman, but she chose to immortalize herself through you. She will now live forever in our collective memory as the one who sacrificed herself to give Empress Ophelia the key to eternal life."


    "Eternal life?" Ophelia reacted with a deep, bitter laugh. "You keep saying you do things for my benefit; or maybe it is for the Empire''s benefit. But you keep the strings around my neck and my limbs very tight, and you''re not afraid to yank hard enough to make me bleed; and it does make me wonder, what kind of puppetmaster tries to convince their puppet that one day they''ll pull their own strings?"


    "I could answer you should you choose to change your analogy," Aurelius continued his ministrations as if nothing had been said. "One day I pray you will believe my sincerity. I do hold you very dear in my heart; it gives me no pleasure to see you like this."


    The grief had slowly trickled down inside of Ophelia, settling into a deep pit of anger. Quick like lightning, she grabbed the arm that reached to clean her throat, and yanked the man towards her. The bowl fell to the floor with a loud noise, spilling reddish water everywhere; Aurelius could''ve resisted her, yet he simply let her do as she pleased. It was as if he knew where her mind was going.


    "Say no more," she asked him. "If I''m dear to you, just cease all this talking and hold me. I need to get through tonight."


    He nodded, and climbed into bed to hover just above her. Calliope''s blood stained them both, and was quickly drying into crust, crystallizing Ophelia''s resolve to do something insane. She took off her robe, and so did he; there was nothing passionate about it, no invitation to any further business ¨C it was merely for utilitarian purposes, to wipe themselves clean with their aether. And, laying in bed together, Aurelius held her as she cried herself to sleep, both hidden under the covers of the bed while the night sky was still ablaze with blue fire.


    Before she settled in for the night, however, she directed one venomous glance to the bloodstained robes she''d unceremoniously discarded on the floor, and knowing full well there was an antidote for her to take inside of them, she burnt them into a crisp.


    A tiny part of her, her rational self, worried for what her rash decision would mean for Hyperion''s plans. But most of her was submerged deep in grief, deliriously fighting against the cages of the destiny that seemed to trap her: she panicked that, at the end of it, there would be no escaping it. That she would become the Elysian Empress, that she would fulfil the fate Aurelius had set out for her; and worst of all, that she''d grow to become like him in the future, only half-human, deluded into seeing people as pawns for a greater good than the living, unique beings they were.


    She''d witnessed Aegyr''s transformation when he was freed of his assumed fate with a keen interest: the sombre, dry man had transformed into someone more lively. He who had only seen people according to the caste system of the Elysian empire was able to find solace in Byzantium, in London, where he was anonymous, where no great expectations were placed on him or anyone else. He had become free. She, on the other hand, feared the shadow that lengthened over her as all the roads seemed to lead her the opposite direction. She saw herself becoming like him, and despaired.


    On the floor her two Lyre''s tears laid forgotten, the blue light from outside firing sparks when caught by the delicate crystals. She turned away from them, borrowing her head into Aurelius'' chest so she wouldn''t see them.


    -


    Daylight bathed her bare skin. Where tears had left their mark the previous night a tingling arose when the sunlight caressed her. The warmth of Aurelius'' body next to her had disappeared, and she felt empty. As her eyes had dried out, her feelings had drained out of her, leaving her feeling tired, anxious, sad. The initial shock had worn out, and as it did it put out the burning sensation in her chest; the edges of her sadness had been smoothed out, leaving her with a cold, deep anguish that would simmer in the back of her mind for days.


    Aurelius was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking towards Sophia. There was something very unassuming about the way he was poised, as if he wasn''t the ruler of the lands before him; and she wondered what was on his mind. "Good morning," he said, turning around as he heard her shuffling in the bed. "How are you feeling?"


    "I''d be glad to hear the sun had decided to stop its journey across the sky for a few weeks," she sighed, grabbing her head. "Sad, I guess. Angry. Confused. Anxious that I feel confused."


    There was a flash of something in his eyes, a slight grimace. Was it, perhaps, remorse? Guilt over what he had orchestrated? He said nothing, choosing instead to stand up and once again school his features into something else. "Do you want me to remain silent today as well? Or would you like me to prod further so that you grow number to the pain?"


    There was no hint of mockery in his tone, even if his words seemed so strange as to come off as jeering. Ophelia searched his eyes for a moment before settling for another sigh. "I am in no mood to discuss anything," she eventually said. "I''d rather be alone with my thoughts, if I''m honest."


    He walked until he was before her, and knelt to take her hands in his. "I''m rather afraid you''ll convince yourself to do something stupid. Let me stay in the background, I will say nothing."


    There was genuine concern in his eyes, and she hated him for it. She found herself nodding, if only because it''d be easier than trying to argue against it. He was afraid she''d be impulsive enough to try something, and he was right; he just didn''t know that she''d chosen not to do what she was meant to do, and that this was her revenge.


    They shared a silent breakfast; he pretended to concentrate on some papyri that had been sent to him, sneaking glances at her every now and then. She had no appetite, but nibbled on some fruits on autopilot. She could barely think, mind so foggy with exhaustion and grief that it did not occur to her that her self-immolation would be hours away.


    There were no second-thoughts; later, she''d think it irrational and unhinged that she''d chosen to commit suicide in such a round-about way, and so easily. Perhaps, at that time, it was more that she couldn''t think of her self-preservation when she''d seen someone close to her die, perhaps it was pure rebelliousness at the immortality that had been imposed on her. Burning the antidote with the blood-stained robes felt vindicating, like taking back control over the narrative of her own life. And the morning after she still wasn''t in a state to think any differently.


    So the motions went on; she said nothing as the tailors and the seamstresses arrived and fitted her and Aurelius with incredible reverence their wedding outfits. Layers of fine, bright coloured silk enveloped them; delicate, shining pieces of jewellery decorated their hands, their necks, their hair. The twin pair of Lyre''s Tears shone golden on their ears, bigger crowns than the ones they were supposed to wear.


    Then, the Knights came to escort them: the ceremony would be performed at the gates of the Temple, in front of all the nobles of Elysium, the diplomats and envoys from other nations, and the commoners who''d managed to grab a space to see it. Ophelia followed the motions; she spoke when she had to, she walked where she was meant to go. Her face, covered by a black veil, showed no emotion.


    "There are no beginnings without sacrifices," Aurelius whispered to her as they waited to come out. "But this is the end of suffering, I promise you that."


    The crowd roared outside. It was like a voracious beast, anxious to eat a bite of its favourite meal. She lamented in her head, quite sarcastically, that they''d come to learn that day that some horses die as foals before their first gallop.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The bright sun and the blue skies were like the background of a dream; everything seemed to glow under them, the whites in people''s smiles too bright, their blue robes moving ethereally as they hoisted their hands up in the air, saluting them. At the feet of the stairs that led to the Temple, the crowd stretched to the bottom of the hill and beyond: all of Sophia was there, plus some more.


    A black and gold carpet had been laid as a path between the entrance of the Temple and the wedding altar. On either side, the double row of colonnades had been adorned with the royal blue of Elysium using arrangements of fake flowers and heavy, embroidered banners. Guarding their path were twenty knights; the others were below, mid-way through the stairs, patiently watching the crowd below. The fourteen attendants Ophelia knew would be waiting for them were already on either side of the altar, with the high priest and a child, who she guessed was playing the role of Fortuna, beside them. They were all wearing simple white tunics, a porcelain mask with no features firmly fixed to their face.


    As Aurelius walked her to the altar, and as the crowd''s fervour grew at seeing their Emperor for the first time in their lives, the haze in her mind began to clear. It had begun as a stray thought, a simple observation as her eyes roamed the scene, but it stuck, and acted as a trigger to wake her up: she was amazed at the size of the attendants. Perhaps it wouldn''t be out of place in Lygeum, perhaps they''d purposefully gone out of their way to find the biggest Elysians they could; whatever it was, they were all tall, with a majority sporting a strong, built physique.


    She knew Hyperion was amongst them, the slender one. The others, she knew, were equally part of the plot, and foreigners. She was suddenly captured by the reality of what was happening, and what would soon come to pass; she had a moment of panic, of doubt, and then her grief erupted like an angry volcano, and buried it all in ash.


    It was all for the best. She felt Calliope''s blood crawling inside of her, and she wanted to stop that feeling in any way she could.


    She knew what she was meant to do; first through Hyperion, then from Aurelius'' own instructions. She stood beside him as he stepped in front of the altar to address the crowd.


    "Today it''s a glorious day for our nation," he said. "It is not the first time I see your faces, my loyal children; I''ve hidden amongst you when it was necessary to protect you from the shadows. But it is certainly the first time I appear in front of you as your Emperor, at least in this generation; this is my wedding gift to you all, that you may know me, as it is now the time for me to come forward to lead us into our Golden Age."


    "Joyous day it is," he continued, lifting into the air his and Ophelia''s joined hands. "That we celebrate the union begotten by fate; that this Empire now welcomes her Empress. Rejoice; you had a father, and now you shall have a mother as well."


    The chanting and the cheers voraciously attacked the silence he left behind; deafeningly they echoed through the hills as Aurelius took a step back and motioned Ophelia to begin her journey tasting the offerings from the attendants.


    "The seven provinces present their offerings now to his and her imperial majesties," the high priest called over the cheers. His power amplified the power of his voice so that even those at the bottom of the hill were able to hear.


    She went left to right: the motions were similar, each attendant carrying a porcelain casserole of sorts enveloped by a golden cloth that they would uncover to show her the contents. She''d take the food and eat it, the little glass with wine or beer and drink it. She spied a wisp of blond hair on the fourth attendant, and despite it all; despite the grief and the abandon, the anger and the frustration, she smiled. Hyperion offered her a poisoned pomegranate and she took it almost happily, biting into the ruby red seeds with voraciousness¡­


    She moved on to the fifth, the sixth¡­ and then as she took the seventh''s offer of wine, the poison embraced her. Like a flash of lightning had hit her, she felt herself fall as her limbs lost all feeling and her body began to convulse. A noise like thunder ran through the crowd as the cheers died a violent death. Around her, the attendants came forth to her aid; a porcelain mask shattered against the floor as Hyperion dropped to his knees next to her.


    "Ophelia" he whispered urgently in her ear as he cradled her body. "Princess¡­!"


    Ophelia would''ve whispered a soft ''do not worry'' in his Chaldean tongue, but when she opened her mouth only blood came out. Her body was in agony; fire was running through her veins, drying up her insides, scorching her heart.


    Around her, chaos reigned. When the crowd roared, Aurelius had taken notice that something had gone wrong, and had turned back to see Ophelia on the ground. He stepped forward, a pained expression on his face.


    Then, the unthinkable happened.


    Porcelain masks fell to the ground, shattering away to reveal tanned bodies and red hair. Like panthers all too eager to devour their prey mid-flight, the Phrygian warriors leapt towards the Elysian Emperor with a frenzied abandon. Aurelius could''ve held his own against all of them had the circumstances been different, but caught in his worry for Ophelia, it was too late when he noticed them. Two of them, those that had come at him from the front, burnt up in Dorian flames almost instantly. But it was the rage of one specific warrior that brought him down, one that came up to him from the sides.


    Phobos'' seax glinted in the sunlight; this was the only way to take notice of what was happening, so fast were his strikes that they became a blur to the naked eye. Aurelius was able to fend off the initial blows with some confidence before one got through his defence and slashed through his arm. An attack from another Phrygian had him turning his back on Phobos for a split second, which proved to be a fatal mistake.


    The prince was unrelenting: he fell on top of the Elysian emperor, and one after the other, dozens of stabs pierced him. A cacophony arose from below, like cries from hell, as the commoners howled for their slain emperor. It had all happened in a manner of seconds, and only after Phobos'' successful attack the Knights were able to reach them at the altar.


    From within the Temple more Phrygians swarmed in, hidden amongst the decorations, carried into the palace complex as luggage brought in by one Chaldean merchant. Blue was stained red as they engaged into bloody battle; it was a suicide mission at best, but one that would deal the biggest blow the Elysian Empire would ever feel in its history.


    In the centre of it all, a gory body lay in front of the altar. Hyperion was shouting at Ophelia, still somehow conscious; Phobos, covered in Aurelius'' blood, ran to them.


    "Did she not take the antidote?" he asked, eyes wild with the satiated bloodlust of his recent kill, now even more frantic that he thought she might die.


    "P-phobos," Ophelia smiled precariously, "you f-fool. W-why are you here¡­"


    "I came here to rescue you," tears were gathering in his eyes. "What did you do?!"


    A trembling hand placed itself on Hyperion''s lips.


    "Hy...perion," Ophelia said with some effort. "Phobos¡­ it will be alright. It will be better this way¡­ Be...lieve me..."


    She felt her strength fading away. She lost control of her gaze, which went everywhere, unfocused and uncaring. In its last journey, it saw the gory lump to which Aurelius had been reduced move. Amidst the blood a hand twitched, and a spark of gold ran through the air.


    An Aurelian miracle; perhaps, the last one. With the vengeance of one who''s not yet ready to walk into the underworld, the seax that had reduced him to pieces arose on its own and flew through the air ¨C with so much force than rather than a simple stab it ran through the body of its owner, leaving a sizeable hole behind. Phobos had no time to react; no one had seen it coming. He simply opened his mouth in shock and fell forward, his blood spraying Hyperion and the unconscious Ophelia.


    Phobos, crown prince of Phrygia, was dead, and his last act had turned the royal Elysian blue into red. Much would be said in copious chronicles about that day, but none would mention the tears in his eyes, or the peaceful expression on the would-be Empress'' face as the poison ravaged her body; certainly no mention would be made of the craftiness of one Chaldean who, never one to give up easily, managed to sneak away with her body amidst the bloody fighting atop the Temple. But they would say that no Phrygians would survive their attack, giving up their lives to take down the Emperor and sixteen of his Knights.


    They would recount the events that came immediately afterward; of the panic that took hold of the masses, the stampede that would claim the lives of more than three hundred Elysians as whispers of a suicide bombing in the manner of Arqa rushed through the crowd. They would say that in the following weeks the streets became rife with the preaching of the end of times; jingoism turning villainous as they called for the eradication of the dangerous foreigners that had taken down their Emperor and Empress. The Pleroma fought to find a leader to navigate those turbulent times; the commoners self-organised pogroms that left a few hundred of foreign merchants dead. Those who had been flocking to the Empire in search of a piece of its prosperity now fled towards its neighbouring nations seeking refuge from the violence.


    In the depth of the mountains that separated Thracia from the Elysian empire, a camp had been set up three days away from the nearest Thracian village to the border. It was along a famous yet perilous route, one that was famed for the gangs of fearsome bandits that would every now and then assault the unsuspecting merchants that would travel though it. Thracia as a nation was an example of the exotic and the mysterious for its neighbours; its terrain was rugged and agriculture scarce, and in its absence they traded their precious gems and iron ore in exchange for cured meats and preserves. Its people were hardy and reserved, and had developed a reputation for being incredibly skilled and fearsome warriors, noted for their skill in riding horses. They also possessed the cunning of one who by virtue of their complicated relationship with their surroundings developed a keen sense of how to use them to their advantage, and because of it, they''d succeeded at fending off invasions with little more than a well-organized coalition of villages.


    It also was noted as the perfect hiding spot for anyone looking to escape from the watchful eye of the Elysian empire, as they didn''t answer to it in any way or form, and had successfully repelled their offensive in three different occasions. So for a Chaldean merchant wanting to hide an unconscious almost-Empress it was an ideal destination.


    Two full days would pass before Ophelia opened her eyes. Hyperion had put her in his tent, afraid that someone would come snatch her if he wasn''t careful. The less practical side of him whispered that, deep down, he also was looking to be the first person she saw when she awoke. This, however, wasn''t a given at first; Eon and Freya, his cousin, warned him that it could very well be that she would never wake up again.


    "One learns to trust a gut feeling," Hyperion replied every time. "She won''t keep me waiting."


    And she didn''t. It was early in the afternoon, and the winter was in its infancy; at the foot of the valley they were in, this translated into frigid cold winds and the first inches of snow. Not that anywhere within the camp anyone noticed: portable ceramic stoves had been assembled to ensure the tents were all perfectly warm throughout the entire day. Before even becoming fully conscious, she reached for water, and drank cup after cup.


    "I''m¡­ alive," she said, eyes wide and unfocused as she stared at Hyperion. The Chaldean had been so surprised by her sudden, chaotic awakening, that he''d simply frozen in his seat. He blinked once, twice, and then shot up to embrace her.


    "Oh in the name of the goddess and everything she favours," he exclaimed, squeezing her tightly. "What have I ever done to you that you do this to me?"


    "How¡­? I didn''t¡­ drink¡­ the antidote¡­" Ophelia''s mind was hazy; arisen violently from the depths of unconsciousness, it struggled to form a coherent thought. It was all jumbled; the bits and pieces of what had happened after she''d collapsed, the feelings of the night before, the explanation for her survival.


    "I doubt I will offer a more satisfactory explanation than whatever you can come up with," Hyperion stated. "I could hear your heart beating, and I knew you were not dead; that''s all I cared about."


    Hyperion''s smell, the scent of myrrh was like a balm to her senses; it calmed her racing head, it ordered her thoughts. A sense of peace descended upon her, and beyond anything else she knew she was home. They held each other in silence for a few minutes; it felt almost like they were trying to make their hearts beat in sync as they rested in the security of each other''s presence.


    "Should I venture a guess," Ophelia finally said, putting some distance between them, "it would be that Calliope, my lady-in-waiting, saved me."


    There was honest curiosity in Hyperion''s eyes. Ophelia shook her head, ready to warn him: "the night before the wedding, that special ceremony¡­ Aurelius wanted me to be like him, to never age. It is pure wickedness; through someone else''s sacrifice, one can gain eternal life."


    Like a vampire, she wanted to say, unsure if such a thing existed in Lygeum. "Calliope¡­" she choked up, remembering vividly the moment she stabbed herself. "She was led to believe that she had to sacrifice herself for me. She followed through and died in front of my eyes by her own hand¡­ and I was forced to drink her blood. I do not know what the effects were, or will be; but perhaps, the poison failed to kill me on account of this."


    Ophelia''s hands balled into fists. "I dare say this is the reason behind his eternal youth; paid for by the blood of his own descendants."


    She could not help herself, and began to cry. Hyperion pulled her flush against his chest, letting her shout out her grievances in the warmth of his embrace. "It became clear to me, as the days passed, that he''d come to obsess over the reality of his vision. That everything ought to be according to his design, that outside of a select few everyone else were pawns. Perhaps this is what time does to mortals; it blinds you from seeing the uniqueness of each moment, and time and time again it convinces you that the world can be reduced into a series of patterns. I feared that I would become that, a king in an ivory tower, uncaring of those I ruled over."


    She pressed her face against his shoulder. "I wanted so badly to escape that place¡­ I wanted it so badly¡­ to escape him."


    "It''s done, princess, do not worry¡­" Hyperion said, his hands soothingly tracing patterns in her back. "He has disappeared. His body was taken by the Knights after the Phrygians had been dealt with, but he hasn''t been seen in public since then. There''s been a few caravans passing us by that have spoken of trouble in the capital and in Sophia; the Elysians are quite incensed, looking to place the blame of what happened on any foreigners they see. And their Pleroma has said nothing. He might as well be dead for all we know."


    He laid his cheek against her head. "But even if he wasn''t dead; even if by the same powers you lived through the poison he survived the stabbing, I will make sure he never finds you again. You''re safe, Ophelia."


    She looked up to stare in his face. She must''ve looked like a mess; puffy eyes swollen with tears, a red face, messy hair. It didn''t matter: he was her lifeline, the one anchor holding her in the middle of the storm. "Thank you, oh thank you so much," she said. "You foolish man, you keep giving and giving and asking nothing of me. Won''t you be a bit selfish?"


    "There''s enough of that already," he sighed. "But you hold me like this, and you come to me every time; who else is lucky enough to brag about it?"


    He softly pushed her away, so that they''d be facing each other. There was a serious, almost haunted look in his face. "But, this time, I will ask for compensation: you must promise never to do something so foolish again. Do not throw away your life; that Emperor might have gotten to you, might have led your mind into strange paths ¨C but remember yourself, Ophelia dear, when have you ever done what other people wanted? You could never, in a million years, become like him. That was, and forever will be, his delusion; do not entertain it."


    He placed a kiss on her forehead. "As the merchant that I am, I am wicked enough to see the glint of treasure in the midst of the ashes; you should do that too. Now that the Elysian empire''s spell is broken, the myth of Byzantium and its people can turn a new page. There can be something else written about it, something unique to you."


    "But this was always the case, Ophelia; your story was always yours to write, not the Emperor''s, or Lord Scipio''s, or Irkalla-guide-his-soul, Phobos''. Now, I will leave you to make sure some food is prepared for you; now that you are awake we should make preparations to start our journey. The winter will not be kind to us in the height of the mountains."


    Ophelia nodded. The tears in her eyes were drying, and although the events of the days before were not fully gone from her mind, she felt somewhat at peace. She was still wearing her wedding robes; stained in blood, from her and from the carnage that had exploded around her, they carried the smell of death and sacrifice ¨C Calliope''s, Phobos''¡­ even the brutal stabbing of Aurelius. Almost ritually she let them pool slowly around her feet; the smooth silk taking the emperor''s touch away from her skin as it slid off her body. Naked, with only the weight of her feelings from the past days pooling deep inside of her, she was for the first time in a while just Ophelia ¨C not the woman from Byzantium, just her.


    As she bathed, her sense of time and place distorted; surrounded by the warmth of the tent and the lingering smell of myrrh and spices, it was as if nothing else had been real, as if she''d spent weeks there rather than a few days, unconscious. The present became infinite as every emotion she had separated from each other, like drops of oil in water, rising to the top looking for sublimation. She didn''t cry, there was no point to it anymore: she let the feeling of being home, of feeling like herself wash over her.


    Had she really been so crazy as to try and meet her doom? Had she really let Aurelius'' words permeate her like a dogma, becoming the only reality she could dream of? Had she really surrendered to his vision? It all seemed so strange, like she hadn''t been herself; but she didn''t fight her memories, she didn''t try to bury them in shame. What had happened had happened, and all that was left was to look forwards to try to make sense of the future.


    What Calliope had done would never be undone; but Ophelia would live to remember and honour her memory. And should Aurelius'' shadow loom over her again¡­ she''d shine her own light on it.


    She came out of the tent feeling like a different person. Hyperion''s retinue stopped what they were doing when they saw her come out, breaths held in expectation for what they would see. She caught Eon''s eye near one of the tents and waved at him.


    "You sure let your master do the most foolish things, mister Eon," she said with a tentative smile. He nodded; as usual, he showed very little emotion.


    "One cannot reason with a man whose heart is so lost in its own paradise," and then, almost as an afterthought, he added: "I am glad to see you''ve made a full recovery."


    Ophelia''s smile widened. "The underworld is not yet ready to take me in."


    A woman walked up to them then; she was as pale as Hyperion, with the same amber eyes, but with distinctly white hair rather than blond. Not the product of age, Ophelia noted, as her skin was as smooth as hers; just one of those traits that made those born in Lygeum so distinctive.


    "Would you look at that? It is veritably freezing outside, my dear sister, what are you doing in such thin clothes?" she said, making a gesture at one of the men who were chopping wood by the campfire. "You''ve done a marvellous job of surviving a deadly poison; please do not let the snow take you away instead!"


    "Ah," Ophelia looked down at herself. She was wearing a simple Chaldean dress with no outer robes; her arms were exposed, yet she didn''t feel the cold. "It is alright, thank you. I think my body must believe it''s still spring."


    The woman asked the servant who''d approached them for a shawl. "Byzantine strangeness; this is a first for me. My name is Freya, by the way. I''m one of Hyperion''s distant cousins, although we decided to revise that relation given that we do good business together. We''ve decided we''re first cousins now."


    "Pleased to meet you," Ophelia smiled at the woman''s quirks. "You might know my name already, but I''m Ophelia. I''m a stowaway that Hyperion picked up in Caudiceum."


    "Oh I''ve heard the tale, very riveting! And I must say, your drusi is a marvellous thing."


    "Part of that Byzantine strangeness, I think," Ophelia answered with a lopsided smile.


    "Let''s go inside, dear; it might be spring for you but I''m a southern woman; I can''t stand all this bloody snow."


    The three of them entered the tent to find Hyperion at the side of a table with all manners of dishes laid out pouring a tray of tea. Ophelia suddenly remembered a certain something that had been forgotten amidst the confusion of her life at the palace in Sophia.


    "I had brought some chai from Byzantium to share with you," she lamented. "It must still be at the palace with the rest of my things."


    Hyperion raised his eyes and smiled mischievously.


    "Sit next to me, then; your company will sweeten my chai and make me forget about my disappointment."


    Ophelia laughed, and they all sat down to enjoy the food and the tea. The conversation, however, was not to be light and carefree: she had many questions still.


    "Will you tell me how was it that the Phrygians turned up at the ceremony?" she asked. "I was not expecting that to happen."


    "Perhaps it is better I mention first that the goddess shows us favour when it comes to you, princess. By happenstance I received word that Freya was coming into town," Hyperion raised his glass at his cousin. "And she brought with her a number of acquaintances."


    "When the news of your arrival at Aurelia reached the northern shores of the Free Cities, the Phrygian prince approached me," Freya continued. "We eventually made a deal so that I would transport him to Sophia. It wasn''t a popular opinion with his acquaintances, but he argued, quite strongly I must say, that they ought to confront their enemy directly at the heart of their empire. It is one of those Phrygian quirks, their honour and all that¡­ they all seemed quite satisfied when he explained he was duty-bound to you, and that he had to repay a life-debt by rescuing you."


    Ophelia closed her eyes and let her head fall into her hands. "That fool¡­"


    "He died a hero, sister," Freya pointed out. "He honoured his duty as a warrior, and he slayed the one who''d oppressed his people. It may seem like a tragedy that he should die in the process, but if one is to be fair; neither you or I are Phrygians, but we should afford him the compassion of looking at it the way a Phrygian would look at it. It was rather impressive what he accomplished."


    "Quite foolish of us to afford him that business," Eon pointed out. "Even if the payout was substantial, the Empire is now in chaos. How many of our trade routes are affected¡­?"


    "It will pass," Hyperion pointed out. "And perhaps, trade will change. Freya might be right in that it might be good to focus on carrying passengers¡­"


    Before the conversation would veer towards the commercial implications of the meltdown that was happening in the Empire, Ophelia decided to ask another question: "how was it that you were able to sneak them in and yourself as attendants?"


    Hyperion smiled deviously. "The Emperor did not run as tight of a ship as he thought he did," he said. "There''s not many of them, and for obvious reasons they''re very well hidden from sight, but there are those who do not view him favourably at all within his own Empire. It was quite surprising but they found us before we found them: they seemed quite happy to pull some strings to let us in."


    Ophelia was shocked. "That is¡­ surprising. They wanted Aurelius dead?"


    "They wanted an opportunity to change things in the Empire," Hyperion clarified. "Although the Pleroma is quite independent, it still answers to the Emperor. As I understand they were quite resentful of his meddling at random, and thought it was time to reduce his influence. They also knew that you had not been brought in of your own volition, and seemed quite partial to your plight as well."


    That made Ophelia wonder if perhaps one of the Knights that she''d met in Arqa had been part of that group; it could have also been one of those that had seen her fight with Aurelius when she tried to flee Sophia on her own. Either way, it felt reassuring that not everyone in the Elysian empire was captive to that worshipful madness most of the people she''d met were prey to.


    "Is Aurelius truly dead, then?"


    "''Tis the question of the hour," Freya offered. "No one knows. He could be recovering, or he could be truly dead. Only time will tell."


    "And Phobos? I saw him fall... What about all the Phrygians?"


    Hyperion smiled sadly. "All fell, as well. I should say for your benefit that Aristides followed the prince and was amongst the warriors at the ceremony. A large panic gripped the audience at one point, and that is how I and Eon manage to sneak you out. Many were trampled, and with the Knights busy trying to fight off the Phrygians or contain the crowd, we were able to take you and Phobos'' body to safety."


    He anticipated Ophelia''s question: "once we crossed the border in Thracia we gave him burial in the Phrygian manner. I thought it appropriate that he''s not laid to rest in Elysian territory."


    Ophelia took some solace in the thought that Phobos'' death had come after he''d laid the biggest blow to the Empire anyone had ever accomplished. His name, undoubtedly, would go down in history as that of a mighty, honourable warrior, and that was the best someone like him could''ve wished for. In her mind she thanked him for coming to her rescue, and saluted him for achieving what he had so desperately wanted.


    "What are we to do now, then?" she asked the three Chaldeans. "Where to, next?"


    "I had a thought earlier that we should take advantage of your Byzantine strangeness," Freya proposed, excitedly. "Thracia is notorious for being a dangerous terrain to travel, but under your protection we could travel inwards and easily procure some of those precious ores to sell at the coast. They will fetch an incredibly high price in this time, when few will be able to make the journey."


    Hyperion seemed ill at ease with her suggestion. "Perhaps, making use of Ophelia''s powers at this point would not be prudent. She''s had enough grief because of them."


    "I don''t mind," Ophelia said. "Didn''t you say I have my own page to write? Well, perhaps let''s start it this way: a savvy businesswoman. Well, perhaps not very savvy; I will rely on you all to do the trading. But I can do some heavy-lifting."


    "Yes!" Freya exclaimed. "I like this!"


    It did not excite Hyperion as much as she''d have thought given their earlier acquaintance. A melancholic air followed him whenever the topic was brought up. When the two of them retired to his tent later that day, she asked him what his thoughts were.


    "While we were away from each other the thought occurred to me that much has happened because of what you''re capable of doing," Hyperion said quietly. "That Byzantine strangeness, as Freya puts it, begets greed. And should I do the same as the others, and value you only on the basis of what I want you to be, I would only do you a disservice."


    Ophelia walked up to him and laid a hand on his cheek. "Just as you said I''ll never be Aurelius; you''ll never be like the others, Hyperion. I have not had any thoughts about this, yet somehow I am as sure as if I had been reading it every night in the stars that whenever I''m in your presence I feel at home. And that is why I don''t mind giving you my powers to use; with you I see many paths open in front of me, rather than a single one."


    Hyperion smiled in spite of himself, and grabbed the hand on his cheek. "I thought you were my calamity for the longest time; Eon, bless his heart, warned me many times that I would meet disaster should I follow you. But still, I did it, I kept offering my hand to you because I longed for every smile you would throw my way. Isn''t that strange?"


    He kissed the back of her palm. "Let me be greedy this time. Stay with me, let us go together from here onwards until we''re tired of each other. As a Byzantine or as Ophelia or as someone else entirely; I don''t mind. But I beg you not to leave me this time ¨C I will gladly meet my fate, I will gladly walk into my own undoing if it means I get to kiss your hand every day."


    Ophelia giggled; "I don''t know what will be of us in the future, but right now, I want to be here with you. Is that enough?"


    Hyperion pulled her into his embrace. He brought their lips together for a quick kiss; his eyes were full of warmth, and some relief. Ophelia would''ve thought that she''d be anxious, unsure, too confused about her feelings to understand if she was making the right choice, but nothing mattered in that exact moment. It just felt right. It was as if the stars had finally aligned and she was standing at the right place at the right time.


    "Let us write a story together," she said against his lips. "One of a stowaway from another world that did not want her, that made her place at the side of a sneaky merchant who would not yield to his destiny."


    He laughed, and rested his forehead on hers. "You ought to improve your calligraphy, first."

 Epilogue

    Fireflies hovered over the pond, daftly flying in between the cattails and leaving lilac sparks behind them. Crickets were performing their best summer song, and some of the sparrows that felt inspired enough to sing even at that point of the day were joining them every so often in their concerto.


    It was the height of summer, and after a scorching day the citizens of Gordion seemed to hover around the square in front of the Hero''s Memorial seeking solace in the fresh breeze that always blew in the evenings. It was lively, with street vendors trying to make their last sales of the day and children running around the smaller fountains drenched to the bone; yet one could tell the town was exhausted, and was looking forward to another good night''s repose.


    "Bad dog!" a girl was heard shouting in Drusi. She was about six or seven years old; with bright blond hair that was always the talk of passers-by in every Phrygian town she visited. It was the combination of that and her dark skin and muted green eyes that gave her a very exotic, mysterious air, which made many think she was Elysian.


    A common mistake, but one that was understandable when, unprompted, she''d make use of her aether to do things like levitating a dog after it''d snatched her doll away from her hands.


    "Would you look at that?" someone in the square was heard saying in Phrygian to their companion. "I don''t think I had ever seen an Elysian before the Great Troubles began; and now they''re everywhere, fleeing that horrible civil war."


    "I heard their emperor is not dead, but it must be all wishful rumours. If he was not, where is he?"


    "Well, it is an Elysian problem to solve, isn''t it? I''m just glad the king cut ties with them; taxes used to be terrible when had to pay tribute to them!"


    "May the sun ever shine bright over Prince Phobos'' name" an old man said. "He gave us our country back."


    The gossip never reached the little girl''s ears; she was content now that the dog had dropped her toy, and she let him back on the floor. The poor whimpering creature ran away, frightened, leaving her to clean its saliva from the doll.


    A man approached the girl. His face was obscured by the hood of his robe and a thin mask he wore over the upper half of his face; he could''ve been scary to most children, but the girl''s father had always remarked that she''d been born incapable of feeling fear. "Hello," she said to him, trying to peek underneath his hood to see his face.


    "Hello, child," the man returned the greeting. A small smile graced his lips. The girl noticed the heavy scarring in his jaw. "You seem to share the gift of those from Elysium. Is that where you''re from? What is your name?"


    "I''m Calliope!" she beamed at him. "But I''m not from Elysium, I''m Chaldean! You see, I speak Drusi like you."


    "I''ve never seen a Chaldean with the gift of aether," the man commented.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "It''s because my mum is from Byzantium!"


    Someone shouted Calliope''s name, and light footsteps ran to the pair. A boy, no older than twelve, arrived to his sister''s side with a scowl. He was very similar to her ¨C except for his eyes, which were of a deep amber colour. "You should be more careful, you klutz! How many times have father and mother told you not to be using your powers in public?"


    "The dog took my doll," she complained. Her brother did not listen; he had his eyes on the man that eyed the both of them curiously.


    "What is your business, stranger?" the boy asked. His distrustful stare wasn''t lost on the hooded man, who laughed at his words before replying:


    "It does you well to be wary, boy. Many Elysians are going missing in the border, and one wonders if this will extend everywhere else. You should do well not to be confused for one."


    "Yes, I am aware," the boy said. "We''ve come from the border into Gordion."


    "Hmm," the stranger mused. "Is there anything you think a stranger like me ought to know? I am planning on making my way to the Empire. There are quite a few disputes I must settle once and for all."


    "You''ll find it''s a terrible time to go. Fleets have been sent by the Free Cities to aid the rebels who are fighting the nobles; the nobles themselves are fractured into factions, plotting against each other, with a new one announcing themselves Emperor every week."


    This made the stranger visibly melancholic. "I once kept a garden in Elysium; I tended it very carefully. I thought, perhaps, as I became unable to maintain it that it would find its own exuberance. Someone I knew said to me that things ought to be left to their own devices¡­" he chuckled. "She was so horribly wrong, wasn''t she? My garden is a mess; death and chaos reigning everywhere."


    "I like wild flowers more than garden flowers!" Calliope decided to offer her opinion on the matter. "They grow on their own and they don''t need anyone to look after them."


    "Perhaps you should consider having more wild flowers in your garden," her brother added, nodding to her sister''s suggestion. The stranger reached out and patted both children''s heads affectionately.


    "Perhaps I should. But there''s always a need for a gardener, isn''t it?"


    "I suppose," the boy replied.


    "Once it''s presentable again I will make sure to extend an invitation for Calliope and yourself, young man, so that you may judge my garden," the man smiled. "Perhaps you could bring your Byzantine mother, as well; she may not have liked the first one, but the second one might be more to her liking. Until then, I thank you for your suggestion."


    The stranger then turned back and walked away from the children. "Did he know our mother?" the boy asked himself as he watched him go.


    The woman in question brought him out of his revelry as she shouted for them: "Calliope! Phobos! Come here!"


    Both of them ran back to her, who was looking at them with an exasperated expression. In one arm she held their baby sister, Aanshi, who was fast asleep despite all the noise around her.


    "Dinner should be ready soon; your father brought those Arqan dates you love so much, Calli," she said as she ushered her daughter along. "Make sure you go to be early, Pho, remember that you''re going with your father to the horse market tomorrow. We need to prepare the caravan before Freya arrives."


    The solemn expression in her son''s face made her laugh. "It will be fun! I know it seems like a long journey, but your father made it when he was not so much older than you."


    "The east seems like a strange and scary place, mother."


    "Don''t listen to Eon, he''s exaggerating. And think of it this way: all these troubles from the Elysians will be far away. If anyone gives you grief you can simply use your aether, like I''ve shown you."


    That seemed to cheer him up. Calliope had run off the moment she''d seen her father to jump into his arms. Ophelia waved away a fly that had been trying to find a home on Aanshi''s head, and walked to join her family.