I

 

 

THE GLOWING TAIL of a meteor stretched above the distant capital before fading among the stars.

    “Meteors are a bad omen!” the guard closest to Domitris called, barely audible over the sound of galloping horses. Unease shot through Domitris’ stomach. The last time he had seen one was on the night before the Overthrow.

    “How so?”

   The guard brought his horse closer, and the scent of warm sand billowed through the air as dust stung Domitris’ eyes.

    “They appear before moments of great change. And usually not the good kind.”

    Domitris shot him a look. “Very funny.” He was in no mood for superstitious nonsense when he had an empire depending on him and the pit in his stomach was deep enough already.

    “It’s no laughing matter, Your Highness. Our fates are mapped out by the stars. It’s wise to heed their warnings.”

    “The stars didn’t win me the throne,” he said and squeezed his legs into the sweaty flanks of his horse, urging it forward.

​​

The capital lay dark as Domitris and his entourage galloped through the gates of Concordia. Their sole welcome was milky moonlight on the cramped houses of the lower city. When they left four months ago, the streets had been brimming with people, cheering as they sent them off for the provinces. There would have been people welcoming them home as well if they hadn’t been a week late.

    In the distance, the palace rose above the city in a jumble of columns, spires, and balconies. Its innermost parts had first been built as a simple keep, but over centuries of regents trying to leave their imprint on the world, it had grown into a grotesque amalgamation of architecture. Even under a new rule, the palace remained the powerful heart of the sluggish beast they called an empire.

    It was a manifestation of luxury and decadence, yet whenever Domitris saw it from the outside, all he could think of was the palace stairs stained red with blood and nobles hanging by the neck from the marble walls. He shivered at the memories. The last time he had been away from the capital was before the Overthrow; two years ago, when he had led the rebellion south to rouse people from the provinces to stand up to the armies of the Supreme Emperor. Back then, he had returned with a militia. This time, he returned with a retinue.

    The closer they got to the palace, the taller and more extravagant the surrounding buildings became. The torches that were lit every night to keep the paved road passable had long since burned out, but it was dimly illuminated by the light of the full moon. The soft cream color of sandstone houses was replaced with a cold sheen of marble loggias and archways that appeared as black vacancies in the darkness. Domitris’ sore ass and thighs objected when he coerced his tired horse up the first set of stairs to the upper city, but his aching muscles were the only thing keeping him awake.

    A horse snorted behind him, and he looked back at the entourage. Some of them seemed to be sleeping upright in their saddles. No wonder—they had been riding for two days on end to make it back, pausing only when the horses needed rest.

    He gritted his teeth and pushed his horse onward with a single thought in mind: home. Cobbled roads turned to broad, marble-paved streets as they continued through the city. The sound of hooves reverberated like thunder in the night, and sleep-deprived faces peeked out behind curtains to catch sight of the ruckus.

    When they reached the shadows of the palace, and he handed off his horse to the stable hands, sweet relief washed over him. He was back in the capital at last, and just in time.

    Instead of going through the main entrance, as he would have had they returned in daylight, he found one of the back doors to the west, closer to his quarters. Finally, he was on his own again. After four months in the constant company of guards and diplomats, a night alone would be glorious.

    He skirted the barracks and the edge of the gardens before he found an entrance to a narrow servants’ hallway, leading him through an undisturbed part of the palace. The small passage was pitch-black as he entered through a heavy wooden door, but he knew this path too well to need light. The door groaned on its cast-iron hinges when it shut behind him. He ran an outstretched hand along the rough stone walls to center himself in the darkness. Turning left and climbing the first series of stairs led him to one of the larger marble colonnades. The grooved pillars cast slanted shadows across the floor and the polished tiles glittered in the moonlight. As he walked the length of it, footsteps echoed against the arched ceilings. He stopped, but the steps continued.

    With the dim light spilling in, he could make out nothing more than a dark shape appearing at the far end. No one should have been up at this hour. He stood, frozen, until a voice greeted him.

    “The hero returns!” Ignotus said, his voice shattering the emptiness of the night. “Domitris, my friend, I thought you might come this way. So good to have you back.”

    Domitris gave a sigh of relief as Ignotus came to him, took his arm, and hugged him tight. Domitris returned the affection and smiled at his old friend. He hadn’t seen Ignotus since he had left him in charge of Marmaras while Domitris toured the provinces to garner support for the new rule after the Overthrow. While neither of them had been trained in governance, Ignotus had always had a talent for it, and there hadn’t been a doubt in his mind when Domitris had appointed him consul. Together, they had led the rebellion, and Ignotus remained his most dependable confidante.

    “What are you doing up?”

   “Your scouts returned in the evening and announced your arrival. I had to come and see you for myself.”

    “Well, how do I look?” Domitris asked. He stepped back, spreading his arms in show.

    “Like you’ve been riding for a week. And you smell like it too.” Ignotus nudged his shoulder.

    Domitris laughed and squinted back at him, trying to see him properly in the darkness. Four months was a long time, but he hadn’t expected Ignotus to look so different.

    “Well, you look like an old man. Since when do you have a beard? I remember when you could hardly grow fuzz.” He patted Ignotus on a hairy cheek.

    “You like it? I thought it made me look more authoritative.” Ignotus put on a serious face that made him look very much the grown man he was.

    “That is an important feature when taking care of an empire.”

    “It has been in good hands. I made sure to take care of everything, Your Highness,” Ignotus replied sincerely.

    They walked down the corridor, passing in and out of the shadows from the columns. It was remarkable how different the palace seemed at night. The white marble looked ghoulish instead of welcoming, the ornate stucco borders seemed to be full of faces, and the vaulted ceilings got lost in the darkness, making the open halls feel suffocating.

    “How did it go in the provinces?” Ignotus asked.

    Domitris sighed, exhaustion taking over his body once more.     “There’s a lot of chaos in the outer provinces. People are still angry, still scared, still skeptical about the new rule and making peace with Dassosda. Support for the capital is wavering. I fear the unrest will make Marmaras crumble from the inside if we don’t manage to extend our support to the outer areas. Especially Auxillien—they will not back down from their claim of autonomy. They wouldn’t even open their gates to let us in.”

    “That is a problem.” Ignotus frowned.

    “It is. There has been enough going wrong.”

    Ignotus patted him on the shoulder. “They elected you for a reason. You have it all planned out.”

    Domitris let out a breath. “You’re right. The festival will be the first step, and when peace with Dassosda is established, I think people will start seeing that we’re on a better path.”

    Ignotus nodded. “Speaking of Dassosda, the delegation arrived three days ago.”

    Domitris knew they would have by now, but it was still a punch to the gut to hear it. He had tried so hard to make it back in time for their arrival.

    “How did it go? Is she as fierce as they say?”

    “She is. And as beautiful too.” Ignotus grinned. “Too bad she is such a stone-cold—”

    “Hey,” Domitris said with a backhanded slap to Ignotus’ arm, trying not to smile. “That’s not funny. You know how important this alliance is. We need to be on her good side to ensure that there won’t be an invasion.”

    “Calm down, Dom. I was joking. It will work out. You’ve done all the work, now get ready to reap what you’ve sown.”

    Domitris rubbed his tired eyes, his thoughts racing. “She’s our best chance. Ultimately, her goal is the same as ours. If we fail to get the treaty signed, who knows how long before we face open war again? I can’t see how Marmaras will scrape through another battle.” The standing army under the crown was the smallest in decades after losing the legions of Auxillien. The previous century of war had left the empire with little money to take care of its people, let alone pay soldiers. Meanwhile, Dassosda was doing better than ever with a growing army and newer weapons.

    Domitris looked up to meet Ignotus’ dark eyes.

    “You need some sleep,” Ignotus said. “And maybe a good fuck. You’ve been on the road for too long.”

    Domitris huffed, and his shoulders relaxed. “How are you taking this so lightly?”

    “Because we’ve got it under control. Listen, I’ve left every single record and protocol on your desk to have fun with. But please get some sleep first. And a bath,” he added, the gleam back in his eyes.

    Domitris smiled. “Thank you for your help, dear friend. As always.”

    They exchanged a firm clasp of arms and parted ways. Domitris dragged himself up the second set of stairs and through the deserted corridors to his rooms.

​

There were no guards at his doors. As he stepped inside, the sky lightened ever so slightly with the first signs of dawn on the horizon. He had never been away from the palace this long. Somehow, he had expected it to have changed, but everything was how he had left it, as if he had been gone no more than a day. He took a deep breath. After two years, it was finally beginning to feel like home. Passing through the entrance room, his hand glided over the polished table in the middle. No dust—Lyra had been cleaning. Inside his chambers, he drew the soft silk curtains to block out the oncoming morning and tumbled into bed. He barely managed to shrug out of his travel clothes and put the golden circlet from his brow onto the bedside table before he collapsed. His own smell hit him in the face against the fresh sheets. He really did need a bath.

    He glanced at the closed door that led to the servant’s room, but there were no signs of her. Having been away from Lyra for four months, he longed to see her now. Her lively chatter and mostly good-natured gossip would be music in his ears after the journey. He turned over in the bed and could hardly keep the thought present in his mind. Fatigue rushed over him and enveloped him in a hazy slumber.