Thomas Harlan - The storm of Heaven

"No." The old Roman breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Maxian's familiar expression in the younger man's face. "You were trying to cut your own throat."

"I was?" Maxian looked around the small, bare room. "What is this place?"

Gaius Julius laughed. "Some rooms of mine. Do you remember collapsing on the roof of the Flavian?"

"Yes…" The Prince stared at his hands, at the blood, then down at his naked body. "I was in the court of the dreadful king. His eyes struck me… I was destroyed, reduced to atoms." He laughed. "But I am alive. I am still alive!"

"Yes, you are." Gaius stood up. He stretched his arms and legs, bending his back. "Thankfully, you are alive and yourself again. Please, my lord, don't hurt yourself. I'm not sure if my social schedule can afford such a blow! Do you remember anything else?"

Maxian shook his head sharply, then brushed his ear with a hand. "There were many voices, like flies buzzing. I remember… they were trying to tell me something, something important. Ah, it is gone now."

"Good." Gaius Julius looked at the young man sharply, his high forehead wrinkling. "Did it work? Your ritual, your spell?"

Maxian grinned, brushing his long dark hair back out of his eyes. "I'm alive! That's enough for the… moment." The Prince suddenly swayed, his face growing pale. Gaius Julius caught him before he could fall, then eased him down on the couch. Beads of sweat had appeared on Maxian's face. "Gaius…"

"What is it?" The old Roman leaned close, trying to hear the Prince's faint voice.

"There is a great darkness in the East… I can feel it, like a cancer."

"A cancer?" Gaius Julius looked stricken. "In your body?"

"No." Maxian seemed to rally, gathering himself. He sat up, his face a grimace of pain. "There is something attacking the Empire itself. The Oath is not strong enough to hold it back."

"The Oath? You can feel what it feels?" Gaius Julius took a step back, astounded.

"Yes." Maxian gasped, standing, moving as though the air itself resisted him. "We've got to get into the palace. There is a device I need in the library there."

– |"Empress?" A polite knock echoed through the salon where Helena was sitting, writing at an elegant wooden table. At the sound, the murmur of conversation stopped. She looked up, putting down the snow-white quill in her hand on a holder of Cosian marble. A Praetorian centurion stood at the door, his helmet tucked under one arm, its stiff horsetail plume jutting up behind his elbow. The man looked more than usually stoic. Helena smiled brightly at him, catching his eye before it could wander.

"What is it, Salvius? Are you looking for my husband? He's in the Curia Julia, hobnobbing with the senators. He is in a taxing mood today."

"I know, Empress. A message has come from the thaumaturge watching the telecast. It is Empress Martina. There is a problem."

"Very well." Helena rose, smoothing down her cream-colored gown. "I will be there immediately. Return to your post."

The centurion saluted, then disappeared from the doorway. Helena rose, motioning to Anastasia and Thyatis to remain quiet, and went to the door. She looked outside and saw that only the usual guards were at the end of the hallway. She closed the door, then set the latch. Hopefully, no one would barge in unannounced.

"I must go," Helena said, turning back to her guests. "Martina is a dizzy young thing. A problem for her may be of any measure, small or large-the slight offered by one of the logothetes or an invasion of titans. I will be back soon."

Anastasia rose from her chair, dark silk stola rustling like aspen leaves. "I don't understand. Martina is Empress of the East, she is a thousand miles away." One of the Duchess' eyebrows, recently restored to its usual glossy black shape, rose. The weariness that had afflicted her seemed to be gone, banished by Thyatis' recovery and their nominal reconciliation. Helena was not sure how reconciled Thyatis was, but they were on speaking terms at least. The little blond slave Betia rose in tandem with her mistress, like a pale shadow.

Helena nodded, distracted, as she gathered up her papers. News from the East had been worse and worse. Galen was working overtime, trying to adapt to the reported destruction of all four legions he had sent to raise the siege of Constantinople. "There is a device that lets us speak with her, if there is pressing need. Galen calls it a telecast, for it allows sight and sound to be sent far away. Come, if you wish to see it, you may, but we must hurry."

Anastasia and Betia stood, gathering up their palla cloaks. Thyatis stepped away from the wall, limping slightly, her bandages still visible under the tunic she wore. The younger woman's sea-gray eyes flicked from one woman to another, seeing deep concern on the Duchess' face. The Empress' mind was already far away. "Where is this device?"

"In a room off the small library. Quickly now, we will take a hidden passage. It would not do for you to be seen here, not with all these troubles in the streets."

Helena walked quickly, leading them through a series of interconnected rooms, across a hallway, and then up a narrow flight of stairs. At the end of the stairway, she put a heavy bronze key in a complicated-looking lock, turned it twice, then pushed the door open after a solid click was heard.

They stepped into a high-ceilinged room, the clerestory pierced by many arched windows. Small panes of glass filled diamond-shaped spaces in an iron grillwork. The walls of the room were covered with wooden racks pierced with storage slots. Everything had the peculiar musty smell of books and scrolls. At the center of the room, illuminated by slanting bars of late-afternoon light, was a granite block. On the top of the block, wreathed in sparking green fire, something was spinning with enormous speed.

Anastasia blanched, her hand going to her mouth. Helena strode forward, her head high, and gestured imperiously at the thaumaturge to step aside. The fat man was sweating, his face drawn and pale, but he moved aside, letting the Empress look into the burning disk.

Thyatis looked at Anastasia with concern. The Duchess had turned quite white and was only standing with the swift assistance of Betia, who was holding her up by main strength.

"What is it?" Thyatis leaned close, her fist groping at her waist for a sword that was not there. "You're trembling."

"That thing…" Anastasia could barely whisper. Her glorious violet eyes were huge, reflecting the dazzling green fire. "It should not be here. They should not use it in this way! O goddess, the danger…"

"What should we do?" Thyatis glanced over her shoulder. Helena was snapping questions at the image of a frightened young woman wavering in the middle of the spinning disk. "I can strike down the thaumaturge-that would break the spell."

"Yes," breathed Anastasia, pulling herself together. Terrible fear was still plain in her face. "We must get the device out of here, right away. No man should be allowed near the inum da'umimtim armirtum nesi! This is forbidden! Can you kill him quickly?"

Thyatis nodded, though she had no weapon save her bare hands. She shifted stance, rolling up on the balls of her feet as if she were floating. Helena had her hands on the granite block, listening intently to the phantasmal woman, her face growing more and more serious. At her side, the red-bearded thaumaturge was sweating heavily, his whole attention turned inward.

The main door to the room suddenly banged open, making everyone jump. The telecast's spin slackened markedly and the vision of Martina disappeared. Helena spun, a sharp word on her lips. She stopped cold and closed her mouth.

Maxian stood in the doorway, an old man holding the door open behind him. The Prince was wearing only a hastily thrown on cloak and a black unbelted tunic. He was barefoot. "Helena?" Maxian sounded surprised, brushing unruly hair back from his forehead. "Sister, what are you doing here?"