The next day, I was brought before the Council.

Ibis, Capra, and Lupa sat on their thrones. The speaker of ghosts, Vesta, stalked behind them, watching me silently.

In the chamber with me were Mal, Sam, Morgan, Gavin, and Merrill. All of us there to testify, to give our stories, that the Council might decide what must be done about the Unchosen.

“Begin, exile.”

The word stung, but it was warranted. I agreed to those terms when I ran away with her, after all. I spoke.

“A few weeks ago I heard that Gwyneth had been exiled for opening the Gate beneath the mountain. For a great many reasons, I decided to follow her into exile. Together we sailed to the heart of the dead empire, where a city full of ghosts greeted us. A mad emperor ruled a broken palace, and our attempts to access the Waters of Prophecy met with abject failure.

“The ghost emperor’s guards imprisoned us. In our cell, we were approached by a ghost who seemed more sane than the rest: Bellistrix Avicus Augustine, who told us to call her Strix. Strix helped us escape the palace, then stuck a bargain with Gwyn: Strix would help us build an army to storm the palace with, and we would help her forge a new kindred dynasty.

“Gwyn agreed readily, and Strix began grooming her to be the next Empress. We started recruiting the ghost nobility, and Strix taught Gwyn a magic art called glamour. On our second mission for Strix, we discovered her identity as First Consul of the empire’s ruling government, beholden only to Emperor Nero himself. We freed her conspirator and fellow Consul, Cossus. During the escape, while we traveled through the sewers, Gwyn vanished for a brief period. I now understand that she was speaking with a ghost warlock named Caligula.

“When we returned to Strix, Gwyn argued that we should take a more aggressive route with our coup. She took to the streets, spoke to a mob of nobility and commonfolk, and declared open war on Nero. With an army secured, we attacked the stronghold of one of Nero’s servants. There was victory, but at a cost Gwyn deemed unacceptable. She vanished again, spoke with Caligula, and returned with a brazen request.

“Gwyn ordered that Strix take her to the catacombs, to Caligula. Strix refused, and severed their partnership. Strix said that Caligula was dangerous, corruptive, and powerful. Gwyn didn’t care. I followed her to the catacombs, but I couldn’t let her go in. I pleaded with her to stop, to change her mind, to stray from this path, but she cast me aside. So I ran.”

For a long, dreadful moment, silence reigned as the court took in my story. In Sam and Mal I found sympathy; in Gavin and Merill, shock; in Morgan, broken grief; and in the Council, grim determination.

Capra said, “A dark tale. We have questions, of course, but first, context must be given. Vesta, if you would?”

The ghost nodded and began to speak. “I was there when the empire fell. Until today, I have refrained from speaking of those times. The founders of this enclave wished to destroy the sins of our past and build a brighter future. That, I now see, was a fool’s errand. The discovery of the empire was inevitable. Its rebirth, only hastened by my deceptions.

“In the last days, I and like-minded folk fled to this isle and took as many kindred as we could with us, and even kine. We sought to escape Nero’s madness, to survive the device he was rumored to have, and to build a different kind of civilization. Nero’s nobility were decadent, corrupt, and violent. But there were worse shadows that the empire had locked away.

“Caligula was a fairy tale in my time, but she certainly existed. The warlock who almost destroyed the empire from within, the warlock who knew forbidden magic. The ghost-eater. I do not know all her secrets, but she was certainly as dangerous as you have heard, Duncan. With Caligula’s magic, Gwyn will be a threat greater than any this island has faced.”

Ibis turned to Vesta and crossed her arms. “How? We have plenty of guards, the chantry has finally submitted to our authority. What is one woman to a legion?”

Vesta shook her head. “You don’t understand. It took the empire’s greatest soldiers and sorcerers to best Caligula, and as far as I’m aware she never even completed her final ritual. If Gwyneth is allowed to finish the warlock’s quest, she will be stronger still. Your forces are loyal, Ibis, but they are just a shadow of the empire’s might.”

Lupa waved a hand. “Cause for concern, certainly, but this girl’s story is unfinished. She hides her own part in it. Why did you not turn from the Unchosen sooner? And what made you think your words would carry any weight with that deranged psychopath?”

I felt a bit of resentment, but I squashed it. She was right. “I… I was in love with her. Or I used to be.”

Shock radiated from them. All but Mal and Sam, who just nodded somberly.

“I never wanted to be the Chosen, but I kept training because I hoped that Gwyn would notice me. She did, just not in the ways I wanted. When Morgan came to me and said he was going to appoint me the Chosen, I couldn’t take it. Running away with Gwyn felt like my last chance to have the kind of life I’d always dreamed of.

“I was wrong, obviously. I could see it in the capital, the true Gwyn, the barely-hiding monster and tyrant that craved only power. She never cared about us. She just wanted the power that came with being Chosen, with being worshiped. When she saw a chance for even greater power, she seized it instantly. First Strix’s offer of the throne, then whatever Caligula promised her.

“I… I wanted her to leave it all behind. To give me a chance. To be something other than a warrior. For a moment, I thought she might. But it was doomed from the start.”

They soaked it in. After a moment, Capra asked, “What of the Waters of Prophecy? How did they play into this?”

I laughed bitterly. “In awful ways. The Waters… deceived us. Gwyn took the last vial we had, and the two of us split it. It showed her a grand and glorious destiny, and it showed me what I wanted to see: a moment where I could change Gwyn from her path. It convinced Gwyn that going to the city was the right move, that the vision she’d seen long ago was correct.”

Vesta frowned. “Long ago?”

I nodded. “The chantry’s supply has dwindled over the years, but when Gwyn, Mal and I were training to be Chosen, Morgan took us to the chamber where it was kept. One by one, we drank. We never discussed what we saw with anyone except Morgan, but on our journey to the city, Gwyn shared her vision: statues in her honor, enemies lying bloody in an open field, and foreign worlds explored by kindred working in her name.”

The Council looked at Morgan sharply. Vesta demanded, “You’ve had more of that substance all this time, hidden away? If I had known, I could have cautioned you against trusting it.”

Morgan just stared at the ground.

Slowly, their attention returned to me. Ibis asked, “Well, did you find any? Did the city hold more prophecies?”

“No. Nero’s cache was too heavily-secured. Though with warlock magic, it might be within Gwyn’s grasp.”

Vesta’s expression was pensive. The Council whispered amongst themselves, casting stray glances at me, and at the others in the room. Below, we were all silent, constricted by tension, waiting to hear our judgments, or to hear what testimony would be demanded next.

Capra broke the air. “Duncan, your warning is appreciated. You may rest, but remain present. Your fate is bound to Gwyneth’s.”

I let out a deep, relieved sigh, nodded, and slumped against the nearest wall.

Ibis picked up where Capra left off. “The Council now calls forward Chantry warriors Gavin and Merill, to provide character witness for both Duncan and Gwyneth.”

They stepped into the center circle and stood there awkwardly, casting nervous glances around the room.

“Tell us, warriors: do you believe Gwyneth capable of such malice? And if so, why did you stand by her for so long?”

Gavin was the first to gather his wits. “I think… I think that she is. And I wish I had seen that sooner, but…” he trailed off and put his head in his hands. “We thought… we…”

Merill put a hand on his shoulder. “We were blind and stupid. We all saw her flaws, and we ignored them readily. Gwyn was too ambitious, too arrogant, too brutal. But she was strong. Stronger than any of us, and that was enough. We wanted a champion to serve the Chantry, and we didn’t care if that champion was a terrible person, so long as she was strong enough to do what was asked of her.”

Gavin nodded. “There was something intoxicating about her power. Watching her fight was an incredible experience, and it made us forget the person underneath. But now that she’s revealed, now that she isn’t Chosen… yeah, she’s capable of that malice. She always was. From snide comments to her brutality in training, Gwyn would do anything to get an edge. Nobody else would be Chosen, only her. Only she ‘deserved’ to be Chosen.”

The Council conferred, and then Lupa asked, “And what of Duncan? Do you vouch for her? What difference is there between one failed Chosen and another?”

For a moment, their shrouds of grief fell away, replaced by righteous indignation. Merill glared at the Council. “Duncan has always stood by us, and has given everything for our home. She is nothing like Gwyn.”

Gavin looked at me and held my gaze. “When news of Gwyn’s disgrace reached us, many in the Chantry began considering a shift in power. Morgan himself was open to the idea; with Gwyn turned away by the Council, perhaps it was time to appoint a Chosen who, while not as strong, was liked by all and a charismatic figure. We wanted to make Duncan the Chosen. Not a single person in the Chantry could hate her. She is a good person, and we’ll all vouch for that.”

Capra clasped his hands together. “Very well. Your testimony is received. You may rest.”

Gavin and Merill nodded, bowed to the Council, and backed away.

“This story is troubling. The Unchosen now represents a dire threat to our way of life, and that threat is of utmost importance, but we cannot forget that this outcome was preventable. The situation here is not so simple as good and evil.

“In light of that, we must hear another side: an accusation of lethal negligence.”

Confusion rippled across the faces of Gavin and Merill, and I frowned. Negligence?

“Mal and Morgan, step forward.”

All eyes were on them. Mal was grinning, sneering. Morgan was surprised, then broken once more, battered.

Capra gestured for Mal to speak, and she did. She spread her hands and addressed each audience member in turn.

“Yes, lethal negligence. I’m sure some of you have no idea what I’m talking about, but that’s fine. You will in a moment.” Mal whirled on Morgan and pointed at him. “Morgan, leader of the Chantry, interpreter of prophecy, you are a liar and a charlatan who is directly to blame for this… unpleasantness.”

Morgan didn’t respond to her. Instead, he looked up at the Council. “I… I only ever wanted to help. To save us. To protect our people. Please, you must believe me.”

Mal laughed. “Believe you? They’d have to be mad, or blind. No, your ideas of tricking everyone are over, old man. You can come clean now and maybe keep a glimmer of respect from your ‘students’, or you can let me spill the whole story. Your choice.”

I didn’t understand what was happening, and neither did most of the people in the room, except for Sam. Her arms were crossed and her gaze was disapproving, but it was hard to tell if she was directing it at Mal, Morgan, or both.

Mal took a few steps towards Morgan and the lines around her eyes tightened. “Are you going to be a coward forever, Morgan? When it has already cost the kindred so much?”

Morgan’s hands became fists, but then he slumped. “Fine.” His voice came out weary. “I will tell them what you told me.”

Mal just smirked.

Morgan turned from the Council, and he looked at me. I felt pinned, trapped. “I… I am so sorry, Duncan. I truly believed that…”

“Cut the posturing.” Mal’s voice was sharp, acerbic.

Morgan nodded slowly, and returned his gaze to the Council. “Years ago, as part of training the potential Chosen, I took them to the Waters of Prophecy, our dwindling supply. Gwyn saw power, strength, and glory. Duncan saw peace and unity. But Mal… she saw darkness. Corruption writhing within the Chantry. She saw foreign worlds, broken… empty. Her vision showed the Gates, and beyond them… nothing.

“No displaced peoples seeking revenge. No great empire wanting to conquer our shard of the universe. The prophecy that had guided us for so long… was a lie. Whatever our founder saw, Mal’s vision contradicted it. It suggested that… that the entire foundation of our faith was, if not a lie, then certainly not absolute truth.”

Vesta nodded slowly. “As I said, I would have warned you if I knew. The Waters do not show an absolute destiny, only one of many possibilities. They show you what you want to see, or what you need to see, but only rarely do they show you what is there.”

Morgan looked away from everyone. “When I heard Mal’s vision, I… I didn’t know what to do. How could she see such a different future from Gwyn or Duncan? If the Waters could show such contradictory images, what did that mean for the order?

“I admit my cowardice. I could not bear the thought of my life’s work being nullified, so I turned my back on Mal’s warnings. I trusted that I could turn Gwyn into a proper Chosen, that I could mold her into a champion of our people. I was wrong.”

I just stared. I could barely comprehend what they were saying.

Mal shook her head and looked me dead in the eyes. “The prophecy is fake, Duncan. There is no Chosen One. There never was.” Then she flicked her gaze back to Morgan. “I tried to warn people, but this wretched creature got in my way. So I left, and tried to convince you to do the same. I warned you, Morgan, and now we’re all suffering.

Morgan bowed his head, but then someone else joined the conversation: Sam.

She walked up beside Mal and grabbed her arm. “Enough. There will be time to gloat when we’re not in imminent danger.”

Mal rolled her eyes. “Come on, Sam. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Years have led to this.”

Sam glared. “Don’t act like you predicted this with perfect certainty. Neither of us ever imagined Gwyn would become such a threat. We didn’t anticipate the scale of this betrayal.”

Mal looked annoyed, but she relented. “Fine. I’ll admit my own failures. I should have stopped Gwyn quicker. I should have killed her when I had the chance. But here we are.” She turned to the Council. “Well? What say you, mighty overlords? Ready to make a decision yet?” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head.

There was another bout of whispers, and then Capra rose from his seat.

“This Council has reached a decision: the Unchosen must die.” A somber wave swept through the room. “All of us bear some responsibility for this impending tragedy. Had we executed Gwyn when she activated the portal, it would not have come to this. Had we acted against the Chantry sooner, it would not have come to this.”

Lupa looked away, but Ibis practically preened. Vesta just kept walking behind them, watching everything.

“Morgan. You betrayed this Council’s trust, and your Chantry gave Gwyneth the tools she needed to survive the dead city. By failing to heed the warnings of your students, you may have doomed us all.”

Morgan hung his head, and said nothing.

“Sam and Mal. The two of you were content to live an idyllic life, even while you knew that darkness was festering within the Chantry’s walls. You were bystanders when you could have intervened.”

Mal glared, but nodded. Sam held her hand, and gave a more affirmative acknowledgment.

“Gavin and Merill. You fought by her side, helped her train, and ignored all the warnings signs. From all accounts, you were closest to her, and yet you did nothing to stop her from becoming a monster.”

Guilt played across their faces.

“We have all made mistakes. We all bear responsibility for this. But one among us bears the ultimate weight.” Capra turned his masked face directly at me. “Duncan. You stood in Gwyneth’s presence as she declared her plans, as she turned from her people, as she plotted to destroy us. And yet, you did not cut her down. Why?”

I clenched my fists and tried to control my emotions. Shock and sorrow and rage were swirling inside me. Morgan’s lies. Gwyn’s betrayal. Mal’s vision. The Council’s verdict. “I… was weak. I was afraid. I didn’t believe I could do it. And I… I couldn’t bring myself to attempt it. How could I decide who lives and dies?”

Silence. Then, he said, “We have sympathy for you. But in this moment, sympathy is not enough. You must do what you could not, for only you have the strength. You must go back through the portal, find the betrayer, and kill her.”

The weight of his words settled over me. It was a monumental task. I hated Gwyn, but could I kill her? Could I drive my blade into her heart if it meant saving all the people who had stood by me, who were innocent and vulnerable? Slowly, weakly, I nodded. “I accept. I will do what must be done. For the kindred.”

Mal stepped forward, waving her hands. “Hey, hold up. That’s a death sentence and you know it.” She glared up at the Council. “You are not sending her to face Gwyn alone.”

Capra tilted his head. “Will you join her?”

Mal crossed her arms. “Yeah. I will. Who else has the guts to stand with Duncan?”

Sam joined Mal, and then Gavin and Merill came forward too. Capra nodded. “So be it. The five of you will travel to the dead city and stop the betrayer from claiming Caligula’s power. Ancestors be with you, for all our sakes.”

And with that, the meeting was over. Now for the hard part.

I woke up in an infirmary bed. It was nice, and comfortable, and I fell back asleep in seconds. I woke up again, later, and saw two people in masks arguing. I drifted, and saw dozens of scenes like that play. Three people in masks, a woman wearing gloves that kept inspecting me, and two women that argued with the three masks.

It was hard to pay attention to any of it. I was on a ship, but the ship was a bed, and the waves were just nausea passing through me. My head felt swaddled in iron wool. I had a warning to deliver, but it was hard enough just breathing and opening my eyes.

The gloved woman was standing next to my bed, looking at something, when I managed my first word: “Water.” The next thing I remember there was a glass at my lips, and slowly I drank. My throat thanked me for it, and I struggled out verbal thanks to my benefactor.

She nodded and helped me sit up. “You really shouldn’t be moving. We don’t know how severe your ailment is. I’m Agata, by the way. I’m the Council’s medic.” Council. I knew them. I…

“What… what happened to me?”

Agata picked up a journal and skimmed it as she spoke. “You used the portal, presumably. Vesta has been talking with us about it. Where were you, for the weeks you were gone?”

“I… I was in the city. The empire.” I coughed heavily and Agata handed me the glass again. This time I drank under my own volition. “There were ghosts. Ghosts everywhere.”

“That matches Vesta’s prediction. There was an affliction in the days of the empire that would strike people when they used the Gates. Apparently it was more common in people who interacted with ghosts a lot, or overexerted their magic.”

“I… I think I did both.” I cracked a weak smile.

“Well, the good news is that physically you’re fine, just tired. Your body is recovering from the strain of passing through the portal after your adventures out there. In another day you should be fine.”

My eyes widened. “Another day? How long have I been sick?”

“Two and a half days have passed since you stepped through the Gate.”

I tore at my bed cover and tried to get up. “I need to see the Council. I need to see them now. Too much wasted time, too much-”

Agata rushed to my side and grabbed my hands. “You need to rest. I will tell the Council that you’re awake, okay? I’m sure they’ll want to talk, just stay here and don’t exhaust yourself.”

Panic and urgency surged in my adrenaline-filled veins, but I forced down my newfound energy and settled. “Okay. Just- just hurry.”

She did. Only a minute or two passed before the Council came filing into the infirmary. Capra, Ibis, Lupa. The ghost that Gwyn hated, Vesta, was with them.

They had questions. Lots.

“Where is Gwyneth?”

“What happened to you?”

“Why did you follow her into exile?”

I coughed again, drank, and Agata glared at them. They relented from their assault and let me speak.

“I… I didn’t want to be the chosen one, so I helped Gwyn. We went to the old capital looking for something that might prove she was chosen. Waters of prophecy. Instead, we found dangerous ghosts, a mad emperor, and a dark spirit that corrupted Gwyn.”

Vesta peered at me intently. “Dark spirit?”

“Caligula. She had magic that let her eat ghosts. She wanted to teach that magic to Gwyn, and Gwyn agreed. She… Gwyn didn’t care about being the chosen one anymore. She just wanted power.” My voice cracked. “She’s going to kill us all. Gwyn is a monster and she wants to kill us all.”

Capra shook his head. “Gwyneth may be a bit brash, perhaps even as monstrous as you say, but what can one girl accomplish? If she tries to fight us, our guards will deal with her.”

Vesta came to my aid. “No, you don’t understand Caligula. The grand warlock was so powerful that it took dozens of soldiers and mages to put her down. They could barely contain her, even in death, and yet she never completed her rituals. If Gwyneth can succeed where Caligula failed, she would be… she wouldn’t be kindred anymore. She’d be something far worse, and far more than any of your people can handle.”

Silence reigned. I drained my glass. Sitting up was hard, so I relaxed into my bed. Well, relax might be inaccurate. How could I relax with the threat of Gwyn looming over us all?

Ibis broke the silence. “We must convene. Gather the chantry. When the girl is well she shall tell us all the full story of her little adventure. Then we can decide what to do about the exile.”

The four of them swept from the room without a second glance at me, and I was alone with Agata.

I asked her, “How much longer will I have to stay here?”

“Not long. You’re healing quickly. I’d prefer you to rest at least a week, but I suspect the Council will want to act as soon as tomorrow. We’ll get you on your feet by then.”

I let out a sigh of anxious relief.

“In the meanwhile, you have some friends who’d like to see you. They’ve been waiting since they heard the news.”

I glanced up curiously, but Agata just left the room. Then, seconds later, Mal and Sam rushed in.

“You’re okay!” Sam sighed happily and gave me a squeeze.

“Of course she’s okay. She’s not frail.” Mal gave me a questioning look. “You are okay though, right?”

I laughed, which only caused mild discomfort. “Yes, I’m okay. Physically, I mean. I’m not okay about… everything else. The city. The ghosts. Gwyn. I should have listened to you.”

Sam gave Mal a look. Mal made an awkward face and glanced away. “It’s fine,” she said. “I should have tried harder to get you away from the chantry. But you’re here now, which is what matters.”

Sam nodded. “We’re glad you’re safe. When you vanished with Gwyn it sent shockwaves. Two chosen gone in one day.”

I laughed bitterly, which turned into a cough. “Chosen. I’m not sure I believe in that anymore. Look at how we turned out: a runaway, a monster, and a failure. Whatever the waters showed the founder, they were wrong. It’s going to take more than a hero of destiny to get us out of this one.”

Another look passed between them. Mal shook her head. “I… I have things to say, on that. But it should wait until everyone’s in one place. No sense telling the story twice, and it isn’t entirely my story to tell. But… I am sorry. Even I underestimated Gwyn. Opening the Gate took guts, I’ll give her that. Same to you, Duncan. Nice work.”

I grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? I didn’t even have lightning like she did, I had to swing my sword at the air and hope. I guess passing out and losing a day is a small price to pay for getting out of there when I did.”

“Yeah.” Mal smiled, then looked away again. “What do you think she’s up to, right now?”

“Hopefully still training. She picked up glamour absurdly fast, but consumption was supposed to be the hardest of the three.”

Mal tilted her head. “Glamour?”

I chuckled again. “We learned about the old world. There were three schools of magic, and we only ever learned the cheapest. Glamour is… well, glamour is basically illusions and emotion reading, and on some level emotion manipulation. Gwyn was scary good at it, I never picked it up. It requires utter focus, cold detachment. I couldn’t manage it.”

Mal tapped her chin. “Wonder if I could do it. Maybe you can teach me something, eh?”

“Maybe.”

Talk turned to home. Mal and Sam filled me in as best they could.

When I left with Gwyn and Finn, the chantry erupted. Every chosen was gone, Morgan’s authority had been undermined, and news of the Gate opening infected every conversation. There was talk about going through the Gate, but nobody could open it again and Mal had no intention of helping them. The Council decided to post a stronger guard and just hope it stayed closed.

A lot of people worried about me, but nobody was willing to follow into the water, especially since they had no idea where we went. Things slowly settled in most of the island, but the chantry only got worse. The people who respected Gwyn’s strength and the people who thought I should have won both had reason to be angry, and Morgan was a shell of himself. He tried to avoid them as much as possible.

There was a short-lived coup, an attempt by some Gwyn loyalists to take over the chantry and declare a search for the chosen one, but the Council intervened. Morgan got his position back and some measure of authority, but a lot of chantry folk defected, leaving for the villages they’d served in. The chantry looked like a husk now, a dying monument to the past.

I should have been more upset about that, but I couldn’t be. Not after the city. Not after seeing the prophecy unravel.

I was tired, and I said as much. Mal and Sam stayed by my side, and I drifted off.

I darted through the cracked streets and broken hovels of the imperial city. Ghosts all around, impervious to harm, exceedingly dangerous. Terror.

Gwyneth was a madwoman. Ruthless, powerhungry, and destructive. I’d always known, but never realized. She blinded me with good looks and a sharp tongue, but she never really hid her true nature. That was on us for not seeing.

I ran. I ran and ran and my legs screamed their protest, but I kept running. The ship called to me, my supplies, my spare clothes, but it was too slow. I didn’t know how much time I had before… before the girl I once crushed on became the next dark lord of the kindred.

Near the palace was a portal. A gateway to other worlds, long-dormant but still working, if Gwyn’s experiment back home was any indication. All it took was the right spark, a jolt of magic, a gesture of will. I could provide that, if I could sneak past Nero’s army.

Imperial guards in spectral regalia patrolled the streets around the palace, and in the military district they marched in rows and columns, a long-dead war machine still beating its drums. The portal was there, past their guards and soldiers and watch posts.

I dodged out of the path of one patrol, crept through the shadows past another, and fooled a lone soldier with a made-up story about noble ties. Slowly I approached the portal stronghold. It looked just as Strix had described: a thorn against the earth, a gash in the sky. Sharp edges pierced the city skyline and distorted what little light rained down from the pale white moon.

Here, in the heart of the emperor’s domain, I could see the true scope of his power. For all that the ghosts complained about lost legions and vanished protectors, there were still hundreds of men and women in armor. Hundreds of blades sworn to Nero’s command. There were more soldiers in just this one place than across the entirety of our island home. And there were far too many to sneak past.

Then a horn rang out. A call to arms. Messengers from the palace flitted to imperial captains and relayed orders from on high. The soldiers started to march away from the stronghold and into the city.

In the distance, I heard screams. The sounds of war.

I couldn’t stick around to learn more. I had to get back. I moved through the shadows and watched the imperial army deploy until only a skeleton crew was left to guard the stronghold. Too many, but I’d have to make do.

I drew my sword. Tommen had forged it for me a long time ago, when the chosen few completed our first round of combat training. We were ready to use real weapons, to fight in real battles. Tommen was always nice to me. I think, maybe, he saw the pain I was going through. He shaped the hilt into a flowery design, just for me. Gwyn mocked it, but I loved it.

I ran at the door guard and unleashed my magic before they could react. Crackling red surging along the sword blade, energy bleeding into the world and sending arcs of pain through two victims. The imperials stumbled away from me, shouting and cursing, and I kicked the door down. I needed to move fast, and that meant no time for remorse.

The portal stronghold was much less confusing than Nero’s palace. A single long hallway with half a dozen doors on either side and double doors at the end of it. Only a few ghosts got in my way, easily crippled.

Behind me, the two initial guards recovered enough to give chase. The hallway guards would follow suit. Faster, faster, running out of time.

The double doors were locked. I smashed the chain with my sword. Again, again, still intact but weakening. An imperial slashed at me and I felt the cold. I whirled on her and cut her throat with sorcerous steel. Back to the chain, then the ghosts, the chain, almost there.

The doors swung open and I lunged into the room, racing away from the spectral mob. There: the portal.

A vast chamber had been constructed around it. It reminded me of the cave back home, but sloppier. This was built by kindred hands, not the Ancients. Benches and shelves and banners to mark the territory. Bodies too, but no ghosts.

The Gate gleamed with runic markings. It beckoned to me. It was something that shouldn’t exist, a piece of unreality forged into existence. The metal was like crystal, an alien geode. The symbols made my head hurt like staring at a language you almost recognize but just can’t.

Gwyneth told me how she activated the Gate back on the island: lightning. I couldn’t conjure it like she could, but sorcery was sorcery and I had anger aplenty.

I pushed the doors closed behind me and shoved a bench in front of it. It wouldn’t hold for long, but maybe long enough. I stepped in front of the Gate, drew my blade, and reached for my power.

Strix’s teaching hadn’t helped me learn glamour, but it did connect me better to my sorcery. I could feel a well of energy deep inside me, something as natural as the blood in my veins or the twitching of my fingers. It was a vessel waiting to be filled. It needed a catalyst, and fuel, and then it could share my pain with the world.

I hated sorcery. I hated magic that existed to hurt others. I didn’t want to be like that. I didn’t want to be like Gwyn, or the nobles of old. But in this moment, it was necessary. So I found my anger.

I found her betrayal, her lies, her callous ambition. I found the fear in Finn’s eyes, the dismissal in Gwyn’s words. I found the broken bodies of slaves and the arrogance of Strix. I found the sounds of battle and the zeal of soldiers.

I remembered home. Gwyn’s mocking. The chantry’s ignorance. Mal’s warnings. I found my anger there too, in their worship of Gwyn and in their love of violence. I found the cold cowardice of the Council and the fiery single-mindedness of Morgan. Stolen moments, broken hearts, burning villages. My own ignorance, my own refusal to see all the signs even as my friends shouted them at me.

I remembered smiling faces and laughing children, and I remembered the ghosts of children wandering the imperial city. Gwyn didn’t care about them, didn’t notice them. If she had her way, there would be more dead children soon. Monster.

Anger gave way to conviction and surety. I hated Gwyn, but that’s not why I was doing this. My own personal feelings didn’t matter, not in the face of extinction.

My magic clicked, I swung my blade, and a hole in the world opened up.

A rift of multicolored light, the infinite cosmos stretching within the depth of a floating scar. The Gate flickered and glowed and screeched, and constellations sprung up all around me. Behind me, the doors shook and strained.

The lights were disorienting and jumbled, but one diagram was crystal-clear: our world, with two access points. One glowing, one dim. I reached for it, grasped it, and the portal twisted and shifted. The diagrams flew away, and the rift yawned in front of me, vast and inscrutable.

The barrier broke. The ghosts poured in. I ran into the portal.

Darkness, cold and infinite, a thousand muted stars. A veil, or skin, or the surface of water, a thin and invisible membrane pushing against me and flowing with me. Bursting.

I stumbled out of the portal and fell to cold stone. I was in a cave full of strange formations and alien light, and there were people staring at me and drawing their weapons.

Home. I was home.

I passed out.

I bit my lip and stared at the weeping statues.

The entrance to the catacombs was cold, dark, and intimidating, but it wasn’t the source of my hesitation. I had been loitering for an hour in these decrepit tunnels because I was afraid of stories and rumors, and whispers in the dark.

My cousin told me that he and a few of his friends had actually been inside, but I didn’t believe him. When I was a child, my mother scared me with fairy tales about the witch of the undercity, but I didn’t believe her either. It was all so ridiculous, so fanciful.

But the history books spoke plainly: a powerful warlock had tried to usurp the sovereign throne, and as punishment she had been killed. Her ghost was sealed in the old catacombs, and we were all forbidden to venture into them.

I was an Augustine; petty rules like that weren’t supposed to apply to me. But I was still afraid. Afraid to die, mostly. A bit of power wasn’t worth death. Maybe.

Dimly, in the distance, I heard someone moving. That was the last push I needed; I ran between the statues and into the warlock’s lair.

Her lair was filled with broken adornments, torn pages, and decades-old bodies. Cold light flickered at the edges of my vision, and I knew that the ghosts of those fallen disciples still lurked. I ran faster.

In a dusty cathedral, deep underground, I found her.

The Usurper stood in front of a broken altar with her hands clasped behind her, visible through her translucent body. She smiled as I approached.

“Long has it been since a supplicant came before me. You are young, frail, but spirited too. Desire trembles beneath your cloak of fear. Who are you, child?”

I raised my head high and dug my nails into my palms to keep from quivering. “I am Bellistrix Avicus Augustine, a noble-born kindred. Many Lords in the city know my name, and I am heir to a great legacy.”

The ghost clicked her tongue and swept towards me, gliding across the stone floor. She floated a few inches above it, never quite touching the ground, and she moved like no ghost I’d ever seen. Too fluid, too predatory, as if being a ghost was somehow more natural than the motions of the living. She seemed more at ease being dead than ghosts who had been that way for centuries.

She raised a cold hand to my face and I flinched. She laughed. “Pretty little creature, that is not what I asked. You tell me of your parents and your peers and your overlords, but that is not who you are. Is it?”

I stared at her. I didn’t know how to answer her question.

She laughed again. “Lacking an identity, I see. Perhaps you can answer something else for me, Strix: why are you here, in my domain?”

That I knew. “I want power. I want… I want to be powerful and respected. I want to change the world, but nobody will listen to me. They say I’m just a child. They say I should wait and make my name slowly, but that’s not what the greats did. Nobody became Empress by waiting.”

Interest gleamed in her cold, dead eyes. “And you think I can teach you that power?”

“My books tell me you were a warlock without equal. They say you were stronger than every mage in the city. But they won’t tell me why you were so strong, or what forbidden knowledge you had that made you dangerous. They all just say you were a heretic and a witch.”

“And what do you say?”

Resolve crept back into my words and gaze. “I say a witch is just someone who’s a threat to the powerful.”

The ghost chuckled, and her voice echoed through the cathedral. “You’ll do, lordling. You’ll do. My name is Caligula, though I’m sure you know that. I will teach you the dark arts, the magic that all your nobles and royals are afraid of. I’ll make you strong.”

I smiled.

I scowled. “Why isn’t this working?”

Caligula eyed me with distaste. “Because you lack resolve.”

Our captive whimpered within his cage and I hit him to shut him up. I’d found a slave stealing food, and rather than report him I offered him a second chance. That was a lie, obviously, and now he huddled in chains.

“Tell, me, Strix, where did you find this… slave?” Her lip curled on the word.

“I told you to stop calling me that. And I found him stealing food.”

“From where?”

“The kitchens. Where else?”

Caligula’s voice was raw with scorn. “And why were you in the kitchens, lordling?”

I swore internally. “I was-”

“Lying is futile, my erstwhile apprentice. You lost your resolve. You ate.”

“It was just a little morsel!” An apple or three.

Caligula swept away from me without another word. I glared at the slave. His fault.

“I tried, warlock. But my stomach was eating me alive. I just needed a bit of relief.”

“You failed to understand the exercise.”

I growled with frustration. “What is the point of all this? I didn’t need to starve to learn sorcery or glamour.”

“Weak magic. Lesser magic. That is why. Consumption can only be born of hunger. You are a precious, lovely, spoiled little thing, and if you cannot break that mold, you will never be strong. You will always be like them, like your parents and your cousins.”

I bristled and clenched my fists. “I am so much more than them. Our family hasn’t had a proper Lord in generations, and I’m going to be the next. I will be powerful.”

A ghostly fist slammed the nearest wall. “What do you know of power, lordling? Why do you seek such lowly heights when you could rule this empire? Your lack of ambition disturbs me – nay, it disgusts me. She who would be sated with a morsel is unfit for a feast! She who would settle at anything can never possess the world’s glories.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “What are you talking about, Caligula? You speak of madness.”

“And you speak of weakness.”

“The nobility is made of stepping stones. You can’t step from the lowest rung to the highest.”

“Then destroy the nobility entirely!” she roared. “End their charade! Remake this world and all worlds in your image!”

I took a step back. She wavered.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you lack the heart for it. You will never want true power. Not enough to call upon my art.”

No. No, that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t abandon me. I needed it. This was my chance.

I felt a stirring. A calling. I turned to the slave and thrust a hand to his face, and with my magic I ripped at his soul.

Energy, little flickers and traces of cold green-blue light, drizzled out of him and swirled around my hand. The slave collapsed, and the light vanished, but I felt… renewed. And hungrier.

“I am not weak.”

Caligula turned to me and examined the scene with more interest. “Hope after all, then.” Her glimmer of approval evaporated as quickly as it had come. “But next time, don’t use a slave.”

I frowned. “Why? Nobody misses them.”

She didn’t answer me. Caligula just stared off into the distance, plotting something in her conniving ghostly head.

“I told you, no more slaves.”

“It was a just a snack. You told me tonight was important, that I would need every ounce of strength.”

I’d traded in my elegant gown for black cloth, tight-fitting but flexible. My hair was tied-back, and my knife was in easy reach. Caligula was ignoring my new outfit and focusing on a minor detail.

She shook her head disapprovingly. “Your dismissal of them is dangerous and foolhardy.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re just slaves. They can’t fight back. What’s a slave ever done?”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “Much more than you understand, apprentice.”

“Can we just get to the part where you tell me what’s so important about this session that you had me get all dressed up?”

Her venom didn’t settle. “Not if you continue to defy my teachings and act so recklessly.”

I clenched my fists and let out a guttural cry of frustration. “What is it with you and slaves? They’re not even kindred, they don’t matter.”

“They are kindred.”

I stared at her. “What are you- what are you talking about? No they’re not, they’re from other worlds and don’t have magic. They don’t even leave ghosts.”

Caligula swept towards me and cold energy swirled around her hands. “I was a slave. Shackled, bound, suppressed. But I was strong. My magic burned through their wards. I learned hunger. I learned to consume. And I took back what they stole from me.”

I didn’t know how to process that, so I just said, “Okay, no more feeding off slaves. I- I’m sorry. Now will you tell me what we’re doing?”

“You’re going to steal an Ossuary.”

Somehow, that came as more of a shock. “I’m what?”

“Most Ossuaries are either too weak to be useful or kept under too heavy guard to retrieve, but one is being moved. You will steal it, and you will devour its inhabitants.”

My gaze flitted to the shattered crystal on the altar. “An Ossuary. You had an Ossuary when they came for you. You were trying to do something with it. Trying to use it. Why?”

“The details are unimportant.” She waved her hand dismissively.

“No, no they fucking aren’t. I-” the weight of my actions hit me. I was standing there, arguing with the ghost of the empire’s greatest villain. What was I doing? “Are you just using me? Am I just a vector to power for you?”

“I am trying to mold you into something more than the nobility would let you become. Do not spit upon my charity.” Her words carried a dangerous edge, but I was fed up.

“Your charity? All you do is belittle me and insult my friends. You defend slaves, and you rail against the empire. I’m a part of that empire. I want to make it strong, improve it. Not burn it to the ground.”

“That is a mistake. Your empire is corrupt. There is no saving it. Only darkness and doom await your precious bastion of civilization. The slaves will rise. The Lords will slaughter each other over petty quibbles.”

“How do you know?” I glared at her with daring eyes. “How do you know any of that will happen?”

“Because I have drank of the waters of prophecy, and because all empires are doomed to fall. The only way your people will survive is if they grow. And that cannot happen if you allow stagnation to go unpunished. Fire is cleansing, Strix. The empire must burn.”

Hatred was building in my veins. Through gritted teeth I said, “And what of those souls? What role does an Ossuary play in your little bonfire scheme?”

“It is about power. It is always about power. With enough concentrated magic the impossible becomes possible, and the world can be fundamentally altered. You could become something… different. Something dangerous. A true warlock, not some pale imitation.” She narrowed her eyes. “You resist. You defy. Your imperialist heart betrays you. But I know that you crave power. That power can be yours, if you simply set aside the old world and embrace the new. Join me, Strix, and together we can reshape this world.”

I made my decision. “No.”

Caligula came for me, but I was ready. Hunger, called up from a well of power. The dark art, pouring through my veins. The third path, bursting out my hands and searing her ethereal form, crackling like fire against flesh.

She screamed, but wasted no time. Cold light surging towards me, wrapping around me, draining me. My knife, glowing red with fury, with sorcery, cutting through the lines of power. Another burst of hunger tearing into her, breaking her concentration. My feet on the ground, running, running.

She followed, a wolf wearing a kindred face. Her hunger devouring mine, devouring me, and I kept running. I couldn’t beat her. Just keep running.

Her magic crashed into me and I went stumbling. She was there, standing over me, snarling.

“Weak.”

She ripped out my heart, my soul, my self, I screamed. My magic, beating, pulsing, the well of power singing dark shrieks. The dark art was dying, diminishing, overcome by her power, her mastery. My magic cracked, and I reached through the cracks for the essence of it and I flung that at Caligula, and then she was screaming.

Her magic and my magic killing each other, eating each other like an ourobouros serpent. My chest was empty, broken, shattered, but I could breathe. I could run. No, I couldn’t run, but I could stumble. I lurched away from her, barely saw her, but she was wounded. Caligula screamed at me as I ran away, and I felt something snap.

I collapsed outside the catacombs and just breathed.

I was safe. For the moment, at least. But there was an emptiness, a hole that wasn’t healing over. I could feel my sorcery and my glamour, but the dark well was gone. Sacrificed, I guessed, to hold off Caligula. I’d hurt her, I could feel that, but she wasn’t destroyed. Just weakened.

I laughed, and laughed, and it was bitter and terrified. I cried and smiled. Fool girl, trying to take a shortcut. Dabbling with things she doesn’t understand. Playing with power. Caligula was right about me.

But I could learn. I could grow. I didn’t need her, or her magic. I just needed will, and drive, and wit. I had all of those in abundance.

There were other paths to power. Paths more suitable for my aims.

I reclined on a plush sofa and watched as my friends drifted in. Caria took her favorite chair, Cossus his goofy stool. Nero sat next to me on the sofa.

Nero waved a hand lazily and said, “Well, we’re all here. Care to fill us in now, Bell?”

I smiled thinly. “With pleasure. I have a proposition. One I think you’ll enjoy. If you like power, that is.”

Nero smirked, Cossus perked up, and Caria rolled her eyes. “Bit vague, isn’t it?” she said.

“My friends, we are the next generation. We are the scions of the empire. Our destiny is to rule. Why wait?”

Nero raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t another of your schemes, is it? I’m still recovering from the last botched party.”

“Nothing of the sort. No, this is a… long-term plan. It will be difficult, but if we pull it off we will be the most powerful people in the history of the empire. My friends, I propose a conspiracy.”

That caught their attention. Caria waved for me to continue and I smiled.

“Long has the Triumvirate existed as a stymie to progress. Long has the sovereign fought with their underlings. Long have we been bound by bickering and noble infighting. I propose an end to all that. The four of us can change the empire. We can rule it, bend it to our will, and send it in a new direction. We will forge a golden age to rival that of Aurelius herself.”

Caria eyed me skeptically. “How?”

“Simple enough. Three of us will become the new Triumvirate. In public we will be rivals, cold to each other, reserved. In private, we will use our connections and our political capital to help each other rise through the ranks and become natural picks for the Consul seats. The fourth member will be sovereign. Opponent of us all, but in secret, our ally. The court will be obsessed with garnering favor between us, but in truth every action they take will be in service to our schemes. Through guile, we will rule every man, woman, and child in the empire.”

Greed glittered in their eyes. Hunger touched their twitching fingers. I could feel the ambition lurking, their hearts beating in time with mine. My offer was an attractive one, seductive, and they were seduced.

First Cossus, then Nero and Caria. Many details would need to be hashed out, plans drawn up, schemes outlined. It would take time and effort to become powerful, but our conspiracy would make it all the simpler. Victory for one would be victory for all, but shrouded from prying eyes.

Our pact was struck. Our fate set.

The empire would be ours.

The catacombs were brighter than the rest of the undercity. Fey light flickered in silver sconces, ice blue and arcane purple casting everything in a cold glow.

I heard Caligula’s whispers twisting around me as I descended, goading me on. There was anticipation in the stale, choked air. These catacombs had been a place of power once, before Caligula. Now it was a dead husk, a host for Caligula.

Deeper within, I saw signs of her presence. Old, disfigured statues. Ritual circles, marred. Makeshift quarters and tattered beds. A cult had once lived here, below the city, among the dead. Caligula’s cult.

There were no murals depicting her rise and fall. No journals or autobiographies to scour. Every piece of art and history in the catacombs had been broken. Shards of a vase, torn recruitment posters. There were bodies, too. These ones were skeletal, but not as decayed as the ossified walls. Her followers, murdered.

The imperials had destroyed Caligula’s stronghold before sealing her ghost inside. I wondered if they had trapped the ghosts of her cultists in crystal, or if Caligula had eaten them all over the lost centuries.

When I was thoroughly lost, I stumbled into the heart of the catacombs: an underground cathedral.

The cathedral was cold, colder than anywhere else in the city. The air tasted like a winter morning, crisp and brittle. Shattered pews lined the central walkway, and bone carvings adorned the walls on either side. Some of them weren’t even carvings, just preserved skeletons arranged in watchful poses.

I walked down the aisle with my head held high. At the end of it, a jagged altar cleaved in two. I picked up a crystal shard lying in the gouge and tapped it against stone a few times. It was inert, but the material was familiar: the altar had once been an Ossuary like the Council’s.

Past the altar sat a throne, and on that throne sat the decayed corpse of Caligula. I looked at the throne and I felt a stirring of desire. I deserved a throne.

Her skeleton was wearing the same fancy robe as her ghost, and I noticed a black ring on one finger bone. I stepped over the altar, lifted her hand, and slipped off the ring.

There was power to it, power like Nero’s bracer. It slid onto my forefinger comfortably. Immediately, I felt stronger. My skin crawled, my heart raced. Magic slithered through my veins with greater intensity than ever before. I felt my ghost. My essence. My power.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “This is power. Real power. What is it? I felt an item like this in Nero’s throne room, the bracer on his corpse.”

Caligula glided over to her throne and sat on it, occupying the same space as her skeleton and almost melding with it. “They are artifacts created by kindred alchemists. Kindred magic bonded with Ancient material. Each one has a… unique quality. The ring gives its master regenerative capabilities. Faster than the healing arts, too.”

I peered at the ring curiously. I drew my sword and ran my fingers along the edge until they bled. The pain felt good, and looking at spilled blood woke something in me. In seconds, all the cuts healed. “Useful. What does his bracer do?”

“It was created after my time, on another world, but through careful effort I have learned of its nature: an amplifier. He used it for his glamour.” Caligula’s glowing eyes gleamed as she revealed that tidbit, and it only took me a moment to realize the greater implication.

“That’s how Nero kept control for so long. That’s why the Triumvirate waited so long to act against him. He was glamouring them.”

“Not just them. Nero’s tendrils were wrapped around the whole city.” Caligula smiled thinly. “I can think of a great many uses for an artifact like that. Can you?”

Scenarios ran through my head. All of them exciting. “Yes. Oh, yes.” I glanced back at the broken Ossuary. “And I think I’m beginning to understand what you were planning.”

She laughed. “That you know I was planning something is clever enough. The dogs that came for me never figured it out, and they were esteemed warlocks of the grand and glorious empire.” Disdain dripped from every word. “Centuries ago, I called it luck that they killed me. In truth, I made mistakes. I was sloppy. We shall not make those same errors, my apprentice.”

“No, we won’t.” I matched her smirk. “I’m going to eat the empire whole.”

A chill wind swept through the cathedral and Caligula frowned.

“What?”

She growled, “Strix.”

I turned around to face the cathedral entrance and saw the First Consul standing in the doorway with half a dozen armored ghosts. “Valerian. Caligula. Having a nice chat?”

My lip curled. “Feeling suicidal, dead woman? You’re a bit late to stop me. You’re not strong enough to take on both of us.”

Caligula growled again. “Pointless sacrifice was never Strix’s style, apprentice. She has just done something very inconsiderate aboveground.”

Strix folded her arms. “You should have killed me when you had the chance, Caligula. When I realized I couldn’t stop Valerian from running to you, I also remembered your grand plan. So I talked to an old friend.”

I recognized that armor. Royal. “You cut a deal with Nero? The bastard who killed you?”

“Better an impotent emperor than a soul-devouring monster. Right now, in the streets above, Nero’s soldiers are cutting down every citizen they can find. By the time you learn how to use the dark art, there’ll be no ghosts left in the city for you to eat.”

I stared at her. I let the shock wash over me. Then, I laughed. I cackled with manic glee. “You, you are something else. I keep underestimating you, Strix. It takes real guts to genocide your own people. I’ll try to learn from your example.” I grinned at her. “Let’s kill her, teacher.”

“With pleasure.”

Six imperial guards charged me while Strix darted behind a broken bench. I blasted them with lightning, obviously. With the ring bolstering my stamina, the greater form of my lightning came easily. Agony magic surged in vicious waves and sent all six staggering. They were strong though, strong enough to take another few steps, gritting their spectral teeth through the pain.

I upped the intensity, and delivered a wicked smile as Caligula reached the first of them and ripped out his glowing heart. She crushed it, breathed in the wisps of energy, and devoured that ghost greedily. Two guards turned from me and lunged at her, slashing wildly, professional training broken by unceasing torture.

Strix moved in the background, creeping closer and closer, using the environment as cover. Her lapdogs kept most of my attention, slowing resisting my ministrations. They were too strong-willed, too bolstered by Nero and Strix.

I cut off the flow of magic to the three guards at my side. In the distance, Caligula devoured another guard, and I let my lightning fade from her last opponent. She could handle it.

Four ghosts came at me and I rolled away from the first spear stab. Three guards surrounded me and I roared my hatred. Crackling agony magic exploded in all directions and sent them all stumbling back. Strix filled the gap, lunging for my neck with her dagger. I lunged at the same time, going low. I fell right through her and emerged the other side, cold and gasping but avoiding her attack.

Another choked gasp from behind me, and Caligula returned to my side. She said, “I haven’t feasted this well in decades. You’ve overplayed your hand, Strix. You’re vulnerable.”

The First Consul wasn’t bothering to hide her emotions anymore. Frustration played in the lines around her eyes and in her clenched fists. “Damn you, warlock. And your little heir.” Then the tension eased, and a cruel smirk replaced her glare. “At least I bought the world some time. Soldiers, hold them off.” The royal guards charged again, and Strix ran to the cathedral entrance.

I made to blast with her lightning but Caligula shook her head. “She can’t run forever.”

We dealt with Strix’s minions easily. A bit of sorcery, a bit of consumption, and the cathedral was ours again. I only let myself revel in victory for a few seconds before asking, “How do I learn the third path?”

Caligula smiled and returned to her throne. “The dark art is a glorious one, and it is also the most difficult to master. Artifacts, my personal tutelage, and your own instincts will make it easier, of course. It is the magic of consumption, feasting, hunger. The ability to devour the life force of your enemies, be they flesh or ether.”

I tilted my head. “I’ve been hungry before, but never felt magic in it.”

“Ah, but that is not true hunger, just its shadow. Craving for a snack is not hunger. Dinner after a long day’s work is not hunger. No, hunger is carnal and visceral. It is what you feel when you look at my throne. It is what drives you to slay Nero. It is why you came to this city, is it not?” She steepled her fingers as she waited for my answer.

“You talk about hunger like it’s about power, not food.”

“Because it is.” Caligula gestured to the rows of pews, and my gaze was drawn to rag-garbed skeletons. “My most prodigal acolytes had been slaves and servants before they came to me. The wealth-born, the fat-fed, they knew hunger only as a triviality to be corrected. But the destitute, for them hunger was a constant companion. It was a reaper.

“Hunger is knowing that someone else controls your food supply. Hunger is scrounging for scraps. Hunger is the burning hatred that festers in your heart when you look at the gilded bedchamber of the glutton who keeps you from eating because you spilled a drop of wine.” Raw, pure malevolence radiated from Caligula.

“You’re speaking from experience.”

She chuckled. “Yes… yes, I am. Does that surprise you, Valerian? It surprised Strix, learning that a slave girl could become the most powerful warlock of her time. But that is because the imperials were fools who thought they could suppress our magic.”

“Our?” I stared at her. “Wait, how could you learn that if you were a slave? I thought only kine were slaves. And I thought only kindred could learn kindred magic.”

“My apprentice, kine are kindred. Just ones from other worlds, with other skin, shackled with devices and implements to restrain their potential.”

The revelation hit me like a bag of bricks. I clutched the altar for support and rested more of my weight on it. “So you escaped, then. And removed those… implements.”

“Anger. Detachment. Hunger. Slaves know these well, Valerian. Magic came naturally to me. So naturally, in fact, that my collar could not suppress it entirely. When I saw inside myself and found that magic waiting, I knew that the world the empire had built was false. Breakable. I learned to inflict pain, and to deceive, and to consume.”

Silence.

I looked at the shards of her Ossuary and toyed with them idly. “Well, you’re right. I’ve never felt hunger like that. I’ve eaten from well-stocked kitchens, and when there was nothing I wanted from there, our forests were lush and bountiful. Our seas full of fish. I’ve never wanted for… anything, until a few weeks ago. All my life, everything came easy to me. I was destined to be the Chosen One, and everyone could see it. For years, I trained, I competed, but it was all an illusion. They knew I would win. I knew I would win.”

“And then?”

“They denied me. Their precious little Council. Called me a threat, and pushed me out. I felt hunger then, I think. Hunger for the power they were trying to take away. I opened a portal, and that just made it worse. They exiled me. That stung. It stung worse when my old rival turned up.” My lip curled at the memory of Duncan. “She offered her aid. We came to this city because I thought there was prophecy here. Something to convince the Council that I was the Chosen One.”

“And now?”

I looked up from the shards and straight at Caligula. “I’m done playing their game. I’m not Chosen. I don’t need to be. I will take, and take, and destroy everything in my way.”

“What are you willing to do? What would you sacrifice for power?”

“Anything. Everything.”

Amusement twinkled in her eyes, but her tone was serious. “Are you sure about that? My methods are extreme, Valerian. If you want to learn the dark art, if you want to learn it quickly, you will suffer. You will starve. You may go mad.”

“And at the end of it all… will I be strong enough to kill Nero? Strong enough to devour this city? Strong enough to conquer this world?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m willing.”

Caligula smiled. “Then it is time for you to become a warlock. You are ready.”

I found Strix conspiring with Cossus and a few ghosts I didn’t recognize.

“Strix. Meeting, now. I don’t care who you bring.”

I walked off and found a wide open, circular area to wait. It didn’t take long for the two Consuls and my two companions to join me.

“The third path. What is it, Strix?”

Her face paled, which was impressive for a ghost. “How do you- Caligula. She’s been talking to you.”

The others looked confused, even Cossus. I smirked. “You’ve been keeping secrets, First Consul. From all of us, it seems. Now spill.”

Everyone turned to her for answers, and Strix clenched her fists. “That is not information you need to know.”

“Bullshit. There’s been a shortcut all this time and you kept it from us. Kept it from me. No more hiding, Strix. No more secrets. Tell them about the third path.” Strix just turned away from us and stood still.

Cossus furrowed his brow. “Why does that sound familiar? And that name, too. Caligula. I should know this. Damn Nero, and damn this frail form.”

I pointed at Strix and my voice rose. “Lies after lies after lies. About your identity, about your cause, and about power. I could have killed Nero days ago if you hadn’t been so obsessed with your little politics game. You are a coward, Strix.”

She whirled on me and shouted, “I am the only one thinking clearly! That creature is a monster, and if you learn from her you will be a monster too. Her magic is wrong, Valerian. It is darkness. It is chaos. The third path leads only to destruction and misery, to terrors worse than Nero can conjure up.”

Cossus snapped his fingers and said, “I’ve got it!” Then his face darkened. “Ah. I see.”

Duncan and Finn looked at each other. “We still don’t.”

I waved my hand in their direction. “Fill them in.”

Cossus hesitated, but Strix wasn’t talking. “Caligula was a warlock, a very powerful warlock with very dangerous ideas. Years ago – before my time, before Nero’s time – she attempted a coup. She had this cabal of warlocks who had learned a forbidden art from her, a dark magic that let them drain vitality, survive mortal wounds, and… devour ghosts.

“Caligula was crafty. Her coup failed, but she retreated to the catacombs beneath the city. She wrapped herself in ritual after ritual, knowing that imperial soldiers would come for her. She slaughtered dozens, close to a hundred soldiers before they finally killed her. In death, she was still dangerous, and so the empire’s most skilled mages sealed her away. Trapped in her own catacombs lair for all time.”

I smiled without teeth. “Don’t you see? The power she wielded, the power she still wields, it can be mine. I could finally harm ghosts, take their strength for my own. No more proxy wars, no more spectral soldiers. Just me, my magic, and Nero’s little fortress.”

Strix made another outburst. “Caligula is evil! Her power is dark, and corrupt, and it will consume you. Power like that, quick and cheap and easy, it has too many negatives, too many risks. Caligula idolized strength, but it isn’t worth the high price. You’re making a huge mistake, Valerian.”

“How do you know that? How do you know so much about her?”

I struck a nerve. She blustered, “It doesn’t matter. What matters-”

“The two of you have history. What history, Strix? What offer did Caligula make you? Or did she deny you? Is that why you hate her?”

Strix stalked toward me, rage creeping into her movements. “She did not deny me. She begged to make me her apprentice, to teach me dark and terrible things. Caligula wanted an heir, but I saw through her lies, her insane ideology. I took the better path, and I helped build the empire into something glorious, until people like her cost us everything!”

I sneered. “And here you are. A ghost. A powerless ghost, too. You disgust me. You could have had power, real power, but you traded it for what? A few political allies? Your precious Triumvirate? Don’t act like you’re better than me, you deceitful, treacherous snake.”

I gestured at our onlookers. Cossus looked worried, Finn wary, and Duncan disturbed.

“They can see it. So why can’t you? Just cut the bullshit and admit you don’t have a choice. If you want Nero off his throne, you’re going to have to play this my way. And that means working with Caligula.”

Strix slumped. She exhaled, and nothing came out. She leaned against a wall, head in her hands.

Duncan looked between us. “Gwyn, are you sure about this?”

“More than anything.”

Cossus wrung his hands. “Well, this is all a bit of a mess. Why did you keep this from us, Bellistrix? We were your closest allies. We were your friends. Did Caria know?”

Strix’s voice came out clear despite her hands obscuring her mouth. “No. I alone bore the burden of that knowledge. You don’t understand, old friend. You never saw her. You never saw what she was capable of. I did.”

“Why? How?”

“I… I was young, and foolish. I wanted an easy path to power. I wanted to change the world. I ignored the warnings, I heard only the rumors, and I went down into the catacombs. I found her, or rather she found me. She offered to teach me, and I wanted to learn. I craved the power that only she had ever mastered. But I saw the real Caligula. The serpent beneath the mask. She wanted to destroy everything I wanted to build. I ran. And I found the two of you.”

I walked up to her and held her gaze. “One chance, Strix. One choice. I can find Caligula again without your help. But I’m offering you a place in whatever world I build.”

Strix looked away, toward the camp of ghosts.

“They’re not going to serve you without me. Try it, and you’ll lose every ounce of credibility you have.”

There was quiet. Everyone waited for her answer with bated breath.

Strix looked me in the eyes, curled her lip, and said, “No.”

She started to walk away. Cossus reached out for her. “Strix!”

“The empire is dead, old friend. I was just too blind to realize. There’s nothing for us here. It’s time to rest.”

Cossus hesitated, looked back at me, then followed her out.

I laughed. I laughed again. Manic giggles erupted from my throat as I watched the dead woman and her lackey leave. It was amusing, certainly. But I needed clarity, not laughter. I stifled my joy and forced the cold to return.

Glamour came baying at my call like a dim-witted dog, and I reached out for Strix. There was resistance, all the shields she had put up, but she was still a ghost. Still frail. I was strong. I pushed through her and read her thoughts.

She was plotting, of course. Always plotting, that one. She was going to warn Nero. Her last act of resistance. Apparently she thought I was worse than him. I didn’t care if she was right. I didn’t care if she succeeded. With Caligula’s gift, I would be unstoppable.

I let them go and said to my allies, “Come on. Let’s go find the catacombs.”

They followed. Reluctantly, but they followed. It didn’t take long for the whispers to start up; I had a feeling Caligula was watching our argument. Probably smiling. I followed the whispers through the undercity, keeping an even pace throughout. My moment was at hand, and I had no intention of slowing down.

The undercity was vast, but Caligula knew all the shortcuts. Her whispers guided us through tunnels and sewers and hidden corridors. It took an hour, maybe two, but we arrived at the catacombs.

This time, it wasn’t a tiny offshoot. We were at the proper entrance: a yawning maw leading deeper into the undercity, into the bone pits and skull-lined hallways. Two statues flanked the entrance, a man and a woman, weeping.

The whispers intensified as we neared, then stopped once I stood in front of the statues. I could feel magic radiating from them, warding magic put in place centuries ago to seal away a single prisoner. I could feel the rips in that net, the little pinpricks that let Caligula extend her influence throughout the undercity. More proof that I had made the right choice.

I stepped forward and Duncan grabbed my arm.

“Gwyn. Don’t do this.”

I stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Please. Remember what I said, what I promised. It doesn’t have to be this way.” There was yearning in her eyes, and fear. I reached out with glamour, brushed aside her meager defenses, and felt a painful core deep inside her, a wound that had never healed. She was fragile, and lost, and her heart bled. It bled for a thousand sorrows, and in that moment it bled for me.

I tore my arm away. “This is what needs to happen, Duncan. This is my destiny.”

She laughed, and it was closer to crying. “Fuck destiny. Think about what you’re doing. About the cost. What will you become? What if that darkness corrupts you?”

I laughed too, but mine had a spiteful edge. “Corrupts me? No, that’s not something that happens. Corruption is a nice little excuse to do the things you always wanted to do. Corruption is justification for whatever you always were.”

“I can’t believe that. I… I’ve seen good in you. I’ve seen decency. Heroism, even. You used to help people. You were the chosen one.”

I rolled my eyes. “Haven’t you gotten the big picture yet? There is no prophecy. There is no chosen one. I was just the only one strong enough to claim that title. It’s all bullshit, okay? Your religion is a lie.”

She flinched as if I’d hit her, but she kept talking. “I… I don’t care. That’s not what this is about. You’re right, the prophecy doesn’t matter. The chosen one doesn’t matter. But you were still a hero, once.”

“No, I wasn’t. And I have no intention of being a hero, ever. I’ve found my destiny. If you’re not with me in this, you’re against me. Just like Morgan, and the Council, and Strix.” My hand drifted to the hilt of my sword.

There was shock on her face, and the fear swirling around inside her head was getting thicker. “Gwyn…”

“Stop calling me that,” I snapped. “That’s the stupid name they gave me. I am Valerian. I am grand. I am powerful.”

It clicked in her head. She finally got it, the precious little idiot. Took her long enough. I was getting so tired of her misguided faith.

She turned to my last loyal follower. “Finn. Finn, say something. You know her better than I do. You can stop her. Please.”

He hesitated. He mouthed. He strained. But he just shook his head and said, “This is my place. I have nowhere else to go.”

I smiled, slowly. “He knows the value of loyalty to the powerful. You clearly don’t. So if you have such a problem with my magic, if you’re so afraid of what I might become… stop me.” I lazily drew my blade and tapped it against the ground. “Come and have a go. Maybe you finally have what it takes to be the real hero. But I don’t think so. I think you’re going to run away.”

For a moment, a single shining moment, it looked like Duncan might grow a spine. I dared to dream that she might finally be the rival I wanted. But no.

She ran.

I watched her until she was a shadow in the distance, and then I descended into the lair of my new teacher.

“More. I want more.”

Strix nodded. “Agreed. We have momentum, and we need to use it.”

We were gathered in Asellio’s house once more, in a makeshift war room. Maia and Felix hung back while Strix, Cossus, and I huddled over an old map of the city.

“With all the new recruits, we finally have a large enough force to start challenging Nero’s grip over the city.”

“Enough to strike at the heart?” I gave Strix an intense look.

“Not quite. He is still well-defended, and the whole city will come for us the moment we make a move on the palace itself. No, for now we must chip away at his allies. With each victory, more will flock to our cause, and his loyal dogs will fall like dominoes.”

Cossus nodded. “Zeal still infuses the air, but that will fade. You have gained a following, and now you must show them that victory is possible. A series of assaults on imperial stores and armories, perhaps?”

Strix shook her head. “Valerian was right. The best way to capitalize on our momentum, the best way to proceed, is to strike like lightning. We hit big targets, one after the other. Starting with Pictor.” She tapped the errant Lord’s estate on the map.

I grinned. “I like the sound of that plan.”

Cossus said, “So do I. I’m eager to get some revenge on the bastard. Are you sure about this, though? Pictor will have called in his troops. He is Nero’s most ardent supporter, and I cannot imagine him sitting idly by through all this. His estate will be the most fiercely-guarded in the city.”

Strix said, “All the more reason. Killing Pictor will send the strongest message. Besides, we have the advantage of two warlocks to his zero. With close to even numbers, our victory is guaranteed.”

I shrugged. “Good enough for me. When can we attack?”

“A day. I suggest you spend the time practicing your magic. You’ll need every edge you can get.”

We ended the meeting and separated to perform our tasks. Strix would handle the diplomatic angle, Cossus the strategic, and I spent the time honing my sorcery. That energy I unleashed against the imperials, I needed more of it. I needed to conjure it at will.

Strix had opened my mind to new avenues of power, but there were yet secrets to explore. I found a quiet place and retreated into myself. I reached for those wells of magic once more, feeling sorcery and glamour flickering in the dark. Power, burning inside me, aching to be released.

There were empty spaces that I hadn’t noticed before. Hollowness. Two empty spaces had been filled in during the speech: one for glamour, one for sorcery. There were more. There was a vast hollownees separate from either well of power. A chasm, or a rift. There was power there, but locked away.

Could this be a third magic? Another warlock ability that Strix had yet to reveal? Or was it merely the healing art, and impossible for me to access?

I needed to learn more. There were three warlocks alive, and of them, I was the only one who really seemed interested in exploring our powers. The only interested in strength. Duncan and Mal could never immerse themselves in kindred magic like I had. They were weak.

I spent the whole night practicing, switching between anger and detachment smoothly. Slowly, I focused my abilities and enhanced them. By the time the sun came up, I could read a room or use supercharged sorcery with ease.

I slept again, and this time there were no dreams.

Night fell, I awoke, and we rode out. Well, we walked for part of it, but we also brought the boat around closer to Pictor’s estate. Strix and Cossus explained more about ghostly limitations: bridges worked fine, but for a ghost to board a boat there needed to be preparations. An object to anchor the spirit, and a ritual like those used to fortify a kindred before death.

“What about a Gate?” I asked.

Strix cocked her head. “A Gate?”

“If I opened the Gate from here to the island, could you pass through it without trouble?”

She nodded. “With ease. Fallen heroes returned from battle through the Gate, and ghostly advisers followed generals into battle on foreign soil.”

“Interesting.”

She quirked an eyebrow at me. “What are you pondering, Valerian? What plan are you dreaming up?”

I chuckled lowly. “Nothing. Just thinking about ghosts and Gates. Thinking about home, too.”

“I expect the islanders would be very impressed with an invincible army showing up on their shore.”

“Yes, yes I do believe they would be.” I smirked, and we kept walking.

As the darkness settled, we arrived at the bridge to Pictor’s estate. There, two glowing, spectral armies faced off.

The two guards from earlier had retreated from the city side of the bridge and joined ranks with a few hundred legionaries armed with shields, blades, and crossbows. They were waiting on Asellio’s grounds, watching us nervously. I saw two officers walking behind lines, shouting orders, but no sign of Pictor. The coward was hiding inside.

Our army had gotten surprisingly big. We had, from a brief head count, about a hundred more soldiers than Pictor did. Four contingents, each one with an attache from the noble who had donated the militia. They were waiting on our side of the bridge, eager for battle. If they had been alive, there would be banners and war tents. Alas, we had to make our command area in an old shop with broken windows.

We gathered around a dusty table, the five of us and a general something or other. Cossus outlined our battle plan.

“The real target is Lord Pictor. Kill him, we send the most powerful message we can. It’ll be first blood, and tell every noble in the city that they’re with us or against us. And there’s a high price for going against us.”

Strix nodded. “If Nero can’t protect his most loyal dog, what use is he to any other Lord? The fools will stand by him, of course, but the rest will begin to doubt, and from those seeds we shall nourish rebellion.”

“Strix, you should go with Valerian and Maia to hunt Pictor personally. I’ll send a squad with you, but this is more likely to be a stealth mission than full combat. Felix, stay behind with me, be a fresh pair of eyes. The general will help me manage strategy and unit orders. Everyone ready?”

We all nodded, and Cossus gave the order. Battle began.

Our ranks charged theirs, and our little command group split up. Maia and I (plus a squad of legionaries) followed Strix through the streets to a pothole.

I looked at it, then her. “The sewers again?”

“Indeed. The undercity passes under the canals surrounding Pictor’s estate. We emerge inside a near-empty manor, make our way to his own command chamber, and slaughter him.”

“Sounds good to me. Maia?”

She nodded, and if there was hesitation in her I didn’t notice it. I ripped open the entrance to below and we made our way into the undercity.

It was a faster trip now that Maia and I were familiar with it. Less distance to travel, too, which was nice. I kept expecting to meet a patrol or ambush, but nothing of the sort. Strix told me I was being paranoid, but I saw her take a few furtive glances around when she thought I wasn’t looking.

We pushed forward and reached the underground entrance to Pictor’s pathetic palace. I slipped into the dungeons and encountered the first of many inconveniences.

Three guards had been left behind, because apparently Pictor wasn’t as much of an idiot as I’d hoped. One shouted the alarm, one scrambled up the ladder to grab reinforcements, and one lunged at me with blade drawn.

I clenched one fist, remembered how Finn had kept secrets from me for years, and with my other hand I blasted all three ghosts with enough lightning to send them to their knees. I snarled to my companions, “Hostiles!”

The legionaries burst into the room and swiftly executed the guards. Above, I heard more ghostly calls. I swore vehemently and pointed my hands at the ladder, ready to unleash more power. Strix and Maia entered the room.

Strix examined the various cells and called to Maia, “Can you open these? The prisoners might be useful.” Maia nodded and set to work. Strix continued, “Hello, prisoners. I’m here to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Swear fealty to the Empress Valerian, help us kill Lord Pictor, and you will have a place in the new order. Oh, and you’ll be free, which I expect is a nice bonus. Interested?”

The prisoners all swore fealty. Maia broke open their doors and they rushed to arm themselves from the confiscated goods chest. They took up the line with our legionaries, who were still waiting for the enemy to come down the ladder.

That wasn’t happening, which was irritating. I questioned Strix, “Got any bright ideas?”

She shook her head. “Not without clear knowledge of their numbers. Can you find out?”

“I can try.” I breathed deeply, let the cold wash in, and let my magic search. Tendrils of glamour spread through the dungeons, telling me that Maia was nervous and Strix was calm, and telling me that I was in a room with eleven other people (nine excluding Strix and Maia).

I extended my senses further, upwards, and felt a mixture of fear, anger, and loyalty. One of them was anxious, and putting pressure on him told me that he was expecting reinforcements. Pictor’s men and women, bound to him, willing to die for him. I wondered, would they feel differently if they knew this was a final death? Perhaps.

I withdrew. “Only four. But more are coming. We need to act quickly. I think I can pull this off, but everyone needs to act quickly. Follow my lead.”

They all nodded and I started climbing the ladder. As I neared the top I saw Pictor’s soldiers peeking in and readying weapons to attack once I came near. I replaced cold with fury, channeled my hatred of Nero and his ghosts and this whole damned city, and with one hand I sent as much lightning as I could into the room above.

I let my magic bloom chaotic and wild, spiraling out in unruly patterns. It ripped through all four, even the ones staying at a cautious distance. It didn’t incapacitate, but it stunned. I surged up into the room, threw myself against a wall, and blasted them with more magic before they could get up.

The prisoners came up the ladder next, then Duncan. I let my anger dissipate and returned to glamour, throwing my senses out in a net to catch any new arrivals while my followers dueled and dispatched the four enemies.

“Four more coming down that hall. Think you can handle it?” I pointed to the hall in question and Duncan nodded. She took the prisoners and headed down that way, while Strix and the legionaries joined me.

I cast my net again, wider this time, straining, focusing my will on the cold reality of my task, pushing aside everything but my determination. I tapped into that new aspect of my glamour, that newness in the well of power. My senses went wider, wider, until I could reach Pictor’s war room.

The Lord himself was confident. Too confident. His cronies were less so. I focused on Pictor, forced myself into his head, into his emotions, until I could hear surface thoughts.

He was… amused. Comforting his lieutenants, promising them greatness. They questioned him, questioned how he could be so confident in the face of such dangers. Anger, flickering anger at me, and at the Triumvirate. Then back to amused. Conspiratorial even. He reminded them of his ace in the hole, which he had refused to reveal… until now. There was a noise in the distance, his lieutenants rushed to the windows.

Pictor had made contact with Nero, and his master had finally rewarded the whelp’s servitude. An army was coming to crush the rebels.

I pulled away from Pictor with a gasp and stared at Strix with wide eyes. “Bad. Very bad. Nero sent his forces, an imperial garrison is reinforcing Pictor. Our army will be crushed between them.”

Strix swore, then put back on her courtly mask. “This can be managed. Losses will be acceptable if we act quickly. You know where Pictor is?”

“I do.”

“Lead on. And hurry.”

I had Maia defend our exit with the prisoners. Strix and the legionaries followed me through Pictor’s mansion in search of the man himself.

There were no encounters between us and the war room, which unnerved me, but Strix explained it away as, “They’re all busy fighting our army or rushing to the dungeons.”

Then, the war room was before us. I gathered my strength, gathered my anger, hardened my will, and threw open the doors.

Pictor and a half-dozen ghosts were huddled around an old diagram, another half-dozen along the walls in guard uniforms. Pictor looked up at me, snarled something rude, and I let my sorcery take over.

Agony magic lashed out in violent arcs, ripping through every ghost with gleeful malice. Lightning danced in wild tongues, then tightened around each ghost. These were stronger-willed, growing firmer of mind by the second, and so they did not falter like the imperials at my speech.

I turned up the pressure, shoving more anger, more memory, more power from that infinite well into the chaotic energy surging out of my hands. Pictor’s aides fell to the ground, but his guards and Lord Pictor himself staggered towards us with weapons drawn.

I stepped back, keeping my concentration on the spell, and my legionaries rushed into the room. They engaged the guards and started hacking away, taking every advantage of my painful distraction. Through gritted teeth I shouted, “Kill the downed first!”

One legionary obeyed and broke from the scuffle to quickly execute the fallen aides. It cost her a blade to the leg, but with the aides banished I could draw power away from them and to the spell afflicting the guards.

They strained, will weakening, strength under assault by waves of terrible pain. My followers moved with more confidence, more speed, more ferocity. We were winning.

Pictor barreled into me, his ghostly form like ice against my skin, and I stumbled back, tripped, fell to the ground with the bastard atop me.

He had a knife, something frilly and ceremonial, spectral and glowing, but when he plunged it into my neck it hurt and I screamed.

Pictor’s form had weight, but it also didn’t. One hand was on my arm, the other stabbing me, but they didn’t feel real, didn’t feel solid, no matter how real the pain felt. The numbing cold. The lethargy taking my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

Anger. I needed more anger. The Council. The chantry. The kindred. Everyone who stood in my way. I screamed again and shoved a fist full of lightning into Pictor’s face. He jerked back, I freed my arm, and I rolled away from him – through him.

My whole body felt cold now, but I jumped to my feet and blasted him again. He staggered after me, shout death threats and waving his knife, but I was ready this time. Well-timed blasts kept him away, kept him weak as he tried to attack me.

He dodged one blast, lunged for me with knife raised, and Strix slit his throat from behind.

Pictor slowly dissolved, as did the twelve ghosts that had served him. We won. Then I remembered Nero.

I walked slowly to the window and clenched my fists at the sight. Pictor’s army was broken, scattered, but so was ours. Little pockets of resistance fought against a tide of purple and gold. Pictor was dead, but our army was lost. I couldn’t see Felix or Cossus in the chaos.

I let out an angry breath and nodded to the door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

We returned to Maia, who had done an excellent job protecting our escape route. Together we climbed back into the dungeons, and entered the undercity.

Strix tried and failed to comfort me. “Valerian, it isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Quiet. We’ll talk about that when and if we get somewhere safe.”

She obeyed, and we walked in silence. A few minutes in, we found Cossus, Felix, and a few dozen followers limping through the tunnels.

Cossus and Strix retreated to talk strategy. Felix and Maia shared stories. I kept walking, alone and silent, while my meager force followed behind.

We eventually reached the exit closest to Asellio’s house, and there I discovered the last of the night’s inconveniences: the imperial guard had attacked Marquis Asellio, and killed him. They surrounded the house, guarded it, and had smashed in the door.

Our sanctum was gone.

We took shelter in the undercity.

Strix and the others talked logistics. They said this wasn’t a complete loss, that there were many more eager to follow me who had not been caught in the two ambushes. I ignored all of them.

In the dark, I fumed. I found an alcove as far away from the group as I could and sat there, fists clenched. I didn’t have words to express my frustration, so I just growled and kicked things.

Bullshit. It was all such bullshit. I was the chosen one. I was important.

Stop repeating yourself. It’s annoying.

Shut up. This is my destiny.

Years. Years I’d spent training for a purpose, taking part in stupid trials and competing with pathetic losers for a title that was rightfully mine. Vesta was right: I didn’t care about the kindred. Not like the others did, I could see that now. Duncan and Finn, they felt empathy. I didn’t.

I understood the concept. I knew how to make people feel pain, and fear. But their pain was not my pain. Their hopes were not mine. The prophecy didn’t matter. The invaders didn’t matter, if they even existed. It was about power, in the end. Wasn’t everything?

Maybe you got what you deserved.

Shut. Up.

I was owed this. Owed this by the Council, by the chantry, by the whole damn world. They were supposed to make me their chosen one. Instead, I was in a sewer with a bunch of ghosts, because I wasn’t strong enough to open a pair of doors.

They didn’t matter. The doors. The library. I knew what I would find if I went in there: nothing. Nothing to prove the prophecy, because in all likelihood there was no prophecy. I could see it in Strix’s eyes. Duncan and Finn felt it too, but they were afraid. The chantry was all they had ever known.

I wondered if I was meant to travel to the city. What was the alternative? If I’d become chosen one, in time they would have cast me down anyways, when they realized there was no army coming, when they understood that the empire had destroyed everything it touched and left no remnants to rise up against the survivors of our self-made catastrophe.

The chantry was doomed from the start. If not Vesta, then the Council. If not the Council, then the chantry’s own people, or the islanders, or the ghosts.

No, this was the only way. This city of the dead, full of pliant fools and eager blades. I shouldn’t have been so mad about it. What is a few days to a lifetime of work? But I was used to getting my way. Now, this latest setback was a slap in the face. I’d suffered too many setbacks. Too many losses.

Strix found me. I told her, “I’m not interested in talking,” but she didn’t listen.

“Valerian, this is not the end. This is barely even a setback. We won today.”

I stopped staring at the wall and glared at her. “Really? I don’t feel very victorious.”

“We killed a powerful Lord and survived an ambush by Nero’s forces. Though we lost troops, they were expendable. The most important message of the day, the message that will resonate, is that Empress Valerian is strong, and her soldiers are loyal. More will come, trust me. They will flock to your banner.”

“And how long will that take? How much more time and effort need we invest before we can strike at the heart? Every night spent doing anything other than fighting against Nero is a night wasted. I want that throne, Strix. I despise these political games, and I despise these setbacks.”

For the first time, Strix lost her temper. “You are a child.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.

“You are a petulant brat whining and moaning about your victories not being spectacular enough. Do you know who you remind me of, Valerian? Sorry, Gwyn. Of course not, because you know nothing about your own history. You are sheltered, naive, reckless, and foolish. You are arrogant, and prodigal magic alone is not enough to justify your ego. You remind me of Nero, and of sovereigns before him who died because they lacked the patience and foresight to manage an empire.”

I lashed back, “And when I’m Empress, will you plot against me like you plotted against them? Will you try to control me? I will not be your puppet, dead woman. I will not play your game.”

“You don’t have a choice. I am your only ally in this city. I can hurt you, Gwyn. I can do far more to you than you could ever do to me.”

I smirked. “Wrong. You need me more than I need you, ghost. Before I arrived, you spent three centuries in stasis, wandering a city of idiots repeating the same day over and over again. The most interesting thing to happen to you in three centuries was learning that your friend and conspirator got captured.”

“I can find another heir.”

“No,” I snapped, “you can’t. Duncan is too kind-hearted. Finn lacks a spine. And neither of them can open the Gate. Without me, you’ll be waiting here for three more centuries before anyone else shows up. Do you think you’ll stay sane that long, Strix? Are you even sane now?”

Our gazes locked in a battle of wills. I reached for glamour, but my blood was boiling, and I couldn’t force down my anger long enough to use that magic.

I said, “I am impatient. I am reckless. I am also dangerous. Do you think I got this far by playing the long game, Strix? No. I got here by winning. By beating down my opponents and scaring them off. I came within inches of being declared my people’s savior by being the strongest, most ruthless warrior around. I went for the throat.”

“And then they kicked you out. Take a lesson from those who have centuries more experience: the long game is the only game there is.”

My smirk came back. “And how did that work out for you?”

An ugly look flashed over her face, but she flinched and looked away. “I am still here. That is more than some can say.” She sighed.

“Go. Strategize with the others and plan out your next move. I’ll be here. Figuring out how to go for the throat.”

Slowly, Strix’s mask of platitudes returned. She swept away from me, and I was alone again.

Tension. That’s what I was feeling. Tension like I was a spring, wound up and held tight. Energy potential kept seething below the surface. Brief moments of release, of lashing out with lightning and biting words. But it wasn’t enough. It still seethed. Trying to fill a void.

I sighed, and laughed, and felt some of it ease away. Stress-laughter, the best kind of laughter.

A knock echoed off stone, and I looked behind me. Duncan was there, watching me. Her face was unreadable, and I still couldn’t control myself enough to use glamour.

“Can I sit?”

I nodded, and she sat down next to me.

“You okay?”

I laughed a little, then said in a low voice, “Finn asks me that sometimes, too. He knows he’s not going to get a proper answer, but he still asks.”

“He’s your friend.” It sounded so simple when she said it.

“I’m the biggest, baddest wolf, so he stays by me to keep safe. I wouldn’t read more into it than that. My survival means his survival.”

She looked worried. “That’s a bit cynical, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “I guess. It’s worked for nineteen years, so.” I looked away from her. I tried to sort through the dark, inky mess in my head. I tried to think of things to say.

I didn’t really know how I felt about Duncan. I still didn’t know how to deal with her revelation. I was an ass. I could understand that, objectively, but I just… I didn’t feel guilty, and in some way, that made me feel guilty?

I knew that I should feel worse about my behavior, but I couldn’t. It was me.

I managed, “I’m bad at saying sorry. But, if I could, I would.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow at me. “That’s an interesting way to get out of apologizing.”

“I’m creative.”

A tiny laugh escaped her. “You are. That’s one of your few good traits.”

I pressed my hand to my chest in mock horror. “What exactly are you suggesting, dear friend?”

She raised her other eyebrow. “It’s dear friend now, is it?”

I leaned back, laughed, and sighed. “I’m sorry. For all of it. For being terrible. For being horrendously bad at reading signals, and for ignoring all the times Finn tried to convince me I shouldn’t be so hard on you.”

“Did you ever feel anything? Or… was it just hatred and contempt all those years?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” I remembered all my years in the chantry. I remembered fighting, and training, and exploring. “I think you’re cute, if that means anything. And I think you’re a better person than me.” I laughed bitterly. “Not sure what you ever saw in me, to be honest.”

Duncan smiled. “Yeah. I think I saw your arrogance as confidence. And you’re strong, and not afraid to be who you are, which is nice. I don’t know how to think of you anymore.”

“Me neither.”

She hesitated, then said, “You don’t have to go down this road. You don’t have to be… what they want you to be.”

I looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to be the chosen one. You don’t have to be the Empress.” She grabbed my hand. “Gwyn… I believe that there is good in you. I believe that everyone can change, if we choose to change. Come with me. Leave all this behind, and we can make a better life than the one we’ve been given. No more chantry. No more ghosts. Just life.”

I stared at her, trying to comprehend.

“We could explore the world. We could explore other worlds, even. We could do anything.” She bit her lip. “I don’t know if I still have a crush on you, and I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend. I just want you to live a happy, full life, and I don’t think you will as what Strix wants you to be, or what Morgan wanted you to be.”

I’d never… never once considered it. Could I do that? Could I run away from everything, and live for the sake of living?

I looked into Duncan’s eyes, and I didn’t need glamour to see her earnest heart. She cared, not just about me but about everyone. And she really thought she saw something in me, something more than a power-hungry brute with delusions of grandeur.

What if she was right? What if all this time, I’d been chasing the wrong destiny?

“I…”

Whispers in the dark.

Caligula, calling my name. I stumbled to my feet and lurched off into the undercity.

“Gwyn!” Duncan called after me.

“I have to see someone! It’s important!”

I raced off into the tunnels, following the whispers. Delving deeper into the undercity until I reached the edge of the catacombs. I saw light, and I pressed myself against a wall. I peeked my head around the corner and saw Caligula eating a ghost.

I was transfixed. There was Caligula, the warlock, the ghost… and she was using magic. Rivers of power flowed out of her and into her captive, and ate him whole. Chunks of ghost ripped away, drawn into Caligula and absorbed. She tore into the ghost (a commoner, perhaps) until there was nothing left but dust and silently screaming afterimages.

She turned to me and smiled. “Hello, apprentice.”

I slowly walked to meet her. “Caligula. How did you do that?”

“It’s not something Strix would teach you, that’s for certain. How did the mission go?”

“You know how it went.”

She chuckled. “Indeed. Why else would you be down here again, sulking? Do you see now that Strix is weak, and will always be weak? These half-measures will not help you take the throne, Valerian. Long-dead Lords will be of no help against Nero and his servants. You need strength. True strength, the kind that Strix is afraid of.”

I cocked my head at her. “How do you know Strix?”

“We have a history. Another secret she’s keeping. She has so many secrets, that Strix. Secrets about her past, about her motives. I wonder, do you think she’ll let you stay on that throne once she’s taken it?”

“I won’t let her kick me off it.”

“An admirable intention, but what can you do to a ghost?” Her grin widened, and I got the hint.

“What you did to that ghost, that’s magic. That’s a power that can be taught, right?”

“Indeed. A secret that Strix doesn’t want you – or anyone else – to know. True power. Strix abandoned true power long ago. But you, you know it. You can feel the ache, can’t you? The hunger?”

I could. I felt the void inside me, yearning to be filled – no, to fill itself. To devour. “There’s a well of power inside me, magic I can’t access, but I can feel it. That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“The third path. The dark art. Forbidden by the empire, forbidden by Lords afraid of what it could do. Afraid for their second lives. Afraid of me. I can show you that path, Valerian. I can teach you how to take. How to devour.”

“With power like that… I could take on the Emperor by myself. I could devour his whole court.”

“You begin to see. Strix is a fool, obsessed with material things. Like fools before her and fools after her, she can only see what others have told her to see. Structures and systems. They say that power is a crown, or a shackle, or the respect of a crowd. But they are wrong. Power is an iron fist, and a steel boot. Power is in the taking. When your enemies lie dead at your feet, when you can feel your blood sing with triumph, that is power.”

I felt hungry, like she was talking about her favorite meal rather than about empires and conquests. “Power.”

“It’s what I think you’ve always wanted, Valerian. You just didn’t know it. You and I are kindred spirits. We are not driven by their petty ideals. We do not bow to their attachments, their false loyalties. We are a breed above. Strix and her kind call themselves Lords. But the world died, and now they see how powerless they have always been. But I? I still feast. I am still strong, even caged in this wretched catacomb.”

Caligula sneered and pounded a fist against an invisible wall at the edge of the bones.

“Go to Strix. Tell her of the third path. Of the dark art. Demand it be taught. And when she fails, when she admits her defeat, she will bring you to me, and I shall teach you all that I know. I shall teach you power, my apprentice. And you shall become so much more than they could ever understand.”

I nodded and started walking away. As I left, she delivered her final proclamation.

“Power, Valerian. It is the only thing that matters.”

We spent the night making plans, practicing what we would each say, and making supply runs to the boat. Asellio’s house was our new base of operations, something reinforced when Cossus brought more ghosts to it.

He explained that they had been loyal to the Triumvirate in life, and in death would serve the majority will, which Strix and Cossus had. A few lower nobles showed up to pledge support, but the most important arrivals were the violent types: soldiers and assassins willing to fight the emperor’s servants.

There weren’t many, but there were enough to get the ball rolling. The air changed; we were hopeful again, determined. We could take on Nero. We could take the palace. I could become empress. And then the Council would bow to me. The chantry would bow to me.

The sun rose, and we slept. I dreamed of a golden army marching on a hundred worlds. I dreamed of an empire reforged. I dreamed of destiny.

In the evening I made my way to a balcony and looked out on the city. Ghostly light flickering to life, the streets filling with long-dead citizens and imperial patrols. In the distance, Nero’s palace loomed over the city.

Finn joined me on the balcony. “It’s a beautiful view, if a bit depressing.”

I nodded. There was a long stretch of silence, and then I asked, “Did you know Duncan had a crush on me?”

Finn wouldn’t look at me. “Does it matter?”

“That’s a yes, then.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I knew. For years. Part of why I asked her to run away with us. She was one of the only people who might have.”

That was news to me. “I thought she came on her own.”

“Maybe she would have, but I talked to her. I didn’t ask her, not really, but I knew it would happen when I went to her. I manipulated her, I guess.”

I clenched my fists. “Why did you never tell me? For years I competed with her, mocked her, and you’re saying that it was all a misunderstanding? That every time she talked back, every time she bragged to me, she was just trying to flirt?”

“I tried to tell you! I kept insisting that Duncan was a better person than you thought, that you should befriend her, that your competition would be the death of you. You didn’t listen.”

I let that sank in. In the distance, lights moved in erratic patterns.

“At some point I just gave up. And… maybe I didn’t want it to happen in the first place. You were my only friend, and vice versa. I guess a part of me was afraid of being forgotten.”

I chuckled. “You’re not going to admit a crush of your own, are you?”

He rolled his eyes at me. “No, I’m not. Love and sex don’t interest me. Even if they did, I’m not sure you’d be a good match.”

I smiled. “Agreed. I don’t think I’m a good match for anyone, honestly.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

Finn made to say something several times before working up the nerve. “Do you ever hate what you are, Gwyn?”

I thought about it. It was a serious question, and I knew where it was coming from. “I don’t think I do. I think I get annoyed with myself sometimes, but I can’t hate myself. I’m too vain.” I laughed, but it wasn’t really a joke. “I’m selfish, and I can be cruel. I’m violent. Temperamental. I’d call myself manipulative, but I’ve never been skilled enough – socially speaking – to pull that off.”

“But you’re okay with those traits?”

“Yeah, I am. They’re me. I keep thinking about the Council, actually. The things they said. They were right, you know. Maybe that’s why I hated it so much. Being called out for what I am. Or maybe I just hated being denied power.” I looked away from the city and asked Finn, “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

He looked down, and chose his words carefully. “I think you have the potential to be a bad person. I don’t think it’s inevitable, though.”

I smiled again. “You never did share what you think of destiny.”

“Yeah. I guess I’m torn. What Duncan said, the idea of choice and change, that speaks to me. I want to believe that you can choose your destiny, that people can change and grow. But the chantry is built on destiny as this cosmic power, this ephemeral thing that only the prophet understood. And I guess, too, I worry that not all change is good. That there are things we are not meant to know, or to have. Power corrupts.”

“Vesta said that too. I disagree. Power doesn’t corrupt, it just reveals. If someone abuses their power, that’s just who they are. The truth behind all the lies we tell each other to seem like good people.”

“Then I guess, when we kill Nero, we’ll see if you’re a bad person or not.”

Finn left, and I practiced my speech again.

Strix fetched me when the hour arrived. “They are assembled, Valerian. Your subjects await you.”

“We’ll see how many of them are comfortable with that term. No, comfortable is the wrong word.” I clenched my fists. “This is about power. Force. They will bend the knee, regardless of how they feel about it.”

Strix smiled wryly. “Thinking like an empress, I see. Before you go, you should adopt some glamour. Your clothing is… fine, but not very regal. We want to make an impression, yes?”

I examined myself. She had a point; I was still wearing traveling clothes, which weren’t exactly imperial. “Fair, but I’m not exactly versed in imperial fashion.”

“You’ve seen enough. Just imagine something dark and intimidating, like any of the statues of past sovereigns.”

I could do that. Maybe. I hadn’t experimented with that part of glamour much, but it seemed simple enough.

I called on the cold and imagined all the depictions I’d seen of emperors and empresses. I imagined spikes and brutal edges, and I imagined flowing cloaks and jackboots. As those images filled my consciousness, I felt my magic responding. Glamour’s well of power churned within me and reached for those images. I gave them up, and witnessed them change to the whims of magic.

Watching my own magic act independently was a sensation equal parts delightful and disturbing. I wanted control back, but I didn’t dare interfere with the design of my new outfit. Then, there was a click, a feeling of anticipation, and the glamour swelled beneath my skin, waiting to be unleashed.

I gave the command, and magic enveloped me.

When I opened my eyes, I was clothed and armored in imperial colors, warrior’s garb, a swirling cloak, and an iron crown.

In a rare moment, Strix lost her composure. I could see hunger in her eyes, and the way her breathing (unnecessary but habitual) changed rate. I could see her fingers twitch almost imperceptibly.

She whispered, “Empress Valerian…”

I smirked. “In the flesh. I take it I did a good job?”

Strix regained her decorum and nodded. “Yes, very good. The crown was a nice touch. It’s out of fashion with what trends were at the time, but it hearkens to the old days, to the empire’s birth. Not a mere sorcerer-lord, no mere warlock in purple and gold, but a true conqueror-queen like the first sovereign. This eases the last of my reservations about your plan.” She was lying, of course, but only partly. I could feel some tension leak out of the room.

“Let’s get going, then. I have an empire to rule.”

Strix led me downstairs, and the honor guard formed. Maia and Felix flanking me, Strix and Cossus lurking behind us, and loyal warriors surrounding us as we moved through empty streets.

As we approached the site, it became clear just how many ghosts had shown up; thousands of ghosts milled about, bumping against each other and straining to reach the market square that our followers had secured.

The crowd parted for us as we approached, and whispers spread like wildfire. I saw servants, soldiers, and nobles alike all watching us. I saw fear, anticipation, and hunger in a thousand faces. The city had woken up.

Strix noticed too. She drew closer and murmured to me, “Can you feel it in the air?”

I opened my senses and my magic. A current of energy was surging around me, power buzzing in the air, the collective thoughts of an undead city focused on this one moment, this one location. We had woken up the city, and now the ghosts churned and writhed with long-dormant energy. They strained to be unleashed, directed. “Volatile.”

She nodded. “Let us hope we can take better advantage of this energy than Nero can. Good luck.”

She withdrew and we approached the center of the crowd, the market square. Our followers held the crowd back as we took our places. There was a dry fountain in the center of the square and I climbed atop it. Strix and Cossus took the middle tier of the fountain, Maia and Felix the lowest.

I raised my hands, and the crowd stilled. The cold seeped in, and I extended my glamour across the entire crowd, feeling their emotions like the pulse of a beating heart. I moved as I spoke, facing each segment of the crowd in turn to deliver my message to all of them.

“Citizens of the empire. Lords and common folk, soldiers and servants. You have come because you are dissatisfied, and you are dissatisfied because your emperor is a fraud.”

Gasps and wide eyes swept through the crowd at my accusation.

“Nero sits upon his throne, content to bask in his power without any thought for your plight. He drinks his wine and eats his grapes, and all the while order continues to break down. Slaves riot. Thievery, murder. The Gates are still dormant, and your emperor does nothing to repair them.”

The tension in the crowd grew, but I saw people beginning to nod along.

“You deserve better. The empire deserves better. And now, it has it.” I spread my arms wide. “I am Valerian, rightful Empress of the kindred. I am a warlock without equal. I am a warrior more dangerous than any soldier in Nero’s army. Many of you have heard of me already; I deceived Lord Pictor and revealed him as a traitor to the empire.”

More shock, and confusion. Traitor?

I gestured to Cossus. “Pictor captured one of your Consuls and imprisoned him. He placed loyalty to Nero over loyalty to the empire. Like a dog, he went begging to his master for treats. But the emperor did not stir from his bacchanal parties, and so it was a trifling matter for me to free Consul Cossus from his shackles.”

Anger rippled through the crowd. How dare he capture a Consul? How dare he stand against the Triumvirate?

“Now, two Consuls of the Triumvirate pledge themselves to me. They have deemed Nero unfit to rule, and know that I am the only one who can stand against him. The only one who is willing to stand against him, for who among you has the courage to cast the first stone? Who among you will pledge your loyalty to me, and swear to tear the false emperor from his throne?”

Strix stepped forward. “I, Bellistrix Avicus Augustine, First Consul of the Triumvirate, swear fealty to Empress Valerian.”

Cossus followed suit. “I, Cossus Artanian, Second Consul of the Triumvirate, swear fealty to Empress Valerian.

Maia and Felix next, announcing themselves as minor nobility from distant lands and my personal bodyguard and doctor.

I smiled without teeth. “Perhaps your most trusted leaders are not enough. Perhaps you need more convincing. Let this be the banner that calls you to my service.”

I turned to face Nero’s palace, let anger surge in to replace the cold, and blasted lightning at the palace. It surged across the city skyline and crackled against a colorful window.

“This is a declaration of war. Nero will die, and I will sit upon the imperial throne. The fate of the empire is decided now.”

Shock. Excitement. Cheers rang out, and terrified murmurs. One citizen knelt, and then another, and yet more. They cried my name by the dozens, then the hundreds, and then almost all of the crowd was chanting, “Empress Valerian!”

I basked in it. Until the imperial soldiers attacked, that is.

A phalanx of armor-clad soldiers bearing Nero’s insignia stormed the crowd and crashed against my followers. The audience broke in that area, running to cover and clearing a wide area around the melee.

I snarled at the intruders. The sheer impudence of it, the brazen disrespect!

Clean military ranks quickly devolved into ragged clumps of shouting and clashing weapons. The loyalists had numbers, but my forces had a better position. There was something about my followers, too. They seemed more whole than the other ghosts, as if simply being in my presence was beginning to make them stronger, solider. Still, the battle was grim.

I cast my gaze to Maia. “Go. Give them hell.”

My bodyguard nodded and obeyed, leaping into the fray with a red-glowing sword and slashing at the nearest attacker. She weaved in and out of each warring group, striking agony and fear into our assailants clump by clump. My followers fought with renewed fervor as their enemies suffered and lost focus.

Rage continued to simmer. The audience, so many of them kneeling to their master but moments ago, was watching passively. They were cowards, content to enjoy the night’s entertainment without lifting a finger to help.

A second, smaller group of imperials arrived to reinforce the first. A lone figure broke from their ranks and charged the fountain I was standing on. She drew her ethereal blade and shouted at me, “Emperor Nero wills your death!” An imperial captain, chosen by Nero to serve, chosen by him to try and kill me. Me.

My followers weren’t close enough to catch her. Strix, Cossus, and Felix would be of little help. And the crowd kept watching, giddy with anticipation. They were gormless worms still stuck in their false realities, dream worlds that had kept them blind even before the world died.

They still did not understand that I was Empress Valerian, and I would not be denied.

I screamed with fury, thrust my hand at the imperial captain, and felt my magic snap.

Crimson lightning lashed out at the captain – her face etched with agony – and cut through her to the other soldiers. Every imperial puppet sent to accept my challenge fell to their knees, wracked with infernal pain. Crackling lightning, more magic than I had ever produced before, encircling each defiant whelp and forcing them to the ground.

My followers looked at me with shock, and the crowd looked at me with awe, and I commanded all of them, “Stop gaping and execute them!”

They scrambled to obey, drawing knives and swords to slice necks and remove heads. Ghostly bodies dimmed and left behind detritus. Nero’s pathetic little force dissipated into stray motes of dust.

I raised my hands and demanded of the city, “Are you not convinced? Do any of you yet doubt that I am your rightful sovereign? I am Empress Valerian! Kneel to me.”

Again the crowd knelt, and this time every soul present showed their reverence, even the loftiest of Lords. Not all of them chanted, but their heads bowed just the same.

A ghost broke from the crowd, a noble or maybe a soldier, and ran. I snarled, threw lightning, and sent that fool shrieking to the ground. I clenched my fist, and a dozen specters swarmed the coward, running him through again and again until there was nothing left.

I smirked coldly. “The war for the empire has begun. The long night is over.”

Strix smirked with me. “Hail Valerian.”

Before Strix could greet Cossus, I pushed in front of him and said, “You lied to us.”

She smiled with faux-benevolence. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Cossus sighed. “You never do.”

I lowered myself onto the nearest chair and death-glared Strix. “You are one of the Consuls you said would be so important to my bid for power. Cossus, here, was a co-conspirator of yours in life. You’ve been planning this coup long before the world died.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And? I don’t see how I lied about any of that. I never mentioned it.”

“A lie of omission,” I snapped. “Enough games!”

She just kept smiling.

Enough. Anger, too much anger. I needed clarity. Cold. I suffocated my anger, slowly, and let the cold rush in. I reached for the well of power within me, the well of glamour, and I let it envelop me completely. It pushed away all my anger, all my emotions, and left me with cold, clear purpose.

With tendrils of power I reached for Strix and once again felt the mental blocks she had set up. She knew how to deal with spies. Preparation was a specialty of hers. I didn’t care. I was not going to let her lie to me any longer.

I pushed on those mental blocks, contributing all my will to the task. I could feel the walls around her, all the mirrored shields carefully raised to prevent my intrusion. I felt the cracks, the chinks in her armor, the places that not even she could protect.

Strix had been a powerful warlock in life. In death, she was a powerful ghost. But she was still just a ghost. I was stronger.

I pushed, and pushed, and something broke. I was in the middle of a maelstrom, surrounded by a storm of emotions seething beneath the surface, a thousand whispers, a thousand lies. Strix’s presence nearly overwhelmed me, but I cut through the cacophony and felt something tangible.

Strix felt no guilt. She didn’t feel anger, either, though I knew she was aware of my glamour. There was curiosity, and calculation, but no anger, and no fear. She still felt in control, even with her emotions laid bare. She still had power.

And she was amused. She was playing a game, a trick. Chess. A game of chess where she was both players.

I withdrew from her mind and narrowed my eyes. “You knew that Pictor would tell me.”

“Of course. It is his nature.”

“So you do admit to what he told me. That you had a conspiracy to take power.”

She wiggled her hand in a ‘maybe’ gesture. “That depends on interpretation. Yes, we had a conspiracy to become Triumvirate. But none of us desire the throne. We desire order. Empire is the natural state of the world, but it can so easily become… corrupted. We were to be a guiding light.”

“That didn’t go well.”

“No, I suppose it didn’t. I expect you’ll want to hear that story, too?”

“Obviously.”

Strix looked to Cossus. “Would you like to tell it? Oh, and welcome back, old friend.”

He sighed. “Might as well.”

Everyone sat, and Cossus took up the tale.

“When the Gates broke, the empire panicked. We tried to keep order, tried to manage the nobility, but they weren’t the greatest threat. Their infighting was destructive, and enabled several small rebellions, but the kine could never organize well enough to take anything important. We made sure of that.

“Our true enemy was within: Nero. We had… underestimated his ambition, and his insanity. He would not let kine kill him. He would not let Lords assassinate him. In the end, he activated an Ancients device – the bomb that wiped out all life on Hearth, with the exception of your island.”

Cossus hesitated, and Strix began to speak. “In those days, tensions were high. We said things to each other that were perhaps… too heated. We blamed each other. I think we all deserved some blame. I warned Cossus and Caria of Nero’s danger, of the bomb, but I could have done more to curtail him. Perhaps I could have stopped him, but I was wary, and looking too far ahead. I had already accepted the empire’s death, and was planning for its rebirth.”

Cossus nodded. “Hence why we are whole and the empire is not. We underwent the rites the day of the bomb, because we knew it was coming.”

Duncan’s eyes widened. Finn stood up and glared at the both of them. “You knew?” he demanded. “You knew and let him commit genocide?”

Cossus looked at Strix and said, “Caria and I didn’t learn about the bomb until it was too late. Nero was ready for us. If we acted openly against him, he would have used the device immediately.”

Strix said, “And I apologize for that. I was too proud, too vain. I thought I could deal with Nero on my own. I was wrong.”

“In the month leading up to the device’s activation, we had many an argument. Caria was obsessed with restoring the Gates. Strix looked to the future, and wanted us to be reborn in death and serve as guides for the next generation. I wanted to take as many resources as we could and head to the second Gate, to guide the living as living.”

I frowned. “So you knew about the shield?”

Strix answered. “We were aware of technology on that island designed by the Ancients, but the defensive matrix was… untested. Caria was not certain it would fully protect the isle from the device.”

“Then… what was your plan? How would the empire be remade if everyone was dead?”

“It was a hope more than a plan. We were counting on the lost legions.”

Duncan, Finn, and I looked at each other. Duncan raised an eyebrow. “The lost legions?”

Strix nodded. “When the Gates fell, the majority of our empire was caught on the other side. On a dozen worlds, imperial outposts were occupied by legionaries, warlocks, and the ambitious children of nobility. Our factories were on alien planets, along with our farms and other kine-worked facilities. The legions kept them in line, and many nobles established vacation housing in exotic locales.”

The full implication of that hit me. “Wait… that means… that means a part of the empire never died. That’s…” I trailed off.

Duncan said, “But we knew that. Sort of. We didn’t know the scope, but that was always part of the story. The empire collapsed without portals to those other worlds.”

“Still. I’d always assumed those numbers were low, more kine than kindred. I just never realized… there are kindred out there, other kindred who survived.”

Strix smiled and spread her hands. “Now you see. My hope was that one of those kindred would find a way to reopen the Gates. Our descendants would return, and we the Triumvirate would guide them to restoring the golden age. I saw Vesta’s exodus as a dim backup plan.”

I snorted. “And yet, here I am. A descendant of her followers, not of the imperials.” I paused. “We could find them, you know. We could go to those worlds and bring them back. I can open Gates.”

Strix considered that for a long moment. Cossus spoke first. “They may well prove useful, but we cannot count on them. For one thing, we need a ghost army to dethrone Nero. Once the capital is secure we can look to rebuilding the empire.”

Strix nodded. “I agree. Let us focus on the present.”

A look passed between them, and I didn’t need glamour to see that their debate was unfinished, but being put aside for a greater purpose.

“To business, then.” Strix rubbed her hands together and asked, “How familiar are you with the plan, Cossus?”

“I understand the basics. We will give Valerian our backing, present her as the next empress, and whip the nobility into a furor.”

“Correct. We will direct that furor at Nero, and send an army of his own subjects to tear him from his throne. Once we have dealt with that threat, we can mop up any other dissidents and set to the task of putting these ghosts to rest.”

I interjected. “To rest?”

“Yes. This city, this is not how things are supposed to be. Ghosts advise, they do not take such active roles. When our war is over we will place the ghosts of the city into an Ossuary. They shall serve as a font of wisdom to aid the empire rebuild. We will, of course, take our places with other fallen Consuls. Once the empire has been reordered, obviously.”

“Obviously. Before you say any more about our plans… what is an Ossuary?” I had a strong suspicion, but I needed it confirmed.

“A well of souls. Ossuaries are usually constructed when there are too many ghosts to give proper treatment, most often for the lower classes. Instead of building vast tombs for untold thousands, we simply place all of the ghosts in one object. One ghost speaks for the whole and delivers knowledge to a living petitioner.”

Duncan and Finn looked at me, and I nodded. “Back home, the Council has one of those. All of the ghosts from the three centuries since our ancestors followed Vesta away from the empire. There must be hundreds of thousands of ghosts in that one crystal.”

“Impressive. I should like to see it, one day. For now, let us discuss our next moves. Firstly: Cossus, will you pledge your support to Valerian?”

He pursed his lips, but nodded.

“Good. What of Caria? I have not seen her in my centuries of wandering, and that disturbs me.”

A fell expression took his face. “She’s mad. I found her, once, in the bowels of the laboratories. Still fiddling with Ancient technology. She is lost to us.”

Strix looked genuinely sad at that. “I will miss her. But we must do without. Two out of three should be enough to carry clout. The nobility will listen.”

“We must hope.”

“To our next move: getting them to listen. I propose we visit each of the most influential Lords at their estates. An in-person meeting with Valerian and recommendation from the two of us should build up her reputation and begin to accrue support.

“No.”

Everyone looked at me in surprise.

“We’re not doing that. We’re not playing the slow game, Strix. I have weeks of foods, not months.”

Strix put on a condescending smile. “I assure you, it will not take months. This process can seem tedious, but there are only so many Lords. I am very precise, Valerian.”

“And you think that will matter?” I seized on an argument and pushed it. I was tired of playing slow. “We need to be direct. Backroom dealing won’t change anything; that’s what these nobles have been doing for three centuries and longer. They say they don’t trust Nero, or they don’t trust you, or they don’t trust each other, but what happens? Nothing. Nothing changes.

“If I’m going to impress them, I have to do what they can’t. I have to show that I have the one thing Nero has and they don’t: confidence. Make it a show of force. An act of defiance. A declaration of war on the bastard. You want to give them a reason to back me, to back some little-known warlock? There’s your reason. I’m the only one in this whole city willing to stand up to the emperor.”

Cossus stroked his chin. “You know, she has a point. Our best empresses were known for action and decisiveness. The Lords might respect someone with a strong will more than yet another political rival.”

Strix was displeased, but slowly nodded assent. “Perhaps. Very well, Valerian, what did you have in mind?”

“Use Asellio. Use your own connections. Spread word of my attack on Pictor, and your backing, and tell them to assemble tomorrow night in a location that has easy view of the palace.”

“And then?”

“Then we declare war.”

“This sewer is absurdly spacious.” Duncan poked a filthy wall with her weapon.

Cossus nodded. “The undercity grew from the early sewers and catacombs, and was continually expanded upon even as the city was remodeled and refined. Most people never see this part of Aurelion, but the passages are useful, if sometimes dangerous.”

“Lucky for us everyone is dead.”

“Some of those dangers have only become worse in death.”

“Oh. Great.”

I found it hard to concentrate on their dialogue. I nearly tripped over a gap in the walkway, and kept tuning out, lost in thought. The sewer was green and gray and cold. It was desolate, like most of the city, but somehow creepier for the lower corpse count.

At some point, Cossus asked, “So what’s Strix up to, eh? What’s her grand strategy.”

“Hmm?” I looked up from kicking a rock around. “Oh. Well, three hundred years have passed, the three of us are descendants of survivors, and Strix wants to make me Empress so she can unite the nobility and their militias against Nero. That’s the broad strokes version, at least.”

He chuckled. “Ah, Strix. Never change.”

“Yeah. Her. Pictor shared interesting details about her. Claimed you, her, and a third had a conspiracy to take power and overthrow the emperor.” I peered at him curiously. “I’m not against it, mind you. Just annoyed that Strix kept that little note a secret.”

“She does that. Even to us. If she hadn’t, this whole thing might have been averted… but we can discuss that when we get to her. I want to scold her in person. For now: yes, the three of us did work together to become Triumvirate. We initially just planned on ruling the empire from behind the throne, but Nero’s increasing insanity forced our hand.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

I tuned out again and let my friends question him. I finally discarded my pet rock and watched it clatter into the sewer pit away from the walkway.

There was something whispering. That was the sound I was hearing, the distraction that kept demanding my attention. A whisper, urgent and imploring.

Slowly, I let the others drift ahead. The whisper grew louder, and the sound less distorted. I made out a single sentence in the low cacophony.

“Follow the whispers to find your answers, Valerian.” A woman’s voice, cold and smooth.

I had no reason to trust the voice, but no reason to distrust it either. Besides, I was sick of being kept in the dark. I followed the whispers.

The insistent noises led me through twisting tunnels, down unsteady slopes and up piles of detritus to hidden passageways. The sewer was vast and labyrinthine; Cossus’s description of it as an undercity was beginning to seem accurate. That was confirmed when I stepped into catacombs.

Ossified bone, walls covered in skulls, and torches that glowed but did not burn. This was something separate from the world above, separate even from the rest of the undercity. The catacombs had a power, a prickling on my skin, a slithering cold. I had crossed the threshold into an alien domain.

The whispers ceased, and the woman’s voice spoke again. “Good, good. Welcome to the catacombs, aspirant. Allow me to introduce myself.”

A ghost glided into view. She was elegant and regal like many a noble, but there was an edge to her, a sharpness that infused every aspect of her being with danger… and hunger. Her cloak clung to her frame too closely, her eyes gleamed too brightly, and her colors bled. The other ghosts were pale, ethereal. They looked frail and distant, even the more aware like Strix and Cossus.

This ghost looked strong. More real than real. As if I could just reach out and touch her. Her sleek armor reflected blue torchlight, and her cat’s grin was as white as physical bone. Whiter, even. Fresh.

Her hair was stringy, her fingers spider-like, her face almost skeletal. And yet she looked healthy. Her appearance was a paradox, one that was unsettling to look at.

She said, “My name is Caligula. I am a warlock, and I have seen few as full of potential as you, aspirant.”

“Name’s Valerian.”

“Oh, yes. Valerian. The next empress, I hear told. Is that your destiny, warlock?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I’m starting to think I haven’t figured out my destiny yet. It’s nice to have options, you know? We’ll see where this empire thing takes me.”

Caligula chuckled. “Of course, of course. But I don’t think all your options have been laid on the table. Strix likes to do that, as you’ve no doubt noticed. She hides things. Deceives. She’s very… manipulative, that one. Useful, obviously. But dangerous.”

“I’ve noticed. But don’t play coy, Cali. What are you trying to sell me?”

“Nothing. Yet. There are still things for Strix to teach you. You are close, but you are not ready to learn my knowledge. No, for now I simply offer an alternative view.”

Her dangling of information irritated me, but I let it pass. “View of what?”

“The court. The nobles. Petty politics.” Her voice dripped with disdain. “The worthless fops that Strix is having you fawn over and impress. She tells you that they are the key, the heart of the matter. I disagree. They are worthless. Children prattling about, playing with toys they don’t understand. Mimicking what those greater than they can do. I respect much about ancient Aurelius, but I shall always disagree with her uplifting of friends and allies.”

I frowned. “Tell me of that. I know little of my history.”

“There is little to tell. In the dawn of the empire, a warlock named Aurelius took power. She forged an empire, and gave positions of so-called importance to those who had supported her. The first Lords. Even then the word had little meaning.” She spat. “The Lords of empire prefer their balls and games and toy soldier armies to the true power of the kindred. They consider our birthright convenient, amusing. They squander magic.”

“Nero has an army too. Hard to take it down without some forces of our own.”

Hidden knowledge glittered in Caligula’s eyes, but she said, “This I acknowledge. For now. However, I find Strix’s method of building this army to be weak and pathetic. She would have you deal with these Lords diplomatically. Days, weeks of envoys, dinners, wooing them with charm and camaraderie. And yet, did diplomacy gain you Cossus? No. Power did. Violence.”

I was starting to get the picture. “You think I should be taking, not asking.”

“Want, take, have. It is our oldest nature. Impose your will on the nobility, cow them, intimidate them, and they will fall in line. Empires are forged with force of arm and strength of mind, not ballroom prattling. You are a conqueror, Valerian. Do not let Strix push you away from your heritage.”

“I won’t. But we’re still outnumbered. A little cloak and dagger might be necessary, at least until the deck isn’t stacked against us. Nero has an army.”

“You have magic. You have a loyal servant. And you have presence, which is more important than charm. Sway the nobility to your will, show them your power, show them that you do not fear their emperor, and they will flock to you, empower you. Give the word, and they will throw their bodies upon the spikes of Nero’s palace.”

I had to admit, the imagery was tempting. And despite her disdain for conventional diplomacy, Caligula clearly knew how to be persuasive. I couldn’t deny my frustration with Strix’s methods, her focus on the long term. We didn’t have weeks to pull this off, just days. We couldn’t afford to have a sleepover every time we needed to deal with a Lord.

I shrugged. “I’ll consider it. The direct approach is close to my heart, after all.” I paused. “Should I tell Strix you said hi? Or do you two have bad history? I get the feeling it’s that second one.”

Caligula smiled again. “Complicated history, certainly. No, best to leave me out of it, for now. No need to distract her with pointless worrying. Thank you for being reasonable, Valerian. You and I are going to do great things together.”

I smirked. “Here’s hoping. See you around, Cali.”

A trail of whispers led me out of the catacombs and through the sewers to where my friends were frantically searching for me. I waved.

“Hey. Miss me?”

They rushed over (well, Cossus meandered) and Finn barraged me with questions. “What happened? Where did you go? Why are you smirking?”

I rolled my shoulders. “Taking a walk. Sorry about that. We good to keep going?”

It was probably obvious I was hiding something, but they all tentatively accepted my bullshit explanation and we kept walking. Maybe they were just anxious to leave the sewers behind. Cossus definitely shot me a few curious glances, but not suspiciously. My secret (such as it seemed) was safe.

What followed was more idle banter. Duncan and Finn had dozens of questions for Cossus about imperial life, now that we were in safe straits and able to ask real questions and get non-bullshit answers. Cossus filled them in as he could about funerary rites, daily entertainment, literature of the time, and courtly politics. I tried to follow along, I really did, but it was still all just meaningless gibberish.

I didn’t care that Sekoni had sank twelve ships trying to win the heart of Barovo, nor did I find it interesting how the empire’s architectural style had changed over the years as it blended the individual cultures of the home world.

Well, some of it was interesting.

“Our world is called Hearth. There are others out there, dozens. Vortex, Pinnacle, Avalanche. We tend to give them simple names for ease of documentation. Each world is different. Our world is an ocean world, really. We’ve seen endless deserts, wild jungles, and storm-tossed rocks drifting in a gas cloud.”

“The Gates were the key, right?” asked Finn.

“Precisely. Through them, we explored the cosmos. We conquered savage worlds and brought the light of civilization.”

Duncan said, “And you enslaved people.”

Cossus frowned. “Is that how history has written it? A shame. I assure you, the truth is more complex.”

“Really? Please, do tell.” She side-eyed him.

“The kine were mongrels before we found them. They had no technology, no culture. A less charitable empire might have seen them for mere animals and butchered them, but we were gracious. We offered those we found a chance to become something more, to rise out of their squalor and live in golden cities. We offered them enlightenment, and a future where one day they might stand side by side with us. I think that’s worth a bit of labor, don’t you?”

Duncan was blunt. “No, I don’t. I don’t think that’s true, either.”

Cossus shrugged. “You may believe what you wish. It hardly matters now that the kine are dead, and have left behind no ghosts. They are gone, and the kindred are left. Perhaps extermination was their destiny after all.”

Duncan flinched at the word ‘destiny’. “I thought educated kindred didn’t believe in prophecy and fortune telling.”

“Ah, but there are many forms of destiny. Some mystical, certainly, some more scientific. A group of imperial scholars once theorized that the kine were doomed to stagnation and degeneracy that would wipe them out as surely as any military effort. Biology can be destiny. Sometimes destiny is not about the decree of the stars, but rather about the choices we make, and the cut of our cloth.”

Duncan looked more uneasy.

“Let me tell you of something we called predestination. Predestination says that every action you take is the action you were always going to take. If you choose to kill someone, that choice was set in stone the second you were born, and earlier. Every choice you make is the result of every choice you have made, and those were born of the choices of others.”

“But… wait. That form of destiny is divorced from morality, from meaning. You’re saying that, in that form of destiny, nothing means anything. We have no free will, no power to change. Nothing is meant to happen, it simply happens because other things happened first. We are just cogs in a machine.”

“Ah, but are we? If you feel love or hatred towards someone, is that feeling artificial just because you can name all the places it came from? Love is chemical, but does that make it less real?”

Duncan was very quiet at that. She looked at me, and this time I looked away first.

Cossus smiled at us. “Forgive me. My fellow Consuls and I argued far too much about philosophy, I’m afraid it has developed into a habit. Do not let me discount your beliefs, such as they are. I simply wish to express my own perspective and offer a defense of my peers. An action may be interpreted as malicious, but it may not always come from malice.”

Duncan nodded slowly, but it didn’t seem very assured.

Cossus looked to me. “How about you, Valerian? Do you have some insight to the argument?”

I shrugged. “Not really. It’s not something I think too much about it.”

He pressed me. “Surely you must have some opinion on it. What do you believe destiny is?”

Duncan and Finn were looking at me, and they were all waiting for an answer. With a sigh, I turned my thoughts inward and went over the question. What did destiny mean to me? The term was used so often back home, but I never kept up with all the chantry’s teachings. Destiny only had meaning in context of the prophecy, of the chosen one. Of me.

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe that was what destiny meant.

I said, “Destiny is what you’re owed. Your birthright. Destiny is knowing that you are meant for something, that you are important. That in the grand scheme of things you matter.”

Cossus raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that everyone matters, in the end? That there is a reward or punishment out there for all beings? I suppose everyone is important in their own story.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m saying not everyone has a destiny.”

Cossus seemed to find that answer very interesting. Duncan looked more disturbed than anything else, and I couldn’t tell the expression on Finn’s face. We kept walking.

We reached an exit and emerged into the city, in a shadowed alley. Cossus winced, and grew frailer, but could still walk.

I was curious about that. “How are you and Strix so much better at resisting sunlight?”

“We prepared. Our ghosts are whole, and retain our strength. It is… difficult, to be out in this light, and I cannot do it for long, but it is possible. Let us hurry.”

We returned to Asellio’s estate for our rendezvous with Strix.