careful to avoid the perception he was becoming the kind of king the Itreyans had rid themselves of long ago. Ever the circumspect leader, the hesitant figurehead, counseling against his increases in power even as he grasped for more. But now, approaching the dais when the man himself waited, Mercurio saw the imperator was ensconced on what could only be called …
A throne.
Austere in design—nothing too garish or flamboyant. But a throne nonetheless. Gold and velvet, fashioned with the motifs of Aa, his Four Daughters, the three circles of the Trinity. Mercurio couldn’t help but note the second consul’s chair was set to one side, sat upon by little Jonnen, the boy watching Mercurio with his dark eyes.
Scaeva was using the first consul’s chair as a footrest.
Liviana Scaeva stood beside her husband, clad in a beautiful corseted gown—the purple silk of Itreyan nobility. Her mask was crafted in the likeness of Tsana, Goddess of Flame, a fan of shimmering firebird feathers about her eyes. But no mask could cover the fear in her eyes as she gazed at her husband.
There was a large bloodstain before the throne. It was smeared across the revolving mosaic floor, halfway up the wall. Mercurio had no idea who’d made it—there were no bodies to be seen. But the multitude of servants floating about the room had obviously been instructed to leave the stain where it was, gleaming and wet on the tiles.
Julius Scaeva watched Mercurio approach, one foot propped on the old consul’s seat. The imperator of Itreya was dressed in spotless white, hemmed with purple. Mia’s gravebone dagger hung at his waist—Mercurio recognized the crow at the hilt instantly. Scaeva’s mask was a representation of the Light God, Aa. Three faces, three guises: the Seer, the Knower, the Watcher. Glancing at the shadows in the room, the shadows through which Scaeva now apparently saw all, Mercurio alone fancied he got the joke.
Everseeing.
The old man could feel the power thrumming beneath Scaeva’s skin. Something akin to what he’d felt inside Mia when he found her after the truedark massacre, bleeding and weeping and alone. But there was a wrongness to the radiance spilling from the imperator’s throne. Something unwholesome that permeated the room, crawled on the skins of the guests, set every trembling note played by the orchestra above just a fraction off-key.
Perhaps here, too late to do anything about it, Godsgrave’s finest had caught a glimpse of the monster they’d helped create.
Jonnen sat at his father’s right hand. The boy watched Mercurio approach, face hidden behind a mask fashioned like the Trinity of suns. He was dressed all in white like his father, fear swimming in his dark eyes. Mercurio noted Spiderkiller lurking in the shadows at the back of the hall, close by one of the exits. The Shahiid of Truths was clad in brilliant emerald green, her throat and wrists encircled with gold, lips as black as her fingertips. Her eyes followed Mercurio as he was marched into the hall, but occasionally they drifted toward Scaeva. And in them, the bishop of Godsgrave could see it, sure as he saw it on every face in this room.
They’re all terrified of him.
The music seemed to quiet as their little band was marched before the imperator’s throne. Scaeva’s beautiful mask didn’t cover his lips, and he greeted them with a warm and handsome smile.
“Ah,” he said. “Is there any pleasure so fine as unexpected guests?”
Sidonius took a breath, readying himself to step in with some smartarsery, but a glare from Bladesinger was enough to explain the rhetorical nature of the question. The gladiatii wisely kept his mouth shut, his muscles tense as iron.
“Mercurio of Liis,” Scaeva said, dark eyes turning toward him. “Your reputation precedes you, I’m afraid.”
“Nice to see you again, Julius,” Mercurio nodded.
“Apologies,” the imperator said, shaking his head. “But we’ve never met.”
“No, but I’ve seen you. Watched you. It’s what I do.” The old man sniffed, looking the imperator up and down. Scaeva’s skin was filmed with a sheen of sweat. White-knuckle grip on the arms of his throne. Muscles trembling. “You look like shit.”
“Mmm,” Scaeva smiled. “Now I see where our Mia learned her dazzling wit.”
“O, no, that’s all hers, I’m afraid.”
Mercurio nodded to the smear of gore across the floor.
“Shaving accident?”
“A disagreement with three of our esteemed senior senators,” the imperator replied. “On matters of constitution and the legality of my claim as imperator.”