The Storm of Heaven (89 page)

"Oooo! Dears, we've a guest. No—I haven't given you permission to stop!"

Thyatis pushed the man's head back down, tangling her scarred hand in his thick, curly hair. "Hello, Anastasia. What do you want?"

The Duchess took hold of the nearest post, her fingers wrapping around the thigh of a carved sylph. Her fingernails turned white with the pressure of her grip. "Hello, Thyatis. I've come to fetch you out of this place."

"Have... oooo!... you?" Thyatis' face flushed and her lip curled. She met Anastasia's eyes with a glittering anger, but the Duchess refused to look away. After a moment, a petulant look entered the woman's face. Grimacing, she pushed the two boys away, a hand caressing the smooth cheeks of each. "Sorry, sweets, but I've got to deal with this rude person. Go find someone else to play with."

The boys scuttled away, gathering up their clothing—skimpy silk confections that showed off their fine thighs and muscular, smooth chests. Helena watched them go with interest, winking at one. The boy simpered back, his kohl-rimmed eyes a luminous green. The Empress closed the door after them, then stood against it, a handkerchief pressed against her nose. An overbearing cloud of incense drifted in the room. Vitellix was still outside, in the hallway.

"I am done with you." Thyatis' voice was bitter and filled with venom. "You have no hold on me, Duchess. You should go unless you would like a pair of boys yourself?"

"No. I am done with that life. Please, Thyatis, I need your help. Come with us, I have a litter waiting outside. Vitellix is in the hallway—in this throng they won't even notice that we've left."

Thyatis stepped off the bed, her naked body gleaming with oil and wine. A strange expression was on her face, compounded fury and grief. She loomed over the Duchess by nearly a head.

"You need my help? For what? To murder someone, to make them disappear, to clean up the Emperor's dirty laundry? To die for you?"

Anastasia stepped back from the raw hatred in the woman's voice, a hand coming up to her breast. "I need you at my side, Thyatis. Prince Maxian is still alive! We have to do something."

"The Prince? Alive? How shocking!" Thyatis' voice grated like a knife on stone. Her face paled, becoming almost arsenic white. "He threatens the very Empire, I suppose! Do you think that I don't know he survived? I saw him escape in his iron servant!"

The Duchess was forced back again, her face turned away from Thyatis' shouting. "I did not know if you knew. Who knows what happened on that mountain, save you and he?"

"I know." Thyatis stopped shouting. Her voice was low, almost choked. "I know everything that happened. Listen, Anastasia, I will not fight for you again. I will not take the lives of the innocent. These games, they are my penance. I hope—no, I pray—that the spirits of the dead will find comfort in my acts, that they will fill their cold bellies with the blood I spill in the arena. Oh gods, let them fly to the golden fields! Let them be waiting for me with glad smiles!"

Thyatis fell to her knees, her face an anguished mask, but no tears fell. Anastasia knelt at her side and tore her veil away, bending her head close. "Thyatis, daughter, listen to me. Please come home. Until I saw you were alive, I thought I had lost everything. But you live and I have found some hope."

"Hope?" Thyatis drew back, her eyes dark, disgust plain on her face. "Hope of what? Of sending me out to kill for you, to die, in the end, like the others? Like Nikos, incinerated? Like Krista, burned to a crisp, then her poor dead body dragged away?"

"We have to fight!" The Duchess was still kneeling, and her voice was plaintive. "The Prince is a monster! He still lives, Betia has seen him lurking in the Flavian. You know what he is capable of! We failed,
we
together, but we must try again. That child must be stopped."

A ghastly look came over Thyatis' face and Helena, still standing by the door, silent, unobserved, thought it was like the very pit of torment had opened in the young woman's face. The lamplight caught in those sea-gray eyes and burned with a leaping flame.

"I know failure. You know nothing of it." Thyatis spit, catching Anastasia on the side of her face. The Duchess flinched, but could not rise, transfixed by the horror in Thyatis' eyes. "Failure is only a grain—a single grain—from victory! I had him, Anastasia, I had the Prince in my hand. His body was broken, pierced with arrows, his heart transfixed with my sword. My fist was in his hair, drawing back his neck for the final blow!" Thyatis' hands clenched into rigid claws and she stared into some abyss only she could perceive.

"One cut! One blow! One swift chop and his head was my trophy! But I turned away." Tears came, choked out like her voice. "There was a commotion—that thing, the
homunculus
was among the men, slaying. I ran to help.
I thought that the Prince was dead!
Who knew his power? Who could grasp that while any spark of life remained in him, he could rise up, his shattered body made whole?

"Do you know what is worse than failure? Worse than seeing your friends die, smashed down by an impossible power? Worse than seeing Nikos try and fail to make good
my
mistake? Worse than watching Kahrmi and Efraim lunge into certain death at the monstrous hands of this boy? Do you?"

Anastasia, speechless, shook her head.

"This is worse. Knowing,
knowing
that you could have ended this,
knowing
that forty thousand innocent people—mothers, husbands, children, cripples, slaves—all died, choking on poisonous gases, burned alive, crushed beneath a rain of stones, drowned by a violet sea, because
you
turned aside for just... just a
grain!
It was only a moment! Just the tiniest moment!"

Rage boiled up in the woman, her tendons standing out stark against her flesh. Thyatis loosed a guttural howl, ripping the bedpost free, tearing the gauze. Her muscles twisted under the gleaming skin and she grasped Anastasia by the shoulder of her gown. Thyatis raised the length of wood, screaming. "This is worse! Knowing that four little children, innocent, who went to the seashore because they wanted to see a
sea serpent
, who wanted to run in the surf and catch octopuses and be sea monkeys, are dead because of
one moment
! I loved them, Anastasia, and they are dead because of
my failure
. Baiae is destroyed. Not one house stands. Everything is ash and ruin..."

Her voice trailing down, Thyatis suddenly let go. The Duchess slumped to the floor, her makeup in ruins, streaked with tears.

"Get out." Thyatis turned away, her back stiff.

Anastasia rose from the floor, unable to look at her adopted daughter. She moved to the door but was barely able to walk. Helena caught her hand, taking her weight, then turned the latch for her. Vitellix was right outside, his face pale. The door was only thin wood and veneer—he had heard everything. The Empress shoved the Duchess into his arms, then closed the door again. Her face was still and calm, like a statue. She unfolded her fan, letting the
click
of it draw the gladiatrix's attention.

"I know what you have lost," Helena said to Thyatis' back. "You have my sympathy and prayers. My name is Helena Julia Atreus. If you ever need my help, come to the Palatine and ask for me. It will cost you nothing, for the debt that Rome owes you is greater than I can repay."

Thyatis turned, her eyes hollow. "You mock me, lady."

"No. Never." Helena replaced her veil, which had come loose from its tiny silver pins. "Remember this, in the days to come, that the Emperor has freed you. You have left one kind of servitude; do not rush to take up another. Narses is an honorable man, in his own way, but your grief will not find an answer on the floor of the arena."

The Empress put her fan away, then stepped close to Thyatis and raised her head. Gently, for the redheaded woman was trembling, Helena pressed her lips to one cheek, then the other. Tears brushed her lips and then she turned away. Again, Vitellix was waiting outside the door, holding Anastasia, who had drawn the edge of her cloak over her face.

"We are leaving," Helena said. "Now."

The
lanista
nodded, though his eyes went to the door.

"Not now," Helena said softly, putting a hand on his arm. "It would do no good."

"What about my daughter, Ila?" Vitellix's voice was charged with emotion. "We have to find her, too."

"I think," Helena said, glancing at the door, "she is well protected."

A desultory wind gusted out of the west, carrying the smell of burning tar and wood. Dark clouds of smoke hung over the roofs of the city, masking the massive walls from view. In the distance, indistinct, a dull gleam of fire lit the sky. Parts of the Arab fortifications were still burning. She could smell the corpses, dry and dusty with a sharp aftertaste of broken stone and thorn. The Dark Queen paced along the roofline of the temple of Hecate, her humor foul, a heavy dark gray cloak wrapped around her thin shoulders. Smoky zephyrs tugged at her hair. The sun was shrouded, passing down into a heavy bank of cloud filling the western horizon. Though the day was not yet done, the gloom of twilight covered the city. Down below her, fires tended by nervous priests burned on the altars of all the young gods.

The Queen snarled to herself, wrapping a white hand around a painted statue lining the edge of the roof. She stared to the west, bending her will to penetrate the murk and smoke rising before the city. She knew from the frightened whispers of the daywalker children that a great army had come, breaking the siege, clearing the highway leading down the Thracian coast to Perinthus and on to ancient Macedon.

The army of the West has come,
they said, confused,
but the Emperor will not let them enter the city.

More than just an army had come out of the west. Two brilliant stars burned subtly in the firmament of the hidden world. She could feel them at a distance, one away in the north beyond the Horn, one in the south, across the Thracian hills. Powers were gathering for battle. Amusingly, many black-hulled ships were drawn up on the beaches across the Horn on the Galatan shore. The sight brought back ancient memories.

Snorting at the thought, the Queen folded herself up between two of the lithe statues—maidens bearing bowls of wheat and olive and grape—the hood falling forward over her face. Dark red lips quirked up in a smile, watching the priests below her vantage raising their voices to the sky in entreaty.
There is no one to hear you, fools. All your gods are dead or sleeping.

A chill came upon her with the thought.
All but one, and he is a god of darkness.

She had not felt the power in the east for days. But it was still there, subtly disturbing the patterns and flows in the hidden world. That, she could feel in her bones. The dark power was hiding, covering itself with signs and wards, but it pressed at the fabric of the world like a heavy stone on a canvas sail. Against these dark thoughts she held one faint hope: her children were all safely away in their fat-bellied ships. Months would pass before she would hear from them. She wagered against herself that this battle would be done by then. The heaviness in the air promised doom and slaughter.

Blinking in the noon sun, Thyatis trudged across a vast expanse of clean hot raked sand. The monumental shape of the circus rose up around her, empty and desolate. A hundred yards away, a line of slaves in green tunics were working their way around the sweeping turn at the end of the raceway. The slaves were smoothing the sand with iron-tined rakes. Distantly, Thyatis could hear the bang of hammers as laborers worked in the stands, setting up festival banners and religious icons. Today the circus was empty. There were no races scheduled, no battles of
venationes
against wild beasts, no triumphal processions, no vast crowd of citizens baying for blood and victory.

Thyatis' head throbbed viciously. She pressed a hand over her eyes, trying to block out the glare from the sand. It was hard to walk and harder to think. Her body felt like it had been beaten with oaken staves, then rolled down a rocky hill. The throbbing in her skull held a constant, repeating echo of the roaring crowd in the Flavian. She felt sick.

"You shouldn't have had so much wine or been with those boys. They're very athletic," Ila ventured, walking alongside her. The mousy girl was trying to be very quiet and unobtrusive. Thyatis had not woken in a good humor. Being summoned to the stables of the Blue racing faction at such a dreadfully early hour did not contribute to her well-being. "You look like Otho and Franco the time they got run over by a wagon."

"The best mice are quiet mice." Thyatis had a hard time speaking. Her throat seemed swollen. "Please, your feet on the sand are loud enough."

Ila made a face but started tiptoeing. She was vexed but didn't want to get Thyatis mad.

They were cutting across the eastern end of the circus. The messenger had told them to meet Narses in the racing-day stables of the Blue faction. The fastest way from the Ludus Magnus was through the monumental triumphal arch of Titus, then down the long straightaway. A marble reef, or
spina
, ran down the middle of the raceway, crowned with temples and statues and a huge red granite Egyptian obelisk spearing into the sky opposite the Imperial box, or
pulvinar
, which jutted into the circus stands from the side of the Palatine Hill. The ends of the
spina
were decorated with three huge bronze cones, the turning posts for the race. Just behind the
metae
, at the eastern end, was a temple building with seven huge golden eggs on the roof. Ila eyed them with distaste—they turned over to mark each lap—but she thought they were too garish. At the far end of the
spina
was a matching building crowned by seven golden dolphins.

They passed men in white smocks busily painting over a long red smear on the wall separating the sand from the first deck of seats. Four of the workers were fitting a fresh marble panel into an area that had been damaged by a crash. Ila wrinkled up her nose.
Sloppy driving!
she thought.
Popped his wheel right into the wall.