Alexis’s temper flared, but Penelope was quicker.
“I’m not an arrogant asshole, for starters. If you want to hear the full story, I suggest shutting up long enough to let me speak.” They eyed each other. Alexis had seen Constantine cower the most seasoned generals with his imperious stare, but Penelope only raised her chin higher.
“Please, Constantine. Sit down,” she said, and to Alexis’s surprise, he did. Penelope set a cup of coffee down in front of him. “As I was saying, the Living Language has given me the ability to translate languages…”
Penelope explained how Nereus had gifted her with a piece of her magic in order for her to take on the mantle as Archivist. Constantine looked as if he were going to explode but managed to keep quiet as Penelope related the words of the Essene prophecy, the Atlanteans’ part in it, and the weapon that could banish Thevetat forever.
“You’re the first magician with Atlantean magic since it fell. No wonder Alecto is so obsessed with you. You’re something new in a world that has long stopped surprising him,” Constantine said once she had finished.
“I was obsessed with Penelope before she had anything to do with magic.”
“The high tide is a poor time to fall in love, Alecto.”
“How do you know it’s high tide?” asked Penelope.
“Aelia told you? Of course she did,” Alexis replied.
“Perhaps she was concerned that I’d do something you disagreed with, and you would lock me up again.”
“And here we go.” Alexis sighed.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid Penelope will see past this perfect Prince Charming persona you’ve crafted and glimpse the beast within?”
Alexis bristled. “You had no problem with my beast when it profited you.”
“Why do you think I call him Alecto, Penelope? It’s because he used to be my Fury. He was so feared that men would whisper his name around the fires.” Constantine’s smile turned vicious. “Every emperor needs a servant like you to keep their hands clean.”
Alexis’s laugh was a dark, bitter sound. “Your hands aren’t clean, Constantine. They are dripping in the filth you’ve waded through. Even the God you love has cursed you.”
“So, your immortality is the result of a curse? You did promise me that you’d explain how you came to be alive.” Penelope tried to diffuse the tension in the air the best way she knew how—distracting Constantine into talking about himself.
“I promised that on the proviso that you’re honest, and you still haven’t told me what you really want.”
Penelope stood firm. “The ring of Solomon.”
Constantine choked on the piece of toast he was eating. “And what makes you think I have such a relic?”
“Don’t try to lie, Constantine,” Alexis said. “You had it on the night I tried to convince you not to go after Shapur.”
“I had many rings, some ancient, but I think I’d remember a ring that could command demons and djinn.”
Penelope wasn’t going to be dissuaded so easily. “Perhaps it didn’t want to work for you, so its origins remained unknown to you.”
A muscle feathered in Constantine’s jaw. “And how do you know it would work for you?”
“Because it started to translate in the memory I saw of it. From what I understand, you have to be able to read and say the word that’s engraved on it in order to use it. My magic was already doing it, I just need to find it to be sure. I know you have the ring—or should I say had it? Tim’s visions revealed that it’s passed hands since you, but I wanted clarification on who it went to after you.”
Constantine stood to make more coffee. “I don’t know how much help I can be with that.”
“You lost it, didn’t you?” said Alexis.
“I didn’t lose it. I knew exactly where it was.” Constantine let out a sigh of resignation. “It was stolen.”
“Do you know when?”
“April 1204.”
Penelope frowned. “Why does that date sound familiar?”
“Fourth Crusade, cara.”
“Fucking Enrico Dandolo, may his name be forever cursed,” Constantine hissed through gritted teeth.
Penelope crossed her arms. “Easy there with your curses. One of my good friends is a Dandolo.”
Constantine raised an eyebrow at Alexis. “How times have changed that you would allow your woman to associate with such a person.”
“His woman has a name, and she’ll associate with anyone she likes.” Penelope had to restrain herself from strangling the emperor. “I knew Marco before Alexis, and he saved our asses, so be careful what assumptions you make about my friends.”
“Mia culpa.” The note of sarcasm in his voice made Penelope’s nostrils flare.
Alexis spoke before she could say something to inflame the conversation further. “Tell us what happened, Con. Where was the ring stolen from?”
“Where do you think? I didn’t build the Church of the Apostles to house only my bones, Alecto.”
“What else was there?” Penelope was nearly at the end of her rope with Constantine, but the archaeologist within overpowered her frustration.
“The most valuable objects you can imagine.” Constantine joined them back at the table. “Holy relics, saints’ bones, and treasure from all corners of the world, and other items that needed to be hidden away and protected, not unlike your Archives. I saw and approved every stage of the design plan in order to have a holy place where the apostles themselves could be housed, honored, and protected.”
Alexis narrowed his eyes at him. “And that’s why you built a space for you too? To honor the apostles?”
“Well, he did end up becoming a saint,” Penelope said.
“The both of you are wrong. I built my tomb there because, at the time, there was nowhere in Constantinople that rivaled its beauty or was more guaranteed to stand the test of time. I’m not a saint, Penelope. I’m cursed. I’m surprised Alecto didn’t tell you that much, at least.”
Alexis shrugged. “I’ve learned that being ‘cursed’ is a matter of perspective.”
“A perspective of yours that changes whenever you have a new consort.”
Penelope rubbed at the space between her brows and then dropped her hand away. “Can you two please stop arguing with each other? We are meant to be friends, remember?”
“Tell her the full story, Constantine, and then we can leave you alone to enjoy your holiday.” Alexis had warned Penelope that once the initial pleasantries were over, all of the niggling old grudges would come out. Alexis looked torn between happiness to see Constantine in a good frame of mind—something he obviously hadn’t been in when they had last seen each other—and wanting to yell at him.
“You did promise. I told you what I want, so my half of the agreement is honored.” Reaching over, Penelope took Constantine’s hand. “I’m only trying to understand you better, and I want to hear it from you. These magicians won’t tell me anything about you; you know how cagey and secretive they can be.”
Constantine, ever the lover of flattery and the attention of a beautiful woman, visibly softened all over. His expression transformed to indulgent and charming. “They would undoubtedly get it wrong anyway, my dear. Magicians are terrible for exaggeration.”
Alexis rolled his eyes. “Magicians aren’t the only ones. Every time I hear Con speak of his curse the story changes.”
Constantine held onto Penelope’s hand, and she gave it an encouraging squeeze.
“Tell me your story. I promise neither Alexis nor I will interrupt. It’s not every day an archaeologist gets to hear the greatest Roman emperor in history explain how he conquered death itself.” Alexis smiled at her audacity. Penelope couldn’t believe her sweet-talking actually worked.
Constantine kissed her hand. “As the lady commands…”
TO FULLY understand the uniqueness of my affliction, you must first know that my life has been filled with the miraculous.
My mother, Helena, was
a barmaid from Bithynia, and while the nobility of my father cannot be denied, the elevation of my mother and the infant growing in her belly was the first miracle of my life. From a young age, I felt the hand of the divine doing its best to guide my way despite the faults of my character.
When I first heard a supernatural voice speak to me, I believed in my pagan heart that it was one of the pantheon. I had searched for a god worth worshipping, but once I found them failing to give me what I needed, I moved to another, always searching and never being fulfilled.
I won’t bore you with information you already know well enough, but this might help you understand that when I realized it was not Sol Invictus guiding me, I moved on again.
Finally, when the supernatural voice revealed itself to be a messenger from the Christian God, I did not hesitate to do as it instructed, and much was given to me in return. I was triumphant at the Milvian Bridge, and Rome was mine, even though my knowledge of this God was little to nothing.
My mother, who had always known of my experiences with this divine voice, was also converted, and being the person I trusted most, I sent her as my envoy to Jerusalem. Once there, she was guided by a seraph to find the sacred objects that had been lost in time. My father might have been a Caesar, but Helena was not a weak woman to be denied when she had fixed her heart on something. She had the temple to Venus that Hadrian erected over Jesus’s tomb pulled down so it could be a holy place once more and set men to work finding the relics she’d been shown.
These incredible treasures she found—I knew no regular vault would do to store them. They had to be protected in a place of reverence and beauty, and in a dream, I was shown the Church of the Apostles.
Constantinople was to be the center of the world, and I wanted to ensure that it would be a place of the future—unlike Rome, which had already begun its descent into a decaying pit of vipers, where old tradition and bureaucracy hung on and refused progress at every turn. There was no place in Rome for a church like the one I saw; it had to be Constantinople.
I oversaw every part of the plan, starting with the most crucial part of all—a vault built deep into the rock. The surface structure had yet to be fully completed when I died, but the secret chambers had been filled with all of the items Helena and others had found.
The only treasure that remained out of the vault at all times was a ring my mother believed to have been worn by Solomon himself. In a dream, she was directed to where the Second Temple had been destroyed by Titus. It had been built over the foundations of Solomon’s Temple, and within the rubble, she found it—a ring of carved carnelian and bronze. It was a plain thing compared to my other riches, but I wore it proudly,
Despite Helena’s assurances that it was indeed King Solomon’s seal, I was only able to see it cure a few fevers, not exorcise demons. That’s not to say it hadn’t in the past.
When I traced its history, I managed to place it in the hands of an exorcist that was brought to Vespasian’s court. Josephus wrote about the incident in Antiquities. He and the emperor had witnessed a man named Eleazar use the ring to pull a demon out of the nose of a possessed man. What happened to it afterward, I could never discover for sure. I only know that it was Vespasian’s son Titus that destroyed the Second Temple in Jerusalem. It was sacked for its riches, and yet it was the exact spot that Helena dug up the ring.
I was wearing the king’s seal the day I died. I’d postponed my Persian campaign, Alecto’s warning weighing as heavily on me as my own failing health. I went to my villa in Nicomedia to celebrate Passover, thinking that a break at the hot springs would be all I needed to recover.
When I woke on the morning of the 21st of May, I knew deep in my soul that it would be my last day. I gave the instructions for my body to be taken back to my beloved Constantinople, and finally, I allowed Eusebius to baptize me. I died, my heart at peace, knowing I had made many mistakes but willing to surrender myself to God’s mercy.
Over the centuries, I’ve tried to remember what came next, but there’s only darkness. I do know that my son and priests escorted my body back to Constantinople. I was carried in a golden coffin draped in purple, and the priests performed their vigil after I was placed in my mausoleum in the Church of the Apostles. My secret and final request to Eusebius was to bury me with the piece of the True Cross that Helena found so that I could protect it in death.
I don’t know if it was this final act or the combined holiness of the relics in the earth beneath me, but I woke in the darkness of my tomb, the heavy golden lid of my coffin open. It was Eusebius who found me, frightened and raving in the vaults. He helped me out of the mausoleum and had me placed in a monastery where I could recover my senses. I could be emperor no more; my old life was a thing to be forever cut from me. It took me almost a year of seclusion to regain my mental stability. Resurrection was not meant for mortal men, and there was a price to pay for it.
The years passed, and I did not age. I wandered the earth, feeling as cursed as Cain. I always knew I was alive for a reason, but to this day, I am still searching for the reason I came back.
The holy relics remained safe under the Church of the Apostles until Enrico Dandolo let his men loose. They sacked the church treasure and tombs, including the ring of Solomon, which was locked in my coffin. The crusaders never found the entrance to the vault. It was why I wanted to return to Constantinople before Mehmed II’s army rampaged through it. I wanted to empty the vault, not fight them.
The city was lost, and because Alecto prevented me, the vault of relics was too. The Fatih Mosque now sits over the site. I can still hope the precious treasures are safe—that they remained hidden by some miracle—but it makes no difference either way. If they are still locked in the vault, I can’t retrieve them. If they were pillaged and are now lost to the world, God help anyone who mistreats them.
PENELOPE’S COFFEE HAD gone cold. She rubbed at her forehead. Every time she touched the center of her brow, the air around Constantine shimmered like a heat wave. What’s wrong with me now? She drank some water to clear her head. Maybe it was a migraine coming on.
“Maybe not as much was lost as you suppose,” Penelope said. She shifted her gaze to Alexis. “The Turkish corsair pirated a few of the crusader’s boats during the Fourth Crusade to rescue what they took from the Imperial Library of Constantinople, and I’m guessing you did so again when Mehmed II arrived on its doorstep.”
Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s where you ran off to. You locked me up and set Phaidros as my keeper, then vanished for three months while you went and did the very thing you imprisoned me for? You really are a bastard.”
“You never specified your proper intentions for going back to Constantinople. You never mentioned your vault of relics. If you would’ve been honest, perhaps you could’ve joined me. As it was, I picked the ships off once they were well away from the city.” Alexis was unapologetic.
Constantine looked even angrier, so Penelope reached for another subject. “Do you still think you’re cursed?”
“Some days are easier than others. The Eastern churches still have me sainted, but I am clearly no saint. Sometimes, I’ve been in the right place, where I’ve been able to help make a difference. Perhaps one day, I will have atoned enough for my great sins that I’ll be able to die peacefully. In the meantime, I do my best to keep busy. It’s the key to keeping madness at bay.”
Constantine and Alexis shared a long, knowing look. There was a tiredness and a timelessness in it, a shared grief in having a life without a foreseeable end.
Will I be like that one day? It was something Penelope wasn’t even remotely ready to consider. She had inherited a few pieces of power; that didn’t make her a magician, especially not one that could be tied to whatever held the Atlanteans’ body clock in check.
“Do you really believe the ring can stop a demon prince?” asked Constantine.
Penelope nodded. “Yes, if it will awaken for me when I need it to.”
“
The Essene prophet believed it would.” Alexis leaned his arms against the table. “Back on Atlantis, we tried killing off Thevetat’s vessels, thinking that if he had no bodies to jump into, he would be forced to return to wherever he came from. Our last mission was not only to free prisoners and find Aelia, but to do whatever it took to kill Abaddon and Kreios. The volcano erupted, and we thought the job was done.”
“Ten thousand years is a long time to be wrong, Alecto.”
“I searched for survivors and traces of their bloodlines but found none. Kreios and Abaddon knew us—our magic and methods. They kept themselves hidden from view.”
“And now they’ve revealed themselves when they are most powerful, and you don’t know how to fight them.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Penelope. “Lyca and Galenos are striking a blow to them as we speak.”
“Good. I hope you are prepared for the priests of Thevetat to retaliate, because it won’t take them long.” Constantine gnawed on his bottom lip. “I don’t like this. You’re on the defensive and haven’t had the time to prepare. You’re relying on a two thousand-year-old prophecy and Kreios being a traitor to his master instead of playing you like a fool.”
“We don’t have much choice. I saw the ring in Alexis’s memory,” Penelope said. “The words on it began to translate for me. This will work.”
“You don’t know the Defender very well if you believe he’s going to let you get close enough to kill a demon.” Constantine frowned at Alexis. “I thought you loved this woman.”
“I do. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop her from doing what she needs to. I’ll always stand beside her, but I’m not the heir of Poseidon. Penelope is.”
Penelope found his hand under the table and squeezed it. God, she loved it when he talked about supporting her and staying out of her way.
Constantine shook his head, then returned his gaze to Penelope. “You may live to regret that. I don’t know where the ring is. Where will you look for it next?”
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