“I’m going to go back and read everything pertaining to crusaders.” Penelope pushed a hand through her loose hair, her curls a riotous tangle thanks to the humidity. “It’s hard for me to read through them. I need to find a way to separate my feelings about Tim from the document, because it’s our treasure map to the ring. The biggest problem is the visions aren’t in a sequential timeline. He wrote about the crusades, but it wasn’t until we talked to Constantine that they could be connected to the Fourth Crusade specifically.”
“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You love this puzzle, despite the circumstances. This is what you’re good at. You’ll figure this out.” Marco refilled her glass. “Saints save me, you found a piece of Atlantis when everyone has discounted it as a myth. This is factual history you’re dealing with, not theoretical. You’re going to unravel this in no time.”
Penelope shook off her melancholy and lifted her glass. “You’re right. I’m awesome. I’ve got this. Cheers to finding a mystical ring and kicking a demon’s ancient ass with it.”
Marco laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”
TWO HOURS later and still buzzing from the wine she’d drunk, Penelope leaned against the wall of the glass elevator and let the view of the Archives take her breath away. She was glad to be back in her office, despite the Archives’ bad habit of rearranging her desk when she wasn’t looking. Slouching back in her chair, Penelope looked over the glass wall that had become their timeline for the ring.
Alexis had added notes and a number under Constantine. They had numbered each of Tim’s visions in order to reference them in a way they both understood, and the number Alexis scrawled under Constantine’s name was a reference to Tim’s vision of the emperor. Penelope had never worked with a partner on a personal project before, and Alexis was careful of treading on her toes as they tried to unravel the visions.
Penelope turned on her laptop and opened Tim’s document. He’d mentioned crusaders more than once, but now with Constantine’s part of the story, she had a decent spot to start at. She scrolled through the document, doing her best to ignore the sick feeling she got whenever she read it.
“I thought I felt you return to the palazzo,” Alexis said as he came through the door. “How was Marco?”
“Disappointed in the wine in the Bahamas,” Penelope said. “Don’t worry. I helped him make up for it.”
Alexis chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Is research and wine a wise mix?”
“Very wise. It’s my most guarded essay-writing secret of all, and it will keep me focused on one thing instead of the usual ten.”
Alexis sat down at his own desk. “Hunting crusaders?”
“I’m trying to find the part where Tim mentioned the burning city…” She shifted her attention back to her screen.
Alexis flipped open his printed version of the document. It had color-coded tabs that Penelope tried not to make fun of. She’d never color-coded her research in her life.
“Check page four, about halfway down.” Alexis read aloud: “The city of water and spires and golden domes was burning black. Allies killing allies. Men in armor and crossed surcoats, storming into their own holy places to pry jewels and sack gold as punishment for the emperor. It has to be Constantinople. A city of golden domes burning could be mistaken for Jerusalem, except for the mention of water. Tim most likely saw the Bosphorus.”
Penelope created a comment and linked it to the passage in her document. “And this is why I love you and your beautiful, big brain.”
“That’s all?”
“Don’t worry. I appreciate all your other big, beautiful body parts too.” Penelope smiled.
A touch of color pinked Alexis’s cheekbones. He cleared his throat. “Moving along from the attack on Constantinople, Tim says: The chest in my hands was small and bound with leather straps, and when it was placed as tribute at the bald man’s feet, my name was struck off a list. The man nodded in acknowledgment, but I wanted to stand out to him, so I took the ring from my finger and offered it to him. ‘From one emperor to another, I give you a gift taken from the great Roman saint’s hand. It is said to hold mystical powers that made him invincible in battle. May it bring you the same blessing in the wars to come.’ The bald man wouldn’t have the ring long, and despite his wizard’s experiments, the ring never revealed its secrets. Even at the moment the emperor’s blood came from his mouth so red and he placed it into the hands of another, the ring didn’t change. It was never seen again by the red emperor destined to rot in his red tomb.”
Penelope spun the astrolabe on her desk as she thought. “We could make a list of emperors at the time of the Fourth Crusade and work through it?”
“It depends on how many years had passed since the crusader helped sack the city. He could have been an old man when he passed it on. It was definitely tribute or taxes he was paying, so he was noble. This line about great wars to come…a red tomb for a red emperor. I know I’m missing something.” He got out of his chair and paced. Penelope opened a new document to begin working on her list while Alexis struggled with his memories.
“It’s on the tip of my brain.” Alexis cursed and stopped pacing. “Make your list of kings and emperors, cara. I need to work this riddle out where I won’t irritate you.” He walked across the room to give her a swift parting kiss. “I’ll be back when I have an answer for you.”
He disappeared amongst the stacks, taking all of his wound-up energy with him. With a rapidly fading wine buzz, Penelope went back to work.
ALEXIS STARED AT the slab of marble on his workbench for a good thirty minutes before he picked up one of his tools. Stop stalling.
Nereus deserved her funeral stele and to have the proper rites performed. He’d put it off. With hunting the priests of Thevetat and Tim’s death, this duty had slipped lower on his to-do list than it should’ve.
As he stood unmoving, the grief Alexis had buried for his mentor and friend rose to the surface. The magic in his blood throbbed. Very slowly, he rested his chisel against the stone and began to work, his mind pulling him out into the deep river of his memory.
The first time Alexis had seen Nereus was at the Temple of Poseidon in the capital city of Atlas. Her hair had been dark then, her brown face only lightly lined. Abaddon had stood beside her, already a man past his prime, full of open and obvious distaste for the Matriarch of the Citadel of Magicians. It had already been twenty years since Poseidon had passed his mantle to Nereus, but the old elites and patriarchs of the city still struggled to believe it. Nereus was always more than a match for the court dramas she was forced to participate in.
Alexis had never dreamed of becoming a magician. He was the son of a stonemason, and his highest hope for the temple visit was to receive a few well-paid commissions as a sculptor. Instead, he’d ended up with a whole new profession.
Nereus had taken one look at the tablet he’d carved and claimed him before anyone else could. No amount of protesting from Abaddon—or Alexis, for that matter—was enough to change her mind. Alexis’s family was compensated for the loss of the extra pair of hands that turned normal work beautiful, and he’d been relocated to the Citadel of Magicians that day.
Did you see Penelope in my future even then? He had to wonder. If Penelope’s vision of Poseidon had been true, Alexis might’ve been put on this path to her. Had Poseidon done something to ensure that Nereus found Alexis and subsequently Penelope? Alexis didn’t want to even begin to contemplate that. Instead, he focused on what Nereus had told him during their first lesson together:
“Magic is an unknowable force that moves through the foundations of the world. It can be found in the most unlikely places, and the magician cannot hope to understand it, only to respect it. It will shape who you are, pull your life apart only to rebuild it once more, and tie you to people in ways you can’t imagine. Your fate will change and change again, because ultimately, you are its servant, not its master. We are keepers of the flame, not the fla
me itself.”
His life changed the day she’d taken him as an apprentice.
Poseidon had seen a vision of the rise of Thevetat and the fall of Atlantis—and the time it would take for Penelope to arrive to stop the demon prince once and for all. The moíra desmós between them proved that magic had joined their fates together, but it didn’t mean they had no choice but to love each other. Alexis smiled wryly; even Poseidon couldn’t have made that happen. Nereus and Poseidon put them on their paths toward each other, which he would always be grateful for, but Nereus had also seen her own death at Abaddon’s hands and hadn’t said anything to him.
“I’m so angry at you for that,” Alexis muttered to the cold marble. “We could’ve changed that fate if you hadn’t been so damn stubborn.”
She’d wanted to finally die. He could understand that; he’d contemplated destroying himself more than once over his long life. But if it had been as simple as that, Nereus would’ve committed suicide. No, she had to die by Abaddon’s hand as a catalyst for the final battle with Thevetat in the hope of ending him once and for all. What a burden to carry.
Alexis’s back prickled with sweat. He pulled off his shirt and kept carving. It had been a long time since he’d carved—especially a funeral stele—but his hands remembered, the picture in his mind’s eye growing with every tap of his chisel and hammer. The physical work felt good, his muscles stretching as the old craft came back to him. As always, sculpting allowed him to move into an almost meditative state, and his mind opened up to other things.
The visit with Constantine had been eye-opening, though Alexis still didn’t know how he felt about seeing his old friend again. Constantine, despite his many flaws, had never given up on him, and something akin to guilt had been sitting uneasily in Alexis’s stomach ever since. Constantine’s God preached forgiveness, and maybe after hundreds of years, the unyielding emperor who never forgot a slight had finally learned how to do it. Penelope’s words about how lonely immortality must be stuck with him the most. Alexis had always had the other magicians, whether he wanted them or not, but Constantine had no one.
If Abaddon was as connected as he seemed, would he know of Constantine’s continued existence? Maybe he should invite him to stay at the palazzo until this was over. On the other hand, if he did that and Abaddon didn’t know about Constantine, he would be painting a target on his back.
“Constantine has stayed alive this long. He can take care of himself. He’s not an idiot,” Alexis said aloud as he reached for a different sized chisel. If things became too dangerous, he’d extend the invitation, even if he doubted Constantine would willingly subject himself to any kind of protection or cohabitation with Phaidros and Aelia—which was another problem he didn’t know how to solve or help with.
Perhaps keep your big nose out of it? Nereus’s voice said in the back of his mind. She was right, as she always was. When they arrived back in the palazzo, Alexis had checked on Phaidros and learned that Aelia had closed herself off in her wing. He hadn’t pushed her to come out. In a day or so, Aelia would emerge and pretend that whatever had happened in Badija didn’t bother her in the slightest, and everyone would pretend along with her to keep the peace.
“Oh, Nereus, how did you put up with us for so long?” Alexis murmured to her shade. A cackle of amusement came in reply.
Alexis turned his thoughts away from the never-ending emotional saga of Phaidros and Aelia and focused on getting the edges of his border just right.
The lines of Tim’s vision unfurled in Alexis’s mind: From one emperor to another, I give you a gift taken from the great Roman saint’s hand. There were many self-styled emperors during that time, from England to Jerusalem and back again. Penelope would find them all, her intrepid mind not resting until it was done.
…despite his wizard’s experiments, the ring never revealed its secrets. Which wizard? There weren’t many that would’ve been bold enough to use such a title during the thirteenth century and not be branded as a heretic. Maybe that had simply been Tim’s interpretation of the figure he’d seen. At the time, there were many alchemists, and the studies of the sciences were becoming more active through Europe in some courts that embraced the practical knowledge to explain the mystical phenomenon. Science and magic were yet to be mutually exclusive practices.
It was never seen again by the red emperor destined to rot in his red tomb.
A red tomb—that was something unique if it wasn’t a metaphor. Alexis reviewed the facts: a bald, red emperor with a red tomb, who had a wizard in his court to do experiments.
Alexis’s chisel slid off the edge of the marble in surprise. “Fucking Frederick.”
THAT EVENING, the magicians and Marco met in the floating courtyards for dinner. It was the first time they were all meeting together since their separate adventures, and Zo’s hosting flare was in full force.
Alexis sat next to Penelope, fondly remembering the last time they’d all eaten there. He’d already been half in love with her. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her in the gorgeous green dress Aelia made her wear. That night, Penelope had kissed him with so much passion, he’d almost given in and begged to spend the night with her. He was glad his self-control had held out. Penelope was worth courting properly, and every day she made him want to be a better man to deserve her.
Alexis listened with only half of his attention as the trip to the Bahamas was discussed in detail and Penelope spoke of their visit to see Constantine. Phaidros and Aelia were careful not to look at each other, the latter wedged in between Zo and Marco. Alexis tried not to sigh in frustration; whatever was happening between Aelia and Phaidros was still unresolved.
“You seem unusually quiet, Defender,” Zo said as he refilled Alexis’s wine.
“That’s his plotting face,” said Lyca, looking at him over her plate of spit-roasted lamb.
Phaidros smirked. “No, that’s his thinking about Penelope naked face.”
Aelia shook her head. “I’m pretty sure it’s both.”
“You’re all ridiculous.” Alexis shook his head.
“And wrong,” Penelope interrupted. “That’s Alexis’s I’ve solved a mystery, and I’m waiting for everyone to shut up so I can tell them face.”
Alexis kissed her cheek. “You are right as always, amore.”
“I hope I get a prize.” She winked.
“Out with it, Alexis. What have you learned?” asked Marco.
“With Constantine’s help, we figured out the ring was stolen from his tomb at the Church of the Apostles during the Fourth Crusade, and that it came back to Europe,” Alexis explained. “One of Tim’s visions spoke about the crusader then giving it to a bald emperor.”
Penelope reached for more bread. “There were also lots of weird references to wizard’s experiments and red tombs.”
“With a bit of time to think, I figured out that there’s only one bald emperor whose court had a wizard and ended up in a red tomb,” said Alexis.
“Michael fucking Scot.” Zo glowered from the other side of the table.
“And his myopic, heretic master Frederick II of Sicily.”
The magicians let out a collective groan. Marco gave Penelope a puzzled look, but she only shrugged.
“Okay, so who are they?” Penelope looked at Zo in alarm. “You know there’s not a lot past the Peloponnesian War that has ever held my attention for long. Wasn’t Michael Scot in Dante’s Inferno? You put him in Hell?”
“He put himself there,” muttered Zo. “Dio, this conversation is going to give me indigestion; I just know it.”
“You’ll be fine,” Penelope said before giving Alexis’s knee a squeeze. “Tell us.”
“Frederick II was the king of Sicily from about AD 1198 to 1250 and was even the Holy Roman Emperor for a time,” Alexis said. “Think of him as a somewhat madder Rudolf II. He was fascinated with mysticism and the sciences, and his court welcomed leaders in such fields.”
“Crazy people and heretics, he means
,” said Phaidros.
“Like Michael Scot.” Alexis gave Zo a warning look not to interrupt before continuing. “Some people claim Michael was the greatest of polyglots, astrologers, and intellects of his day. He was about fifty years old by the time his travels landed him in Sicily and got Frederick’s attention.”
“A union of reprobates,” Zo added.
Alexis threw up his hands in defeat. “You tell the story if you’re so determined to interrupt me.”
“Well, you’re taking too long. Michael Scot thought himself a genius and had Frederick believing his bullshit to the point that they began their experiments.”
“Experiments?” Penelope’s voice was unsure, as if she could already sense the horrors coming. Alexis curled a comforting arm around her.
Zo nodded. “It started with calculating the distance between heaven and Earth, writing astrology charts for members of the court, and discussing mathematics with Fibonacci.”
“Right up until Frederick started to get really fucking weird,” Aelia muttered.
Zo clinked his glass to hers. “Exactly. The questions he put to Scot took a dark turn. How much does a soul weigh? What does it look like? It seemed innocent enough, until they decided to lock a prisoner in a wine cask with a hole in the top, so that when he died, they could see if his soul escaped through it. He also liked to send his prisoners to do various tasks, like hunting and eating and sleeping, and then have them disemboweled to see who digested their food better.”
“That was nothing compared to the children.” Phaidros’s eyes darkened. “Frederick somehow got it in his head that if an infant were raised without human interaction, they would revert to the proto-language that was first spoken in Eden. He wouldn’t allow their poor nurses to speak to them or suckle them or even let them be bathed. Without that love and nurturing, the babies died, but Frederick only cared that his experiment didn’t work. If I had known about them before they were all dead, I would’ve killed the monsters who did that to such innocents.”
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