by Cass Morris
He had been unable to find Galerius in the growing chaos, but Strato had taken a group of men up to the Aqua Appia to try and bring down water in larger numbers. Others were working to draw it up from the river; yet more were armed with axes and hooks, pulling down buildings to create firebreaks. Already, though, the flames were spreading further down the wharves, jeopardizing grain storage—alarming at any time, even more so at the onset of winter.
Through the turmoil, Sempronius’s magical senses were prickling. Water was weaker in him than Shadow, but he could feel the river to his right, the aqueduct to his left, the thin tendrils curling out from each as the bucket brigades set to work. Unfortunately, he could also feel the lack of moisture in the air, the dry snap in the wind that made wood ignite at the slightest provocation.
‘The Aventine. Of course it would be the Aventine.’ Not just the Aventine, his Aventine. He could little ignore the proximity of the fire to so many of his projects—the improvements to the docks, the Aventine Triad temple complex, the intended site of his Temple to Victoria. He did not know, of course—but he suspected. The thought made him bite the inside of his cheek as he hoisted another bucket, passing it to the legionary standing beside him.
* * *
‘You can do this. It is just as you’ve practiced, only . . . bigger. And you can do it because you must. Open a vault within yourself, like Rubellia said.’ As Latona drew on the energy of the flames, she felt a strange pulse of magic deep within the conflagration. ‘No, not a pulse . . .’ More of a crackle, as when pottery overheats in a kiln. Within the net of criss-crossing magics, something she could not identify disrupted their harmony, preventing the efforts of the assembled mages from working together optimally. When Latona reached her own magic out to probe it, to try and discover its source, she felt her control shudder.
The power flowing into her suddenly felt too much. She was full, too full, overwhelmed with it, as when she had set oil lamps ablaze. If she lost control now, with so much raw energy swirling along the Aventine docks, with such flagrant potential already ablaze, she would be facing an utter catastrophe.
‘No.’
With all her willpower, she stamped down on the compulsion. ‘I will not lose control so easily. I will not.’ Whatever fissure lurked within the flames, she could not let it shake her focus. Calling Rubellia’s teachings to mind, she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened the gates inside her. ‘Venus and Vulcan, look here . . . Vulcan, help me reach the fires. Venus, let my heart be strong enough.’
She was no longer just banking the fire, no longer trying to calm the flames back down into embers. Instead, the power flowed backwards. The expulsive energy she normally used to push flames along was instead filling her, hotter and stronger than the wisps of fire she had practiced on. It felt like swallowing sunlight, like her very blood was open and accepting the blaze into it. She should have been terrified. She wanted to laugh. A strange inebriation suffused her, tingly and pleasant despite the dire circumstances. Latona drank in the warmth, making it part of her blood.
When she opened her eyes, there was no longer a blaze in front of her. Flames licked the sky to the left and right, but the warehouse in front of her was cool and still. She swayed slightly, leaning forward to rest her hands on her thighs. ‘I am going to pay for that later.’ Latona’s lungs ached with the effort, and her fingers itched. ‘If it starts to feel like it will overwhelm me, I swear, I will go dunk myself in the Tiber.’ Her hands felt heavy as she raised them to push a sweat-damp mass of soot-stained golden hair back from her face.
Only then did she notice that the other Fire mages nearby were staring at her. ‘So,’ she thought, dropping her hands again. ‘Not entirely as inconspicuous as I might have hoped.’
The plebeian Fire-forger, who had earlier shouted at the priest, proved most practical. Moving forward to take her by the elbow, he guided her towards a side street. “If you can do that again, go. Now.”
Whether she had just impressed or terrified Aven’s other Fire mages, she would not now hesitate in front of them. Gathering the skirt of her tunic in her fists, she followed the call towards the line of warehouses along the riverbank.
As Latona passed one large and recently-painted emporium, she became acutely aware that she could not draw in another fire without expelling some energy first. ‘If I try, I’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.’ Her skin danced with a warm, crackling glow, redder and brighter than it should have been—not unpleasant or painful, but certainly strong enough to remind her of her mortal frailty.
As she turned the corner, she came across a row of citizens—plebs of the Aventine, none with any magic to them that she could see, passing buckets against the flames. It hardly made a difference; they were drawing from a public fountain, but one splash at a time did little to quell the conflagration. Latona could feel their panic, their fear, but also their determination. ‘Oh, you glories of Aven!’ Fierce pride and bravery drove them onward, and Latona swelled with admiration for them—but they were tiring, wondering how much good they could really do.
Almost reflexively, she sent a burst of heartening energy their way—and the pressure inside her eased as well. The energy she had absorbed from the flames rejoiced to find a new outlet. Latona could feel flagging limbs gain new strength, could see the buckets hoisted higher and faster. Latona had no idea if it would actually help them battle the flames more efficiently, but it helped them believe they could. And that was important, too.
She kept up the stream of encouragement, letting it feed the conviction already present in the plebeians’ hearts. Fire’s raw power settled into a new pattern, shaped and guided by Spirit, and as it flowed out of Latona, a suffusing relief took its place. Her skin cooled and the tingling sensation faded.
That thought spurred her on as much as the need to keep working against the blaze, and with new eagerness, she rounded a corner to take on another building.
* * *
Atop the Palatine Hill, Vitellia Alhena paced anxiously on the portico of her father’s domus. The flames on the Aventine were well visible from there, an effulgent orange glow beyond the rooftops. Dark clouds in a deepening sky made it seem much later in the day than it was.
Alhena’s hair was still in disarray, and she still wore only a tunic and loosely wrapped shawl, but her eyes were clear and dry. The terror had ebbed when the critical moment had passed. Nothing she could do now would protect her sister from the pain, and that realization, strangely, lightened Alhena’s soul.
She could not stop it from happening, but perhaps—perhaps—she could change the story. She had not, after all, seen the end.
Alhena looked at Mus, then nodded sharply, as though confirming something they both already knew. “Towards the Aventine, then,” she said. “I’ll need sturdier shoes than these. And a heavy cloak.” Even through the growing haze of Proserpina’s gift, Alhena remained, in essence, a practical girl.
Mus did not need to be told to move quickly.
* * *
The sun, Latona presumed, was sinking, though the sky was so dark it hardly seemed to make a difference. She had no idea how long she had been working. Her limbs were exhausted, both her heels were bleeding, and her hands were chapped from the cold—but her heart soared.
She rounded a corner, thinking that she may have reached the southern end of the fire and ought to cut back up towards the Porticus, when she stumbled, as though she had been shoved between the shoulderblades. The ground beneath her seemed to have shifted, though when she fell to her hands and knees, she discovered it perfectly solid. “What—?” Her awareness of the flames and people alike went suddenly cold, as though her magic had been severed and redirected. She gasped as something inside her lurched, like a tenterhook cast into her ribcage.
“Tsk, tsk.” An unfamiliar voice, from a man whose hooded robes covered his face. “Didn’t realize how much of yourself you were putting out
there, did you?” A derisive snort. “Spirit mages. I don’t know why everyone makes so much of you.”
The robed figure made a strange gesture with his hand. Pain shuttered through Latona’s head, like hot nails driving into her skull, and then her vision exploded in a sudden burst of white light.
XLI
She was not unconscious—not quite. Vaguely, as though it were happening to someone else, Latona felt her body lifted, hauled a short distance, then dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Only then did the world begin to piece itself back together, color and definition returning to her vision.
She seemed to be in one of the emporium warehouses. Her eyes darted immediately to the rafters, but she saw no sign of smoke nor flame. “It’s definitely her.” The same voice as before, talking to someone else: a blurry figure draped in chalky white. “I tracked her through the emporium, and it’s the same signature as—”
“Quiet, Pinarius.” When Latona was able to focus her eyesight, she recognized the other figure. Then she pushed herself up—or tried. She only made it onto her knees before she felt a seizing chest pain. An outside pressure, squeezing. “Try not to tax yourself, Lady. I need you out of my way, but I would not see you permanently harmed. I have no desire to spill patrician blood.”
“Lucretius Rabirus.” It was hard to speak with the strange, drawing pang inside her ribs. “Why—?”
“Because, Vitellia Herenniae,” Rabirus said, “you have been the mystery thorn in my side for months, though—” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “I will confess, I had no idea it would be you that Pinarius brought me.”
Though her head was wagging with exhaustion and confusion, Latona reached out with Spirit magic to get a sense of Rabirus’s aims, his purpose—but no sooner did she send out a tendril than she felt herself slammed back down. It took her a moment to realize that the effect had not been physical; she was still on her knees, but she felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her, and her vision went hazily gray again.
Rabirus shot Pinarius a look. “What was that?”
“She was trying to use magic,” Pinarius said, “to figure you out.”
A soft, chuffing laugh. “Ironic.” Rabirus strolled a bit closer to Latona. “I’ve been trying to figure her out, too.” He stood above her, looking down. Latona still felt staggered, but her jaw set in defiance. “Dictator Ocella wondered. He thought you might have untapped resources. He even had his pet mages watch you for signs. But you disappointed him. So why now?”
“I don’t know what you—”
“Don’t play coy,” Pinarius said. “I’ve enough Air in me to track the signature when it’s blazing like yours was today. Truly extraordinary, but you did call too much attention to yourself.”
“Yes.” Rabirus looked contemplative. “Apparently you’ve been leaving that signature all over the city for months now. Quelling riots, breaking up brawls . . .” A muscle in his cheek twitched, belying his false admiration. “Purging poisons.”
“You,” Latona said, making another attempt to stand. The pain in her chest was like an anchor, weighting her to the rough warehouse floor. “You tried to—”
“And now,” Rabirus overran her, “this. Putting out fires at twice the speed of a whole team of Vulcan priests and fire-forgers? Astonishing work, really. And this was supposed to go so well.”
Latona’s head was reeling, though she was no longer sure if it was from magical interference or the bizarre circumstances. “You set the fires,” Latona said. She looked to the Fracture mage. “With your help.” That was what she had felt, the fissures helping destruction along, all of his making. Fracture magic could speed things up, if a man wanted a fire to spread swiftly: a crack in an amphora of oil here, a weakened timber frame there, thatching made brittle. This man, though, went beyond that, to the dancing edge of chaos, where Fracture magic tipped past the brink of balance and into madness. The flames were only the vehicle for his purpose: panic and strife were what he bred and spread. Had anyone else had stumbled into his magical traps? Had they shaken other mages’ control as they had hers? For now she could plainly see that was what they were meant to do. Rabirus would have known the city’s mages would descend upon the Aventine in force to control the blaze, and so he instructed his creature to impede their efforts. “Monsters,” Latona said. “The both of you.”
“Do not think I did so lightly,” Rabirus said, “but sacrifices must be made. Sempronius Tarren is a menace, one who will prove a greater threat to our sacred nation than even Ocella, if he advances unchecked. Everything I have done has been to protect the city from greater evils.” The smug mockery faded, replaced by an expression at once darker and more sincere. “You know that feeling. Isn’t that what you think you’re doing? We have the same aims, even if yours are misguided.”
“Burning down the city hardly seems to be to its benefit.”
“Sometimes, a fire purges,” Rabirus shot back. “You know that. Sempronius and his dangerous ideals are the true poison, and Aven cannot be healthy while they infect her. You were right to hide your gifts from Ocella. He used mages for his personal perfidies and vendettas, not for the betterment of the city. But now, if you chose, if you followed the right advice—”
Latona shuddered at the acquisitive hunger she now saw in Rabirus’s eyes. This was the danger, this the threat she had been told to fear: owning a power that men would want to twist and use. She wet her lips, or tried to. Her mouth was parched. “If you think to gain my help in your purge,” she managed to say, “then I am afraid I must disappoint you.”
“Yet you would not so disappoint Sempronius, would you?” Rabirus asked. “Will you violate the leges magicae on his behalf? Use your influence to sway elections, to enthrall the populace? Is that why you were at the Field of Mars today?”
“I would never act with such disregard for—”
“Never say never,” Pinarius intoned.
“He has a point,” Rabirus said. Dropping his voice, he added, “After all, who would have ever thought I’d find myself in collusion with such as him? If you keep on this path, Lady, you will discover that playing this game means making very strange decisions sometimes.”
“Even if I were as morally bankrupt as your pet over there,” Latona said, with a vicious glare in Pinarius’s direction, “it wouldn’t matter. Sempronius doesn’t need illegal sorcery and underhanded tricks any more than he needed to lick the boots of a Dictator. He’s out-maneuvered you before and he will again.”
Surprisingly swift, Rabirus moved forward and seized Latona’s chin. Latona resisted the urge to bite him. “My, you are enthralled, aren’t you? How immodest.” He searched her face, making Latona ashamed not of her sweat and disarray, but of the tears that had sprung to her eyes when she spoke to defend Sempronius. “So his interest in making the most of you is not entirely political, is it?” Latona felt a shock of vindictive satisfaction from him: he felt he had hit upon something he could use, a chink in Sempronius’s armor. “Tell me, is it the compulsion of Spirit magic, that thrusts you in among powerful men? Or just average lust?”
“I never—” But Rabirus’s smirk had her own secrets knotted up in it. He had, after all, been Ocella’s right hand, there in Capraia when Latona had attended the Dictator’s command. “You’ve done far worse, just to protect your power and position,” she said. “I make no apologies for what I did to protect my family.”
“You might yet prove useful, one way or another. Ocella knew what he was about, collecting mages as he did. They do make fine political assets.” The glint of malice shone in his eyes again. “And if you prove intractable . . . You have, I think, a sister, blessed by Proserpina?”
Latona did try to bite him then, but he jerked back too quickly. Her blood raged at the threat to Alhena, and she said, in a lioness’s protective growl, “You go near her, and I swear, I will open your throat with my teeth.”
“I
f you cannot be convinced, then take a warning, Vitellia Herenniae,” Rabirus said, straightening up. “Whether you’ve been acting for Sempronius or out of some deluded notion that you’re helping the city, you would do well to abandon the efforts. It would be dangerous for you to continue. But if you put your talents to a morally appropriate use, perhaps that would wipe clean the sins of your past.” He gestured Pinarius forward. “I’ll leave you in good custody to think it over.”
As Rabirus left the warehouse, Pinarius pushed his hood back to reveal a thin face. He had a weedy look to him, almost sickly pale, with stringy gray hair sleeked back from pointy features. A bronze amulet hung at his throat, and Latona could sense malevolence pulsing from it.
Latona waited a moment, as much to pull her own senses together as to increase the odds of catching him off-guard. She dropped her head, not needing to feign fatigue, and breathed deep. However he had seized control of her power earlier, it had taken much of her strength with it. Yet there, nestled at the core of her heart, an ember still burned in reserve. As soon as she gave it a tentative probe, it woke, hungry and aching. Latona did what she could to fling the energy towards Pinarius, hoping to dazzle his senses long enough to make good her escape.
She made it about three steps.
* * *
If Sempronius thought the day was unusual already, his capacity for astonishment stretched to its utmost when Vitellia Alhena, half-dressed and looking panicked, strode up to him while he was in the middle of a bucket line. “Senator! Oh, Senator, I’m so glad—I thought I’d find you near here, but I wasn’t certain, I was just sort of following the instinct.”