CLAUDIA

She sat astride her horse, a thin smile on her face, watching her legions devastate the walls of Beth Eloh.

The horse whinnied and bucked beneath her, and Claudia tightened her legs around it, inhaling sharply through her nostrils. She had always found something intoxicating, almost sexual about riding horses, about watching horses mate in the field, about taming a beast to serve her. When she had ridden Epher, as he had clutched her breasts, as she had dug her fingers into his chest, she had often imagined herself riding a stallion across the fields of afterlife, golden with glory. Now all the glory of the earth would be hers. Now she would truly tame the beast. Now she would bring Epher to his knees before her.

"I will kill you last, Epher," she whispered. "Not before you watch this city destroyed, before you watch me kill all your people, before you beg me, beg to die as my whips and blades tear into you."

She licked her lips. Yes, she would hurt him. She would fuck him as many times as she liked. She would make him please her, make him beg, make him her lover and her slave—and then a corpse, nothing but a stinking corpse like her mother.

"You Zoharites murdered her," Claudia said, sneering, eyes burning. "Now every last one of you will pay."

Around her, the catapults hurled boulders. The stones rolled across the sky. Some slammed into the city walls, chipping bricks, shattering merlons. A turret tore free and crashed down the wall, spilling its Zoharite archers. Other boulders sailed over the walls, and the screams rose from within the city, and dust plumed in clouds. Across the mountainsides, the legions were rolling forth siege towers, wooden beasts as tall as temples, coated with leather and iron. Battering rams swung at walls and gates, chipping stone and metal. The wrath of five legions surrounded Beth Eloh, pounding the city with the might of an empire.

With my might, Claudia thought. My might that you will tremble before, Epher.

She closed her eyes, remembering him. They had been only fifteen when they had fallen in love, barely more than children. He had been so scrawny, gangly, not yet sure if he was man or boy. He had accompanied his father, Jerael Sela, into Claudia's home, come to speak to Tirus of trade and taxes. Claudia had smiled at him, touched his arm, flirted with him, pulled him away from the house and down to the beach. They had walked there all day, shirking their duties. Epher had been so nervous, just speaking of returning to the home, of needing to help his father, to learn from the men, and he would not shut up until Claudia had kissed him. It had been her second kiss, his first, and after the initial awkwardness they had spent hours kissing on that beach. It was there on that same beach, on another summer, that they had first made love.

Yes, it was making love, Claudia thought. Because I loved you. I still do. You could have ruled this city with me, Epher. Now I will shatter every stone and skull in Beth Eloh.

Thousands of legionaries stood around her, row by row, waiting to enter the city. Beth Eloh was small compared to Aelar, only a tenth of the size. Yet hundreds of thousands of Zoharites crowded within the walls, maybe even a million—the city's original inhabitants and Zoharite refugees from across the land. All of Zohar had gathered within this shell of stone, ready for the slaughter. Claudia snorted. The fools should have dispersed across the wilderness, hiding in deserts and caves. Now she would wipe them all out with a single strike.

She watched a boulder slam into the battlements, tearing down merlons. A siege tower rolled up to a wall, and a gangplank dropped down. Legionaries spilled out from the tower onto the wall, clashing with the Zoharite defenders. The dead rained. Countless arrows filled the sky, falling upon the legionaries. Boulders, bubbling oil, and barrels of fire crashed down from the battlements, slamming into legionaries. The dead piled up and the assault continued. Claudia frowned as the siege tower burned, yet more of the wooden structures kept lumbering toward the walls, and soon blood splashed the battlements. The arrows kept sailing from the guard towers, and the rams kept slamming at the gates.

In the afternoon, hours into the battle, a legionary rode toward her from the fray. General Constantius was a tall, gaunt man, all in iron. They said that an old fire had claimed him. A helmet now hid his scarred face, shaped like an eagle's head, thrusting forth a cruel black beak. One of his hands was gone; instead the arm sprouted an iron prosthetic shaped as an eagle's talon, sharp and stained with old blood. The Iron Eagle, they called him. A general of legendary cruelty. They said that after the barbarian had cut off his hand, Constantius had invaded the man's village, grabbed his family, and flayed them alive—his wife, his children, even a baby—then left the skinless family to die in gibbets. Claudia hoped that story was true. And she hoped that he lost another hand in Zohar.

"Domina." Constantius bowed his head, that eagle beak thrusting downward, dripping blood. "The city is built like a fortress. We're spending good Aelarian lives on this assault. If we set siege to this city, we can starve them out within six months."

Claudia narrowed her eyes, staring at the man. She could see the scars through the holes on his helmet. She was not a soldier. She had never been to war before. But she was the daughter of Tirus Valerius, the man who would soon be emperor. She did not need to listen to common soldiers, even iron eagles.

"I don't want to wait six months, Constantius," she said. "The lives of soldiers are cheap. Time is precious. Rebellions rise around the Encircled Sea, Porcia lies dead, and Aelar is in chaos. We need to break into this city—tonight—and wipe Zohar off the map. This won't be a province of the Empire. Aelaria Orientalis will be a fucking wasteland."

Constantius shifted his weight, armor clanking. A spark of defiance filled his eyes. Claudia stared at him steadily, allowing a small, feral smile to twist her lips. He was twice her age, a hundred times more experienced in warfare, but she could stare him down.

"Domina," he began, "I would counsel you not to—"

Shouts rose behind him, cutting off his words.

Claudia stared back toward the walls. A group of Zoharites were emerging from a small gateway in the walls, howling for war, and charging toward one of the battering rams. Legionary blood spilled, and the battering ram fell with a thud. More Zoharites emerged—a hundred at least—and charged into battle.

A fucking suicide mission, Claudia thought. Several of the men came running toward her across the field, firing arrows. One arrow sailed over Claudia's head, missing her by a finger. Another slammed into her breastplate, denting the iron and chipping a golden eagle. Claudia snarled, kneed her horse, and charged toward them.

"Fucking rats!" she cried, drawing her sword as she galloped.

"Down with Aelar!" shouted a man, firing another arrow. "Down with—"

Claudia's horse plowed into him. Hooves cracked bones. She swung her sword, cutting another man's head. The blade cracked the skull. Another arrow pierced her horse, and the beast whinnied and fell. Claudia hit the ground. She rose with her sword swinging, diverting another arrow. She was no trained warrior, but she had killed before, and she could kill again. Legionaries ran around her, slamming into the Zoharites, cutting down the rebels.

Claudia shoved herself to her feet, covered in blood. An arrow had jammed into her pauldron, and she tore it free. Within moments, the Zoharite attackers were dead, though thousands still manned the city walls, and thousands still lurked within.

"I want these walls knocked down, Constantius!" Claudia shouted. "I want every one of these rats dead!"

She spun around, marched around her dead horse, and moved between the cohorts across the mountainside. Her tent rose ahead, its crimson walls embroidered with eagles. She stepped inside and breathed deeply, suddenly trembling. Her head spun. Her legs felt like wet rags. She had no stomach for this. Perhaps Seneca enjoyed this sort of brutality, but Claudia had always taken the pleasures of flesh in bed, not in battle.

"But I will learn," she whispered, fists clenched. "I killed the boy who murdered my mother. I killed the men who sought to slay me. And I will kill every last Zoharite rat in the world if I must."

She looked across the tent. Here, at least, was a little oasis of civilization. Golden statues of Camulus, god of war, and Peregrinis, god of travel, flanked a giltwood bed. Flagons of wine stood on a table between maps and daggers. A live eagle stared from a cage, a magnificent animal Claudia planned to release over the ruins of Beth Eloh. Her lumer lurked here too, collared and hobbled, kneeling on the floor.

"Stand up, rat," Claudia said. "Pour me wine."

Leean rose to her feet. She was a slight girl, shorter than Claudia, clad in burlap, her dark hair sheared short. A chain jangled between her ankles, long enough to let her walk but not run. She filled a mug and handed it to Claudia. The wine was deep red, thick, strong. Claudia gulped it down like water. She slammed the mug down.

"More."

The lumer refilled the cup, and Claudia drank again. Now her head truly spun. It was hitting her hard, too hard, the wine and fear pounding through her. The tent grew hazy around her. She stared at her second cup of wine, eyes blurred. It tilted in her hand, spilling its contents onto the floor. She felt woozy. She stumbled toward the bed, sat down hard. She blinked up at Leean, trying to bring her into focus.

"How is your wine, domina?" the lumer said.

Fucking cunt.

Claudia tried to rise from the bed. She fell back down. The tent spun madly around her. The poisoned wine spilled across the ground. Claudia blinked. Just keeping her eyes open felt like a war.

"For years, you enslaved us," Leean said, standing before her, chin raised. "For years, you took from us, brutalized us, made us your slaves. But now the lumers rise. Now we clip the wings of eagles."

The young lumer reached to the table, grabbed a jeweled dagger, and drew the blade.

Claudia cried out and managed to roll aside. The dagger slammed into the mattress, ripping the fabric.

Fucking rat! Fuc . . .

Her eyelids fluttered. The world spun.

Claudia turned back toward her assailant—too slowly. She raised her arms. Leean lashed the dagger, and the blade cut Claudia's forearm, grazing the bone.

Pain exploded, giving Claudia a burst of energy. The poisoned wine swirled through her gut. The dagger pulled back, thrust again. Leean was aiming for the neck, but Claudia managed to move back, and the blade scraped across her armor.

"You fucking whore!" Claudia shouted, trying to rise from the bed, to find her sword. "You—"

Standing up took too much energy. Her head whirled. She crashed to the ground.

Leean swooped after her like a bird of prey. The dagger sank into Claudia's thigh. She screamed.

"Die now, domina," Leean hissed, kneeling above her, driving the blade deeper. "Die, you miserable, pathetic—"

Claudia grabbed the fallen cup of wine and swung it. The clay slammed into Leean's temple and shattered. Blood spurted. Claudia could barely see. Her blood spilled. The room wouldn't stop spinning. She knew not up from down, left from right. She saw only smudges. She reached out blindly, grabbed something, swung. A side table hurled through the air, slammed into Leean, and knocked her down. The dagger fell.

Trembling, Claudia rose to her knees, bent over, and retched, vomiting out the wine, the poison, the fear. She stumbled forward, moving through blood and vomit and piss, and reached Leean.

The lumer lay on the ground, head bleeding. The girl tried to rise, to hold Claudia back. Claudia drove her knee into the girl's belly. As Leean gasped, Claudia wrapped her hands around the girl's neck. She squeezed.

Leean pawed at her. The girl kicked. She tried to reach the dagger, could not.

Claudia squeezed tighter.

The lumer's face turned red, then blue. Still she kicked madly, flailing, punching. She grabbed a fistful of Claudia's hair and tugged, ripping it out, and Claudia screamed, barely feeling the pain, the waves of poison dulling her, and still she squeezed, squeezed, squeezed until she heard a crack like snapping twigs, until Leean's face darkened to purple and gray.

"Shh . . ." Claudia whispered as the girl's flailing eased. "Shh, it's all right . . . It's all right . . ."

Slowly, Leean ceased struggling, her legs merely twitching now. Claudia leaned down and kissed the girl's forehead.

"It's all right, sweetling." She kept squeezing. "Go to sleep. Go to sleep now."

Finally Claudia could squeeze no more. Her head spun too much. Blood still flowed from her, and bad wine still roiled in her belly. She crashed down atop Leean's corpse, yet it seemed to Claudia that she kept falling, that she fell through the girl, through the ground, falling and falling into bottomless pits where no pain dwelled.

"I love you, Epher," she whispered into the chasm, imagining that she was holding his corpse, that she would never let him go.