CLAUDIA

She stood in the plaza, so antsy she hopped on her heels. The sun was already low in the sky, sinking toward the sea. Where was he? Across Gefen, boys were climbing ladders to light lanterns that hung from poles. Vendors stood in the plaza and along the boardwalk beyond, hawking sweet apples and honey, fig cakes still steaming from the oven, and fresh dates and apricots. Her mouth already watered. Claudia was a wealthy girl. At sixteen, she was probably the wealthiest person in Gefen. And yet she waited. She wanted him to buy her a treat. To hold her hand, to guide her along the boardwalk, to count the stars with her, to dream with her. To kiss her.

Claudia's excitement grew. It had been days since she had seen the boy—days! And she kept replaying it in her mind, their kiss on the beach last week. His confident lips. The tingle as those lips brushed her ear. His long fingers stroking her. He had such beautiful hands, strong and wide, and already a part of her mind—that naughty part that made Claudia blush—wondered at what lay beneath his tunic.

She tapped her feet, clasping her fingers. They would miss the sunset! Where was he? Claudia had worn her favorite stola for him. It was silk—actual silk, the only silk garment in Zohar, she'd wager. It had cost her family a fortune. House Valerius was old and wealthy, owners of quarries and vineyards in the Aelarian countryside. And even to them, silk—imported from the mythical lands far east of Sekadia—was a luxury. Yet Claudia had donned this garment for him, for this silly boy who set her heart aflutter. The fabric was azure, trimmed with white. She felt like she wore the sky. She had paired the stola with a necklace of sapphires, and she had spent an hour in front of the mirror, carefully arranging curls of her brown hair across her forehead, fastidious as a centurion arranging soldiers, keeping the rest of her hair secured in a diamond-encrusted net.

She stood here in Gefen, this port city in Zohar, a barbarous land far from the light of the Empire. She was a rose of Aelar growing from the desert. The people around her had olive-toned skin, while hers was pale as cream. Their language was guttural, so harsh to her ears, unlike the melodious language she spoke at home. They wore only rough cotton, even the women, and knew nothing of style and fashion and beauty. And yes, her lover was Zoharite too. He was a barbarian, a swarthy desert warlord, but fuck the gods, he wouldn't leave her dreams. In some of those dreams, he grabbed her, slung her across his horse, and rode off with her to the wild deserts, where they battled demons and dragons and made love—real love, like husbands and wives—among the dunes.

Finally—finally he appeared! Epher walked into the plaza by the boardwalk, wearing only a rough tunic, a leather belt, and sandals. His black hair was neatly cropped, and he smiled to see her. He carried a jug under his arm, its clay painted with vines.

"You're late!" she said.

He kissed her cheek, her barbarian boy. "The sun hasn't yet set. You're early."

They walked through the plaza, and she pointed at things she wanted—an apricot, a cake drizzled with honey, and a bracelet of seashells. Trifles. Cheap gifts for the commoners. But they were from him, and they were precious. They walked from the plaza down a cobbled road to the boardwalk, where he bought her a handful of fresh oysters, which they shucked with a small knife. She loved oysters, loved the feel of them wriggling down her throat. Epher tried one and nearly gagged, then let her eat the rest.

"Look, Epher, the sun's about to sink into the water." She pointed, tossed the empty shells aside, and tugged him up. "Come on!"

They ran off the boardwalk and along the sand. A few fishermen were still here—did the brutes not realize they were ruining her night? She dragged Epher farther away from them, until they stood alone on the wet sand, seashells spreading around them. The sun sank into the water, a shimmering jewel all in orange and gold, and they kissed.

"Lucky kiss," she whispered. "If we kissed just as the sun sank into the sea, it means we'll be together forever. That's how it goes."

He nodded. "That's how it goes."

As the stars emerged, they walked along the beach, leaving the boardwalk behind, walking until the lights of Gefen were just a twinkle in the distance. The beach spread out, and the moon shone on the waves. They walked until they found an old shipwreck, perhaps a galley destroyed in the war when they had been very young. In that war, their people had fought each other, but now Claudia loved him, this son of her enemy. They ran through the shipwreck, climbed a mast, kissed again. His hands explored her body, such strong hands. Then they lay on the beach, drinking wine from his jug, and she didn't even care that she got sand on her silk. She made love to him there, lying on the stola as if it were a mere blanket, and it was scary and wonderful and hurt and felt so good, and when it was done, she nestled against him, trailing her fingers down his chest.

"Do you love me, Epher?" she asked.

He nodded. "I love you." And he made love to her again, and Claudia knew—knew for certain, because of the kiss in sunset, because of everything—that he would love her always.

"If you want me," he whispered. "I will surrender myself."

She raised her crossbow.

"I want you dead." Her tears streamed, and she pulled her trigger.

And she wept.

And her bolt tore into his head, and his torch fell, and his flames burned her, flames of their lost love, their hatred, their madness.

The sun set into the sea, kindling the water, and set fire to the world. The flames rose from the sand, wrapped around her, burned her, kissed her.

"Our love will burn the world," he whispered, and she kissed him again and again as he held her in his arms.

"Our hatred will shatter kingdoms," she whispered, tears seared dry, and screamed, screamed as the fire burned.

She screamed as they carried her from the burning siege tower. She screamed as healers rubbed balms into her wounds. She screamed as the city walls crashed down, as a demon of darkness rose before her, wreathed in smoke, mocking her, finally shattering and rising as ten thousand crows. She screamed because she had killed the man she loved, because she hated what she had done, because she knew she would forever bear the scars of his love.

She slept. She sank into deep darkness like the midnight sea with no moon. She floated in the water, so cold, shivering, and woke up feverish to see the walls of a tent, bandages on her arm and leg, healers clucking over her, and she sank again, and she sank beneath those midnight waves. In their darkness floated all those dreams. Dreams of a girl born by the sea, raised a foreigner in the desert. A girl in love. A girl mourning. A girl killing. The dead faces danced around her: the thousands in Gefen, her mother, the boy she had slain on the hill, her lumer strangled, and Epher . . . Epher with her crossbow bolt in his face, Epher kissing her, fading from her, falling where she could not follow.

I want you to die.

And she had wept.

I want you to die.

And she had lied.

I want you to live. I want you to be who you were. I want us to be those youths again, stupid, innocent, in love by the water. What did we know of nations or war? We were a prince and princess of lies. We were always doomed to burn.

Finally those waves cast her ashore, and Claudia rose from the bed in her tent. Wounds still covered her left side, wrapping around her arm, her torso, her leg. She didn't know where this tent stood, didn't know if the battle still raged, didn't know how long had passed, didn't know if Epher still lived. With trembling fingers, she pulled back one of the bandages on her leg. It came free with a wet, sticky sound and blazing pain. Swollen welts rose across her leg, white in the center, puffed like blisters, fading to red and black.

Your torch did this, Epher, she thought.

Grimacing, she rose from bed. Every movement blazed like new torches shoved against her. She pawed through her cabinets, shoved items off her tables, rummaged through her packs, and finally found her handheld mirror. When she looked at her reflection, she laughed. She laughed until she wept again.

"Look what your fire did to me, Epher," she said, tears dripping down the grooves that crawled across her cheek and neck. "Forever your love has scarred me. But that's all right, Epher. That's all right. I don't need to be beautiful for anyone but you."

She stepped out of her tent, finding herself outside Beth Eloh. The rocky mountainside sloped around her, fading into northern hills and eastern dunes. Before her lay the shattered wall and gatehouse of the city. Sunset kindled the fallen bricks, smashed towers, and cracked battlements. Limbs still rose from the ruin, coated with dust. The legionaries had carved a path through the wreckage into the city, and many stood along the way, guarding the entrance.

"Domina!" said an officer, approaching her. "Domina Claudia, blessed be the gods! The healers told us you would sleep for three days, and—"

"Is he alive?" Claudia grabbed the man. "Is the Rat King alive?"

The officer swallowed and nodded. "Yes, domina. The rebel Epheriah lives again. Men say that he died. They speak of a demon of smoke that rose from the ruins, returning his life to him. They say Epheriah is possessed by ancient evil, only half living. He fled to the Mount."

Claudia took a shaky breath, and her fingers tingled, and the burns beneath her bandages blazed.

Good, she thought. Good, Epher. If you live, I can hurt you more.

She would not kill him here, she decided. No. She would take him with her to Aelar. She would take him into the Amphitheatrum and display him before a hundred thousand spectators. She would cut off his cock, which he had so loved to thrust into her. She would slice open his belly and pull out his entrails. She would leave him to die on a cross, emasculated, disemboweled, while the crowd cheered for her, for their love, for her triumph.

"Bring me a horse!" she barked.

She returned to her tent, slapped on her breastplate, grabbed her helmet and sword, then mounted the horse they brought her. She rode through the shattered pathway and into Beth Eloh.

She had been in this city many times. Growing up in Gefen, just a three-day ride away, she had often visited Beth Eloh with her father, the ambassador to Zohar—sometimes several times a year. But she had never seen the streets like this. Beyond the wreckage of the gatehouse, legionaries lined the streets, a man at every corner. Corpses lay strewn across the cobblestones, some missing limbs, others dripping organs. The people of Beth Eloh cowered in their homes, crammed together like pigs in a cart, pressed up against the windows, crowding on the rooftops, praying softly. Claudia could hear the sound of distant battle, and she kneed her horse, riding faster until the homes and workshops and silos all blurred at her sides. The world faded to fog, to pain, to memories. She felt like she rode through the underworld, seeking in the murk Plutonia, the goddess of death.

Finally Claudia reached the wall that surrounded the Mount of Cedars. It was even thicker and taller than the wall around the city, lined with bulky towers and barracks, topped with crenellations. Claudia had passed under this wall before, and she remembered not just a gateway but a veritable tunnel. Here was a massive fortress that surrounded the Mount. The Zoharites had always been paranoid, always been cowards, building prisons for themselves to lurk within, peering in fright at the world beyond. Millennia of wars had driven them to build these massive fortifications.

But across the ages, they had never faced the might of Aelar. They had never faced her might—a woman scorned, burnt, a woman with nothing but wrath in her heart.

One cannot hate purely unless one has loved, Claudia thought. One can only truly hate—hatred unblemished by ignorance or doubt—one whom they've opened their hearts to.

She stared up, and she saw him there on the wall. Her Epher. He stared down at her, a bow in his hand.

The sun is setting, she thought. You're late.

"You cannot kill me, Epher!" she shouted. "Like a phoenix, I rise from the flame! You cannot hide from me. You're coming home with me, Epher. We're going to Aelar. We're going to your death in the arena. Soon we'll be together again."

He fired an arrow. It flew toward Claudia, but she did not move, she would not fear him. His arrow hit her breastplate over her heart and shattered into countless shards.

She turned toward Constantius, the Iron Eagle, the man with the prosthetic talon and beaked helmet. He rode his horse up to her side, clattering in his suit of dark metal.

I am burnt like him now, she thought. A creature. A machine of malice.

"We scale these walls," Claudia told the general. "Build ladders. Bring rams."

Constantius's eyes were dark. "The Mount's walls are thicker than those around the city. Rams will not break them. Ladders are easy to send falling."

She snorted. "We shattered the outer walls, and we'll shatter these."

Constantius looked toward the Mount, then back at her. His voice dropped. "The men speak of a demon, domina. A creature woven of darkness and smoke, a giant who shattered the walls. I myself saw . . . something. Something unholy."

"The only demon here is Epheriah, King of Rats. And we'll root him out of his hole. Legions!" She raised her voice. "Break the walls! Bring Epheriah to me!"

Battering rams and catapults rolled down the street. With tumbling stones, with thudding wood and metal, with screams and with blood, the war continued.