7

Sebastian recalled that first time he entered Roskosh Manor. He had felt awed, perhaps even daunted by its opulence. The lush rugs, the sensuous oil paintings, the gilded frame mirrors, and the profusion of oil lamps had made it immediately clear that he was somewhere special.

But to compare Roskosh Manor to the imperial palace of Magna Alto would be like comparing a child’s scribble to a great work of art. Lady Prozorova had no doubt made a valiant effort, but any attempts to achieve the sort of splendor Sebastian saw now would have been doomed from the start. Her heavy rugs and coarse oil paintings would have seemed as odious in these glorious halls as piles of dung.

The polished marble floors of the palace gleamed with inlaid gold. Some walls, and even parts of the ceiling, were covered in intricate stained glass that allowed the generous Aureumian sunlight to cascade into the space like the gentle fingers of God Himself. The sections not taken by windows were painted with vast delicate frescoes. There was so much color and life everywhere Sebastian looked that his heart began to ease. He found it difficult to imagine that anything truly terrible could take place amid such magnificence.

But when he glanced back at Vittorio, his worry returned. The ex-commander walked at the same even pace as everyone else, but there was now something wild in his eyes. It reminded Sebastian disconcertingly of his sister’s expression when she’d been in the heat of battle in Gogoleth. There was an almost feral desperation about him. Fight or flight. There was little hope of flight now, of course. But what about fight? Vittorio had professed his love for the empress many times, but Sebastian knew from experience that love could transform into hate when one felt betrayed. It was difficult to imagine, but might he attempt to attack the empress once they stood before her? Could the stress of their current circumstances make him that unstable?

Sebastian glanced over at Zaniolo, but the general did not seem the least bit worried. In fact, there was an eagerness in his expression, as though he greatly looked forward to what would come next. Did he think that Vittorio deserved whatever harsh fate lay in store for him? Once again, it felt disloyal to contemplate such things. And yet, when Sebastian thought about it, he realized that a soldier’s loyalty should ultimately be to the empress, not a commander, regardless of past circumstances.

Captain Leoni led them through winding passages until they reached a set of closed double doors guarded by two soldiers, who immediately opened the way.

“We are eagerly expected,” murmured Zaniolo.

A long rectangular room lay beyond lined on either side with marble columns. The wall at the far end contained a massive stained glass window that appeared to depict the story of the Ascendance, when Emperor Alessandro was rescued from the treacherous senators by God. Within the image, the emperor, dressed in a white robe, looked serene while a giant hand lifted him up into the heavens. Far below, dressed in black robes, the senators shook their fists and seemed to shout in silent fury while flames curled around their feet.

The sunlight through this glass tableau shone down on the throne and illuminated Caterina Morante the First, Empress of Aureum. She looked to be about Commander Vittorio’s age, with hair as dark as Sonya’s, but streaked in gray and pulled back into a tight braid that allowed a few tresses to lay artfully across her shoulders. Her gown was white and gold brocade, with ruffled sleeves that stopped midway down her arms. Her olive complexion was similar to his own, and her eyes were a warm brown. Her posture was erect, almost stiff, but there was a startlingly amused expression on her full red lips, and one of her sculpted black brows was raised in a playful arch.

Behind the empress was a line of soldiers in burnished gold-plated chest armor and helmets, with long red capes draped over one shoulder. They wore jewel-encrusted sabers at their hip, and fixed to one arm was a small golden shield with the falcon crest of the empress. Sebastian thought it likely that these were the imperial honor guard. Merely looking at them set Sebastian’s mind more at ease. Even if Vittorio went into an uncontrollable rage, there was little he could do against such a formidable group of soldiers.

Captain Leoni led them slowly and with great solemnity toward the empress and her honor guard. But his gravity seemed at odds with the empress’s obvious amusement. Perhaps Sebastian’s first impression had been correct after all, and nothing truly terrible could happen in such a beautiful setting.

Once they stood before the empress, Leoni dropped to one knee. The rest followed suit, except Sebastian’s mother, who gave a deep curtsy.

“Your Majesty,” said Leoni. “I have returned with Franko Vittorio, former commander of the imperial garrison in Izmoroz, and his company, as requested.”

“Please rise.” The empress’s voice had a rich, velvety quality to it.

They all stood immediately.

“Captain Leoni,” she continued. “As always, I am grateful for the stalwart and thorough service rendered to me by the Forty-Sixth Imperial Cavalry. It is a comfort to know I can always count on you and your men to fulfill my wishes exactly.”

Leoni gave a sharp salute. “It is my privilege to serve, Your Majesty!”

The empress’s eyes locked on Sebastian in a way that made him slightly uncomfortable, though he could not say why. While her words sounded formal, her expression remained playful and amused.

“I have no doubt that you are Sebastian Turgenev Portinari, son of Giovanni Portinari. Dressed as you are in imperial uniform, you seem the very image of your father as a young man.”

“You honor me, Your Majesty.” Sebastian wasn’t sure if he was even still a captain of the imperial army. But he decided it was better safe than sorry and saluted.

The empress turned to Sebastian’s mother. “And this handsome woman must be Giovanni’s widow, Lady Irina Turgenev. I see he was able to find the true beauty of the northern lands.”

Sebastian’s mother curtsied deeply again. “You are most gracious, Your Majesty.”

“You have my condolences for the loss of your husband. Know that I too grieved, as did the whole empire with me. Though retired, the premature death of one of the greatest military minds of our age was truly a tragedy.”

Premature? wondered Sebastian. Hadn’t the empress ordered his father’s death?

As if in answer to his question, the empress’s gaze shifted to Vittorio, and all her amusement and playfulness vanished. Her voice took on a hard edge as she spoke to him.

“I believe that was the first of your many transgressions since assuming command in Izmoroz, Franko.”

Sebastian had been so transfixed by the empress that he hadn’t paid any attention to Vittorio. So he was startled when his former commander groaned like a wounded beast and fell to his hands and knees. His expression still held a desperate energy, but the wrath had been replaced with agony, as if the reprimand from the empress caused him physical pain.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty! I know I have no right, but I throw myself upon your mercy. Please, give me one more chance! Please!”

Sebastian stared at Vittorio as he groveled on the cold marble floor. In all the time he’d known him, he’d never seen such self-demeaning behavior. The man he had once considered the very pinnacle of manly grace was now behaving like a spoiled child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

And what did the empress mean by the first of his many transgressions?

Empress Caterina watched him grovel for several moments in silence, her face unreadable.

At last she spoke. “These theatrical acts of contrition may have worked on me in the past, Franko, but no longer.”

Then her expression curled into distaste.

“Antonio, make the dog stand on his hind legs, please.”

“At once, Your Majesty!” One of the honor guard came forward and roughly yanked Vittorio to his feet.

The ex-commander stared at the empress with wide, pleading eyes. He truly did look like a contrite puppy.

“Franko, enough.” The empress seemed barely able to look at him. “The more allowances I make, the worse you become. I simply cannot give you any more chances. First, you killed Commander Portinari without my authorization.”

“What?”

Sebastian knew he had promised Zaniolo that he’d only speak when spoken to, but the exclamation slipped out before he could stop himself.

The empress turned to him and her expression softened. “Did you think I would order the death of one of the greatest living heroes of the empire? Is that what he told you?”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

Her expression darkened. “I see. And I suppose he also neglected to mention that after I learned of the tragedy, I commanded that you and your family be brought immediately to Magna Alto. Is that so?”

Sebastian once more felt the stirring of guilt at betraying his former mentor—but no. What loyalty should he feel to the man who lied about his own culpability in his father’s death? What else had his supposed mentor lied about?

So with new resolve, Sebastian said, “That is correct, Your Majesty. He told me I had been ordered to stay in Izmoroz and fight off the Uaine invaders.”

The empress’s baleful expression turned back to Vittorio, who was still held in Antonio’s grip.

“So you not only ignored my orders, but contradicted them. You were just going to throw Giovanni’s sixteen-year-old son at the Uaine?”

Vittorio cringed. “Please, Your Majesty, I am a fool, a weak, pathetic—”

“Silence. I have not finished listing the new crimes we may now add to your already long list of transgressions. You will hear them all.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” There was a hollow misery now etched into Vittorio’s expression.

“I have also been informed that you beat several subordinate officers nearly to death without provocation. And of course, you not only failed your mandate to maintain peaceful rule in Izmoroz, but lost it to the Uaine Empire. Now, thanks to your incompetence, a horde of leering undead are practically at our doorstep. What’s more, word of the success of the Izmorozian insurgency is spreading to other territories, which might well incite further unrest elsewhere. All of this you have done after I so generously gave you the chance to make amends for your atrociously poor judgment as captain of my honor guard when you killed a valued subject of mine in one of your childish fits of rage!”

She paused for a moment to collect herself, during which time Vittorio remained silent, his eyes staring unseeingly at the floor.

The empress’s expression softened slightly. “Even after all your misdeeds and failures, Franko, if you had simply fled to Victasha or braved the Ocean of Loss, I would not have pursued you. Instead you knowingly broke your banishment and returned to Aureum because you had the arrogance to believe you could still wheedle your way back into my heart.”

“My empress…,” he moaned.

She shook her head sadly. “I was fond of you once, Franko. But you have squandered that affection so profoundly that there is nothing left of it.”

“Please, Your Majesty!” He tried to step forward, but Antonio gripped his arm, preventing him getting any closer. “Everything I do is out of love for you.”

“The only thing you love is yourself,” she told him.

He continued to strain against Antonio’s grip as he spoke. “No, Caterina! I swear I love you more than life itself! I would do anything for you! I worship you! God knows that I speak the truth!”

The empress came suddenly to her feet, her expression furious. “How dare you blaspheme!”

“It is no blasphemy, Your Majesty!” cried Vittorio. “I swear to God that my whole life has been dedicated to you!”

“Is that so?” Her expression cooled as she continued to look at him. “I had other punishments in mind, but since you insist that God be your witness, we will let God be your judge. Tomorrow at dawn, you will be flung from the highest tower in Magna Alto. Perhaps God will save you, just as he did my great-grandfather.”

Vittorio stared at her, his mouth working but no sound coming out. Clearly he had not expected a death sentence.

She turned her back on him. “Take him away.”

Antonio pulled him toward the doors, and he stumbled along, looking numb.

The empress looked at Zaniolo, as if seeing him for the first time. Her expression and tone became brisk and businesslike. “General, I expect a thorough debriefing on the debacle in Izmoroz within the hour.”

Zaniolo bowed smoothly. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You!” Vittorio was nearly to the exit, but stopped short, his face twisted into the purple fury Sebastian had seen at the battle at Sestra River. He struggled against Antonio’s grasp as he shouted at Zaniolo. “Traitor! Rat! You were spying on me the whole time?”

Zaniolo gave one of those inscrutable smiles. “Now, now, Franko. Surely you didn’t think Her Majesty would give you command of even such a minor territory as Izmoroz without some supervision. Not after your history. If so, you were an even bigger fool than I thought.”

Vittorio bellowed with incoherent rage and became so frantic, a second honor guard had to assist Antonio in dragging him out of the room.