Chapter 19

There was no mystery to how it would end, but it did not deter her. The odds were not in her favour: she was grossly outnumbered, facing those who had far more experience than her in using their powers for battle. But the pit in her stomach had widened, and it had called forth a certain angry desperation, a whirlwind of confused emotions – all of whom were fertile ground for her aether to grow and fester, and bring something forth.

There was no rhyme and reason to what she did; it was very much like a child's floundering efforts at trying to fight off an older brother. And even if her attempts culminated in strong, swift attacks, Orion was there to counter her. One, two, three times she felt his aether clash violently against hers: and each time it would end up overpowering her, leaving her more and more breathless and exhausted.

And then, a mistake, she floundered: and he was on her, restraining her as she laid on the ground breathless, eyes watering in anger and fear. He sat next to her and with a surprising tenderness given the scale of the battle they'd just engaged in, he placed her head on his lap. Without saying a word, without taking his eyes off hers, he took out his Lyre's tears and placed them on her. Ophelia gasped as she felt something go out, like a candle, inside of her – her aether grievously suppressed by his, so sudden and so surprising the shock of it made her entire body tremble.

Then it all went dark. Perhaps her body, so used to the aether it had been holding on to, could not bear the shock of its absence. Perhaps it had been him who had forced her unconscious. She'd never find out.

When she slowly came to be, the memories of the night before were almost washed away by the words of a man next to her, who was softly reading something about Elysium…

Once upon a time, the voice had begun, a warrior from a far away land called Thracia fell shamefully in battle, and was taken captive by a general from eternal Rome. He was stripped of his status, reduced to servitude, and at the side of his new master travelled to the city of Byzantium. For years he could do naught but yearn for his freedom; that is, until he met a strange woman. A priestess, bound to a goddess, triple, that resided underground. She offered her hand to him, and said: should you want your shackles gone, come to me and ready your body and your soul to experience the mysteries that hide in the deep darkness of the interior of the earth.

The warrior followed her, and in a cave far away from Byzantium and from his earthly master's eyes, he drunk and ate from the hand of three priestesses. He sacrificed for them, and they all sung and chanted spells and recitations of all sorts. But he did not see the mark in his forehead disappear, and he grew impatient. When the priestesses raised their knives to offer another sacrifice, the anger in his heart thought the worst: that he had become their victim. And so, thinking it was in his stead, he killed them, and confused and disoriented wandered into the cave, falling deeper and deeper into its recesses...

A path of blood led him to another entrance of the cave, one that was the furthest away from Byzantium as one could be… the sun greeted him once again, in a new land called Lygeum. But the warrior thought he was still in Byzantium, and he wandered on trying to find his way back to the city.

This was a different time, one of much unlawfulness and chaos. Bands of rogue thieves often roamed the countryside roads to attack unsuspecting travellers. The warrior came across one of these bands, and it was while he fought for his life that he discovered something within him had awakened… a strange power, aether, which gave him command over the natural world.

From the thieves he learnt the names of the kingdoms he was wandering about: Hatti and Ebla. To Hattusa, the grandest city in Hatti, he set forth. He joined their courtly circles offering his skills as a diplomat and a warrior. Both kingdoms were small, rife with disputes between local princes. Both in Ebla and in Hatti the Kings were powerless, and often let their corrupt officials make important state decisions.

And then, one day, a horde came from the east. They spoke various tongues, fed on horse and dog meat, and only fought with bows and spears. They were barbarians, interested in nothing but pillage and violence, and as they advanced through the roads to Hattusa they found almost no resistance from the weak, unprepared local princes and officials.

The warrior stepped up to defend his new homeland, and went from door to door in Hattusa to ask for men who would take up arms to defend their city from the hoards. Many were already fleeing, but there were those whose blood boiled at the injustice and whose bravery matched the warrior's. In total forty men joined the warrior, and armed, they stood at Hattusa's gates for three days and three nights to wait for the horde to come.

The forty men had nothing but a shield and a sword; the horde's numbers were in the hundreds, and they were all battle-mad, without fear of death. But they raised their swords bravely, and as they did so the warrior leapt forward and from his hand a dragon emerged. Its body was made of blue fire, and it burnt intensely, eating away at whatever it touched in less than a minute. It ravaged through the hoard, turning the field in front of Hattusa's gates blue in the middle of the day. No screams were heard, sudden as it was, and it remained burning whatever it could find on the bodies of the attackers. This happened on a Wednesday, which was called Doria's day by the Hattians, and this is the reason why its name has become "Dorian fire".

During the next ten days and ten nights, the warrior and his men travelled towards the border, driving back the other hordes with the blue fire. Those few who survived were sent back east to warn others not to dare attempt the same again. Those who died were so numerous that one could walk from the border to the capital by stepping only on their blackened remains.

The might of the warrior's power left a deep impression in his men. In a city of thousands, only them had responded to his call, wanting to defend their city: they felt sad and angry at what had become of their peoples. The Hattians had become lazy, self-serving, weak, fearful, their king powerless to do anything but cower inside his palace. They saw the arrival of the warrior as a sign that a new dawn was emerging, and heralded him as a saintly figure, a demigod, and resolved to make him king when they arrived in Hattusa.

The night of their arrival, the warrior's men killed the king and announced the warrior as their new lord. All princes were made to swear fealty to him, and over the following years they worked as loyal generals to the new king. The kingdom of Elba surrendered to them soon enough, and out of their union the Kingdom of Elysium was born, and their first and only king became the warrior Aurelius…

Groggily, Ophelia opened her eyes when she heard that name; half-conscious, she'd almost seen the narration play out like a movie, blending in with a dream she'd now forgot. She saw pristine white sheets, and in a chair next to her Orion – now, Aurelius- wearing the shimmering Elysian robes, in royal purple rather than blue.

"How are you feeling?" he asked when he noticed she was fully awake. "I feared I had gone overboard."

"I'm not sure what happened but I feel fine," Ophelia answered as she sat up. Something dangled from her ears – she was still wearing his Tears.

"It was a gratifying first to be in a scuffle of that magnitude," he smiled. In his hands he held open the manuscript he'd been reading from. He closed it, and left it to the side. "It's been a century perhaps since I had to exert myself like that. But do try to avoid that in the future. It's not becoming of a man to hurt a lady like that."

Ophelia sighed. "I have no interest in fighting anyone, much less yourself… but why do you keep forcing me to? It'd be so much easier if you let me be."

"It would be easier, perhaps, in the first few months; years, even. But Ophelia, haven't you realised already? Trouble will follow wherever you go. You've got no ambitions of your own, and readily empathise with others: take for example, our obtuse Phrygian friends. Hadn't been they so limited in their vision they would've readily used you to escalate their rebellion into a civil war – something their neighbouring nations have been expecting for years. Thracia, the eastern coalition, Elysium itself… if you had stepped into that battlefield, I assure you, we would all be neck-deep in bloody war."

He levelled her with a steely gaze. "I am acting in the best interests of this world, Ophelia. When I came here, I found nothing but petty disputes, backward kingdoms too lost in tribal warfare to amount to anything. When I formed the Elysian empire, what I wanted was to use my gifts to bring order and civilization to this world. It was my duty, my responsibility given the great power I had."

"And as I said before when we arrived in Sophia, you're no mere mortal anymore. This is your responsibility, too. You can bring your knowledge of London, make this into a better world."

Ophelia didn't flinch at his rhetoric. "Fair enough that perhaps I have jumped into matters I did not have context on," she conceded. "But when has that potential for disaster truly been realized? If I am such a menace, where are the pile of bodies that I should've left behind? Because, left and right all I've seen was either Elysians doing the killing and others responding in kind, zealous terrorists from the Free Cities…"

He lightly shook his head, not to stop her from speaking, but rather to emphasize that she wasn't getting the point he was trying to make. He explained:

"The longer one lives the more their perspective broadens. I've made empires rise and fall to benefit the vision I had for this world… and this has allowed me to get a very accurate sense of the consequences that span from the crux of every possible decision. I am not holding you accountable for wrongs you are not responsible for; I am simply explaining why it is necessary for you to be responsible."

"You have seen the folks in Sophia," he continued. "While the empire is not perfect, its lows are not as low as you've seen in Caudiceum, I imagine, or what you've seen in Arqa. A woman without the considerable aether that you have can walk the streets at night without fear; a man can take to the roads and never fear losing his life to bandits. Where else is this possible? That is why every child in this empire learns about the importance of order: it's not an empty promise, it's a truth that underlines our prosperity."

Ophelia frowned. "But it's fine as long as chaos happens elsewhere, like in Phrygia or in the Free Cities?"

"No," the man softly shook his head. "Because eventually it'll creep up to our shores. So, we pacify them, improve them, and with their prosperity our empire grows brighter."

"I don't believe this," Ophelia bit back. The sheets around her legs had become crumpled as she had turned to face Aurelius in the heat of their exchange. "All of this is always a zero-sum game. Unbound prosperity is always someone else's loss. Even if it's not material."

"Zero… sum game?" the argument was stalled briefly when Ophelia realized she'd just dropped a modern concept on the Byzantine man. She explained what it was as best as she could, and after a few seconds of silent where he processed what she'd meant, he said: "All I can say is that experience will prove you wrong, but then again – that is also part of why I want you here."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't believe my words – I can see that. Of course, after everything that has happened you would not be receptive to hearing them – but you shall see as time passes by that there's rhyme and reason to what I say. I hope by staying here you will come to agree with me."

Ophelia's eyes turned into pure steel. "And if I don't, will you kill me?"

"I did consider that option before I met you," the man wryly smiled, "but why should I be so barbaric to punish the ignorance that has no malice? You are young still; you learn quickly and – dare I say it – you are no foolish woman."

Ophelia pursed her lips. "You're awfully sure that you can persuade me."

In a gesture Orion was brought back to her: the man smiled enigmatically as he shrugged. "I could say you're awfully sure you won't be persuaded to see things my way. Obstinacy is often a rowdy child of discontent, one that tends to disappear with time."

He stood up, walking over to the side of the room. "You can take my Tears off when you want – I would not want you handicapped like that in this palace of all places. But, should you feel like you were itching to try something, I think it bears a warning: raise your hand at me as much as you like, but it might be your Chaldean friend or the pesky Phrygian prince I might take my anger out on."

Ophelia's fists closed angrily, and through gritted teeth she said, "stop with the mockery. Just call me a prisoner."

She got a smirk in return.

"If it pleases you: you are here as my prisoner, Ophelia. But I do pray you'll choose to stay here out of your own volition soon enough."

She felt it was a strange thing to ask that a prisoner come to love their own captivity. He paid no mind to her feelings then; it was obvious that he knew what she was thinking and saw no reason to respond. Instead, he offered his hand:

"You must be famished," he said, "perhaps now it would be a good time to walk about so I can show you the palace."

A very petty part of her thought about digging her heels in and turning her back on him; on principle, she'd starve to protest him. But she also knew that it would get her nowhere: he'd happily let her suffer the consequences of her tantrum, which would underline everything he'd said about her before. So, instead, she took off the shackles that were suppressing her aether, and rose from the bed – she was wearing the same outfit from the day before, which stank of horse, sweat and grime, and was also stained with her poor stolen steed's blood.

"To your right," Aurelius said when he noticed her searching gaze.

The room was bright and spacious: had she not seen a bed she'd have thought it was a ballroom. The ceilings were tall and of a style she'd yet to see elsewhere in Lygeum: the gothic arches of dark masonry stone made her think of old English churches and abandoned monasteries. Aurelius was standing next to a colonnade, which acted as the only division between the room and a luscious conservatory – the roof of which was a vaulted structure of steel and glass sealed with lead. On the other side, displayed in a way that reminded her of modern art installations, were a number of elaborate, delicate-looking Elysian robes. Wooden hangers protruded from the wall, keeping the fabric pristine for its next use; full sets hung from each bar, covering the space floor to ceiling.

She marvelled at the strangely modern design of that wardrobe, but then understood why it was convenient: by calling on her aether she could simply float her choice of garment down into her arms. She grabbed the first one she saw, without giving it much thought: it was a set of shimmering yellow-orange robes, with a belt delicately embroidered in pink silk. She then spotted the divider screen to the side, and shot Aurelius a wary look.

"Take your time," he said, leisurely taking a seat on the steps that led to the garden.

London had reminded her that she wasn't entirely sold on open-plan rooms where she could sleep and bathe and sit down with guests. There was an anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach, which could've been soothed by a boxy little room with a bathtub, a toilet and a sink in it, and a door to ward off the rest of the world. It did not help that a man she'd been intimate with but now felt like a complete stranger was sitting a few meters from her, with only a flimsy screen in between.

She quickly washed herself, put on the fresh change of clothes, and walked back to where Aurelius was calmly watching the butterflies of the conservatory flop around.

"I had four of these gardens made," he said when she approached. "The technology for making glass had been forgotten in Lygeum when I arrived. I had always been fascinated by the great family estates in Rome and their glass panes, so I taught an artisan the little I knew and ordered him to continue experimenting. His son eventually managed to produce clear glass."

"In my time, all houses have windows with glass panes," Ophelia commented. "It is a favourite for buildings; they may be twenty stories high, with outer walls entirely made of glass."

He nodded thoughtfully and made a gesture for her to follow as he begun to walk through the garden. It wasn't very big, but it was overflowing with all kinds of ferns and ash trees.

"You said your city was named London. Where exactly is it located?"

"It's in northern Europe…" she realized it would be a difficult conversation to have with someone whose cartography differed from hers by a thousand years of history and extinct languages."Its old name is Londinium."

"Londinium", in Aurelius' accent it came alive, the dust of two millennia of invasions, conquests and re-conquest falling off to reveal what it had once originally been. "Ah, yes. That northern province of Britannia, always rife with strife. As any border province…"

They wandered off out of the garden and into a gallery: there were only three doors in them, and its most curious feature were the very familiar statues that adorned it. There was something of that style that recalled the white marble beauty of the many Greek and Roman gods imprisoned in the British Museum. These, however, had been delicately painted: their deadened eyes came alive with fine lines of lapislazuli blue and black, their clothes stained with deep, rich reds and ochres and greens of all shades. It felt a bit sacrilegious to her to lay colour to the perfect, unstained white; it made them look a bit like porcelain figures, divested of some of the grandeur they could've had.

"Do you recognise Iupitter?" he asked when he noticed her intent staring. Ophelia blinked at him once, twice, before she was able to translate the name and then it dawned on her that she was staring at the figures of the ancient pagan gods of Rome. "Mithras, Sol, Hecate, Serapis, Ianus," he enumerated in order as they passed by each statue.

"They have been long gone," Ophelia said, not recognising most of the names. "We do learn about some of the gods, but they're all stories from ancient times."

"In a way, perhaps, it's the same for me: they're nothing but memories. But I do find myself thinking about them every so often. I understand a lot more about them now that I find myself wearing their shoes."

Ophelia stopped to look behind them, search the gaze of the immobile gods. "By my time, the many gods with human faces, virtues and vices were long gone: in their stead there was a single omniscient, all-powerful, benevolent god that had no other name. And his son, of course, who was sent to us to sacrifice himself for all of humanity's souls," she smiled, wondering if he'd recognise who she was talking about. "I don't think I would ever be able to claim I'm anywhere close to understanding either of them."

She snickered. "Unless, of course, I also find myself crucified by a Roman."

Admittedly, all she knew of Christianity she'd learnt from Monty Python. But if the theology of the Church of England was remote to her, the gods Aurelius had brought with himself were even further away, lost beyond the years and the rise and fall of hundreds of civilizations.

The last reference was enough to spark some recognition in the other man's face, whose scowl seemed tinged with equal amounts of disdain and perplexity. "You are speaking of the Christianos, that superstitious lot, who drown their children and believe they will become immortal after death."

"Christianity, yes," Ophelia nodded. "Although perhaps a millennium or two have changed many things about it."

Aurelius snorted. "How strange that they survived when the gods of Rome did not. I saw many of them executed for not performing the sacrifices to the well-being of the emperor. Is it not foolish to refuse the acts that all their ancestors did on the daily?"

"I can't say I'd have an answer to that—I've never been particularly religious."

The man turned around and continued walking – an unspoken invitation for her to follow. Pensively, he said, "religion can be quite useful – it comforts the masses, gives them a reason to unite under a banner. One does not need to manufacture it – simply play to what's already a natural instinct for most men, and let them come to their own conclusions."

"Is that what you did in Elysium?" Ophelia asked.

"Exactly. Given the miraculous nature of my powers, it wasn't long until I was seen as a demigod of sorts. In the beginning they squashed me into the pantheons of the old kingdoms, said I was so-and-so's child. But then I decided it would be best to forge a new identity; there would be less discord in the longer term if everyone danced to the same tune. So I borrowed Byzantium's name and crafted it to be a land beyond all lands, a paradise. And from there, the myth took a life of its own."

They arrived at a circular room, lavishly decorated with tapestries depicting warriors, athletes and musicians appealing to the object of their affection. They were colourful scenes of courtly love, arising from a sea of blue chaises, lounge chairs and recliners, and the ebony and ivory tables in between. What felt the most curious to her were the eastern-style vases, which were the size of an adult man, and which contained arrangements of flowers and tropical leaves made of cloth. They were of a very skilled construction, often bearing enough resemblance to their real-life counterparts but adorned with the fantasy of a made-up object. What should've been green was instead of a dark pink or a deep ochre, and it made the entire room feel warm and inviting.

"There's a guest room behind each door," he said pointing to the twelve doors that lined the walls around them.

Ophelia looked perplexed. "Do you often receive people?"

Aurelius wasn't expecting that reaction: he laughed, then smiled deviously as he answered, "mmh, every so many years, yes. But only women."

Ophelia blushed fiercely, and her eyes roamed the room again. What had not been seen was now more apparent than ever: that it was a space for lovers, for rendezvous in the nights of the Bacchanalia. "What a strange custom you invented."

"It was only by chance that I realised that my progeny would inherit some of these powers," he said innocently enough, picking up one of the fake roses that adorned the room and playing with its stem. "It occurred to me at first that rather than one I could have many heirs. But then, I stopped growing old, so the question of succession became moot. So, I gave them lands, titles, and then slowly built up an aristocracy that owed its absolute loyalty to me. And, as I did it, I brought in princesses, or the daughters of diplomats or foreign generals, and made them part of the Empire."

He looked at the rose in his hand, and his aether transformed the petals from deep red into sky blue. "It is to ensure the Empire's stability," he offered the flower to Ophelia with a lopsided smile. "Although the men around me hold a great deal of importance over such things, over the years I've grown to dislike sharing a woman's first night. And the lot that normally I send for, it is their duty to hold on to that for as long as possible, so by the time they cross these doors they're nothing but a nervous wreck, always feeling pain and pretending they enjoy it more than they do."

The ordeal sounded hellish on all accounts. Ophelia had a faint memory of her first time – it had been at sixteen, with a boy whose name she'd forgotten but she'd thought she fancied for a few weeks in high school. Amidst the madness of preparing for her A levels she had, in a nervous crisis, decided she was ready to make that leap, and after she'd crashed into a party and they'd both had had a can or two, it happened. It was sloppy and disappointing, and it certainly hurt; she discovered she wasn't as into it as she'd thought, and she'd left him asleep in his friend's bed. The next day no one remembered her face, no one had seen her at the party, which was as disappointing as it was an absolute relief.

She figured it would've been the same had the boy been an absolute stranger; but she had been raised by a father who had come of age in the seventies, who'd met her mother in a hippie commune. She had grown up without some of the usual trappings that other women might've had, and this included her carefree attitude when it came to sex. This wasn't the case for the noblewomen and princesses that had passed through that hall: for them it must've been as exciting as it was scary, venturing into the unknown after a long life of growing up with taboos about their own bodies.

"If it's so odious, why not do something else? Why not get rid of this thing altogether?"

He smiled, and stepped in front of her. "I could," he said, bending down so that their faces were closer together. "If someone were to make this hall hers, and bear a few heirs for me, why bother with those princesses?"

Ophelia moved away. "Isn't that the reason I was going to be brought here for?" she bit back angrily.

"I wonder why is it that you make me such a villain," he grabbed her by her waist before she could walk any further away from him, and embraced her forcefully against him. "I've yet to do anything to a woman who's unwilling. And besides, you and I have already laid together, haven't we?"

"That was when I…" Ophelia tried to say before he continued, "I had your consent for everything I did."

"You lied about who you were!"

"I hid who I was, yes," he whispered in her ear, his hands moving across her body. "But what exactly is the complaint? That I didn't bring the manuscript with my family lineage into bed with me, or that I made you moan the wrong name?"

Ophelia grabbed his arms and complimenting her strength with her aether, she moved them away from her body. "I trusted you,"she stepped out of his embrace and turned to face him. "It's as simple as that. You broke my trust."

"Very well," Aurelius held up his hands, although it was clear he hadn't yet been defeated. "I shall endeavour to regain your trust, then."

They moved to the next set of rooms in tense silence. They visited another inner courtyard, this one open to the blue skies above. He paid no mind to her clipped answers as he spoke of what he used each space for: it became clear that most of them were merely for the sake of the very infrequent ceremonies he'd hold, be they the product of a Mystae or a rite of baptism. When they reached the large dining hall, something that had been parading around in her mind since earlier finally fought to break out:

"Do you have no maids or butlers?"

She had yet to see another living soul in that palace, and in the absence of their shadows, she also missed the remnants of their every day activities: there were no buckets by the side of the doors to the courtyard to bring water in and out of the building, no wells, no stools for them to reach the lamps to light their candles. It was strangely modern; the necessities being hidden in the plumbing or the wiring in the wall, except that there were no such things.

"I have no need of them," he said, turning to look at the massive, empty hall. Grandiose and luxuriously furnished as it was, Ophelia thought it felt a bit ridiculous if that entire palace only housed one person. "Anything they can do for me I can use my powers for. And as you can see, I've rather valued my anonymity until now. Keeping servants around me tends to undermine this sooner or later."

"Is that why none of the walls facing the outside have windows in them? To keep your privacy?"

Aurelius smiled and nodded. "You've seen only the north side so far, which overlooks the Temple. I thought that as many people gather there on certain occasions, it's better to prevent any misguided curiosity from finding its way in."

He made a gesture for her to follow. To the south there was a sitting room of sorts: facing in the same direction three windows burned red and orange with sycamore trees. Beyond them one could see the urban sprawl of the other six hills in Sophia, manor houses and humble thatched roofs sprinkled in blue and cold, pale green. It was the most breathtaking of sights, and Ophelia couldn't help but gasp, excitedly running towards the windows.

"As you can imagine, I keep my rooms in the southernmost buildings" – Aurelius pointed towards the annex that could be seen to their right. It had been built making use of a natural outcrop in the hill, raising the foundations a few feet above the rest of the house. "The view is even better from them," he winked, and laughed when Ophelia sent him a dirty look.

As she turned her back to him, she could not help but notice the musical instruments on one side of the room, the comfortable lounge chairs, and the few board games that were out on display on the marble tables. It was clearly a room for an evening's entertainment, yet somehow, she doubted it'd seen any use at all.

"Do you not get lonely living here all by yourself?" she asked.

"In the last century or so, I've spent most of my time abroad or travelling around the empire; I only occasionally use this palace. By virtue of the brevity of my stays here it acts more like a respite from the bustle of the outside world – I do not stay long enough for that to become odious."

He seemed to anticipate her thoughts and smiled warmly. "But, given things are bound to change now, it might be worth bringing a few people in. Perhaps, that maid of yours that Aegyr had brought: we could send for her."

"What about your… anonymity?"

"I had planned to let them see my face during the Mystae. Going too long without a visible Emperor makes some people nervous."

"What a shock they will receive when you look entirely different to the statues and the art they've seen."

Aurelius laughed. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Ophelia shrugged. "It is a matter of taste."

The last noteworthy stop in their itinerary was the library: set in the west wing, a building on its own rather than a simple room, it stood proud amidst a large, elaborate garden full of artificial ponds, wells and streams. Its facade was made of a slightly pinkish, pale sandstone streaked with delicate greenish veins. The touch of dew, rather than stain it darker, made it glimmer in the pale sunshine: it made it look ephemeral, as if they were stepping into that famed garden in Eden rather than a private palace's courtyard. More than once she had to stop to admire her surroundings: a vision of a web of petals and uniquely-coloured thin branches flush red against the bright blue sky, or a pale land bridge only a few feet long awakening and dying at the branches of old yew trees. She saw butterflies and fireflies, heard beautiful chirps hiding down in the foliage and above in the trees. It was almost cartoonish in its perfection.

"This is, perhaps, the part of the palace I've worked on the most," Aurelius said proudly as he noticed her staring. "It's my vision of an eternal spring, a land with limitless prosperity… et in Arcadia, ego sum."

Ophelia raised her hand, and a butterfly landed on it. Like the rest of her kind in that garden, its wings were of a powdery golden colour. She noticed they all fluttered sluggishly, as if drunk. "How much of this flourished naturally, and how much of this depends on your power?"

Aurelius smiled, but did not answer. He stepped next to her and delicately grabbed a single wing from the little traveller that had sought repose in Ophelia's hand, and laid it on his palm. Then, from every corner of the garden butterflies began to seek him, all heading towards the sleeping creature lying helpless in his hand. They fed on it, ripped it apart with their own tiny appendages, their wings bleeding red with the evidence of their crime. No more gold dust swatting through the air – a deep red would stain the sky from then onwards.

And then, they dispersed. Nothing had been left behind.

"It thrives on its own, but it does require some of my attention every now and then," he said as he closed his palm. "Left to their own devices, they devolve into chaos."

"Wouldn't it be better to let them survive on their own? What will happen when you're not here anymore?"

Aurelius' smile became slightly strained, finding the notion of his own absence, or death, insulting. "It's no use wondering about the impossible."

Ophelia's consternation broke through her expression, brows straining under the weight of what she was about to ask: "are you truly immortal?"

"Will I live to see the end of time? I don't think so. But will I live enough to ensure this garden thrives? Yes," he fixed his gaze on her. "And you will, too. You will have gardens of your own to take care of, at some point."

Ophelia didn't look away.

"I can't see myself ever maintaining something that simply wants to go in a different direction. I don't see a future where I will be needed."

Rather than arguing the point, Aurelius chuckled and shrugged. It was evident that her words were falling on deaf ears: he thought her naive, spitting only arguments begotten by her emotions at that moment.

They continued towards the library: the building was a simple affair of one room with walls hidden behind dark wooden shelves. From floor to ceiling it was stacked with scrolls and manuscripts written on parchment, its spines so thick and pages so big that they had to be laid one on top of the other rather than vertically. Ophelia had heard of the library of Alexandria before; famous more so because of the tragedy that befell it rather than for its contributions to human knowledge, and if she'd ever stopped to give it a physical form it probably would've looked exactly like that in her imagination.

"There's a central library in Sophia where copies of every book of every kind are stored. When a foreign delegation arrives, it's customary for them to bring newly written treatises for us to copy; it's a long standing tradition now in Elysium. Those I enjoy or find interesting I keep here."

One had been left open by the side of a reclining chair in the middle of the room. Ophelia, ever curious, picked it up to see what he'd been reading last. To her disappointment, she did not recognise the script.

"I can teach you to read Iberian," the man noted and with a gesture of his hand a scroll floated down from one of the upper shelves. He rolled it open, showing a tight, spidery type surrounded by beautifully drawn pictures of different mythical monsters. "Or Xi'an; I have quite a few books in different languages I've picked up over the years."

"I still have to get better at my Akkadian and Elysian," she noted.

Aurelius wrapped up their visit by offering the library to her: "like anywhere else in this palace, you are welcome to spend as much time as you like here."

The world was hers for the taking, he suggested, yet it was clear that the world he offered was strictly confined to the limits of the windowless walls, and should he be generous, the holy hill itself. The temple, he warned her, was the only place where outsiders were allowed, and as such, certain precautions had to be taken.

"You have undoubtedly experienced some of this, but one finds that the same statue commands a different response when out in a public square than it does when it's within the four walls of a temple. The Elysians who regarded you as a noble of sorts will now look at you in a different way: this temple is what makes us divine in their eyes. And while there's awe and fear when faced with existences that are beyond someone's comprehension, there's also a deep-seated greed born in every man and every woman that cares very little for titles and hierarchies. They will do anything to make their dreams, their wishes come true: especially under this roof."

He showed her to an antechamber, which was accessed after walking a long hallway from the north wing. It was a modest thing, with only a single door leading to the next room. "There's a hall beyond this door; when I offer public audiences I do it from there. But I've designed it so that those who come to see me stay as far away as possible."

"Why is that?" Ophelia wondered out loud. "What happened?"

"A long time ago I used to appear often in public; I took part in processions, I regularly held audiences," Aurelius placed his hands behind his back, resting against the door to the hall he was describing. "Over the years there's waves of extremism and fanaticism that come and go; at its worst, I'd have folks accusing each other of heresy and carrying out assassinations in front of me to prove their loyalty. I've had desperate women throw their newly-born infants in my direction in the hopes I'll bless them or cure them of a disease. At one point I had a teenage girl harm herself so that I'd use my aether to cure her."

"Isn't that simply the result of the cult you yourself started?"

"No" Aurelius denied sharply. "It is merely the result of mixing amongst them as equals. Once I became more withdrawn, a myth began to form in their minds, and I became more intangible, less likely to receive at my feet the dead they want to throw at me."

With a touch of his hand the door behind him slowly opened, and beyond, a bell rang. Its sound was watery, delightful; a sign to mark that he was entering the temple. They stepped onto a wooden platform. On it there was a throne. Separating them from the rest of the hall were screens made of reed that hung from the ceiling, with beautiful patterns printed onto them. From the space between each screen Ophelia spied a large staircase descending towards dozens of wooden pews.

"It will be full during the Mystae," his voice said next to her ear, almost making her jump. "I've thought that it'd be quite the spectacle if I were to burn all these screens with Dorian fire to reveal myself."

It was already evening time, and Ophelia's next question was solved by him pointing to a small altar to the side of the platform. There, a single tray made of ebony-like wood had been left with very little space that was not covered by a dish, a jar of wine or a fresh, ripe fruit. "Now, onto the last bit of today's tour: the caretakers of the temple always leave what they call offerings. I rather think of it as one less trip I must make to the city."

They carried the entire tray using their powers back into the dining hall, which was the first room out of the hallway that connected the temple with the main palace. Aurelius' mood had picked up as they sat down, clearly excited at sharing his first dinner in a long time – at least, under his actual name. He chatted away about everything and nothing, and whenever he touched a topic Ophelia would argue, he'd shut her down with a smile, waving away her arguments with the rhetorical equivalent of 'because I say so'. By the time she was allowed to return to her room, she wanted nothing more than to hide in bed for the next few weeks, unable to deal with the man's attitude for extended periods of time.

It was clear that now that the cat was out of the bag, Orion who simply walked circles around the topics they disagreed in had turned into Aurelius who preferred patronizing her on account of his age and his experience. With the mantra that one day she'll also see it his way, nothing she said every merited a debate from his end, which made it increasingly obvious that she was there for him to play with, and nothing more.

But then the next few days showed her that perhaps there was something more literal to that thought than she'd initially expected. Aurelius the master of the palace had dissolved in the praetorian she'd almost opened her heart to: showing Orion was still present, but not so visible. It had all begun during the morning when he'd asked her if she fancied trying out chasing each other using the flying jump trick she'd invented, to test out how long they could go for. It caught her by surprise; she'd expected him to continue trying to ease her into her new life in his palace, but it seemed that he wasn't without a childlike side, even as the emperor.

"As a praetorian I must measure my strength," he confessed during lunch. "Ever since I decided to stop showing my face in public, I have not had the opportunity to test my limits, even through games like these."

He shot her a disarmingly bright smile. "And I am lucky you are partial to playing, as well."

"It beats watching life go by, I guess," Ophelia offered him a tentative smile of her own. "If you're going to keep me here you might as well keep me entertained as well!"

"I will do my best," he promised with a laugh.

Ophelia hoped that, if she should remain a captive there, she'd be treated to more days like that rather than the evenings arguing over Elysian theology. If he had noticed her reaching out for an olive branch, he did well in never mentioning it. She didn't challenge him, didn't say that she knew he was keeping her amused so that she'd forget her captivity, her frustration and her anger. They both put the real world on hold, stepping somewhere where none of their recent history had happened. And so, three days passed by.

Their initial game of chasing each other naturally developed into its own version of tag, with them wrecking havoc around the empty, pristine palace. Competitiveness was born almost immediately amidst a knowing grin and a laugh: and when anything is at stake inventiveness comes forth. Ophelia, for example, discovered that she could make a shadow appear somewhere else, and have it move so that Aurelius would think it was her. He, in turn, learnt he could make a voice come out of nowhere, and he used it to distract her a few times. Tag turned almost naturally to hide-and-seek the second day, which became a treasure hunt on the third.

It could've gone on longer. A part of her wanted to sink into the comfort of that simple life, chasing easy distractions, like a child completely unaware of what was happening outside. Another one rebelled against the invisible hand that seemed to be trying to ease her into conformity; Aurelius was not stupid and was clearly not just using that time to test his own powers, but to see the limits of what she was capable of. And, of course, to win her over. He took out the rogue, cheeky character that she found familiar, and hit her with a dose of his charisma. Ophelia was not strong or vindictive enough to hold a grudge for long, and had they gone on like that for longer, he'd have certainly succeeded at getting into her good graces.

But then, during the evening of the fourth day, she was brought back to reality.

Aurelius had asked her to bring the food from the temple while he took a bath. As she opened the door to the main hall, she decided to quiet the chime from the bell that would announce her presence in the room. She wanted to explore what was behind the screens, and perhaps, like a ghost she could slip into the main hall unnoticed and be confused with a parishioner.

She gathered the short golden robes she was wearing, and slowly tiptoed towards the altar. The food hadn't yet been left there; but she had arrived in time, as the soft murmurs of three voices emerged from the far end of the hall. They were all men, and from within the screens Ophelia spied their peculiar figures: they wore simple white robes and had shaved off all their hair.

"… terrible. I have half a mind to search for another merchant. Perhaps some of those Chaldeans…" one of them, the youngest, was saying as the three of them slowly but surely carried the tray forward to the altar.

"Them? They are scalpers, my friend," another one replied.

"They might be expensive, but their wares are always of the highest quality. And as much as Omar is your friend, Leo, he is very unreliable. Remember when he brought that dragonfly fruit that had been painted on to make it look like kumquats?"

"I agree with Ilex," the third one weighted on. "We only have a month until the Mystae, and we can't afford any mistakes. Omar had his chance to prove himself."

"And I don't think money will be an issue!" Ilex laughed. "We are to prepare for a wedding that will rewrite history."

"They've already sent for forty tailors to make his imperial majesty's clothes, and another forty for her highness," Leo had seemed to forget the slight towards his friend Omar, and excitedly shared the latest he'd heard. "It all will be made from silk from the Black mountains. One of the laundry girls' cousins is an apprentice to one of the famous master craftsmen from there: she said they are working from sunrise until late into the night to deliver the fabric itself in time for the tailoring."

A heavy weight dropped in Ophelia's stomach. A wedding. Her wedding, for no one else presumed the title her highness in Elysium. She had not entertained the thought in a few days, lulled into complacency first by Orion's indirect promises of the emperor's supposed leniency, and then by Aurelius' silence on the matter. How naive had she allowed herself to become that she'd left it go unsaid, that in her mind she'd convinced herself that it would not happen, at least without her consent. The emperor had accused her of treating him like a villain, and she'd let herself be convinced of his innocence.

She stood frozen on the spot when the screens in front of the altar were suddenly raised. The three men carrying the sumptuous offering were about to place it on the white marble as per their usual routine when they spotted her: it took them a second or two to react, as she was a feet or so away from them, two steps higher. The fine golden robes and the rumours of her previous presence in Aurelia were the only presentation they required: they all dropped to their knees in a dramatic gesture, the tray balancing precariously above their heads thanks to their combined powers.

"Your highness!" the third, unnamed man, greeted her. "Forgive our transgression, we didn't hear the bell…"

"I silenced it" Ophelia murmured, the wheels in her mind beginning to set in motion a plan. The initial shock had slowly morphed into a silent, cold fury, which gave her the fertile ground she needed for her scheming to sprout and bloom.

"In all fairness I was the one eavesdropping into your conversation," she motioned for them to stand up, which they immediately obeyed. "I can't help but agree with mister Ilex that the Chaldeans would be a wise choice."

The man in question shook at hearing his name coming from her, eyes wide with surprise and devotion. Ophelia didn't consider herself much of a strategist, but she knew an opportunity when she saw it. She continued: "among them there's a man by the name of Hyperion. He has vast dealings across the Atlantean sea; his silks are of the highest quality. Should you need to change merchants, I recommend him."

Ilex grinned from ear to ear. "Certainly, your highness! We'll see to it that he's called in!"

Ophelia faked a smile she didn't feel. The three of them finished their duty by setting the tray on the altar, and bowed out into the hall, walking backwards so as not to turn their backs on her. The screens were softly returned to their place, and Ophelia took the tray with her powers. Before leaving, she softly thanked them – her whisper echoing in the immensity of the hall, ever so hampered by the reed screens separating her from the rest.

She took a breath before making her way back, trying to control her expression. Aurelius would not know she had learnt of his scheming; she'd pretend that nothing had changed, and she was still within his grasp. Perhaps he had been right in saying she would grow gardens of her own in Elysium; she knew she would soon be planting her own seeds, unseen, in the immensity of one of Aurelius' gardens.