“Of course I did,” Rayan said. He leaned back into his chair and resumed nursing his drink. “My family has served the Lythan line for four hundred years. It is a vow our family made, one we inherit with pride as children and honor as adults. My great-uncle was Queen Jessica’s bodyguard, and my grandfather Martin was shield hand for King Tolbert, ever at his side during the bandit skirmishes. A favorite story for family gatherings is of my great-grandmother Lelia, who foiled not one but three different assassination attempts made against your grandmother.”

Cyrus stared at his own drink, refusing to touch it. Four hundred years…

He asked the question he was fearful to ask but knew he must nonetheless.

“Does the name ‘Orani’ mean anything to you?”

Rayan’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head.

“It does, actually. It was my great-grandmother’s family name prior to marrying my great-grandfather and taking on the name ‘Vayisa.’ I suppose you have heard a few of my family’s stories then?”

Your family, ever so wicked, ever so cruel, forced them into servitude.

“A few stories, here or there.” Cyrus pushed back against the table and stood. “Maybe wine was a bad idea,” he mumbled as an excuse to leave. He retreated up the stairs, pretending not to see their concerned faces. Once in his room, he collapsed onto his small, lumpy bed. Too much. It was all too much. He couldn’t decide how he felt, nor why. Innocent faithful were dead. He had failed. Imperator Magus was dead. He had succeeded. How did they balance on the scales? Could they ever?

A knock on the door pulled him from his moping.

“It’s unlocked,” he said.

The door creaked open, and Keles stepped inside.

“I thought you might need some company,” she said as she joined him on the uncomfortable bed.

“Thanks,” he said, for what else was there to say?

Silence fell between them. After a brief hesitation, she reached for his hand. He accepted it, cherishing the touch of her fingers upon his, the shared warmth, but he dared not look at her. His gaze bored into the floor, mind awash in memories of the previous hour. The hanging bodies. The fire. Magus’s amused grin as he tore down Cyrus’s every understanding of Thanet, her people, and her gods.

“You keep seeing them, don’t you?” Keles asked softly.

Cyrus took in a long, deep breath, and then let it out.

“The moment the platform dropped,” he said. “The moment they all fell, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to save them.”

Even now, Magus’s laughter echoed in his ears, and the way Keles responded, it was almost as if she could hear him, too.

“The Imperator is dead,” she said. “Thorda and my uncle both consider this a great victory.”