Martin paused our walk now, judging my tears enough. “Tully Mardi wants more of this, Mycroft.” His voice was soft. “And Sniper wants to kill Dominum nostrum, kill them again so they stay dead. Both threats would’ve been eliminated today if you’d called Caesar, or Dominic, or me, or anyone who would’ve followed through and killed our enemies. I know today’s secret truce may prove a good thing in terms of raw casualties, but it puts Dominum in greater danger, and that endangers the new age they will bring to the Empire and the world. You know that’s not an acceptable price, not just to postpone a thousand deaths. Promise me, Mycroft, once this truce is over, that you’ll never again give up a chance to destroy our enemies. Promise me.”

Sobs wracked me, too fierce to let me even nod, but Martin understood. I think he understood things I didn’t. I asked him, once my sobs subsided, if he knew what it was going to be like, Jehovah’s new world, which Martin has spent all his life protecting since that childhood day Caesar made him Vicar, Nepos, Familiaris, and Minister Porphyrogenito, all at once. Martin smiled. I have rarely seen a man so comfortable saying, “No.”

CHAPTER THE NINTH

Repercussions

Written July 30–August 1, 2454

Events of April 15

Burgos

“Madame”—Martin gave a strict bow—“your irresponsible abuse of Mycroft Canner is completely unacceptable.”

I did not tattletale, reader, but Martin Guildbreaker is no fool. With a scrap of paper and an offhand remark by Cato Weeksbooth it had taken him and Papa four days to expose O.S. Do you think he could not unmask my kidnappers within an hour? Martin stopped off to confront Madame before even returning to Alexandria, bringing me—the living, limping proof of her transgression—still handcuffed to his arm.

“I can guess your goal,” Martin continued, the slow, forced patience in his voice an imitation of his Emperor’s tone but softer, as a blade of bronze is softer than a blade of steel, “but Mycroft is a fragile and unique resource, and it was sheer luck that they survived this. The consequences for others aside, you must realize how Mycroft’s loss would have crippled our ability to communicate with the Porphyrogene.”

“Not nearly so much as death would.” Madame gazed up at Martin, her face uncommonly candid, as when the curtain falls and actors become people once again. “I will not see my Jehovah die, Martin, no matter what I must destroy, or whom.”