“I had every right!” Her words ricocheted around the cloister’s square. “Nature makes rights, Cornel, not Romanova, or Thomas Carlyle, or you, or any man. It’s a mother’s natural duty to protect her child, at any cost. I’d rip a man’s throat out with my teeth if I had to to protect our Son, even your throat, Cornel, and I’d rip out Mycroft’s in a second!” Her chest heaved within her bodice like a chick struggling in its shell. “Someone had to do something.”

Already MASON’s voice was weaker, steel dulled to iron. “I am doing all that can be done.”

“No, you’re doing all you’re willing to do—no, not even that much. You’re doing all you think you ought to do, without even considering any action that’s unbefitting of your office. And that’s what you should be doing. You’re the Emperor. I’m not. So while you sit in your tower governing billions as you’re supposed to, I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing: anything I can to save our Son!”

Anger’s storm surged in Caesar, but broke as he met Spain’s eyes. The king’s presence urged decorum, as a library’s solemn walls force tirades to couch themselves in whispers. MASON breathed deep. “You’re right. I am limited by my office, and that also means there are limits to what I can let you do.”

“To Masons, yes, but I haven’t harmed a Mason, have I?” She faced him straight. “The only limits on what can be done to Mycroft Canner are the ones you personally set. I trusted that, as Jehovah’s father, you would be willing to risk one little Familiaris.”

MASON frowned. “I do not have sole claim on Mycroft’s life.”

“Legally you do.”

“There’s more to it than law.”

“What matters more to you, Cornel? The wishes of a dead Utopian who never shared your feelings, or our living, breathing Son?”

Fierce as a bear, Caesar charged and seized Madame by her porcelain-white shoulders—or he tried to, but the last step failed him, his ankle twisting at the scarless seam of his transplanted left foot. He toppled forward, cracking his forehead against the wall, and would have fallen bodily on Madame if Saladin had not caught him. My own Saladin. He had sprung up to defend his mistress, as a guard dog should, and when MASON stumbled he was too close to fight off the human instinct to help a falling man. He caught the Emperor under the shoulders and steadied him, at least until MASON’s eyes caught sight of his savior. The Emperor jumped as if the fingers on his back were scorpions, and struck with his elbow, bloodying Saladin’s nose as he knocked the monster away.