THE IDLE CHATTER THAT FILLS the Hall of Justice in the Ionian Golds’ capital city of Sungrave evaporates when Romulus au Raa enters the room. He comes in dignified silence, clad in a gray kimono of rough-spun wool. Flanking him are his loyal kin: misshapen Marius, ancient Pandora, a host of die-hard Praetors and white-haired veterans. What is missing and notably absent is the younger generation. Those of my age or thereabouts. The brilliant students of the post-Rising generation all cluster worshipfully around Seraphina, her Dustwalkers, and several other notable captains of Ganymede, Callisto, Europa, and a contingent from Saturn’s and Uranus’s moons up in the stone stadium seats.
The Hall of Justice itself is a dark treasure. All its surfaces are faced in a shiny black stone. The nave is triangular, the south, north, and west aisles steeped stadium rows. The towering ceiling narrows until it makes a pyramid, the peak of which is iron. In the winnowing east chancel, twelve Olympic Knights sit cross-legged in a bowed line on an elevated white marble podium looking out at the nave. Each wears a long cape in harmony with their title. Diomedes’s is storm gray. Helios’s is brilliant white. Behind them, a marble, gold-tipped pyramid floats. The old Justice sits to the right of the pyramid in her living chair of elm. The young Chance from the duel sits to the left in her chair of bone; one remembers, one promises.
After a welcoming benediction and customary rights, Romulus and his men take their seats in the center of the nave on thin cushions. His has been set apart at the peak of the forty others. Helios au Lux, Arab Knight of the Olympics, stares out from the shadow of his cape like an imperious falcon, long-necked, bald but for a long white mustache, the ends of which are held together by two iron clasps. Diomedes sits at his right hand. A toadish woman with huge eyes sits to his left wearing the badge of the Rage Knight.
“Romulus,” Helios begins, his voice a hammer and lacking the nuance for duplicity. “Sovereign of the Rim Dominon, Dominatus of House Raa, you have been brought before the Olympic Council for an impartial hearing on charges brought against you by your accuser, Dido au Raa.”
Alone, Dido sits beneath the council, cloaked all in black. To accuse before the council is a perilous endeavor. If Dido’s charges are deemed false, she will suffer the fate that would have befallen the man were he convicted. Draconic.
“Accuser, present your charges.”
Dido stands without flourish. “First charge: gross negligence during wartime.” The Olympics wait for her to continue the list, but she sits down.
Whispers are exchanged in the crowd. She brings no charge of treason, just as she said she would not. She played everyone like a zither. Once her husband is forced to step down or accept co-rule, she will solidify her position. I overhear the two men next to me voicing a different opinion.
“Base cowardice on her, not bringing treason charges,” one says.
“Nepotism there. He knew. He had to know.”
The room quiets as Helios confirms. “You seek no charge of treason?”
“I do not.” She says nothing more and watches her husband evenly.
“Very well, the accuser may present her evidence or witnesses for the charge of gross negligence during wartime.”
“This first evidence you may have heard by now.” She throws the holo up into the air and plays Seraphina’s evidence of the Reaper’s deception to predictable silent response. Romulus sits implacable on the ground, watching the docks die in the air above him and bathe him in the brilliant light.
The next item of evidence is Romulus’s own communication with Darrow, taken from the sealed communications records of the Battle of Ilium. Romulus’s helmet cam feed appears in the air. He’s in a hallway filled with smoke. Dying men writhe on the ground around him as he stands, armor spattered in blood, surrounded by mechanized Golds and Obsidians in the middle of a firefight. His two sons Diomedes and Aeneas provide cover for him as he makes a desperate call to Darrow. His face is frantic with fear.
“Darrow, listen carefully. The Colossus has altered trajectory and is headed for Ganymede….”
“He’s going for the docks. Can any ships intercept?” the Reaper asks.
“No. They’re out of position. If Octavia can’t win, she’ll ruin us. Those docks are my people’s future. You must take that bridge at all costs….”
“I’ll do my best,” are the last words of the Reaper.
“Thank you, Darrow. And good luck. First Cohort, on me!” The connection to Darrow cuts out and we see from Romulus’s headcam as he and his sons charge down the hallway. A blinding flash of light goes off. The hull to the right ruptures open, and Aeneas, Romulus’s eldest, is speared through the side of his head by a fragment of metal and then sucked out to space. The clip ends.
On the floor, Romulus sits in solemn silence.
One final clip is loaded. It is a conversation between Romulus and Darrow after the Battle of Ilium concluded. Romulus was in the Hanging Palace of Ganymede. Darrow was on his ship. Their two faces float in the air.
“As promised, you have independence,” Darrow says.
Romulus sits on the floor, his face haggard, the stump of his right arm wound with white bandages. “And you have your ships,” he says very quietly, the spirit stripped from him. “But they will not be enough to defeat the Core. The Ash Lord will be waiting for you.”
“I hope so. I have plans for his master.”
Romulus pauses. “Do you sail on Mars?”
“Perhaps.” The Red’s eyes mock, his tone insinuates, while Romulus maintains an even air of military civility. The man had just lost a son, an arm, to say nothing of the destroyed docks. What a picture of a Gold.
“There’s one thing I found curious about the battle,” he says icily. “Of all the ships my men boarded, not one nuclear weapon over five megatons was found. Despite your claims. Despite your…evidence.”
“My men found plenty enough. Come aboard if you doubt me. It’s hardly curious that they would store them on the Colossus. Roque would want to keep them under tight watch. We’re only lucky that I managed to take…” There’s static interference. “…bridge when I did. Docks can be rebuilt. Lives cannot.” It sounds like a threat.
“Did they ever have them?”
“Would I risk the future of my people on a lie?” The Slave King smiles cruelly. “Your moons are safe. You define your own future now, Romulus.” His eyes narrow to two thin slits. “Do not look the gift horse in the mouth.”
“Indeed.” Romulus’s silence is heavy as he swallows his anger, his pride, and lets the Slave King mock him. “I would like your fleet to depart before end of day.”
“It will take three days to search the debris for our survivors.” He insults Romulus’s request. “We will leave then.”
“Very well. My ships will escort your fleet to the boundaries agreed upon. When your flagship crosses into the asteroid belt, you may never return. If one ship under your command crosses the boundary, it will be war between us.”
“I remember the terms.”
“See that you do. Give my regards to the Core. I’ll certainly give yours to the Sons of Ares you leave behind.” The connection with the Reaper cuts off, but the image of Romulus floats in the air. He shudders, the calm wilting away and giving a glimpse of the broken man beneath. The image sputters out.
Dido looks at her husband, sharing the pain of Aeneas’s death all over again. “Noting the duplicity of the Slave King’s actions, it stands as plain fact that more investigation was warranted. Not only into the veracity of the nuclear threat, which was supposedly levied against us by the Sovereign. But toward the veracity of the Slave King’s actions throughout and preceding the Battle of Ilium. The inquiry which was commissioned by the council was quickly scuttled by my husband. I do not believe there is evidence he knew the dark truth of the Slave King’s actions against our docks…” She says this to temper the fury of the Ganymedi Golds, who built the docks and saw them fall on their cities. “…but I am not beyond bounds by saying more effort should have gone into assessing the truth. Now I would like to call Seraphina au Raa to the floor.”
Seraphina descends and stands between Dido and Romulus.
Dido addresses her daughter. “When you acquired the hologram evidence of the destruction of the docks and returned with it into Rim Space, were you arrested by sworn men of the Sovereign?”
“I was. As I should have been.”
“Did you divulge to them the nature of the information you carried?”
“I did not.”
“Did, at any point, Romulus admit to knowing the truth about the destruction of the docks?”
“He did not.” Seraphina looks at her father. “His actions toward me and the secrecy under which they were enacted were done to protect me from capital punishment for breaking the Pax Solaris. It was a father’s love. Not a man’s schemes. He knew I entered the Gulf. I do not know if he was aware of the reasons why. But he knew he would have to bring me before the Moon Council.”
“Do you believe he committed negligence during wartime?”
“It is not my duty to judge.”
“Thank you, Aureate.”
Seraphina salutes with her fist to her heart and returns to her place amongst her friends. Dido closes her argument. “My charges are limited because, while I believe my husband misstepped by not investigating further, I do not believe there is evidence to prove he was complicit in hiding information from the council. I do not believe anyone here could call him a traitor.” One of the Ganymedi shouts their dissent. “Thus, I ask only for impeachment from his position as Sovereign.”
She sits down.
Helios continues. “Romulus. Do you contest these charges?”
Romulus stands. “I do not.”
“You wish to offer no mitigating evidence?”
“I do not. In the charge of negligence, I am guilty.”
Heads nod in approval. This is an honorable response, one they expected, one that an Iron Gold would give. On Luna, this trial would have stretched out over the course of years, with endless appeals and warehouses of evidence and armies of Copper lawyers. By the time it was through, half those involved would be dead or have had their relatives kidnapped and tortured till they came to the correct judgment. My grandmother would have burned the government to the ground before releasing her clutch on power.
She could have learned a thing or two from this man.
On the dais, Diomedes looks like a man freed from the gallows. His father will be stripped of the Sovereigncy for negligence, but any prison time will be commuted on the grounds of the pending war. Romulus will likely even lead his family’s forces under Dido’s command. It’s a marvel.
But then, in the chancel, behind the Olympic Knights, a fragile chime shatters all well-laid plans. The council turns to look back at the sound. Chance, hardly ten years of age, stands barefoot and quiet in front of her chair, holding a small iron bell. Her white eyes stare out at the terrifying host. Dido frowns, confused. Seraphina whispers to her friends. I feel the rush of impending doom. The memory howls with warning, because I remember my tutor Hieronymous droning on about ancient codices outlining the rules of an impeachment trial. Most forget that the Whites are not set behind the Olympics for show: they cannot decide a verdict, but they do have one unique, archaic power. It is where the phrase “unless chance strikes” originates.
Helios beckons the small girl forward. She comes to whisper in his ear. His face tightens. She returns to her seat and the knights discuss amongst themselves. Whatever is said turns Diomedes sheet white. I glance up at Seraphina and can sense her distress even from across the room. Diomedes is shaking his head at Helios, as are two of the younger knights. The Death Knight, an older woman, walks from the end of the dais to confer with Helios and vehemently stabs her finger in the air. The younger knights don’t like what she’s said, but after Helios seems to agree, their objections fade and they slowly nod their heads in compliance.
Helios calls order to the room.
“We have discussed amongst ourselves and have come to an agreement. While it is seldom invoked, the Fates are afforded the right to levy additional charges against the accused on behalf of the State. It brings us no pleasure to voice these charges, but we, the Olympic Council, are bound by duty to charge Romulus au Raa with one count of arch treason.”
The room upturns. Peerless bound to their feet. Dido raves on the floor. “I do not seek that charge!”
“It does not matter,” Helios says.
“This is my trial! My charges!”
“It is the purview of the Fates to request to add charges. You know this. Now sit down.”
“Diomedes…”
“The council has spoken, Mother,” Diomedes says. He looks like he’s going to pass out. “You must desist.”
Enraged, Dido sits, casting a horrified look at her husband: the punishment for treason is death.
While his men behind him are in a holy rage, Romulus alone seems unaffected and waits patiently for Helios to continue.
“While the Fates may demand additional charges, it is not in their power to present evidence. Thus it should be a simple matter, and one that should be stated for the record so that there are no lingering resentments that might eat at the foundation of our Dominion as we enter our most dire hour. Our Chance was wise and correct to invoke her right. Let us clear the air and move forward as one people.” He looks at Romulus with a sigh. “My friend, it annoys me to insult you, but I am bound by my office.”
“Of course.”
“Two simple questions, two simple answers, and we move forward. Did you know that Darrow of Lykos destroyed the docks, and did you conspire to conceal this from us? Yes or no?”
Romulus wears a tranquil expression. The same I saw on his face as he dissected his razor when we first met. He stands slowly and steps off his small cushion and lets his lone arm fall down his side to tug on the cape so that it is smooth behind him. He lifts his head to the council, then to his wife, with eyes that seem to gaze far beyond the people in this room.
“Romulus…” his wife whispers, knowing the spirit of him. “Don’t…”
“Yes,” says the Moon Lord. “I knew and I did so conspire.”
The silence of the room shatters a second time. An uproar from the stands, from Dido, from all but Romulus’s men and the council itself. Diomedes sits stunned. Seraphina looks around like a lost little girl.
“He does not mean it!” Dido hisses to the council. “He does not mean it. Strike it from the record and convene a new trial for that charge.”
Helios is just as astounded. “I cannot.”
“He’s perjuring himself,” Dido says. “It is a lie. He had no evidence. Supposition doesn’t count. We all saw the recording. It can be inferred but not proven. All we have evidence of is his negligence. Diomedes, tell him…”
“Mother,” Diomedes says helplessly, “by his own admission…”
“Damn his admission, boy. He’s your father. He’s Romulus au gorydamned Raa!”
My heart breaks watching her spin helplessly about, as if she were a drowning woman the rest of us could not help. I’m as lost myself.
“Dido…” Romulus says from behind her. “Please.” She turns to him still in denial, but slowly as she looks into his eyes, she knows that there is no going back and all at once a shiver goes through her that I can see from forty meters back, as her reality, her family, are irrevocably shattered and she knows it is her doing.
“Tell them you’re lying,” she whispers. “Tell them you had suspicions but didn’t know.”
“But I knew,” Romulus says. “I knew because the holodrop you sent Seraphina to collect was offered to me first.”
“What?”
He looks up at the council as if he’s already parted from the world.
“It was offered to me. Several images were sent. I invited the brokers to the Rim, where they met around Enceladus. I relied upon my reputation of honor to lure them and the original copy there. I took out a warhawk and killed them all and burned their ship. Of course, as you have seen, there was a copy.”
“You did this by yourself?” Helios asks, looking at Pandora.
“I am Romulus au Raa.” He smiles sadly. “You might ask yourself why I did this. Why I tell you this now when it will cost me my own life. All my days I have lived as honorably as a man can. But I have carried this secret for too long. And, as my father would ask, what is honor without truth? Honor is not what you say. Honor is what you do.”
A cold stone settles in my throat as I watch Seraphina’s heart break. Tears leak down her cheeks.
“We live by a code. I broke that code, even if my reasons for doing so were just. Let it serve as a warning to you all. I lied because I knew if we saw what the Slave King did to the docks, we would have no choice but to declare the peace void and sail for war.
“I believe that war will destroy us. All of us, Rim and Core alike. All that the Colors have built together. All we have protected. The legacy of the Society will vanish. Not because our arms are weak. Not because our commanders are frail. But because we are fighting against a religion whose god still lives.
“At this moment, he is mortal. He strains under the burden of rule, and the seams of their alliances fray. But if we sail on Mars or Luna, the Colors will unite. They will become a tide and their now mortal general will become, once again, their god of war. And if he falls, another will rise, and another, and another. We are too few. We are too honorable. We will lose this war just as surely as I will now lose my life.
“I urge you to feel my death. To let it be the last casualty, and not the first of this war that claimed my father, my daughter, my son, and now me.”
Seraphina bursts into tears. Dido hangs her head, her body limp. I feel the stirring of my own grief, a reflection of the grief I felt for Cassius’s death. It is tragic to see a man’s nature doom him, especially when it is a nature so fine as Romulus’s.
Helios stands. His voice barely even a whisper. “Romulus au Raa, you are found guilty of the charges levied against you. Guards, seize the convicted and prepare him to return to the dust.”