“Theo,” she says, a soft smile gracing her perfect lips. A flash of awareness only an intimate acquaintance can claim flares in her eyes briefly.

She glides across the debris of the Council Chamber, her white robe disturbing the dust at her feet. Fire flares in the brazier; a welcome and acknowledgement all in one.

Melita had always had such fine control of her Pyrkagia.

I glance at my mother, but I see only expectation in her cool gaze.

My eyes return to the immediate threat before me.

“You have returned,” I say.

“I had no choice in the matter. Aetheros has decreed it.”

“We are diminished in numbers,” I agree.

“Such a saddened time for a reunion.”

I stare at the woman who once held my heart and feel nothing. My eyes return to my mother.

“I need to speak with the Councillor,” I say. “Would you excuse us, Melita?”

Saying her name is easier than I had expected, but then, this woman lost claim to my emotions centuries ago. She and my mother should have known better.

“Melita is my Zoste Patrikia,” my mother announces. “I will not be parted from her.”

I arch my brow. “This is Council business,” I declare. “Even a lady-in-waiting is not permitted to overhear.”

“You are no longer in a position to call the Council,” my mother says with all the finality of a Queen.

So, this is how she intends to play this? Claiming my exile still stands despite Pyrkagia falling? I had hoped without my father to whisper in her ear, my mother would be more circumspect. But one does not survive millennia of madness at the hand of a corrupt King without mastering the act of manipulation.

I smile. It shows teeth.

Melita stands poised at the side of my mother; a serene figure, demurely following her mistress wherever she may lead. Her presence here is not coincidental.

I just cannot decide if my mother aims to merely wound me or has a more nefarious plan using Melita in store for me.

I bow low. My mother is still the Queen.

“Mitera,” I say as if trying to soften the blow. “Mother. I have declared Right of Rule and as such have the authority to call the Council together.”

My mother lifts her chin and stares down her nose at me.

“You shall fail.”

It saddens me; I will admit it. But I am also not surprised.

“One day,” I advise. I look around the tumble of palace walls around us and add, “Here will suffice.”

If she has laid claim to this location for her personal base, then stealing it out from under her will send a message I have no choice but to deliver.

I turn away but halt at the edge of the light from the flames. The brazier flares; I too have fine control of my Pyrkagia.

“And, Mother? Your Zoste Patrikia is not permitted to attend.”

I walk into the shadows before she can retaliate.

The sun is low in the sky as I emerge from the Pyrgos’ ruins. The Hauraki Gulf is turbulent with Nero’s grief. They have lost some of their numbers, but they still outnumber Pyrkagia at least by forty. This is a time of recovery, and yet I feel tension in the air; the build up of anticipation.

Right of Rule is a bloody affair and we Athanatos are nothing if not bloodthirsty.

I need to seek Pisces out before our dead are cremated. I glance towards the north and take note of the multiple funeral pyres. Tonight, Aetheros’ skies shall burn with Fire. And Ekmetalleftis shall grieve.

I scan the Alchemists, but I cannot locate Marcus. I have to hope he plays his part in this theatre of politics. I have to hope we all do.

I step out of the shadows of the Pyrgos just as Melita makes her presence known. I had not heard her following me, but then my thoughts are disjointed and more than just a little distracting.

I long to speak with Cassandra. To ensure she has arrived in Brazil safely. Seeing Melita, I admit to myself, makes the urge to reconnect with Casey that much stronger. I do not have time for petty games such as this, but part of me acknowledges that this may not be so much as petty as it is dangerous.

Just what is my mother planning?

“Theo,” Melita says in her softly lilting voice. “I am sorry.”

An apology is not what I had expected.

“For what?” I ask, my tone clipped.

If she is apologising for what transpired fifteen-hundred years ago, she is a little tardy.

She glances back at the ruins of Pyrgos, her bottom lip firmly between her teeth.

“I had no idea what she intended when she asked me to become her Zoste Patrikia. Had I known she intended to use me against you, I would have refused.”

“Refused the Queen?” I doubt it.

Melita lifts her chin and looks directly at me.

“I will not be made a pawn in someone else’s game,” she declares.

I wonder if she is willing to be a pawn in her own games.

“Commendable, I am sure,” I say coldly. “But you have forgotten one thing.”

She frowns at me, her brow furrowing delicately.

Everything about Melita’s appearance is aimed to please. Her exterior that of fine porcelain or exquisite jewellery. It is when you peel back the layers that you discover the Fire within. Melita burns with an intense heat internally. At one time that contrast had been an allure to me.

“What one thing?” she asks.

Unfortunately for my mother, Melita no longer stirs the embers within my heart. That privilege belongs to one other.

And only one other.

“You mean nothing to me,” I say and watch a plethora of emotions scatter across a beautiful canvas.

“Theo,” she finally manages to whisper. “You don't mean that.”

I step closer, let Melita feel my heat. It scorches; she winces.

“My mother plays a dangerous game,” I whisper. “You have either inadvertently stepped into the arena or have made the same grave mistake as she. But know this, Melita Petrakos, I will fight my father for Right of Rule, and I will win. And those who oppose me will face my wrath in the aftermath.

“Are you ready to burn, Melita? For I shall bring down the flames of Pyrkagia upon those who move against me in such a fashion as never before seen. Genesis will be child’s play compared to me. The End of Days a mere playground spat.”

I reach up and run a hand softly over her hair, then cup her cheek.

“You once meant something to me and I to you,” I murmur. “But betrayal is a two-edged sword, my lovely. And I have sharpened mine over the centuries. Fair warning; your only warning. Walk away. Before you are no longer able to leave.”

My thumb strokes over her pale cheek, my eyes flare gold, my body vibrating. Pyrkagia flares; hers and mine. And for a moment I am lost without Casey.

I push Melita away and turn my back to her; a more obvious dismissal of this woman as a threat I can not perceive. But as I step further from Pyrgos and further from my immediate family, it is Melita’s Pyrkagia that reaches out to soothe me.

I want nothing of it. I want only Casey. But Casey is Gi, and no longer Pyrkagia, and a part of me is so devastated at the loss that I can barely breathe.

It is with no small measure of disgust that I make my escape too quickly. There is no sedate princely departure to be had; only a rush to distance myself from that which I no longer can have but long for desperately.

For a brief moment, I actually believe I can beat my father. For the rage that consumes me in that instant is so intensely hot and unforgiving, that it would fuel a thousand fires and lay waste to what is left of Auckland City.