Lucilla's private solar in Virunum was a masterpiece of controlled elegance. Polished marble floors reflected the cool northern light, and Greek scrolls were arranged on cedar shelves with a librarian's precision. It was a room designed for quiet contemplation and the ruthless dissection of strategy. At this moment, however, the quiet was being disturbed by the barely-suppressed panic of her most senior advisors.
Two pieces of shocking intelligence had arrived within the same hour, and their collective impact had sent tremors through her nascent government. The first was a breathless, garbled report from her spies in Pannonia, a wild tale of the Emperor performing a public miracle, of a man being resurrected from the Silenti horde only to be turned to glittering crystal before the eyes of a terrified crowd.
The second report was a coded message, delivered by a frantic courier from her chief adjutant, Piso—the man Maximus had so cleverly exiled. It was short and sharp: the Praetorian, Flaccus, sent on a tedious inspection of the southern watchtowers, had vanished from his prescribed route. His escorts had lost him in the Carnic Alps. Piso suspected treachery of the highest order.
Lucilla sat behind her large, ornate desk, listening to the panicked counsel of her war council.
"He is a god!" exclaimed Vitellius, a portly senator who had thrown his lot in with her. "He can command life and death! We have angered a god! We must send an envoy at once, reaffirm our loyalty, offer tribute!"
"Maximus is playing a double game!" hissed Corvinus, her security chief, a man whose defining characteristic was a perpetual, simmering suspicion. "This disappearance is no coincidence. He has a secret line to the Emperor. We must arrest him immediately, before the knife is at our throats!"
Lucilla listened to their fearful prattling, her expression a mask of serene contemplation, but her mind was moving with the speed and cold precision of a striking viper. She found their panic tedious. Fear was a blunt instrument, the tool of lesser minds. She dealt in calculation. When they had finally exhausted their panicked suggestions, she raised a single, elegant hand, and the room fell silent.
"Your counsel is noted," she said, her voice a calm, cool dismissal. "You are dismissed. I will contemplate our response."
They scurried from the room like frightened mice, leaving her in the welcome silence. Alone, she rose from her desk and walked to the large window overlooking the courtyard, where stonemasons were putting the finishing touches on a new aqueduct—her aqueduct.
"A god?" she scoffed to the empty room, her voice dripping with a profound, aristocratic contempt. "My brother is no god. I knew him when he was a sniveling, petulant boy who was frightened of horses. Men do not become gods. They simply find better weapons."
She began to pace, the soft tap of her slippers on the marble the only sound. Her mind was a whirlwind of cold, brilliant logic, connecting disparate points of data into a single, terrifying, and exhilarating pattern.
"This 'miracle' is not divinity," she mused, her fingers tracing the rim of a Grecian vase. "It is technology. It is a trick, of the same nature as the forges of Vulcania, or his clever repeating crossbows. He has a secret. He has always had a secret, ever since he came back from the Danube. The question is not what he is, but what he has found."
She stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing as the pieces clicked into place with startling accuracy.
"The ship," she whispered, a sudden, intuitive leap of logic. "The strange wreckage he 'discovered' at Ostia. The so-called 'blighted' grain that was its cargo. The grain that he now distills into that potent spirit, Aeterna Ignis, the source of his endless treasury. His own strange, recurring illness that his physician Galen attends to with such secrecy…"
She walked back to her desk, her movements now sharp and decisive. "And now this. A power that can seemingly rewrite the rules of the flesh. It is all connected. The ship, the grain, his wealth, his sickness, his power. It is not magic. It is not divine favor." She slammed her palm lightly on the polished wood of her desk. "It is alchemy. A new and terrible science. And if it is a science, it can be studied. If it can be studied, it can be understood."
A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. "And if it can be understood… it can be replicated."
This was the heart of her gambit. She was not intimidated by her brother's power; she was consumed by a burning desire to possess it for herself. The cold war she was waging was no longer about steel production, troop numbers, or economic influence. It had just escalated. The ultimate prize was now this new, terrifying alchemical science. Her brother had a weapon that could turn men to crystal. She would not rest until she had one of her own.
She strode to the door and summoned her spymaster, the quiet and unnervingly efficient Corvinus. He entered the room and stood before her, awaiting his orders.
"You were right about Maximus," she began, her tone crisp and businesslike. "He has a spy. This man, Flaccus. His disappearance is proof enough. My brother may be a god to the masses, but Maximus is still a plodding, honorable soldier. Predictable."
"Shall I have the Governor arrested, Augusta?" Corvinus asked, a flicker of eagerness in his eyes.
"No," Lucilla said, waving the suggestion away with contempt. "Arresting him solves nothing and makes him a martyr. I do not want the messenger; I want the source. Maximus thinks he is a clever spymaster now. Let him. Let him feel the thrill of his petty deceptions."
Her eyes glittered with a chilling, strategic light. "Here is what you will do. You will quietly put out the word that Flaccus's horse went lame and he is presumed to have sought shelter in a remote village. Create a cover story that removes all suspicion. Let him return to Maximus and deliver his little message. Let the old wolf believe his cub has made it back to the den unharmed."
Corvinus looked confused. "You want him to succeed?"
"I want him to feel safe," Lucilla corrected, her voice a silken threat. "A comfortable agent is a careless agent. I want Flaccus watched from the moment he returns, but he is not to be touched. I want to know every person he speaks to, every message he carries, every secret meeting he attends. I want you to use him to map Maximus's entire pathetic network of spies. I want to know all the honorable old general's dishonorable little secrets."
She paused, letting that order sink in. Then she moved on to the main objective.
"While you are watching the pawn, you will acquire the prize for me," she commanded. "My brother did not create this 'miracle' alone. His pet physician, Galen, is the key. He has assistants, alchemists, apprentices. I want one. Find me one of Alex's 'alchemists.' I don't care how you do it. Bribe them with riches beyond their imagining. Blackmail them with secrets from their past. If you must, kidnap their families and trade them piece by piece for the knowledge I require."
She leaned forward, her expression one of absolute, unwavering resolve. "My brother has a new toy. It is time I had one of my own. The game has changed, Corvinus. See to it that we are the ones who write the new rules."
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