“Greetings,” the Prince said, the ghost of a smile on his face. “I am your new master.”

The thing threw its head back against the tabletop, but this time no sound issued from its mouth, only a long dry hiss of despair.

A light tapping came at the door of the kitchen that led out into the garden at the center of the house. Gaius Julius looked up from where he was tiredly mopping up the pools of coagulated blood and offal that covered the stone floor. The tapping came again. He could barely make outs through the mottled glass pane that was inset in the door panel, a white hand. He looked around. Everyone else was asleep upstairs, save the Prince and the Persian, who were questioning the homunculus in the study.

The dead man loosened his dagger in its sheath and walked to the door. He reached for the latch, but stopped.

There’s no gate in the back wall, he thought. How did they get into the garden? Then he shook his head and laughed softly to himself. I’m already dead, what do I have to fear? He lifted the latch and swung the door open.

Three figures stood in the doorway on the pale-blue hex agonal tiles that covered the arcade around the garden. Their faces were shrouded in deep hoods of dark-green wool. A second cloak lay over their shoulders and dropped to their feet. The one in the middle leaned on a staff of pale-white ivory as tall as a man. A delicate white hand circled by thin bracelets of dark metal held the staff. Gaius Julius licked his lips in sudden unease. The fingernails of the hand were long and tapered to sharp points. The nails were a deep blue-black, like the carapace of an Egyptian scarab beetle.

“What… what do you want?” His voice was faint and he rallied suddenly. Who was he to fear phantoms in the night? He, who had destroyed the power of the Druids? He, who had built an Empire?

“We wish,” the central figure whispered in a low, husky voice, “to have words, friendly words with the lord of the house. He has spoken to one of our friends. He gave a token.”

The hand vanished into the deep folds of the robes and when it reappeared, it held a gold coin wrapped in the links of a brass chain of fine links. Gaius Julius nodded, his eyes narrowing. He took the coin and turned it over. The front was stamped with the image of the Augustus Galen, the obverse with a crude depiction of Maxian himself. A commemorative, the dead man thought.

“I’ll take your message. Wait here.”

The old man climbed the flights of stairs up to the third floor. Butter-yellow light spilled out of the study onto the landing. Gaius Julius stepped into the doorway. Within, the homunculus was seated on a stool at the center of the room, clad now in a simple tunic of muddy brown wool. Its shoulders were shrunken and its body seemed compressed in on itself. Maxian sat on the edge of the table he used as a desk, and the Persian was prowling around behind the creature. Krista was bundled up in a quilt and blankets on the window couch. Her eyes were closed and she seemed asleep, though Gaius Julius did not credit it for a moment.

“Lord Prince, there are…”

“We are here,” came the husky voice from behind him, “as the Prince requested.”

Maxian looked up in surprise, hearing the strange voice. Gaius Julius had jumped away from the door and spun, the dagger in his hand. A woman stood in the doorway, and the old Roman backed up as she entered. Two other women followed her. Maxian stood up, stepping away from the table.

The woman was tall, almost as tall as Maxian, with pale-ivory skin and deep-red hair, almost black, that fell behind her to her waist. A delicate net of silver held back the hair from her high forehead, and shining drops of ruby glittered at her ears. Her cloak and hood fell back from smooth white shoulders and revealed a black silk gown with buttons of white bone. She was as thin as a reed. Her lips were pale rose, and the beauty of her face was the more striking for the strength of her features. The Prince met her gaze and saw that her tilted eyes were so pale a blue that the iris was almost invisible in the white.

“You gave a token and a promise, O Prince,” said the woman, gliding into the room. Under the hem of her gown, her feet were bare. “We have come to speak of it.”

Maxian stood, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. The other two women still stood in the doorway, each possessed of a lush distracting beauty. One had hair like flax, golden and long, the other like a raven’s tail, glossy and black. Their robes were slightly parted, and the Prince glimpsed the edge of white thighs and the curve of full breasts under tightly fitting silk. Beside their mistress, they seemed faint, reflections of her full radiance. Pale stars to a moon bright in a night sky.

“So I did. Did the one carrying the token speak of my proposal?”

“That one did.” The woman drifted to the table, her long fingers languid as they touched the scroll that was open.

“You seek assistance in a mighty endeavor. We can give it, if I ken your purpose.”

She turned back to face Maxian, her face lit from within by a slow smile. The Prince nearly shuddered at the promise radiating from those eyes. His breathing slowed and he flexed the power that was coming more easily to him with each day. In the unseen world, barriers rose around him, Krista, and Gaius Julius. A whirling sphere of unseen fire already surrounded Abdmachus, who had backed up to the wall next to the window couch.

The woman laughed, a sound of delicate crystal tinkling in a breeze. “O Prince, you seek alliance, or mastery. We will not”fight you. You are too strong. If we cannot be friends then we will disappear, water before a blade. If we wish it, none can find us. That one who spoke before mentioned trust to you and you to that one. Do you wish to gain our trust? Our friendship?“ She stood close to the Prince now, who had turned to keep her in full view.

“Can you earn my trust?” Maxian’s voice was clear and steady, though the room had grown steadily darker. The two women at the door had entered now and stood on either side of it. The fire in the braziers had died to coals. Behind him, the Prince heard Krista move slightly in her blankets. “Can you earn my friendship?”

The woman bowed, her hands spreading in obeisance. Curls of her burgundy hair spilled over the white of her neck. “What is the price of a Prince’s friendship? What would please you, O Prince? Gold? Jewels? Murder? Me?”

Maxian laughed softly, just enough to cover the sound of Krista hissing in anger behind him.

“I am not Antony,” he said in an amused voice. “Trust and friendship are a long road, O Queen. A first step must be taken to reach the end. I will give you a gift, and you shall reciprocate. If each finds the gift appropriate and worthy, we will take a second step.”

“Well said.” The Queen’s voice was mellow and filled with honey. “What will you gift us?”

“Respite from pain, O Queen.”

The woman stepped back, her eyes flashing. Her lips curled in anger, revealing perfect white teeth. “What do you mean, man? What do you know of pain?”

Maxian stepped to the table and picked up a small black box that had been sitting next to the candles. He snapped it open, the only sound in the deathly quiet room, and drew out a small glass vial. In the light of the candles, the contents of the vial gleamed a murky red.

“I am a healer, O Queen, and know many arts. I felt the sickness in the one who spoke with me. I feel the pain that seeps along your bones like acid. This, if taken in moderation, can ease your pain for a full moon. In time, if we come to trust one another, I will provide you with the method of its manufacture.”

The Queen stared at the vial with a cold expression, then turned away and paced to the door. “Friendship cannot come of slavery, O Prince. We will not walk that path with you.”