“There’s something else, Shrike,” Avitas says. “I tried to decode the letter we found on Alistar, but she used disappearing ink. The only thing left by the time I got to it was the sign-off.”

She. “Keris Veturia.” Avitas nods, and I want to scream. “That traitorous bitch,” I snarl. “She must have been meeting with Karkauns when she was at the Roost. Where the bleeding hells is Corporal Favrus?”

“Found him dead in his quarters. No wounds on him. Poison.”

Keris had one of her assassins take him out, just like she had someone murder Captain Alistar. Knowing how badly she wants to be Empress, her intentions now are obvious: She didn’t want us to know of Grímarr’s approach. She wanted Emperor Marcus and me to look like fools—dangerous, incompetent fools. So what if a blood-hungry warlock lays siege to Antium? She knows that with reinforcements, we can destroy the Karkauns—though holding off a force of fifty thousand men will take its toll. Worse, she’ll use the chaos created by a siege to destroy Marcus, Livia, and me. She’ll beat back the Karkauns, be hailed as a hero, and get what she always wanted, what the Nightbringer has no doubt promised her: the throne.

And I cannot prove any of it. Even if I know, in my very bones, that this is her intent.

It did not have to be this way, Blood Shrike. Remember that, before the end.

“We need to tell the Emperor,” I say. And somehow I need to convince him to get Livia out of the city. If Grímarr’s force is coming here, there is no more dangerous a place for her. Antium will be chaos. And Keris thrives in chaos.

We are armed and locked in Emperor Marcus’s war room within the hour. Runners fan out across the city, bringing in the Empire’s generals, many of whom are also Paters of their Gens. A dozen maps are brought in, each laying out different sections of the terrain to the north.

“Why didn’t we know about this?” asks General Crispin Rufius, the head of Gens Rufia, as he circles the room, cunning as a vulture. Marcus threw Crispin’s brother over Cardium Rock months ago. I don’t expect his support. “Reports come in every day from these garrisons. If something was out of the ordinary, there are a dozen people who should have caught it.”

Marcus tilts his head, as if listening to something the rest of us cannot hear. The Paters exchange a glance, and I try not to curse. Now is not the time for our emperor to start chatting with his dead brother. He mutters something, then nods. But when he does finally speak, he sounds perfectly calm.

“The reports were manipulated,” Marcus says, “by someone who values their own interests over the Empire, no doubt.” The implication is obvious, and even though I’ve no indication that Rufius is in any way involved in changing the reports, the rest of the men in the room look at him suspiciously. His face turns red.

“I am merely saying that this is highly irregular.”

“It’s done.” I speak, a hand on my scim so that he remembers I lured his brother and the Paters of other allied Gens into Villa Aquilla, trapped them, and had them taken at scimpoint to Cardium Rock to die. “Now we reap the consequences. Whoever planned this wants the Empire weak. There is no greater weakness than infighting. You can continue to discuss why we didn’t know about the Karkaun attack, or you can help us stop the bastards.”

The room is silent, and Marcus, taking advantage of the moment, taps Umbral Pass, north of Antium. “Grímarr gathers his men just north of the pass,” he says. “From there, it’s a four-day ride to Antium on a swift horse, two weeks for an army.”

For hours, we argue. Antium has six legions—thirty thousand men—guarding it. One general wants to send a legion out to stop Grímarr before he reaches the city. The captain of the city guard, my cousin Baristus Aquillus, volunteers to lead a smaller force. I pace in irritation. Every minute we don’t make a decision is another minute that the Commandant gets closer to Antium, another minute that my sister’s and nephew’s lives are in danger from both Keris and the Karkauns.

As the Paters press Marcus, I expect his volatility to show. I wait for him to acknowledge the voice he hears. But for once, he appears his old self, as if the threat of war has brought back the cunning foe who plagued Elias and me during our years at Blackcliff.

By dawn, the generals have departed with new orders: to get the legions armed and ready to fight and to shore up Antium’s defenses. The drums thunder ceaselessly, demanding aid from the governors of Silas and Estium. Meanwhile, Marcus calls up reserve soldiers, but he needn’t have bothered. Antium’s citizens are Martials through and through. Grímarr and his men savaged our port. At the news of another attack, hundreds of young men and women arrive at barracks across the city, volunteering for duty, hungry for revenge.

“My lord.” I take the Emperor aside after the others leave. I wish there were a better time, but no one knows Marcus’s mood from one moment to the next. And right now, he seems as sane as he’s ever been. “There’s the matter of your wife and heir.”

Marcus’s whole body goes still. He’s listening to the voice that speaks to him—to Zak’s ghost. I send a silent plea to the spirit to make our emperor see reason. “What of them?” he says.

“If there is a siege, this is the last place you’ll want them to be. The Grain Moon is less than a month away. Livia is due then. I advise that you get her to safety, ideally in Silas or Estium.”