“…a libertine and a blasphemer,” he heard. It seemed to be Xenophon’ voice. So Lyn was right — the cantankerous old man was still the head of the Church. “He’ll pull some kind of ridiculous stunt and ruin everything.”

“Couldn’t have put it better,” agreed another male voice. “Who even came up with this? Was it you, Patroclus? Or you, Belizarius? You do have a way of losing touch with reality in your schemes. This one will wreck all the negotiations.”

“Well then, come up with a better idea, Demetrius. Or would you like to go in his place?”

“Demetrius is needed here,” said a young female voice. “Neither I nor the city can afford to be without the Eparch, even for a day. I can’t risk any of you — that’s precisely why we’re discussing this at all.”

“So we are admitting it’s a risk?” The one identified as Demetrius asked quickly. “You don’t trust Ardashir?”

"I trust Ardashir completely," Empress Valeria said firmly (it was her, with no doubt). "He needs peace even more than we do."   

“However,” added a soft-spoken older male voice, “it is worth remembering that there are many opponents of peace — among both Byzantines and Arya alike." There was a hint of menace in his tone as he added, “How fortunate that none of them are in this room.”

Peace with Arya? With the shifters, the heretics...? Lyn could hardly believe his ears.

A middle-aged woman’s voice chimed in.

“I’ve already suggested this: let’s send Cassiodorus. He’s my right hand; everything I know about the treasury, he knows — or nearly everything. He could handle the negotiations competently, and… I value him deeply, but... I mean, the country won’t fall apart without him if something goes wrong.”

Another voice, younger and more energetic, objected:

“And who is Cassiodorus in the eyes of the Arya? Prince Ardashir has written that he’ll be sending representatives from every clan, along with someone from his closest council. We must send someone of equal standing to show we’re serious.”

“As if those savages understand our ranks…” rumbled a deep, powerful voice that sounded like it belonged to a heavyset man.

"The Prince is more knowledgeable than most," said the soft-spoken older man, who before mentioned the opponents of peace. "I would even say he writes like a well-educated person."

“More likely, he has one of his Romei prisoners draft the letters,” said the woman skeptically.

“Either way,” the elder continued, “from what I’ve seen in his correspondence with the Empress, Arya understand a thing or two about our state system. At the very least, enough to recognize if we send someone without the authority to make real decisions.”

"What decisions?"  thundered the deep voice. "Everything's already decided! We're not seriously discussing ceding the Scorched Lands!"

“Once again,” the middle-aged woman interrupted calmly, “I’ll remind you that those lands have been so ravaged by war that they’ll bring us nothing but expenses for years to come. Ceding them to the barbarians could allow us to gain much in return — it’s far more prudent than trying to rebuild what’s already destroyed. And that’s the best-case scenario. There’s also the possibility we’ll have to rebuild them over and over again while continuing to armor fifty thousand swords and dry meat for an army of that size…”

“No,” the young voice of the Empress said sharply, “no, that’s not up for discussion. You’re absolutely right, lady Andromache, but the people would neither understand nor forgive it.”

The one who had been called Belizarius at the beginning of the conversation added his agreement.

“Ceding the land is out of the question. But Prince Ardashir, thank Hera, is inclined toward peace. I’m confident he’s open to compromise.”

“I believe so, too,” said the elder, “and Sophia does as well — she’s even volunteered to go. I’m so confident in the outcome that I don’t even fear for her, though I love her as a daughter. You all know her; I consult her on many matters. She seems to me an excellent choice for the negotiations: a noble patrician. And she’s my granddaughter — the granddaughter of the Grand Logothete.”

After a pause, Demetrius muttered:

“Better Sophia than the Archon. She’s intelligent and understands the stakes. But will Arya even speak to a woman?”

“As far as I can tell,” Valeria said, clearly pleased, “Arya respect women even more... Very well. Sophia… Cassiodorus… But it’s still not enough. Someone from the Council must go with them…” She paused. “…or the Archon.”

“By Ares’ balls! I can’t believe we’re seriously discussing this,” the booming voice said in disgust.

“I must insist that you refrain from such language in the presence of a representative of the Holy Church!” Xenophon protested indignantly.

"I'd say I won't, but you know me well," the man chuckled. "The very thought that this useless drunkard could help us..."

The Empress cut in.

“Maybe he’s a drunkard, but he’s the only one who ever dared say ‘no’ to my father.”

"Let’s not entertain wild tales,” Belizarius remarked.

“You’re not seriously talking about that old rumor, are you?” eagerly asked a young man whose name had yet to be mentioned. “The one about the magical bird he supposedly killed?”

“Well, no… People don’t ride on birds.”

“Some people are different from others,” said the elder — the Grand Logothete, it turned out, the second most powerful person in the country after the Empress. “And so are birds. After they found the new Archon, the war didn’t change one bit. That alone tells us something. Or do you think the Red Emperor would have passed up such a weapon?”

“Or maybe our Archon was drunk off his ass and didn’t even get what the Emperor wanted from him, ” the booming voice laughed.

“Don’t be an even bigger idiot than you already are, Constantine. If anyone could get their point across, it was Emperor Valerius. Even to the worst drunkard,” Belizarius said dryly.

“Are you even sure the divinity of the Archon of This World isn’t a myth?” the young man pressed on. “I believe the Emperor wanted such power, sure. But come on, I want a lot of things too. Don’t you think the guy might just… not actually be special?”

“Julius, I ask you not to blaspheme,” said an older woman coldly, the one the Empress had called Andromache, who appeared to be in charge of the treasury.

“You know, it’s actually… quite reassuring that the younger generation thinks the Archon is a myth,” Belizarius said quietly, almost slyly. “It means we’re living in fortunate times. Thank God you haven’t seen Hector, the one they called the Puppet, in action. Arya got to know his divinity up close and personal back in the day.”

“I know the Puppet wasn’t a myth,” Julius muttered, deflated. “My father fought beside him. But this new Archon… You’ve seen him. You know what they say: “The Saint from the Brothel…”

“Exactly!” Xenophon brightened. “I could tell the moment I saw him — God turned His back on him.”

“Then he wouldn’t bear the mark,” Andromache countered.

“To the ravens with that mark!… Look, this isn’t about whether he has any real power,” Belisarius said irritably. “Do you honestly care if God’s with him or not? If it’ll help negotiations, I’ll paint that stupid mark on his forehead myself… Lord, forgive me, a sinner,” he added hastily.

“What the Archon can or can’t do — and what to do with him — is a topic for the next meeting. Let’s address problems one at a time,” the Empress agreed. “For now, it’s enough that he’ll simply… be present. Be the Great Archon.”

Lyn stepped back from the door and tried to collect his thoughts.

That they intended to use him wasn’t surprising, nor was it insulting.

That they intended to use him because he was useless — now that was something new.

And — most bizarre of all — they intended to use him for a noble cause.

Lyn wasn’t opposed to the idea. If nothing else, it gave him a chance to negotiate for his own position. And things couldn’t possibly get worse than they already were.

(They could. They absolutely could, his memory whispered. Lyn told it to shut up.)

As if hearing his thoughts, Demetrius said, “Why are we so sure he’ll even agree to help? If only we could just drug him with a sedative…” (Lyn flinched.) “…but negotiations require his conscious cooperation.” 

“I think he’ll be overjoyed to get even a shred more freedom than he has now and will agree to anything,” Belisarius said with a shrug. After a moment’s thought, he added, “Even if it’s just the illusion of freedom”.

“And we’ll have to fill him in on the details,” Demetrius pressed on, still arguing. “Do you think a boy raised in a brothel knows anything about politics? He probably can’t even string together a proper, respectable sentence.”

"His so-called sermons are pure street profanity," Xenophon confirmed.  

"Nonsense!" Belizarius waved away. "Cassiodorus and Sophia will handle the negotiations; the Archon won’t even open his mouth. All he needs to do is show up as the face of the state. Impress the delegates with his divinity."  

"To be honest, he doesn't look very… impressive," Demetrius grumbled.  

"What do you think, Xenophon?" Valeria asked. "You've seen him more than any of us, and you know him better. Can he be convincing enough?"  

"Well, he's more or less convincing," the churchman admitted reluctantly, "if he goes at least one day without a bottle. And even those wretched, blasphemous speeches of his… The people listen to them."  

"That's true," Andromache agreed. "At least if you judge by how much money the Archon’s portraits bring in."  

"There, you see?" Belisarius said, brightening. "We just need to make sure the boy is sober and decently dressed."   

"I could send Antipater with him, I suppose," Xenophon relented halfheartedly. "He could keep that wastrel in line for a few days… if God’s willing."  

"Speaking of which, where’s Antony?" the Grand Logothete muttered. "He should have brought the Archon here by now..." 

Demetrius persisted: 

"I still think it's a terrible idea. I'll bet that smug little shit just doesn't…"

Lyn pushed the door open, and walked into the Council chamber.

Demetrius abruptly cut off mid-sentence. A moment later, with syrupy sweetness, he exclaimed:

"Ah, it is our divine saviour! Welcome, Archon of This World!"  

Lyn glanced at him — a short, pudgy man in garish, clashing clothes — before surveying the rest of the Council. Eight people sat around an enormous marble table buried under a heap of documents. One chair was empty.

At the head of the table, Lyn saw a very young woman with a round face. Her auburn braid circled her head, perhaps to make the heavy crown seem less oversized. She wore the ludicrously ornate imperial purple, its hue eerily reminiscent of the blood-red letters Lyn had seen on the wall earlier, and the dark pool that had gathered beneath them.

All eyes turned toward Lyn as the door creaked open.

“Um… Greetings, good lords and la… lads… ladies,” Lyn slurred. “I must say, these halls… an absolute maze. Ravens themselves would get lost. I’ve been fuck… wandering for ages.” He swayed slightly, for dramatic effect.

Several Council members rolled their eyes. A burly, black-bearded man — likely the one called Constantine — muttered a curse under his breath.

The young woman in the crown studied Lyn intently, from head to toe, then said in a voice tinged with doubt:

“You seem to be having a rough time.”

Xenophon hissed loudly, "I'm telling you, it's a fool's errand."