…It gave me the notion of an exotic Immensity ruled by an august Benevolence. It made me tingle with enthusiasm. This was the unbounded power of eloquence—of words—of burning noble words.

'Exterminate all the brutes!'

Heart of Darkness, 66

Chapter One

Lucius was the oldest of the "second generation," called such as those first to come as children, elevated from the ignorance of their tribal origins. Graham and the others were well into adulthood and became substitute gods until the children were converted to what amounted to another brand of their own heathen religion. Higher beings were translatable—so were rituals of supplication. Names changed, perhaps minor details, but the core remained. Something outside of themselves, just out of reach, complex powers that explained what they could not. But that was an essential collar and leash on the masses. Religion, Lucius mused, was the greatest force of submission. Greater even than the threat of crucifixion, torture, or the murder of loved ones right in front of their eyes. It would behoove the Legion's cause to implement more of it in their great conquest.

A few Praetorians whispered hurried words and there was movement near the entrance to Caesar's war tent. Favoring his left knee, Lucius stood to see who—or what—had arrived. With great effort he walked smoothly up behind Caesar's throne, gazing over the balding, crowned head and into the calm eyes of their lord's daughter. She was dressed in profligate's clothing, dust covering the corn-silk of her hair, and blood decorating what visible bare skin there was. Her stance was straight, proud, unafraid. Portia was home at last.

"Tata," she murmured the Latin diminutive, bowing her head. Whether the respectful gesture was actually out of respect or simply mockery, Lucius could not guess. Portia's motives had always been a mystery to those charged as her guardians. He suspected that even Caesar was not fully certain of what went through his disobedient child's mind, what fueled the bright soul that spurred her actions. Had she been Lucius' own daughter, the girl would've been sent into seclusion with the priestesses in Flagstaff. But Portia was Caesar's only daughter, twin to his first son and heir, and she had been bestowed with his permanent favor the moment she first drew breath. It was a painful weakness of the man who was supposed to have none.

Lucius kept his attention on Portia as Caesar ordered most of his men out. Those left included only himself and Vulpes, who had been the one to bring her in. His expression was unreadable, as usual, but the firm set of his jaw revealed he was none too pleased with the current situation. It was a little tell Lucius had learned over the many years he had known the boy—well, he was no boy now. A grown man, and the leader of Caesar's Frumentarii. No mean feat. And yet a woman, one several years his junior, had bested him for an entire week after the three his men had fruitlessly spent looking for her. No, he was not pleased, Lucius was sure. And he shouldn't be—Caesar's daughter or no, the amount of time it had taken to retrieve the girl was an embarrassment.

Caesar finally spoke. His words were slow, and his tone that peculiar one used only upon his children. "So, daughter. You have returned."

Portia looked up, still calm. Lucius couldn't wait to hear what she had to say.

"Yes, father."

"What have you been doing these past four weeks?"

Inculta, who had not moved from Portia's side, clenched a fist at the mention of the ignominious time frame. It only lasted half a second, but Lucius caught it. From behind their lord, he allowed a smirk at the normally self-assured spy. Bastard deserved a knockdown now and then. But the young man didn't rise to the bait. Rather, he seemed to relax at Lucius' gesture, reading something out of it that wasn't clear to anyone but himself.

Caesar's daughter matched his measured, quiet tone. "Completing the job your men could not, father. I've found Joshua Graham."

The creak from Caesar's throne was loud as he shifted forward. "Tell me."

"Graham is in Utah, a place called Zion. A more specific location is marked on a map in my belongings. There he lives with a group of tribals, men and women who follow his preachings of peace and order. He is a free man." The last two words were spoken with such venom that even Vulpes glanced down at her. It was well-known Portia had little love for the former Mapais Legate, but she was always diplomatic, demure—her voice delicate. Now Lucius saw some of her fire revealed. Hereditary, perhaps, for it was not unfamiliar.

"Vulpes?" Caesar questioned, leaning back once more.

Inculta nodded once, his cold eyes settling upon his lord. "It will be done, Caesar."

"See that it is. And though you do not deserve it, I will make sure it isn't known that your job was done by a woman. But don't let it happen again." His words were simple, but the threat was glaring to Lucius, and, he imagined, to Inculta. Failure within the Legion garnered only one answer.

As she and Vulpes left the tent, it struck no one as peculiar that he rested his hand lightly on her back, guiding her out into the cool night beyond.

Portia did not care for the man called Lucius. He was egotistical and had nothing to show for it these days. Whatever respect that may have kept his subordinates from challenging his position was misplaced. And he stared—always stared, thinking whatever fool thoughts his brain entertained. They weren't hard to decipher, if one took a moment to examine his transparent features. The guard dog with no secrets. The guard dog who envied Vulpes Inculta. The guard dog who judged his lord's daughter without preamble.

The silly boy had better watch where he stepped, for she would have Caesar's ear long after his Praetorian heart stopped beating.

"What is on your mind, dulce?" Vulpes asked quietly. The black Nevada night was punctuated here and there by small fires near the tents. The way the shadows flickered across Vulpes' features made his eyes glint dangerously, though he did not look down when she glanced up at him. His attention was on their surroundings, searching, always searching for the next threat or useful intel.

Finally, Portia murmured, in a somewhat sultry tone, "My birthday." The sounds of a slave-whipping drifted their way, faint, but enough to steal her attention. Just for a moment. Then, "I know what I want you to get me."

"Is that so? Do elaborate."

In a split second she'd grabbed his hand and pulled him behind some empty tents. Startled by her indecorous behavior, Vulpes grabbed her shoulders and pushed her lightly against the wooden fence that surrounded the entirety of the camp. But there was a smirk on his face. He liked danger; he loved when Portia tested his limits. He stared into her blue, expansive eyes until she couldn't hold his gaze any longer. Then he very carefully ran his fingers down the side of her neck and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before leaning in and whispering, "Tell me, little bird."

For her part, Portia was stunned by Vulpes' astounding impropriety. Leave it to him to always one-up her. The way he touched her, that velvet tone of his voice, made her shiver in anticipation, in excitement, in longing for something she knew she shouldn't want. Not if she wanted to remain the master of her own soul, that is. But damn if she didn't wish to run her hands all over that body of his and kiss those soft-looking lips and tell him— Stop.

Portia pulled it together and dared to match his tone. Dark, a warning, a promise of something more. "I think Lucius has outgrown his position, don't you? Perhaps it is time for a change in the guard."

Chuckling, Vulpes leaned his forehead against hers, and took her hands in his. "If that is what you desire."

"It is."

"Then it will be done."