PART I

HELEN: My name is Helen. Let me tell you

Of the evils I have suffered.

- Euripides, Helen

In any day except for summer, Reim was hot. Paradoxically in the summer cool winds blew and alleviated the empire's hot and sweaty cities; in the winter, the rain came and the airs were mild but humid. In Remano the buildings climbed high, matching in height its massive defensive fortifications, but the city itself was crowded—and it remained crowded, no matter what reworking of public highways or housing the senate or the emperor undertook.

That was the charm of it, sometimes. Everyone hailing each other and seeing the colorful tunics of citizens, slaves, and freedmen mingling and passing each other by. Other times, the city was very simply a hot mess that boiled over when everyone headed to the baths in the afternoon.

It was on one such hot day when I first met her.

At the time, Myron and I had only been introduced to the Alexius clan—our uncle Ignatius was patriarch even then, and he had been the one to grant our father's wish in legitimizing us, and thus bestowed upon us the great name of Alexius, to the complete surprise of everyone else in the clan.

It had—and it always will be, no matter how much I would care to deny it—been painful, my childhood. Beforehand Myron and I had always traveled with our father, who had been on campaign for many long years, knowing bringing back his two bastard Fanalis children with him to the imperial capital would be social suicide; in the camp his honor and his authority were unquestioned, and we could at least play at being a family, no matter that our father was always busy.

But he could evade returning to Remano no more, and Myron and I were suddenly thrust into the spotlight. As a man of wealth and prestige and as a man carrying the Alexius name, he could never marry our mother, even if he loved her; it would mean disgrace and losing his station—and at the very worst he would be stripped of his military command. Siring children on a Fanalis slave was acceptable, but the intermarriage of slave and Reiman citizen—the law and everyone else simply forbade it.

It mattered little, in the end. Our mother disappeared. Father was heartbroken, but married, as was expected of him. Ignatius took his brother's cause under his wing and welcomed us into the Alexius clan.

One day, we were sent to the academy. And it was on one specific day that I had found myself on the rooftop, looking down on the city below me; the farther up I was, the more like ants the people were, the more I could pretend that I didn't exist.

It—it was never easy being half Fanalis, when everyone regarded them as nothing better than bloodthirsty beasts or slaves. This was the one thing even the most revered name of Alexius could not shield me from: the fact that the other half of me would forever be Fanalis, half-alien.

Children could be vicious, spoiled upstarts even more so, and my eleven year old self never bore the brunt of their insult very well. Up on the rooftop I would be unbothered, and it was at least cool compared to the mild lower levels; I was surrounded by nothing more but an artificial garden and marble busts of famous Reiman figures, which brought painful memories of my father's tents in the wilderness.

I felt wretched. And it probably showed on my face, because a voice soon called out: "You."

I startled upon hearing it. I thought I had been completely alone, so when I turned, I was a bit angry and dismayed at the sight of two other children on the rooftop.

One of them I recognized as a boy in the year ahead of me, a boy that was easily the most popular in the entire academy: his name was Apollo. Marcus Carnidius Apollo, the son of—at that time, anyway—the most famous Apollo to have lived. Descending from their older and larger Carnidius clan, the Apollo line reliably sired accomplished generals for the Empire of Reim, much like the Alexius clan. The only thing differentiating the two was the Apollo stayed from entering politics, which the Alexii surely did.

He was popular and well-liked. He excelled in everything he did, and had an entourage always following him, no matter where he went. He was everything an Apollo was supposed to be, which was far more than I could attest to, carrying the name of Alexius.

But it was not him who had spoken. No; the voice had been of a girl's, and she stood close to Apollo, looking at me curiously with amber eyes. It struck me as strange—the academy was divided by gender, and the association between the two was strictly prohibited.

Then again, who was I to talk? Skipping one of your oration classes to escape to the rooftop was punishable by whipping. And here I was anyway.

Her, though, I truly did not recognize. But still she stared at me, her head tilted a bit to the side, and it was a combination of her eyes and Apollo's that made me avert my gaze.

"Why," she said, though it was not with derision, but again with an inquisitive tone, "do you look away? You're an Alexius, are you not?"

It did not surprise me that they knew of me. I was infamous for not being able to fit in, and I did not feel very much like an Alexius. I felt like a fraud; I was not an Alexius, I was nothing but my father's son, and all these traditions, these politesses, had been foisted upon me when all I wanted was to be far, far away from the imperial capitol and live in a tent with my father, sister, and mother again.

"Look up, Alexius," Apollo said in a gently chiding tone, like he was playfully reminding a friend of something they'd forgotten. "We're all equals here."

I did. The line of Apollo had always been blessed with the sun's favor, and in their hair the sun shone; he had a head full of yellow-gold curls and cowlicks, with a smile just as bright, and brown eyes just as warm—he was unexpectedly very amiable, a trait he would carry even into adulthood and win him the loyalty of many people.

"I know we are," I quietly muttered. But everyone else seemed to forget, including me.

"My name is Marcus Carnidius Apollo," The boy said, the surplus of names rolling off his tongue practically needlessly, "and you're Muu Alexius, are you not?"

The difference in introduction did not go unnoticed by me. As descendants of the great Emperor Pernadius, our branch name Alexius was perhaps the most famous amongst the many honorable lines in Reim; everyone immediately knew from whose past glories our blood stemmed. Going by two names was a distinction granted only to honored men, and if his honor was big enough, his children would also be referred to in the same manner.

It also meant I was technically of higher station than Apollo, even with his prestigious father. There was a difference, which he duly observed, however miniscule that difference seemed in my eyes.

But if anything really, the older boy seemed not to mind too much, as he continued smiling. "My friend here—"

"My name is Aemilia Servilius," The girl uttered. She used a feminization of her clan name as her first name, which was an archaic tradition that underestimated the importance of women; it was also one of the many traditions she would make anachronistic come her adulthood. She did not smile like Apollo, but did not sneer either. Rather she kept her oddly curious expression, though in the next moment she snapped her head around a bit to look if anyone else was on the rooftop.

When she was satisfied that it was only us three, she turned her amber eyes on me again.

In my later years, I would be able to remember them without a moment's delay. Even as a child she pointed her eyes on things and people as if her stare was a tool she could use; she could focus on something squarely without her attention wavering, but I never found the scrutiny to be cutting—rather, her eyes were assessing, analyzing, meditating mutely.

I always wondered what she was thinking. I wondered even then when I was eleven, why she wouldn't stop looking. It was the proximity and relentlessness that jarred me, and even after minutes of close staring, she did not abate.

Either way, I did not recognize her name. I did not look at her much, in those early days.

"Apollo," She said conspicuously, "we should get going."

The boy shrugged carelessly. "I suppose we should." He turned to me, raising a lofty hand. "Goodbye, Alexius."

I just nodded in response. The girl nodded at me as well, and they both marched back into the stairwell, my Fanalis ears picking up the stray strands of their conversation.

"Guess he can have our spot. Will you talk us out of punishment later again?"

"No. We agreed. It's your turn to cover, Marcus."

"Ah. Well. Let's hope this doesn't get to father unlike last time…"

To my family, Apollo had been the more illustrious acquaintance I made that day. After all: nobody in the academy ever knew what Aemilia would become, and nobody ever expected the meteoric ascension of her career in her adulthood. It was practically prophesized that Apollo would make that rise in power instead, given his lineage, and as a young boy having just met the son of a great war hero—if not the greatest, surpassing at that time even Ignatius in skill and renown, I would later learn—it was all my family could think about.

In the succeeding days I saw Apollo in the halls, in between lessons; he always waved a hand at me and smiled, and of course, every other boy clamoring for the Apollo's attention noticed. The bullying abated. I was free to focus on my classes without the heckling. Even father and Ignatius were pleased by my improvement in school performance—though they did blink when I mentioned the passing interference of a member of the Apollo family.

"Who?" Ignatius asked, a brow raised.

I could feel my throat grow dry. Ignatius had always been a towering figure in the family, and the combination of his stature and the service he had done Myron and I always made me want to please him. "Carnidius Apollo," I said, "Marcus, I think his name was."

"That's Apollo Magnus's boy," Father said with incredulity, invoking the name of that great war hero who many in the older generation simply called Apollo the Great. He drew close to me and ruffled the long hair on my head, which was something he always used to do when we were encamped with him. He chuckled, shaking his head as he spoke with some badly concealed excitement, "You're making the right friends, Muu."

Ignatius merely nodded in agreement.

I myself wouldn't call me a friend of an Apollo, but at that time I shut my mouth, knowing that if both my father and my uncle wanted it, then I would do everything in my power to make it so.

It was always easier said than done, however.

It seemed that despite the large entourage of young boys clamoring to be his companions, Apollo didn't favor any of them; he ate with them, went to lessons with them, and even laughed at their jokes but at the end of the day he stayed as other boys were fetched by their family's servants, and every morning it was rumored that he was always the first at the academy.

I myself was usually hurried along home in the afternoons. It was only once, due to Myron's antics, that our servants came late, and I happened to be at the academy when no one else but Apollo was.

I wandered round the stone colonnades, half-looking for him, half just appreciating the silence of the academy. And it was then, across the dusty courtyard, that I saw him: under the dimming light of an orange sun, he was chatting amiably with Aemilia Servilius, the girl I had first met him with.

They seemed like friends of the first order.

When we returned to the Alexius estate in Remano, that evening I asked Myron all I could of Aemilia Servilius, wondering what attracted Apollo to her. She seemed like any other girl I'd ever met at that point—and why would he bother with her, taking the trouble to stay after hours in the afternoons and arriving earliest in the mornings to be with her, when he had scores of admirers in the boys that followed him around his lessons?

To my surprise, my sister actually knew of Aemilia. And it seemed she was popular in the way that everyone knew of her in the girls' part of the academy; she was like Apollo in that respect, but unlike his universal admiration, she was treated with universal derision.

"She's Aemilia Servilius," Myron spat. "Patrician. But poor."

The reaction had me taken aback. And then, Myron continued as she carelessly brushed her hair—she had always taken to the aristocratic lifestyle better than I had—"She has a brother in the senate. They say it'll be his last year. I don't know why Apollo's friends with her."

Perhaps there had been a bit of jealousy to her tone. It seemed reasonable; everyone, including me, wanted to be the companion of Apollo. It was synonymous to good fortune: the Apollo family was rich and powerful, whose extensive patronage network would grant any young companion of his a promising career in the military.

And what was the empire without its legions?

Nothing, of course. At the time.

Apollo continued to elude. I did not serendipitously meet him on the rooftop anymore; he was a full year ahead of me in lessons, and so I could not sit in the same class as he was, and when we passed each other by in the colonnades I was no more than any other boy clamoring for his attention.

Another time, I stayed over at the academy after hours. I had simply asked my father to be fetched later than usual; he did not question the request, as it was only for a short while, and I had made an excuse about an extended lesson requiring my presence.

I easily found Apollo and Aemilia across the courtyard that separated the academy's genders once again, my eyes trailing their figures as they talked.

Ordinarily Apollo had a warmness about him, but the effect was twofold whenever he was around her; he was friendly with the boys that trailed him, but he seemed to enliven even more when he was with her—with her he chattered on and on, stopping only to listen earnestly whenever she opened her mouth to speak.

The short period of when I was beginning at the academy was all I had with the both of them. Years would pass and I would be seventeen when my path would fully reunite with theirs. They appeared as a pair even then, but the dynamics would shift, and Aemilia would emerge the dominant figure in my mind.

For now, as a boy of eleven years, I would wonder what conversations these two had. The war prince and the daughter of a family everyone seemed to look down upon. It was incongruous; it was curious. I watched as the two made their way to the entrance of the academy, quietly following them a few steps behind, stopping to hide behind a pillar as they walked down the marble steps of the academy and joined a small party of servants.

Then, they started walking. With a predetermined destination in their minds, it seemed. They were going in the opposite direction of the patrician estates, where the Alexian villa was as well. It made me infinitely curious—children were not allowed in the baths, though now was the prescribed time for it, and in not many other places were children allowed to roam in Remano in the afternoon, with only a few hours until sundown.

Just where was the heir of the Apollo and his friend going?

Against my better judgment, I began to follow them. Since entering the academy I began to leave the villa with an extra amount of cloth attached to my robe to throw upon my head and hide my red Fanalis hair; it drew too much attention whenever Myron and I made the journey between our new "home" and the academy. I threw my hood over this time as well, weaving in and out of the crowd as I followed the backs of Apollo and Aemilia.

My steps were drowned out in the sheer amount of other people on the road—walking was the prime method of transportation in Remano, for rich and poor alike, though the rich always took care to bring an escort of guards and servants wherever they went with them. In these crowds I was able to follow the Apollo party with some difficulty, though apparently the servants were his, and took greater care in trying to hide his presence than Aemilia's. They had given him a cloak to wear, evidently his own with the way it was brilliantly dyed, though Aemilia had also brought her own cloak.

Eventually, they led me to the steps of the imperial courts. It was a large building that had chambers of a circular stone structure, much like an amphitheater, meant to seat a crowd that would watch as defendant and accuser stood trial, in front of a magistrate seated on a raised dais. Indeed, a large crowd was still gathered outside a particular chamber, and in the stands were people cheering and hissing; it meant a trial was ongoing, which shocked me, because even judges adjourned by the time afternoon rolled. All these men and women would normally be at the baths at this time.

I watched as Apollo threw a hood over his golden head. Aemilia said nothing as she watched the motion, then Apollo's servants began to discreetly push through the crowd to fight their way inside, and to the front row of seats. I trailed behind them, my Fanalis blood making it easy to track their movements, as well as shove my way to the front as well.

Eventually, I managed to get a seat not far from theirs; if I tilted my head to the side I would see the short figures of Apollo and Aemilia across the way, though as they arrived there they were greeted by an older man and his own small party of servants.

This man—dressed in the white and red bordered toga of the senate, a senator therefore—bent down to envelop Aemilia in a hug, which she returned tightly. Apollo still wore his hood, though the man ruffled his clothed head all the same.

Just as I watched this interaction, the crowd erupted in cheers. It was a deafening roar that spoke of just how much the people were riveted to the scene, how hysterical the entire thing had gotten. I know now, as an adult, that the crowd had been whipped into this frenzy; hours of speeches and false witnesses and manufactured evidence had stirred them into a murderous furor beforehand, everything perfectly staged by conspiracy.

My eleven year old attention was then directed to another man—this time much, much older but also wearing the white-and-red toga of the senate—suddenly coming to the center of the court, holding up a scrap of paper in his hands, and shouting, "Behold, fellow citizens, for I have in my hands a letter detailing the very conspiracy to kill the emperor!"

I sat there, shocked. Where everyone else had risen to scream GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY! I had sat back to think of what had just been said.

At that time, to many Reimans the idea that someone had plotted to kill the emperor was pure treason. It was synonymous to engineering the fall of the empire, for so vital was the role of emperor to Reim, and to many of the people gathered in that court that day it meant cutting down the figure of someone who had administered to and protected the empire for three long decades. Why would someone plot to kill the emperor? What had he done to merit being killed, to meet such a dishonorable end at the hands of a few conniving snakes, when he had loyally served the empire for many long years?

He had done nothing. Emperor Tiberius never deserved to be assassinated. He didn't even deserve the stain on his honor this treason trial would bring him—that was the conclusion everyone else in the court had drawn then and there.

Me? Right then I was just an eleven year old boy. At that point I had spent most of my life away from the capitol, in warzones far removed from the scheming and conspiracy that surrounded everyday life in Remano. And what was more, I was half-Fanalis. My loyalty was to my family only, and the emperor seemed like such a distant figure that he had never truly crossed my mind beforehand.

It was a confusing scene. My eleven year old mind didn't know what to think.

All around me the crowd was still screaming. GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY!

I watched the senator handle the crowd expertly, guiding their emotional response. He shook his head as if in pity, raising the scrap of paper again as he gestured to the citizens gathered around him—the crowd jeered—and the man then raised his voice to speak: "The very same conspiracy we have debated today—and you, the people, have seen to be true! This very same conspiracy the accused refuses to admit his part in!"

The mention of the accused drew widespread scorn and jeering once again. I looked to Apollo, wondering what he was thinking. Unfortunately his expression was hidden by the folds of his hood, but he was seated, whereas Aemilia and the older man had risen to view the trial that was still ongoing.

"Publius Aemilius Servilius has claimed no part in this conspiracy—but allow I, Titus Sujanus, your humble senator, to read you now the contents of this very letter, taken from the possessions of those the honorable judges of Reim have deemed conspirators in this plot!"

Publius.

Aemilius.

Servilius.

As the crowd grew silent to listen to the senator's words, for the first time I turned to properly look at Aemilia, standing beside the man who had hugged her. It was her brother, the senator still in his white and red bordered toga, the man who Myron said his term in the senate this year would be the last.

They were both the children of Publius Servilius, and they were both watching the humiliating downfall of their own father.

Aemilia was slight. She had a cloak that used to be fine, but had grown worn from years of use; she had muddy brown hair, spiraling in wild curls that were held back from her face with a single bronze clip and nothing else. She had the tan skin of someone who had been raised somewhere less metropolitan than Remano—it was skin darker than what patrician society declared normal in their midst, the same skin I bore.

But her eyes. Her eyes, which everyone who saw her always deemed to be the most striking thing about her, were an intense shade of liquid amber; they were trained wholly on the unfolding spectacle before her, the event that would spell out the end of her family's name.

As Sujanus finished his speech, the inner doors of the chamber were thrown open. Two guards dragged inside the final man to this trial, a man who could be no other than Publius Servilius himself, who was desperately fighting off the hold the guards had on him.

"See here the snake uncoiled before us!" Sujanus threw his open palm at the new arrivals. The crowd hissed and spit where Publius stood.

"I am innocent! This is unlawful! I was brought here against my will, I have nothing to do with the treason of those filthy—"

Sujanus interrupted mockingly, "Forgive me, fellow citizens, for I do believe I was mistaken in my words! This is no snake, but rather a mouse!"

There were laughs and sneers all around. Someone even pelted Publius with a pebble, and he pitifully rubbed at the spot where he had been hit.

The senator shook his head once more, and my breath caught in my throat as I watched him begin to walk towards where Aemilia and her brother stood. "You have tried to escape the laws that govern every Reiman citizen by resisting arrest, Servilius, and still you hide from your guilt! Will you continue to act so dishonorably, knowing your own children are here?"

It grew quiet in the court.

"For shame, Servilius!" A man beside me yelled, but I was riveted to the calm both Aemilia and her brother displayed. Every pair of eyes from the mob were on them, assessing them, wondering if they too would be sacrificed to the trial and thus to the hysteria of their hate and scorn, if they too would be held up as co-conspirators in their father's folly.

In that instant their faces were devoid of any kind of emotion—there was no anger and no embarrassment, but most importantly there was no compassion to be had in their faces.

Only perfect calm, which was unnerving to see in the face of a child like Aemilia. The court was ghostly quiet as everyone stared, then as Aemilia's brother shook his head and publicly repudiated their father for the both of them.

They would continue to repudiate him in years to come. Aemilia would later claim that he had been no true father to her to begin with; I would see when we were all older that the loss of Publius had been nothing to them. But to see son denying father—to see heir deny patriarch—it drove the mob wild, renewing the jeers and hissing and making Publius bow his head in shame.

In the academy the next day, she found me.

I had had a lot to think about since then, not least of which were my loyalties to Reim, and the fact that I had only been seeking Apollo's friendship when I instead stumbled upon the treason trial of another student's father.

"You," She said. She found me at the base of the steps to the academy, hidden behind a massive statue of a dead emperor. Ironically, it had been Pernadius's statue, and even just his carved foot cast a shadow large enough for my half-Fanalis body to hide in, as I waited for the Alexius servants to arrive and fetch me.

"Shouldn't you be with Apollo," I blurt out before I could say anything else. It had been better than, say, has your father been executed yet, or how are you still allowed to study here, at least, which was something she later told me other children relentlessly needled her about.

Aemilia raised a single brown brow and a tilt of her lips at me which indicated amusement. My eleven year old self was confused. I remember thinking: wasn't her family publicly shamed for all to see just yesterday? How could she be smiling at me like that?

There were those intense orange-gold eyes again, staring at me. I noticed again how her hair was free from the jewels or chains every other girl in the academy wore, how she only had one cheap bronze bangle to hold her wild brown hair in place. She was even wearing that beat up cloak again.

But against everything, she could still pin me in place with only her gaze, still act every inch the patrician noble my eleven year old self could never be. That was how proud her demeanor was, how unflinching the confidence she placed in herself was. Aemilia looked and acted like she had been born with the honor of an Alexius or an Apollo, and as adults it often surprised people when they found out about her lowly origins.

"If you want to be his friend so much," She said with friendly mock, "ask. I certainly won't guarantee his assent to it, but it's always worth a shot. Try to sweeten your offer, though. He gets a lot of these requests."

I said nothing in response. Merely shuffled my feet.

"You were there, weren't you," She uttered. My head snapped up. She was still smiling. "You were staring the entire time."

"I'm sorry," Was all I could manage to say.

Aemilia shook her head. "I would not say that about a man nearly convicted of treason."

"Aemilia."

We both looked up. It was the man from yesterday. Her brother. He had evidently walked up to us, again still wearing his senatorial toga, though he had two servants trailing behind him. Apparently he was the one that brought and dropped her off at the academy every day; Myron liked to say it was because her family was so poor they could only afford two servants as escorts each time, but later on I would find out it was because her brother, though he was born from a mother different from Aemilia's, was the only person in her family she was close to.

"Brother," Aemilia began without missing a beat, "This is Muu Alexius. He's a year below me and Apollo in lessons." She looked at me, "Alexius, this is my older brother. Gaius Aemilius Servilius."

I felt my throat constrict again. Gaius looked to be at least thirty, with the same amber eyes as Aemilia, though he had raven hair and a manner just as friendly as his half-sister's. He dipped his head at me, a warm smile on his face, but I felt paralyzed, in the presence of a senator. They were the most powerful legislators in the empire, and Gaius was one of them; it confused me that his family was so looked down upon, treason trial aside, when he was a senator. "It's always an honor to meet a young Alexius like you. You're Ignatius Alexius's nephew, aren't you? You'll do many things for your name, I'm sure, as have many before you."

It was like he could see right through me and my fears about the future. "It's—and it's an honor to meet you, Senator Servilius."

That day Gaius had merely come by early to fetch his sister. And soon he put an arm around her shoulders, and bid both their goodbyes; they began walking, and their two servants closed ranks behind them.

I would not understand for years why she sought me out that day. It would in fact be the only time in my childhood we met because she went looking for me; otherwise, our relationship consisted of inexplicable twists in fate that brought us together.

That day, I had watched her back retreating into the distance. That was how I would always picture her, in the coming years—with her back to me, forever walking towards something I couldn't see. Her life was an exercise in patience and ambition; even then as a child she had started walking the path of the sun, toward her destiny, toward something we all couldn't see.

Notes:

Again, this is just a reupload of some old material that I thought should be on the internet for all to see. I'm still debating continuing it for real.

(1) Title taken from Euripides' Helen, translated by Anne Carson. (If memory serves.)

(2) Roman naming conventions, such as the Tria Nomina, only kind of exist in this fic. Kind of. This was unexpectedly one of the hardest things to disentangle when I wrote this fic.

(3) I would dearly love if anyone came up to me and pointed out all the references (and the many inaccuracies) of Roman history in this fic, but alas I can only dream.