Page 182 of Golden Eagle

“How could a man brought back from the dead help but suffer?” Vlad asked.

Liam turned a cold, defensive gaze on his master. “If I say that ‘sacrifices must be made,’ willyou, of all people, lecture me otherwise?” When Vlad didn’t respond, he continued: “I think what you gentlemen fail to realize is that this war, as it stands, will require the participation of a great many strong soldiers, and as someone who’s spent centuries moving through immortal circles, I can readily say there aren’t many of you. Why else would I have allowed this place to grow my children?” he asked, growing heated. “Why would I have ever come here?”

“I don’t know,” Val said. “Whydidyou? Because as far as I can tell, this war everyone keeps on about is a mortal problem, and not one that bothers me or mine.”

“Yes, but you live in the mortal world,” Liam said, brows lifting, as if he’d struck a blow. “We all do. I don’t think either of you want to continue forward in a world in which the entire population is made up of your uncle’s…creations.”

Vlad sighed. “We’re fighting the war.I’mfighting the war.” He sent Liam a quelling glance, and to Val said, “He keeps going on about emperors.”

In the silence afterward, Val realized it was in invitation to explanation.

Liam seemed to realize it too, and twisted in his chair so he faced Val fully. “Three is the magic number,” he said, and resituated himself, got comfortable; his voice shifted to one of narration. Like a storyteller getting arranged before a fire and a rapt audience. “Immortals of all kinds existed before the birth of the twins Romulus and Remus, before the founding of Rome. Doubtless. But concrete information of any kind is difficult to find.”

“Our mother is a Viking,” Vlad said, flatly.

“And, oh, what I wouldn’t give to speak with her,” Liam continued. “But in her absence, I do what I can. And, given our main threat at the moment – the threat we’ve seen since the founding of Rome – is your uncle. It’s him, and his power, and his legacy, and all things pertaining to him with which we must concern ourselves.”

“And the number three?” Val said, just to get a rise out of the mage, which he did.

Liam bristled, and reached to smooth his hair with one pale, shaking hand. “There are three kinds of immortals: vampire, wolf, mage. And prior to Caesar Augustus’s rule, there were three leaders of Rome: the triumvirate.”

“There was also a kingdom and a republic before,” Vlad pointed out, dryly, “and emperors who ruled alone after.”

Liam made a frustrated noise. “Yes. But. The triumvirate is a Roman concept; a source of historic Roman power. Just as the triumvirate of vampire, wolf, and mage is a source of immortal power. Rome was an empire unlike any other; powerful, monolithic, destructive, indomitable, just as your uncle means to be. And, over the course of history, there have been three Romes.” He looked straight to Val, then. “You’ve fought outside the walls of one of them.”

Suddenly, Val didn’t feel like teasing anymore. He swallowed. “Constantinople goes by another name now. Belongs to another nation.”

“Constantinople,” Liam pressed on, eyes glinting with a new light, leaning forward in his chair, “was the second Rome. There was Rome, Italy, and Constantinople – now Istanbul, as you well know – and then there was Moscow, the third Rome.

“Your uncle is the birth of Rome, and he is our enemy. There are three immortals, a bond of all three kinds to make the greatest kind of power, and there are three Romes. I think it will take an emperor from each Rome, and his own triumvirate, to push back against the darkness that threatens to overtake us.”

“A theory,” Vlad said, dismissive.

“Yes, but look at it,” Liam said, turning to him. “Look at the coincidence. We have, within our grasp, heirs of all three empires, known and available to us just as Romulus’s threat re-emerges. That can be no coincidence.” He was pleading, desperate.

“You think it was fate?” Val asked, and, internally, he felt as though he were shrinking. Sound seem to come down a tunnel, and though he knew he went clammy with sweat back in his body, tossing and fretful, the sensations were only a buzzing on his periphery – much like the day he’d watched Constantine fall, and known his body was being beaten by soldiers back in his tent.

Constantine…

“Wait,” he said, voice cracking, and Vlad sent a sharp glance his way. “You said heirs – what heirs? Who are you talking about?”

“There’s Alexei Romanov,” Liam said. “He’s the last heir of Russia. I had no idea he’d lived, that he was even…” His expression went terrifyingly excited. He let out a breath, shook his head, and said, “Though faint, and often doubted by history, dulled by the generations, Alexei carries within his blood the blood of the emperor Constantine. He is of the stock of Muscovites who declared themselves the third Rome.

“As for Constantinople.” His gaze sharpened on Val. “The last emperor died childless…though he bore a great, paternal affection for a boy who visited him for years. A little Romanian boy with golden hair, who wished to save him…”

The head rolling toward him, the bloody stump of the neck. Black curls and open, sightless eyes, and a slack mouth. A face beloved…and dead.

Suddenly, Vlad was in front of him, hands hovering as if he meant to grasp his shoulders. “Brother,” he said, stern, but helpless.

“I’m fine.” Val sucked in a breath. Over Vlad’s shoulder, he sent the mage a glare. “Don’t speak to me of him. You weren’t there. You don’tknow.”

“I don’t say this to wound you,” Liam said, head inclining to an apologetic angle. “But we can’t allow delicate feelings–”

“Delicate feelings?” Val asked.

“…to interfere with facts, in these instances. You, Valerian, are the closest thing that exists to an heir of old Constantinople – and are of the true Roman blood, besides. It’s a good fit – a better fit than we could have hoped for, to be honest.”

Val reeled a little, physically dizzy. He felt like he’d been punched, all the air abandoning his lungs in a sharp gust.

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