Evolution

The Praetorians marched us out of the Coleseo, into the white-tiled Central Square now cast golden from the setting sun. We were in rags, bloodied and bruised, but we were still standing — at least, all of us besides Makara. We went right across Central Square in the middle of the Praetorians’ box formation, the crowd parting and the Coleseo fading with distance. We approached the outer gates of the Imperial Palace.

When the contingent of Praetorians stopped before the gate, it opened slowly, revealing a circular, gravel drive, in the middle of which were colorful gardens and trees. The green grass was mowed in neat, diagonal rows. The palace itself was something from Pre-Ragnarok times — made of pink granite, with fluted, Corinthian columns, a vestige of Spanish colonialism.

Guards stood in front of the massive, intricate wooden doors. But we weren’t led to these doors. The Praetorians passed them, instead circling around the back of the palace.

“Where are you taking us?” Samuel asked.

Maxillo turned his head, but continued walking. “You cannot set foot in the palace in your current state. You will be washed and given new clothes first.”

None of us argued as we marched along. I couldn’t stop thinking about Makara. I didn’t want to be here. I’m sure Samuel felt the same, but now that we were on the grounds of the Imperial Palace, we could not take that for granted. This is what we came here for. Makara wouldn’t want it any other way.

The grounds were a stark contrast to the rest of the city. It was spacious, green, and beautiful. The air smelled sweet with flowers and freshly cut grass. It was hard to believe that one man and his family would ever need all this space.

We passed the side of the palace, and I looked back to see rows of gardens, trails, and trees growing and blossoming behind the Emperor’s home. The outer stone porch was tiered, and columns rose to support the overhanging red-tiled awning. Curvaceous steps led downward from the back doors, which were wide open, leading to the front of a long, clear swimming pool, surrounded by gardens and rock formations. From the rocks, waterfalls tumbled into the water made violet from the fading light, sending a fine mist into the evening air. It made me angry to see such luxury when so many suffered just a minute’s walk outside the walls.

Finally, a smaller building behind the palace came into view. It was two stories, built in the same colonial style as the main house. It was probably a guest house.

The Praetorians paused before the door. Maxillo turned, and with a soldier’s posture, came to stand before us.

“Stewards will see to your needs inside,” Maxillo said.

“What about our weapons?” Samuel asked.

“I had a katana,” Anna said. “It is very personal to me.”

“I will ask about your weapons,” Maxillo said. “I’ll start with the Lanisto, Ruben. They are probably still in the Coleseo, but keep in mind I can’t give them to you unless the Emperor permits it.”

Maxillo turned to go, leaving us in the hands of one of the house stewards. I hated the idea of wearing clothes that were not my own. If they were anything like what these Imperials considered fashionable, then it was going to be even worse. I was not too keen on wearing robes that seemed like nothing more than a bed sheet wrapped around me.

Several stewards rushed out of the door, both male and female, obviously told beforehand of our arrival. They led us inside the house.

One of the male stewards pointed me toward a shower on the bottom floor. I stripped down and stepped inside, and the water came out hot and steamy. The runoff that went into the drain seemed more like mud than water. There was soap, and even shampoo from Pre-Ragnarok days — even that I had never used before. Clearly, Augustus was trying to impress us with his wealth. The smell of the soap tingled my nose.

I didn’t take long. I toweled off, wondering where my new set of clothes was. A knock came at the door. I opened it slightly, and the steward, with bowed head, presented me my vestments.

Well, not really vestments. The clothes, miraculously, were much in the same style as I was used to: camo pants, a clean cotton tee (albeit of finer quality than I was used to), complete with boxers and athletic socks.

“Forgive me, but I could not find a pair of boots similar to the ones you came in,” the steward said. “Although, we took the liberty of cleaning them as best we could. They were rather…dirty.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Thank you.”

I dressed, and returned to the atrium of the guest house. Ten minutes later, everyone had cleaned up and redressed. Samuel was wearing dark pants and a black muscle shirt, revealing his heavily muscled arms and broad chest. Julian wore long, black pants and a white tee. Anna wore lightweight, wear resistant dark gray pants with a tight green shirt with thin shoulder straps.

“Couldn’t they have given me something a bit more conservative?” she asked.

The stewards either pretended not to notice, or just didn’t care, because they ushered us toward the doorway.

“I think you look fine,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

We exited the guest house. Maxillo and his waiting Praetorians escorted us to the marble steps leading to the front doors. The two guards posted there swung the doors open, revealing the entry hall within. We walked inside.

It was hard not to be wowed by the grandeur of August’s home. A massive chandelier overhung the room, sparkling like crystals. Light reflected off the white marble floor overlaid with oriental rugs. Two sets of staircases curved toward the center of the room and the second floor, where a balcony overhung the entry hall. Fine paintings were mounted on the walls — probably stolen from museums to grace Augustus’s own halls.

“This way,” the head steward said, taking us away from the door and farther back into the palace.

We passed under the balcony and through a set of open French doors. We had entered a plush living area, with cozy leather couches and more priceless paintings on the walls, along with a white jaguar fur hanging above a marble fireplace. A chandelier, smaller than the one in the entry hall but no less opulent, hung over the area, but for now was off. A set of doors led out into a garden — open to let in a cool evening breeze laden with the scent of jasmine. A tuxedoed butler stood by the door, holding a silver tray with a bottle Champaign that sat chilled in a bucket of ice.

“Please, be seated,” the steward said. “The Emperor will be with you shortly.”

There was nothing left but to sit. We each crowded onto the long, leather couch, sinking into its well-worn comfort. I had never sat on anything so relaxing in my life. It felt like all the stress of the day melted from me — at least physically. However, Samuel, Anna, and Julian gave no sign of relaxation. They sat up straight, and looked to be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. I did my best to follow their example.

We were sitting in the living room of a man who had killed thousands to forge his empire. A man who would kill thousands more, if need be.

I straightened myself in my seat just as Augustus entered from his gardens. He regarded us for a moment before speaking.

“Your friend has stabilized,” he said.

Relief came over me to know that Makara was safe.

“How bad is it?” Samuel asked.

“My chief doctor, who is personally overseeing the case, told me no major organs had been hit. The creature gave her a horrible wound, and she nearly died of blood loss. They have sanitized it and stitched it, but she will not be in full health for many weeks.”

Samuel nodded. “It is the best we could have hoped for.”

“You can visit her following this audience,” Augustus said. “Although, she will not likely be conscious.”

I frowned. If Makara’s condition was this bad, it meant we could be stuck here for a while. It also meant Augustus had yet another bargaining chip — he held the health of Samuel’s sister in the palm of his hand.

“I hope you don’t mind meeting in this informal setting,” Augustus said, sitting down in a well-worn leather chair. “I felt you would appreciate a comfortable place, where I could speak to you as an equal rather than as an Emperor. After all, you have a connection to Cornelius Ashton. My relationship with him precedes the founding of