Caius waved a dismissive hand, irritation simmering beneath his skin. “A turn of phrase. Itfeelslike decades. Why was I not informed of this uprising?”
“There was another cave-in,” Perperna explained. “A dozen slaves died. The survivors rioted. We believed the local guards could manage it.”
“Clearly, they couldn’t.” Caius’ tone turned as cold as cut stone. “The Fifth will handle the rebellion. I want the leaders hanging from the stake walls within three days. And the supervisors who were overrun—flog them.Publicly.”
He swept his gaze over the construction site—the half-formed columns, the sacred geometry chalked on the foundation stones, the towering void where the altar was meant to rise.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “We’re already tight on labour. I can’t afford more deaths or delays. Reinforce the tunnels. Double the shipments.”
He paused, then added without hesitation, “And send in the children.”
Perperna blinked. “The children? But they are tasked with leading the work animals?—”
“They can clear rock where grown men cannot,” Caius snapped. “Make sure the other quarries hear of it. Let it serve as a lesson. I don’t care how it’s done, just finish it.”
Silence stretched in the wake of his command, the cold wind tugging at his thick fur cloak.
“What about Dodona?” Caius asked Sanquinius.
Sanquinius inclined his head, as poised as ever. “It is fully operational. The first shipments arrived yesterday by boat.”
Finally—competence. Sanquinius had been entrusted with a delicate task: retrieving slaves from a distant land with the help of the First Legion. A land so remote most Rasennans had dismissed it as little more than myth. It was a task that demanded subtlety and absolute discretion, and Sanquinius had delivered, as Caius knew he would.
Caius gave a brief, approving nod. “Good. Send a detachment from the Fifth there as well. I want no disruptions.”
“Of course.”
He turned back to the architect. “Will the shipment be enough to complete the temple by the end of the year?”
The architect paled, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Imperator, temples such as these take years to complete and?—”
“I want the slaves working day and night.” Caius stepped closer, his shadow falling across the man in a clear threat. “Tell me how many more you need. I’ll have them chained and delivered within the week. But the temple will be finished by the end of the year. No delays. No excuses.”
A beat passed.
“Or heads will roll.”
Before the architect could muster a reply, Sanquinius interjected, ever the strategist. “There’s an old temple outside the city in need of repairs. It’s been abandoned for months. We can source stone from there.”
“That temple belongs to Laran,” the architect stammered in protest.
Sagar would be horrified that Caius even entertained the thought of dishonouring the god of war, but Caius hadn’t seen Laran in months. “A temple falling into ruin dishonours him. Laran wouldn’t want such neglect.” He fixed Perperna with a piercing look, then the silent supervisor, his words sharp and clipped. “Source the stone. No more delays.”
“Father.”
Caius raised a hand, his eyes fixed on the parchment in his grip. The message was brief: Tarxi had found another hidden temple of the Grey-Eyed Maiden in northern Achaea. He’d enslaved the villagers, destroyed the temple, and left its ashes behind as a warning.
A slow smile curled Caius’ lips. Let the goddess try to resist him now, with her power scattered and her followers crushed.
Unfortunately, there was still no trace of the girl named Alena.
The Omega.
Only when he’d read the final line did Caius look up. Arruns, his heir, stood in the doorway of his study, hesitating just beyond the threshold.
Caius narrowed his eyes. “You either knock and enter, or you don’t disturb me at all. The Emperor’s son doesnotlinger.”
Arruns gave a sharp nod and stepped into the small, candlelit chamber, closing the heavy door with ease.
