“You’re welcome, Consul.”
It had been four months since the Masters’ Admiralty had been thrown into chaos—the fleet admiral and admiral of Hungary dead, their ancient headquarters lost to the sea.
Something that had been quietly discussed, a mere idea born of Colum’s and Franco’s nerd-fueled enthusiasm for ancient Rome, had been forced to become reality before anyone was really ready for it.
The Trinity Masters and Masters’ Admiralty were no longer two separate societies. They’d merged. One society with two distinct rulers.
It was an idea rooted in Ancient Rome—as many ideas were.
When Rome was a republic, before the empire, it was led by two consuls. In times of war or upheaval, a third leader was appointed by the consuls and given sweeping power—that of a dictator—until the crisis passed.
Under the new, united society, what had been the Masters’ Admiralty was now just Europe and led by a consul—Sophia. Seb was the consul for America. Each consul’s job was slightly different as they absorbed and modified the duties of the fleet admiral and Grand Master respectively.
The post of consul was Juliette’s by right and everyone’s preference, but for now, Seb held the title.
Because Juliette was needed as Caesar.
They’d decided, much to Franco’s and Colum’s delight, to borrow the title for the role of dictator from the most famous man to hold the position. It was even more fitting because Julius Caesar had declared himself dictator for life. So too the role of Caesar would last a lifetime—or until the person holding it was too old to carry out their duties.
But Caesar would take power only in times of unrest. Which, knowing how the secret societies operated, might be all the time. Caesar would be their “shield of Rome” like Quintus Fabius Maximus. Seb might have that name wrong. He’d zoned out several times during Franco and Colum’s explanation as to the duties and rights of their new Caesar.
Juliette Caesar had agreed to wear the metaphorical laurel wreath until Europe’s permanent consul, and the society’s permanent Caesar were in place. Or until she gave birth. Future Caesars wouldn’t have the option to step down, but Juliette hadno intention of being their sword and shield. She was going on maternity leave.
Based on the sounds she was currently making, giving birth, and the start of her maternity leave, were imminent. They were only minutes away from Juliette abdicating, whether the rest of them were ready or not.
Juliette groaned through another contraction, her hair sticking to her face. She was going to be an amazing mother. Seb was going to be an even better uncle.
Juliette looked up, eyes bright with rage, pain, or both. “It’s time,” she panted.
Everyone in the room stiffened. They were in a private hospital, but secrecy had to be maintained—which meant there was no nurse or doctor in here with them. To the outside world, Juliette was Devon and Franco’s surrogate, a beloved friend helping the dedicated couple become fathers. Only the people in the room knew both that they were a trinity, and who, and what, Juliette was.
Devon started for the door. “I’ll get the doctor.”
“No. Not time for that. Not yet.” She panted, worry flashing across her face. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“I’ll check—” Franco started to say.
“Franco, if you attempt to check my cervix dilation I will punch you in the dick.”
Franco’s eyes widened, and he went back to rearranging her vertebrae.
She rested, breathing slow and labored, and everyone stayed silent, unwilling to interrupt whatever rest she could find. Juliette made a sound that was almost a whimper, and entirely unlike her, seemed to steel herself, then hissed out a breath, gripping the bar tight enough the metal groaned.
Her head snapped up, her eyes bright and hard.
“Go get Eric and Nikolett,” she snarled. “Vacation’s over.”
Sophia sighed in what he thought was relief. Only Caesar had the power to give this particular order.
It was Colum who’d refused to believe Eric was dead. His grief had been terrible to see, his conviction that somehow Eric and Nikolett had escaped so heartbreaking that the only person who could bear to listen to his theories was Franco.
Franco listened to the stories about tunnels under the castle and cave systems in the cliffs. A secret map he found in a compartment in the main stairwell. Annie, heartsick from watching Colum’s grief, worked every contact from her previous occupation just to make Colum feel better. Maybe, when she found nothing, it would give him closure.
Annie, in turn, got Devon involved, but their performative search became something else, something more, as Franco mapped out exactly how they could have done it, and Devon began to take the search seriously.
By the end of the third week after Eric’s and Nikolett’s death, dozens of members in both American and Europe were looking for two people Sebastian had been sure were long dead, their bodies fish food.
It was Vicente Coval who found them, using a tip from a forger Jasper Ferrer knew. A tip about a couple who showed up bloody and wounded, desperate for passports that would get them into Spain. The forger refused to give the names on the forged passports, but Vicente was able to find them—a foreign couple, one of whom sounded Scandinavian, the other Eastern European, living in Girona, Spain. Neither was blonde, but the man was massive, a head above everyone else in the seaside town. They had an apartment with a view of white sand and water, and once a week, they went to a small graveyard an hour away, leaving flowers for a woman named Maria Llorell.
