Free Empire Of The Undead by Ahimsa Kerp Page B

he been that desperate during his exile?  He imagined not.
    “You have won, Caesar. The blue racer was as good as you said,” Rufus stated.
    “He will lose at the Greek Kalends!  Never!  He wasn’t threatened by these children. Though blue is not a noble color. I should like to see new colors. Purple perhaps. Or Gold.  Those would make for finer colors, don’t you think?”
    “I suppose so,” Rufus answered.
    “As to our wager,” the Emperor said, leaving the sentence unfinished.
    “I am, as always, your servant. I can gift you one of my wines. Perhaps a Falnerian.”
    “Exile,” Domitian said.
    Rufus felt his heart cease beating. Realization dawned belatedly. He’d displeased the Emperor, and this race was the way for him to show his disapproval.
    Domitian watched his reaction carefully. “You’ve turned white. Was exile so bad?” he asked.
    “It was not unbearable, though I confess I am not eager to revisit it,” Rufus said. “If I have displeased—”
    “I am exiling Domitia,” the Emperor said. “You have lost our wager, and I want to send her to Gyaros. You did much to increase its beauty, and it will comfort her.”
    Rufus was shocked. When their son had been deified, Domitia had been honored with the title Augusta. She should have been above reproach.
    “Caesar,” he said, his throat feeling dry. Something unpleasant had just occurred to him. “I have of course left stewards to maintain the property. It looks the same as ever, I have no doubt, but it’s no place for the Augusta. It’s a simple, humble place.”  In truth, it was a horrible barren place devoid of humanity. “Send her to Kythnos instead. It is nearby, but not as dire a home.”
    A silence longer than any stretched before them. Rufus followed the Emperor’s glance down as the next race set up. Teams of two would race with quadrigae, or four horse chariots. The setup bored him. From the corner of his eye, he could see a slave woman’s naked breasts. They were overly big, with small pink nipples.
    “That is exactly what the Augusta needs,” Domitian said. “I have struggled with this idea for a long time. It is the right thing to do. It is what … my father would have done.”
    “There will be talk,” Rufus said. “I am loathe to broach such unpleasant slanders, but … there are rumors…concerning Julia Flavia.”
    “Julia?” Domitian asked. “My niece. What do the rumors speak of?”
    “They say, I think I’ve heard them say … that,” Rufus stammered. His normal bluntness was not appropriate here.
    “That I’m fucking my niece?  I do have an informant network, Rufus. I know what they say.”
    “I thought as much,” Rufus said, regaining some composure. It felt like he was talking to his old friend again. “With ears as big as yours, I’d hope you could hear rumors that oft-repeated.”
    Domitian stared at him. Rufus regretted his quip, but the Emperor started laughing.
    “Gratias, Rufus,” the Emperor said.
    “Why?”
    “You have no idea how refreshing it is to speak to someone who’s not constantly trying to curry favor. Now, try to remember everything you can about exile. I want you to talk to Domitia into leaving. As soon as possible.”  He rose, and Rufus followed suit.
    On their way back to the palace, Rufus realized Domitian had never answered the question about his niece.
     

 
     
    CHAPTER VII
     
    Dacia: 83 CE, Autumn
     
    "Go," she said, kissing him on the lips, "go and kill them all."  Her voice sounded flat to her, as though the vast roiling emotions in her were too profound to be expressed by something as mundane as her voice.
    He winked at her, gratitude lifting the corners of his lips into a smile. "They'll never even catch us," he said, "those clumsy turtle-fuckers. By Zalmoxis, we will kill so many of them that they will never come back."  His voice was solid, dependable, a platform of bravery she could cling to, and yet she could not drown her fear.
    Somehow sensing her