Xania Valerus comes with the fury of a god.

It takes only a few hours for the senator to arrive. She comes on the back of a white chariot, resplendent in armor that is white but not made of tellus. A red cape hangs from her shoulders, and a score of armed Gold electi gather behind her, able to match the pace of her vehicle easily.

“VARUS PELIAS,” her voice thunders from every direction, as if part of the air itself. “COME AND FACE ME, COWARD.” The Ironbound guards along our wall tense, shields raised. I stand at Varus’s left hand on the wall, measuring the deadly force that has come and assaults us.

“I am here, Xania,” the master of the house replies calmly. His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the night as sharp as a knife. “Why have you come so armored? Is there a feud between our domuum? Did not the Empress herself forbid that until after the Forum Games?” His challenge is obvious, daring her to defy Diana in the streets. He seems pure and fearless—a man with no secrets to hide—despite being under the threat of Judicium.

“If there is no feud, why do your soldiers adorn your walls?” Xania throws back at him, voice still shaking with fury. “You cower before me like a turtle from the hawk. Bring out my son, or I shall tear you to ribbons and strew your entrails from here to the Empress’s seat.”

“I have not seen your son, Xania,” Pelias replies in the same cool tone, ignoring her threats like he might a child’s. “He has not come here. I swear this upon my Symbol.”

“LIAR,” her voice booms again, shaking with rage. Her retainers mutter among themselves, an echo of dark whispers. Their hands stray to the hilt of their weapons as they glare up at us. The street around them is empty. It is still the dead of night. But I doubt that any passerby would be foolish enough to stay around this congregation of power.

Several of her electi stare at me directly, an overt challenge. I take a page out of Varus’s book and paste a mild smile on my face as I meet their gazes. They have heard of me, but I do not know any of them.

“So be it,” Xania hisses, stepping off her chariot to storm toward our gate. Her red cape billows behind her. It reminds me of the tribune’s cloak that Gaius wore, but hers is too large, too red to ever be anything other than theatrical.

In her hands, she carries a long, sheathed sword. She draws it in one long motion, and a low moan of fear runs through the Ironbound standing on our wall. I stare in fascination and dread, for I have never seen a weapon like it before. Even my fantastic blades pale in comparison to this work.

The blade is longer than a dueling blade. It also eschews the normal curve; instead, it is a perfect straight line from hilt to top. It only breaks from tradition at the tip; instead of a triangle, it ends in a square line.

The edges of the sword burn a dark red, moving slowly from the base to the tip as if molten. The very air around the blade seems to warp as if twisted by the heat it gives off. I recognize the flash of dark metal set in its pommel; it is powered by some relic. Something inside of me leaps in excitement as my new Silver Heart shows me the fiery essence that bleeds from it. Unrelenting Fire sees it as a challenge and welcomes it.

The terrible sword’s red glow shines off Xania’s armor as she holds it before her threateningly. I have no doubt she could use it to shear through our gates. Tension spikes as the men around me hunch their shoulders, preparing for an onslaught. My hands drop to the pair of gladii that hang around my waist. I am back on the front lines in the North once more, but without my scutum and lorica, I feel naked.

Only Varus does not move. His posture remains the same, his shoulders broad and strong. He does not toy with his sword; instead, he cocks his head slightly, as if waiting for something. After a couple heartbeats, he turns away from Xania to fix on a blank spot of the street with focused intent.

The Valerus senator notices his distraction and follows his gaze. Slowly, one by one, the rest of her entourage follows suit, until almost every soul on that street stares at the same empty space of air.

After a long pause something flickers, and three Censors stand exposed with three almost abashed expressions. One of them must bear a Light Symbol that allowed them to slip in undetected. But the stone they stood on whispered their secrets to Varus Pelias. The leader’s lips twist into a frown before it vanishes behind the haughty mask all members of the White Hand wear. He steps forward, sticking his chest forward.

“Stop in the name of the Empress!”

“Why would your son be here?” Varus asks, ignoring the Censors and turning back to Xania with a dangerous glint in his eye. The other senator freezes, eyes flickering from her burning sword to the three tellus-clad warriors who watch. She seems hesitant now that they are here. In a flash, I understand the game that is being played. The Censors are the eyes of the Empress. Anything that they witness is as if Diana Agrippa were here in the flesh.

Did Xania know that they were there? The Empress has moved against Domus Pelias in the past. Do her Censors skulk around behind their veils in an attempt to give the Valerus the fiction of anonymity? By forcing them to appear in a formal capacity, Varus has played their hand. Xania dares not admit where her son went now.

“I said enough!” the Censor shouts, irritated that the senators do not submit now that he is visible.

“What is your Casus Belli, Senator Valerus?” Varus presses, still ignoring the trio of tellus-armored electi to focus on his rival. “You can lodge it here in front of these august witnesses.” His smile only grows.

I was once told by my old magister, Vellus, that there is a formal way for one house to declare a feud against another. The great domuum clash all the time, but just like assassins in the countryside, there are rules that must be followed. The aggrieved party may argue their Casus Belli, their “cause for war,” to the Censors for judgment. According to him, the Empress believes “soft lands create soft houses.” Which means she doesn’t like her palatines feeling too comfortable.

Under normal circumstances, I suspect that killing Brennus outside of a duel would be a legitimate Casus Belli. But since the Empress has placed a moratorium on violence, it would be their House that was in the wrong for breaking Diana’s peace.

“My son is missing,” Xania answers a beat later, her voice hissing with vehemence. A scowl darkens the lines on her face, making her look almost like she was carved from stone.

“That is worrisome,” Varus agrees, his voice practically dripping with concern. “I can only imagine how I would feel if my own child was gone.” Xania’s eyes flash as she acknowledges the barb buried in his words. Her son tried to murder his daughter, after all.

“I cannot help but wonder why you have come here, brimming with violence?” He glances imploringly to the Censors, as if he were a simple and wounded man. “What do I and my House have to do with your missing son?”

“Our houses have a long and bloody history, Pelias,” she snarls, taking a step forward toward the gate. The blazing sword in her hand still casts its evil red glare on the street around her. The three Censors stiffen; if she attacks now, they will be forced to intervene.

“That has long been completed,” Varus replies easily, hooking his thumbs into his belt like a farmer. “Our feud ended more than forty years ago, witnessed and recorded by the Censors.” He jerks his head toward the trio that watches from the sidelines. “So it seems odd to me that you would immediately rush here, to my home, when he goes missing.”

Xania’s silence is deafening. She shakes with rage, gritting her teeth as she glares up at us with eyes full of violence. Her son is dead; she must know that. Anger and grief radiated from her like the heat from her relic-powered blade.

For a moment, I think she is going to charge the door despite the presence of the Empress’s White Hand. But at last, her eyes go hard and flat. A shiver runs down my spine as she stares at us with an animal cunning. She can wait. This is not over.

“You’re right,” she manages through gritted teeth. “I will continue searching for him elsewhere. I’m sorry to have disturbed your peace this evening.”

“Think nothing of it, Senator Valerus,” Varus replies calmly as if he were an old friend and not the man standing at the head of thirty armed and armored Ironbound. “I do hope you find your son.” Xania recoils as if he backhanded her across the face but does not reply.

She slides her unholy sword back into its sheath and leaps back into her chariot. Her retinue of Gold electi keep pace with her easily, flowing around her like a pack as they race off into the night. I resist the urge to let out a long sigh of relief at the sight of their backs.

The three Censors watch her leave before turning their cold eyes on Varus. The leader doesn’t say anything, but after a moment, they flicker out of sight, shielded once more by the Lightbound in their midst. The threat is plain. We may not see them, but they are watching.

The men on the wall slowly begin to relax as the tension lifts like the morning fog before Sol’s burning light. It feels as if a siege has just been lifted. I turn to Varus to find the senator looking at me with thoughtful eyes.

“I think it is time we told one another the truth,” he says softly, glancing over his shoulder at the blank spot of the street where the Censors last stood.