When the Emperor had finished speaking, Prime Minister Alan went on. "As you have heard from His Majesty, the eradication of these outlaws is now our foremost duty, and His Majesty entrusts the operation to General Mikhail Rozasar."
Mikhail rose and bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I will raise hell upon their souls. You will not be disappointed."
Alan nodded. "We have every confidence in you, General. But to be prudent, we will also assign a unit of thirty ships under the command of your sister, Emilia Rozasar, to join your fleet and march with you."
"Help is always welcome," Mikhail said, "especially from my sister."
Alan laid out the plan for the operation, officially designated Mission Grave, according to the latest intelligence. "The Tartarusios is currently believed to be on Antia, a barren world in the Bermuda Galaxy with no ruling system. In short, an outlaw haven."
A hand rose. Duchess Wistoria Lang asked the question everyone wanted answered. "How did they cross such a distance so quickly? The Bermuda Galaxy is nearly three million light-years from the Pascal region. Our fastest ships would take two months, and they reached Antia in ten days."
It was a mystery that chilled the room. Alan answered carefully. "It appears they have access to a method of travel far beyond our current understanding. But I doubt they can use it constantly. That interval — the time it takes them to recover — is our advantage. If we time our approach to it, we can close in and destroy them."
"And Altopereh?" someone demanded from the benches.
Alan drew a breath. "To counter that threat, General Rozasar will be given two God Units to accompany him. Sirius and Perciosa."
Through all of it, Leonora listened without a word while plan after plan was laid down to destroy the man she still called her husband. The moment the meeting ended, she went straight to the palace and asked for an audience with the Emperor himself. It was granted, on one condition: he would meet her in the Royal Garden.
The Royal Garden of Terria lay behind the palace like a living painting, enclosed by marble walls veined with gold. For a moment it felt like a sanctuary set apart from all the Empire's burdens. The air was soft and perfumed with lilies, night orchids and the pale blue roses the Imperial house had always cultivated. White stone paths wound between the flowerbeds past fountains carved in the shape of celestial beings and the marble busts of long-dead rulers standing in silent procession. Oaks arched overhead like sentinels and cherry and amber trees stitched color into the sky. At its heart rose a circular platform of pale marble streaked with gold and edged in vines and moss. On it stood a long ceremonial table carved from a single slab of crystalwood and polished to a mirror sheen, surrounded by gilded chairs padded in velvet. Once, music and laughter would have drifted across that space. Today only the fountains moved, with white petals skimming across their surfaces.
The Emperor was already seated when she arrived. Out of custom and habit she dropped to one knee before him. "Your Majesty, thank you for granting me this meeting."
"Rise, General," Johan said. There was no malice in his voice. "Sit. The tea is coming."
She took the chair across from him. When the servants had poured and gone, he watched her for a long moment before he spoke, lightly. "How is my cousin? Has retirement been kind to him?"
She lifted her cup and set it down again without drinking. "He's getting by. The treatments continue. It will take time."
Johan nodded and sipped his own tea. "He seemed steadier at the funeral. I hope he recovers." He set his cup down and fixed his eyes on her. "So, Leonora. Why did you want to see me?"
She met his eyes and asked him plainly. "What will happen to Youri?"
Johan folded his hands. "You know the law better than anyone. Those who turn their backs on the Empire have their days numbered — even if they once held a noble title."
Leonora's voice tightened. "Your Majesty, I don't ask for mercy blindly. Think of what he has done for this realm — the battles he turned and the lives he saved. A man who served this nation his whole life… is he not worthy of some measure of grace?"
A faint, cold smile curved the Emperor's lips. He leaned forward and told her a story — not unkindly.
"When I was young, my father told me about a mighty warrior who had fought in countless battles and never lost a single one. After every victory, he would say, 'I owe all of this to my sword.' He said it again and again. Then one day, after yet another victory, he looked down at that sword and saw that it was chipped and ragged, its edge almost dull. Any other man would have hung it somewhere for everyone to see, as a glorious weapon of victory. But he did not. He went straight to the blacksmith and said, 'Take my sword and melt it down, and from whatever is left, make me a new one. A better one.' The smith wept as he melted down the metal that had brought peace and prosperity to his nation. After four days and three nights, the warrior came back for his new sword. The smith looked him in the eye and asked him, 'Why did you make me destroy such a glorious weapon?' And the warrior answered him. 'I wield the sword. The sword does not wield me. So it is I who decides when its time has come to be laid to rest.'"
The story landed like an argument. Leonora felt it as one. Its meaning was perfectly clear: weapons and men alike were to be discarded when their usefulness was over. And still she would not let go. "Your Majesty," she said, "I respect your judgment. But I humbly ask you for one favor. Let me see his end with my own eyes."
Johan studied her. Then he smiled — a small, almost private thing — and gave his consent. "You may accompany General Rozasar as his reserve. Watch the field. If fate decrees it, you will see the end you've asked for."
Leonora bowed once more, gratitude and grief mixing in her chest. A single tear ran down her cheek as she rose. Her voice was steady, though it sounded hollow. "Thank you."
She left the garden with her resolve pressed down over her heart like armor and her husband's fate settling into place inside her. The Consul had spoken. The Empire would move as one. And Leonora, who had once believed she would drag him home herself, now walked toward a war against him.