Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" W e have sight on Nethyr!"

Galloping over the endless plains were two riders. Their horses trotted over the outstretched area of flat land that was surrounded by nothing more than a turquoise sky. Clouds shaped like fluffy pillows glided slowly across the air above, the only indicator that it had, indeed, passed the hour of the late afternoon.

"We have sight on Nethyr!" They called out again.

Dressed in their attire of simple black suits, accompanied by a cape in the blood-red and golden colours that identified as House Novar, the scouts approached the meandering group of travellers. The words were repeated through cupped hands alongside dried lips, possibly hoping for the good news to reach the group as fast as possible. Medea knew that they could use it. Or maybe they were simply shielding their gazes from the burning sun that reigned cruelly on the barren savannah that was void of any kind of vegetation.

Had they only been riding for six days?

While one of the scouts headed for the back of the travelling party, the other one went straight for the front, to where a lonely rider rode in front of the others.

"We have sight on Nethyr, commander," Nero reported in a solemn voice, carefully schooling his previous enthusiasm as he cast his eyes down and dipped his chin ever so slightly, breath leaving his chest in rapid pants. "Once we have passed those tree tops, we can take the road that leads toward the Three Point Country. From there, we should be able to see the city walls." He gestured toward the woods that had only just now boomed up on the horizon, painting it with familiar swaying, green tree tops, and a promise for a cooler remainder of their journey.

Plymraine Forest.

A cluster of endless treetops that didn't just hide the awaiting land of Nethyr, but was also about to steal the remaining sunrays with each step they took. Soon it would cast their presence in a looming ghost of twilight. Yes, it had most certainly passed the hour of the late afternoon.

During the previous days, they had travelled through green forests and golden fields, had been met with fresh breeze and the promise of rainfall. What had followed was this sandy plain with its dry heat that caused a lack of water and motivation. And a meeting, that turned out to be pointless, since the other party had decided not to show up. They had lost precious hours waiting in vain, and when they'd finally realized that they had been stood up, it had visibly soured everyone's mood. Even this, knowing that their destination was right on their doorstep but just out of reach, felt like punishment.

But they knew better than to travel through the darkness.

The war had taught them.

"I know." Valentino Prianos, high commander of the Novarian army, replied bristly. "I know exactly to where that road leads." Then he turned over his shoulder, throwing his familiar blue glare to where Astor rode amongst the scouts. "Don't we, son?"

"We do, father." Astor clicked his tongue and picked up speed to reach his father. As the oldest son of the general, and therefore the future leader of the Novarian army—or the Novarian Leopard as their people called the highest ranking officer—he knew his father didn't like him riding too far behind. He caught up, and together they trotted those final miles toward the forest.

The horses were tired, and so were they, especially now they could practically smell their destination. Soon, he'd be back in his familiar dorm, sleeping comfortably in his spacious bed. It was a sweet thought.

"I shouldn't have taken this one," his father complained next to him. He hadn't taken his favourite horse, Incinatus, but had brought a mare from Arabian breed instead. "She's a good animal, but this place just makes me itchy."

"Incinatus is where he belongs right now, father," Astor replied. Back home, hopefully keeping the ghost of Inarra—the flitting, buried presence of his little sister—content with the only reminder of her father during his absence. They had made that decision together. Still… the memory of his little sister settled in his chest, tightening the beating muscle in sorrow for the sweet girl who would never be waiting again for their return.

Astor peered ahead of them, toward the darkness of the forest. "How long until we reach the road that takes us to the Three Point Country?" He asked Nero.

"During the day a two hour ride at the most," the scout started. "At night…"

"Absolutely not," barked his father. "We're not taking the risk. We will make camp here tonight, then ride out tomorrow when the sun rises."

"Perhaps—"

Valentino turned toward him, using his impressive height and impeccable outfit, a proof of his status, to his advantage. "I have hand-picked fifteen Novarians to bring you and your brother safely to Nethyr. I will not put any one of you in jeopardy."

Astor sighed, ready to give up before the argument had even started. His father was right. It was one of the reasons the general was loved so much with his own people. He truly cared. The people he had selected for their journey were the best. Obeying slaves who were trained into grace and smoothness, and scouts, with extensive knowledge of these lands. They were professional pilgrims who spent their life on horseback, travelling between the nations of Oniarteto as mercenaries or tradesmen. They'd shielded the group flawlessly as they'd made their journey over the plains—two on each flank, two at the back and two in the front—protecting the carriages with its carefully selected belongings.

As they slowly reached the edge of the forest, his father raised a decisive hand. "We will make camp here." Following suit, Astor whistled, making his horse, a beautiful auburn mare that he'd called Kallisto, halt with a squeeze of his knees. He guided her toward the nearest tree. Around them, their party slowly came to a stop. This would be a tough night, with everyone being visibly exhausted. If it hadn't been for that meeting, they'd have taken the normal route, just like all fellow Novarians did. It wouldn't just have been an easier ride, but also a shorter one. Astor raked a hand through his inky-black hair, which had turned into a mess of strands that he had tucked away in a bun. After a day's ride, some of those strands had escaped, falling by his face and emphasizing his sharp jawline and the sensual bow in his lips. The long, straight nose and that dimpled jaw made him look every bit the aristocrat he was.

Following his father's gesture, he too dismounted. Slaves came rushing, their tired legs visibly forgotten as they hustled about and started to make camp. Tents were set up and beds were made with fine linen they had brought back from Manerium Aureum, the name of the Prianos manor.

"Father?" Fabiano jumped off his horse and brushed his long, blond hair away from his face. His bright, hazelnut eyes had lost their wide, innocent stare over the past days, the effort of their journey visible through the radiant irises that had been dulled by fatigue. The moment his feet touched the uneven earth, a slave jumped up, ready to aid should help be needed. His little brother waved him away. "Why are we stopping here? Didn't they just say that we're close to Nethyr?" He shivered. Unlike his father, who carried a black suit and cape in the colours of House Novar, accompanied by the bronze helmet with white plumes that marked his rank, Fabiano was completely blanketed in white. A white suit and cape, the sides held together by the familiar, brilliant brooch. There was something angelic about him. His beauty, so pure and dramatic, was almost tragic. From the way he strode forward, using his long limbs in a gracious swagger, to the way he tilted his gaze and looked up at the sky. Ethereal.

Astor watched him taking in a deep breath as he stared into perpetuity, an all too familiar look he wore ever since that day five years ago.

His father threw the reins of his horse to Nero, who caught them effortlessly and moved the animal toward the temporary shelters they would use as stables, and gingerly approached Fabiano.

" Filius ?"

Around them, the first sound of a lit fire crackled through the distance, and the other horses were being led back to the stables, including the white stallion that was Fabiano's. The only ones remaining on their horses were the scouts, and they slowly circled the outskirts of their small camp in search for anything suspicious, a routine they'd repeat during the entire night until the calling sound of the magpies would announce a new day.

Astor trotted past a line of slaves, who stood waiting, perfectly trained to submission and presented to him in fine, transparent linen robes. He didn't hesitate in making his choice.

"You. Get my brother something to eat," he ordered, voice soft, words perfectly articulated.

"Yes, Dominus," one of the slaves broke the line and scurried off.

"You." He circled another slave and his horse snorted as he cantered around the young woman. "Make sure that my brother's tent and evening rituals are prepared."

"At once, Dominus." She bowed lightly, gaze averted as she stared at the ground, before rushing off to do as she was told.

Once he assured himself that the slaves were busying themselves with their appointed tasks, he dismounted his horse. Grabbing the reins, he mumbled soft words of praise, stealing a moment to touch his nose against the mare's brown muzzle before he patted her head. He ignored Nero, who was patiently waiting to take hold of the animal and lead her to the stables.

At the campfire, the first pieces of meat were being thrown onto the fire, creating a distinct, smoky aroma. Those who were not on duty had united around the blaze, far away from the heat, but close enough to inhale the mouthwatering scent.

Astor looked and found his usual person of interest. "Melas." The name fell from his tongue in a clipped breeze, and as he crooked his finger, a young, male slave rushed forward, giving a slight bow that made a tumble of copper curls fall over his forehead.

"Dominus?"

"My horse needs attention, please. Once you're finished, come to my tent. I'll need attention as well."

"Yes, Dominus." Grabbing the leash, the slave darted away, bypassing Nero who'd been waiting to collect the horse with an apologetic dip of his chin. When both the boy and his horse vanished in the darkness, he finally let out a tired sigh and slowly made his way to where his father and brother were standing in the middle of the encampment by the foot of Plymraine Forest.

They were so close to Nethyr and the academy, yet so far away. He was looking forward to tomorrow, when they'd ride through the gates and be welcomed by other representatives of House Novar and many others. When they'd be welcomed by their fellow novices. Ready for another year.

Dragging his gaze at the light of his blond resemblance, his lips ticked up. "Brother."

"Astor." It wasn't Fabiano who replied, but their father, Valentino, and he clasped a big hand on his son's shoulder. As they stared at each other, something passed between them. A flitting moment filled with affection and understanding. They'd been here before in a different life, with different people. Next to them, Fabiano still stood unmoved, his eyes lifted to the stars, his mind led toward a land, forgotten and unattainable, that only he had access to.

Angelus est Albus .

The White Angel, as the Novarians called him.

Next to him, his father removed the heavy helmet from his head and swept the bead of sweat away with the back of his hand. It was the beginning of September, and hot sunny days and warm nights had left their mark on the long day they'd ridden. His face, that carried the worries and sorrow of a nation that had been marked by war, looked flushed.

"Prepare my bath," he ordered.

"At once, Dominus," someone replied, followed by the shuffling of feet.

"Tomorrow's important." His father's gaze was focused on Fabiano, waiting, just like Astor, for him to come back to them. He would—eventually—he always did, though it was never sure how long his absent mood could take. "I need you to be the hero of the games, filius ." His gaze was on Fabiano, who was still caught up in his own thoughts and he gazed up at the sky, but his words were very meant for him. He could feel their importance humming under his skin. "I need you to show every single one of our allies that we are grateful for their presence, for sending their noble sons and daughters to Academiae Scientia, because obviously, we strive for a peaceful future, but that in an agreement as such, only one of us can rule." His lips parted and another spell of dry coughs left his throat, only to be absorbed by the dim air. "Every ship only needs one captain," he rumbled. "And you will be ours."

"That's not true. You are the Leopard of the Novarian army."

His father smiled. "That's right, and you are my son. Soon it will be your turn ." He gave him another squeeze, then let go of Astor's shoulder and moved to stand in front of Fabiano. Astor did the same. Together, they flanked him as he stood there, his baby brother and the person he loved most in his life, even when Fabiano didn't seem to know half of the time where he was, his his gaze turned upward toward the darkened sky, his mind shut off.

"Come back to us, son," his father whispered. "We need you here. The Academy needs you here, for such fine intellectual talent is rare. The future needs you and your magnificent brain. Your brother here?—"

"I need you, frater ," Astor murmured, and the pet name fell heavy from his tongue. He didn't usually use the word, but he knew Fabiano loved being called like that. Had once told him that it made him feel like he belonged, which was a silly thought, considering he was the centre of their existence, their love for him the web in which they'd carefully spun him, keeping him by their side.

Fabiano was Astor's only weakness.

"Dominus?" A slave breathed, standing at a safe distance. "Everything has been set up. We can take him inside his tent, if you want."

"Yes, I want," said Fabiano, before anyone else could. He tipped his head and dragged his gaze toward the slave, who stood waiting knowingly of what was to come. Astor loved his brother's voice, that sounded like the reflection of interwoven silk thread, gentle and clear. Then, graceful like a cat, Fabiano planted both hands swiftly on his and his father's shoulders as he pushed himself between their broad frames and shifted away in a cloud of cream, fluttering garment.

They watched him go, and Astor couldn't avoid the puffy breath that escaped his throat. Relief. His brother was back, and that meant his mind would be present tomorrow. He'd stand and cheer during the games and wish for Astor to bring back victory to house Novar, where it belonged. Where it should never have left to begin with.

Novarians loved to perform sports—riding, fending, wrestling and throwing were all popular, and over the past few years they'd set the mark high for the other nations to keep up with them. Akotans were good at throwing, and Staljordians were excellent wrestlers, but when on a horse Novarians were invincible. Astor himself was the king of jousting. Some might say he was born on a horse, spear in his hand. As a young boy he'd definitely spent more time in the Novarian army by his father's side, than he'd done with his teacher, much to his mother's despair. He loved the cocktail of anxiety mixed with excitement, the thrill of the game, the speed, the aim, the strike, the defence.

The victory.

Astor knew that he would win. With his baby brother by his side, he would slay dragons. Because Fabiano was the only link to a life once lived, a life once loved. A life before the war. And after tomorrow, when their father would travel back to Grerachi, Novar's capital city, Fabiano would be the only remaining family member, his father gone, the others…gone forever.

"Father," Astor said. "Tomorrow. I want you to make a formal request to the board to integrate the Novarian Nomos Doulos after the games finish." Astor's lips curled up into a cool sneer. "I want House Damaryan to know what happens to those who refuse to respect the bell."

"Astor—" His father started, lips pressing closed after that single word. Maybe he saw the determination in his eyes, a fusion of hatred and regret. Maybe he simply thought it was a good idea. Because seconds later, he shrugged, shaking his face when he uttered, forlorn, "Be sure to win. For the rule will apply to all nations of the Union."

"I will."

No one spoke after that, though neither one of them retreated. Instead, they lingered in the dark sky and a camp that was filled with its usual buzz. The soft chatter of talk by the fire, the occasional neighing from one of the horses and the scent of the cooked meat. Astor's mouth watered. He was hungry. They hadn't had a proper meal since this morning. Still, he didn't want to be the one leaving now. His father was an important man, and though they spent a great deal of time together, they didn't often have time for real talk.

Sometimes Astor missed his father even as they rode side by side.

"Five years," Valentino finally spoke, his voice a little croaky. He cleared his dry throat, the barking sound enough to bring Astor back to the present. Around them, the light had gone from dim to dusk. How long had they been standing here? "It will be exactly five years since we were all here, in Ravenna, the lost city, and signed the treaty that united all five countries to the Union." Their eyes met, two pairs of brilliant irises in the dark shade. "My memories start to fade, Astor. Of our lives before, of our love before when she was still with us. I can still hear her in my sleep—her smooth melody from the garden when she sang to the Gods. And they listened to her, my son, they did. Because they have given Manerium Aureum e prosperity for years. We were happy." His hand dug deeper into Astor's shoulder as if he needed to find his balance, but Astor knew it was words his father needed to make him feel balanced. Words that reassured him of what had happened to them. But mostly, words that affirmed that his memory was legitimate, and true. His father needed to hear that they had been happy, that they had been loved by Iantha Prianos, before she sacrificed herself to the gods in exchange for peace.

"That we were, father," Astor said, and he enfolded Valentino's hand with his own.

His father glanced at their entwined hands and nodded. Something flashed in his blue eyes, and the mood shifted translucently. "And right when we believe that they have just signed that paper to be done with it, without ever having the intention to show their traitor faces again, here they are. They're coming this year, filius . They?—"

A faceless enemy.

They.

"Bring my father back to his tent and tend to his needs," Astor ordered, his hand now the one being clasped around the other man's shoulder, holding him up.

Damaryan. The country of the mystical forest on the horizon. The betrayers. Weak and strong at the same time, they were the final piece in the broken puzzle that illustrated the disastrous outcome five years ago. An outcome that had changed all their lives forever.

Because when war had been on the doorstep of the four countries of Oniarteto, convoking hardship and hunger in a blink of an eye, it was House Novar that had fought to defend the other nations. It was House Novar that had finally brought the enemy into a deadlock, before hunting them down and away from occupied land.

Novar, the crown jewel of Oniarteto, with its rolling mountains and fertile ground, had met their unexpected enemy from the south on its own wide and dry lands. The very same lands where they stood right now. Oh yes, they had fought, their golden chariots polished, their soldiers in shining armour, swords sharp and ready to kill. They were fierce and strong, as they defended what was theirs.

Their land. Their culture. Their reputation.

There was no mistake of the power that was held by the blood-red and golden banner that stretched through the entire heart of Oniarteto, its golden coin well-known in bordering countries, its rich culture and countless influx of the finest slaves, savages that were perfectly trained by the time they left for trade.

"I'll make them crawl, " Astor wanted to say. "I'll make them bleed for what they've done." But the words were stuck in his throat, and then a slave appeared and brought water to Valentino's mouth, and the moment was gone.

"Theós amores, filius ," Valentino mused, flitting his fingertips to his temples in a gesture of respect. "Eat something, then get some rest. We'll leave at dawn and arrive in Ravenna before the clock ticks nine times."

Astor watched him leave with a clenching gut. His father, the Leopard of the Novarian army, and his hero. Fearless, invincible in both stature and posture. He was good to his people, an honourable fighter and a wonderful father. He had taught him everything about warfare and leadership. About being true, and proud.

"Theós amores," Astor murmured in reply, dipping his chin as he returned the gesture.

Melas, his young male slave stood waiting by his tent, holding a platter with grilled meat, vegetables, cheese and bread. His composure was impeccable: faultlessly obedient and trained to efface and anticipate, his neck was arched back to show the lines of his taut, tender skin that held the gold collar decorated with fire opal, much like the golden cuffs he wore on his wrists. His eyes were cast down. He had already removed his travel outfit of red cotton for the transparent chiffon robe his master had gifted him, that, together with the earmark, was proof he had been claimed by the high commander's son.

This was the Novarian way, and their slaves were highly trained to accommodate noble families with the care they needed.

Astor nodded at Melas, a gesture the young man wouldn't see since he was staring at the ground, then turned to his father.

"Good night, papa," he whispered into the air, where the ghost of their conversation lingered in the empty, darkened air.

* * *

Astor didn't retreat immediately. Instead, he opened the flap of Fabiano's tent and peered inside.

"Can I come in?" He asked, letting his gaze roam around, only to find his baby brother sprawled out onto the bed, the sides of his white tunic still bound together by the blood-red and golden coloured silk belt. He hadn't changed for bed yet. Around his neck he still carried his golden necklace, the shape of the sunflower curled around the material like lava in the middle of his neck, putting emphasis on the dips of his collarbone. His eyes were open, focused once more as they followed every single movement the slave made as she moved to undress herself with slow, agile fingers, opening the blood-red robe that was only held together by a string of golden brooches in the middle.

" Sisto ." The order came out silkily. She stopped at once, leaving the garment around her shoulders by the only brooch that was still tightened, picked up the tray of food and leapt forward to the bed. Strands of her hair fell lightly over her shoulders as she kneeled to his side, head rolled down to her chest, her arms outstretched as she kept the plate up. Waiting for Fabiano to flick his fingers and request her to come forward to present him with the food.

He didn't. Instead he dragged his gaze back to Astor, and smiled sweetly. "Brother." His voice was a lacy breath. "Thank you for looking after me."

" Semper ." Astor said, and he turned toward the far corner to where his brother's travelling altar stood, and slid down to his knees. He prayed to Ykaldin, prayed for tomorrow's victory, and sealed his words with a flitting caress to his temple. He got up and turned back to the bed, fatigue trickling through the cracks of his faltering determination. It was time to get some rest.

"Will you cheer for me tomorrow during the Celebratios ?" He asked.

" Semper ," Fabiano smiled and nodded, the gesture so simple and so wondrous at the same time as it gave him back that boyish expression he'd carried for years. That boyish expression he had lost. Astor's chest tightened at the sight. "I can't wait for you to show those savages from the north where they belong, and those fishermen all the strength they lack."

A beat of thickening silence. "And what do I show the Darmayarian delegation?" Astor asked.

Them.

Fabiano clacked his tongue, then crooked his finger to the servant who kept her neck straight and eyes dipped as she wriggled forward onto her knees, plate outstretched for Fabiano to take what he wanted. With his eyes still trained on his brother, his hand travelled to where her brooch kept the planes of her simple tunic together and tore it off, ravaging the thin lace and exposing her naked skin. She let out a gasp, outstretched hands now trembling under the weight of the tray, though it could hardly have been the first time that his brother played her around like a rag doll.

Astor let out a dry chuckle at the display, then stepped forward and around the slave's delicate, kneeled frame, leaned in and gave his brother a tight hug, his thighs pressed tightly around the slave's head. He could hear her stuttering breath, but she managed to keep the tray straight enough. "Sleep well, frater ," he muttered, then dropped a kiss onto Fabiano's head and stepped back, leaving him in his candle-lit space with his pet slave.

Holding open the flap, he gestured to Melas. "Come." His slave followed him inside his own tent. The boy had made an acceptable job of making the place look decent between its self-made walls of goatskin. The large bed of wooden panels had been made up with freshly washed linens, and sat right in its heart, as if waiting to be occupied.

Astor watched the crackling of the fire and allowed for the delicate slither of nerves to creep through his stomach at the thought of their arrival tomorrow in Nethyr, at the Academy. He would start his second year, marking Astor twenty-two years, his brother being one year younger.

At the foot of his bed, Astor halted, facing the piles of cushions Melas had placed exactly the way he liked them.

"You may start," he ordered. Melas dropped the food platter he'd carried inside onto the ground in the corner and rushed to stand behind his Dominus, where he started by curling his hands around Astor's neck. His fingers deftly opened the golden brooch of House of Novar, and he held it in his palm as he carefully grabbed hold of the loosening, red cape.

Suddenly, Astor spun around, surprising the slave who flushed and apologized profusely before dipping his gaze. Trembling fingers took longer to unbuckle the holder that carried the spatha from Astor's hips, causing another ripple of delight through Astor's lower abdomen. "Undress me."

"Yes, Dominus." Fingers slid over Astor's back as the slave reached for the laces that kept his black suit in one piece, the tight, shiny material a second glove around his body, flexing in line with all the dips and curves that he had gained by years of training with the Ovarian army.

Astor's gaze took in the way the boy's golden hair curled, a soft tumble that covered his ears, his pale texture and those cast down eyes, lashes fluttering and lips pressed tightly in concentration as his fingers blindly, deftly, unraveled the complicated skein of woven lace. His mind travelled distances as he thought of the land across the forest, the land that used to belong to Novar, but that too, was taken away from them as part of the heavy price they had to pay in the name of war.

He stepped out of his opened, leather boots and away from the puddle of remaining clothes. In nothing but a loincloth to cover his manhood, Astor padded to his bed.

"Melas." The slave scrambled to keep up with him, drawing the sheets back in time right before he had to do it himself. He would not have appreciated that.

The cool blankets caressed his tired limbs and straining muscles, and tickled his desire to life, while calming his mind.

"Do you like playing games?" Astor tilted his gaze to watch the boy as he stood by the bed, flinching when he realized he was being spoken to, only to slide down onto his knees.

"Yes, Dominus," he finally said.

"Good." Astor took a piece of meat from the tray that had been placed next to the bed, and popped it into his mouth. The cold, salty flavour made him think of home. "What's your favorite game?"

"Hide and seek," the boy replied instantly, then flinched when he realized what he'd said. "I mean?—"

"That's very good, Melas. Why don't you and I play a little game once we get to the Academy?"

Melas hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Certainly, Dominus. What?—"

"I will tell you the rules when we start," Astor cut him off, crooked his fingers and forked up another piece of meat, sliding it between the boy's lips and watched as his lips worked around the texture. Melas didn't need to look at him to show how hungry he was. As he alternated bites of meat, cheese and bread between himself and his slave, Astor patiently let his thoughts unravel in his mind. His stomach fluttered with anticipation at what was to come, for the Academy was a lot of things outsiders didn't know anything about.

A summary of the past and prejudice, a foretelling of the future.

A survival of the fittest.

They finished the plate of food in silence.

"Melas," Astor whispered and let a hand through the boy's hair before quietly pushing the blanket aside, just enough to expose his heating groin. He watched as the slave crawled forward and dipped his head over Astor's thigh, playing with the boy's enticing curls as he guided his mouth to where it burned.

Yes. Astor closed his eyes and leaned back on the plush pillow with a satisfied sigh.

The cards had been redistributed for this year's school year.

But House Novar would show its supremacy once more. Of that, he was sure.