Preview of the next interlude (it's also super long)

Interlude: Honor

At the age of sixteen, Lucius Aurelius committed an unforgivable sin.

To himself, he could blame the error on having never been in battle before. Years of practice and stories from his father could not prepare him for the blood, the screaming, tripping over a body and realizing it was his friend Antoine. What happened had been a mistake, one he was still paying for a year later. He thought he was doing the right thing. But now he sat in the Emperor’s jail among traitors awaiting his judgment.

Traitors. He was a traitor.

“Lucius Aurelius,” the Praetorian said. “It’s time.”

Lucius got to his feet. He turned around, arms lifted into the air as the Praetorian bound his wrists with chains and led him to the baths so he could be clean before he was presented to the Emperor, and then he was given a meal without maggots squirming through the grain. Still, he might end up longing for his cell once the hearing was concluded and he was sold into slavery.

What he did was not a crime, but a sin nonetheless. It was a mistake made during the heat of battle… yet walking across the courtyard and staring up at the clear blue sky, he thought he would make the same choice.

There had been so much death. Not just for the attacking Glessian army, but for the Summer warriors as well. The Glessians were persistent, a unit went down and they sent another in to fight. Lucius couldn’t imagine how big an army they brought, but there seemed an inexhaustible supply of soldiers, and in spite of the supplies and reinforcements from the inner Empire, he was tired. He wanted it to stop.

That was when Commander Tiberius fell down, an arrow piercing his damaged armor. Blood pooled beneath him, and Lucius skidded down beside him, shield raised to ward off more volleys.

“Commander…”

Tiberius smiled. “It is a good day to die.”

He shut his eyes. There was no higher honor than dying in service to your Emperor. But enough had died today.

Lucius broke off the end of the arrow and lifted his commander, summoning all the strength left in his body as well as reserves he did not know he had. He carried Tiberius back into the trenches and packed the wound as well he could. Then he picked up his sword and shield and ran back out to the fight. Though he came back scarred, he did come back. As did Commander Tiberius.

Now, he walked up the stone steps to Emperor Augustus’s court. He was not there yet, only his praetorians, lining the walls carrying spears. Once, Lucius thought he would stand among them. His father’s family included senators, his mother’s included a mix of warriors and scholars. All were proud, distinguished by generations of service. If he was lucky, Lucius’s brother might one day stand among the praetorians instead.

Lucius was brought down the aisle. On one side was his family, his mother, brother, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, all grim faced because they knew how close they were to losing everything. Their lives depended on an Emperor who ordered an orchard burned down because the yield was lower than he wanted, and once elevated a lowly page to a priest because she cleaned mud from her shoes before stepping into the senate chamber, followed by ordering those who didn’t be whipped. The other side was filled with the ones who brought the suit against him and his family. Tiberius was no longer a commander, that much Lucius knew, and seeing him hunched over, thin and pale, it was hard to believe he would recover enough to walk on his own. His sons were on either side of him, leaning away as if they might become infected with his infirmity, while his wife Gnaea gave Lucius such a smoldering gaze that it was a wonder he did not catch fire.