“I’m guessing that’s where the dragon went,” Karl asked as they descended the slope, coming back to where the Circus Maximus was.

  “Indeed,” Sporus said as they paused for a steampunk chariot carrying engines and bronze frames trotting past them.

  “More importantly,” Ratatoskr asked, “who is that hot chick?”

  The group’s eyes fell upon the array of marble statues scattered before the Circus Maximus. Karl recognized that they looked very similar to the ones commonly seen around the Forum, the Colosseum, and even along the hillside of the Palatine Hill. The marble statues were of a beautiful, slender, but athletic woman holding herself with a poised demeanor. She had long hair with intricate braids and wore flowing necklaces that had what Karl thought was an Egyptian pendant. Her face was beautiful, yet sad, as she looked with longing toward the skies.

  “That is Cleopatra,” Sporus said as they stopped to look at the statue. “Or was, rather.”

  “The emperor’s wife?” Kara asked, touching the statue’s foot where thousands had touched it before, worn smooth.

  Sporus nodded. “She passed recently. In childbirth. But we shouldn’t discuss this here. It is not safe so close to the palace.” His gait quickened.

  They passed by more statues of Cleopatra as they weaved through the crowds. Once they passed the Circus Maximus, they reached a new hill, which Sporus explained was the Aventine Hill. It was steeper, but quieter here. This area of Rome was less touched by the industrial overhaul that seemed to define the rest of the Eternal City. There were plenty of cypress trees lining the worn cobblestone road, with only a few places patched in with bronze inlays that glowed faintly, which Sporus further explained helped nighttime travelers.

  They passed by what Sporus said was the Temple of Diana. It wasn’t as large as the other temples they had seen before, but its impressive marble columns still captivated Karl and his friends as they went by.

  They continued along the quiet, narrow streets, which were lined with modest high-wall estates, terraced houses with tile roofs, olive trees in clay pots, and bronze street lamps burning with clean, magical fire.

  They didn’t pass any urban cohorts or Praetorian patrols. Their only company was priests tending to small altars and shrines, along with aristocratic families walking with their children.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” Mýra said, her eyes lingering on the view of Rome now that they were halfway up the hill, which gave them a sweeping look over the sprawling city.

  “It’s nicer up here,” Sporus agreed.

  From here, they could see the Circus Maximus and the Colosseum below. Aqueducts stretched almost everywhere, allowing constant, uninterrupted water to hydrate the enormous population. The Tiber River wound through the city like a dark silver serpent.

  “It smells less like poop, too,” Ratatoskr said, causing Karl to sigh.

  Though the Trickster was correct—it smelled surprisingly clean.

  “The Emperor likes his sewage system,” Sporus said as he continued leading them up the Aventine Hill. “It is nice not having to smell feces constantly.”

  Kara, Björn, and Mýra all grunted in agreement, which Karl found surprising. Back in Visby, they simply threw their sewage outside the window where it froze, and it hardly smelled bad.

  Then again, Karl was reminded of the Siege of Paris he had endured in his first few days in Midgard, and how awful it smelled even when they stood only at the city walls. He couldn’t imagine living in a place such as Rome during the summer, where sewage would bake in the sun.

  As they neared the top, the roads branched into narrower, quieter lanes lined with polished doorsteps, doorposts carved with family crests, laurel-wrapped statues of what were presumably senators, and dozens of gated gardens overflowing with jasmine, rosemary, and other succulent flowers, some of them glowing with magic. These homes were not huge, but they were all elegant.

  Sporus led them to one of them. They reached a tall, ivory-covered wall with a bronze gate shaped like a blooming lotus. Karl could see the hinges were blessed with some sort of magic, and he dared not touch them. Sporus seemed unafraid as he gently pressed the gate. Whatever he did caused a whirring and clicking sound, and the gate lifted, allowing him to pass seamlessly through, unmolested.

  “Just let me open the gates from here, okay?” Sporus said, shooting a glance at the Trickster. “Unless you want to get fried.”

  “Lead the way, princess,” the Trickster said.

  Sporus glared, though Björn chuckled at the comment.

  Inside the small courtyard, they came upon a marble atrium pool fed by a gentle trickle from a bronze lionhead spout. The lanterns in the courtyard burned with warm amber light, which hung over a small garden of basil and mint, delighting Karl enormously.

  They walked along a pebbled path, and it was here Karl picked up the faint smell of iron mingling with the flowers. Kara noticed it too, along with a host of other scents that reminded her of a workshop.

  The man must be a blacksmith, she spoke to Karl through their Pack Link.

  The pebbled path led to a whitewashed stucco house with red Roman roofing tiles. It looked more like a traditional Roman home and was not as enhanced by industrialization as the rest of Rome. The crest above the entrance confirmed Kara’s suspicions. It was a hammer flanked by olive branches. Everything about it screamed warmth and family.

  As they stood before the cozy home, Karl picked up on five heartbeats coming from inside. “Now,” Sporus said, adjusting himself on the doorstep, “before we go in, there’s something you need to⁠—”

  The door exploded open, and out came a little boy screaming at the top of his lungs, which somehow Karl could understand. “Uncle Spory!”

  The preteen boy, sporting wiry black hair, leapt onto Sporus. Humorously, Sporus held out his hands in surprise, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Hi, Justus,” he said, sounding annoyed but still happy to see the kid.

  The Trickster scurried farther behind Karl’s shoulder to hide from the boy and the young girl who stood with their parents at the doorstep.

  “Sporus,” the large man said as he held an arm around his wife and their daughter before them.

  His voice was friendly, which was nice since he was extremely large, with rippling muscles, especially on his forearms. He had short, dark, cropped hair and a five o’clock shadow. He wore a short-sleeved tunic of deep red. Karl could smell that some of the man’s forearm hair was slightly burned, which made sense given he was wearing a smith’s apron darkened from years of heat. He smelled overwhelmingly of oil and metal.

  Instantly, Karl got strong, trustworthy, fatherly vibes from him, and he relaxed his guard.

  Wrapped around Titus’s arm was a shorter woman who was surprisingly muscular. She had short-cropped hair and hazel eyes and wore a forest green soft stola. Her earrings were unlike the noble women they had seen on the way up. They were neither gold nor silver nor glittering with jewels, but feathers—looking more like a Native American design, which was strange, as she looked Roman and not Native American.

  “Who are they?” the woman asked, looking questioningly at Karl and his friends while putting a protective hand on her stomach. Titus flicked his gaze to them, too, and pulled his daughter closer. She looked more like her mother than her father, though she was a couple of years older than her brother. Although, unlike her sibling, her blushing gaze at Sporus hinted she felt differently about their supposed uncle.

  “I’m Karl,” Karl said, motioning to his wife and friends. “This is my wife, Kara, and these are my closest friends, Björn and Mýra.”

  “What’s that thing on your shoulder?” the little girl asked.

  “Mind your manners, Constantia,” her mother scolded, keeping her right hand firmly on her stomach. Karl could sense the heartbeat coming from her womb. She was with child. Kara noticed it too, her eyes lingering on the belly.

  “His name is the Trickster,” Karl said, shifting his left shoulder to reveal the squirrel. But then he frowned, uncertain about how they were communicating. “How do you understand us? Do you speak Norse?”

  Titus, Livia, and the two kids raised their hands to touch the dark metal bracelets on their wrists. They looked like they were worth a million gold each, given the intricate gold wings that composed the bracelets’ core and the ruby lettering along them, which said Lingua Domini.

  “Mercury is the god of communication,” Sporus explained, holding up his own. “The Emperor gifted them to us. These are his handcrafted sets, though there are more inferior bracelets that can mostly replicate their enchanted ability.”

  “Can I touch the rat?” Justus interrupted, lunging to grab the squirrel, who raced to the other side of Karl’s shoulder.

  “I’m a squirrel,” the Trickster huffed. His beady, glowing red eyes were wide with distraught, as if he’d been chased by a plague-stricken beggar.

  “Justus,” Titus said, and in a word, the boy retreated to his father.

  “Karl,” Sporus said, redirecting everyone’s attention, “I want you to meet Titus and Livia, friends of Emperor Maximus.”

  11

  OLD FRIENDS

  “Is that a… Tentacle Bow?” Justus asked right before flicking the slimy bow on Karl’s back. Karl should have stashed it in his inventory, but he’d been so caught up in the moment of meeting the Emperor’s close confidants that he’d simply strung it over his back. The wet slime drizzling down his neck was his reward.

  Karl sighed as he wiped it from his neck.

  “Hey, do you want some?” Justus teased, running to chase his sister with the slime on his hand, trying to touch her with it as everyone else walked inside Titus’s house.

  “Mom, tell him to stop!” Constantia shrieked as she broke her careful poise to dash away from her brother.

  “Children,” Livia warned, only to sigh as the two kids scrambled into another room of the house.

  Titus couldn’t help but laugh. “This way,” he said as he motioned them into the main atrium.

  Sunlight streamed through the open skylight above them, which was square just like the room, casting golden rays upon the central pool that lay in front of the entrance, causing light to dance along the walls.

  “Shoes there, please,” Livia said, pointing to a little shoe rack by the door.

  “Oh,” Karl said. “I’m sorry.” He took off his Moltenveil boots. Björn grunted in obvious disagreement as he removed his muddy boots, but Livia did not budge.

  Karl noticed both Titus and Livia were barefoot, mostly—Titus’s feet were strong and hairy, while Livia wore soft silk slippers. Karl wanted to suggest they use his minty Nøkk’s Hand Soap to wash off the dirt they had collected on their feet while walking through the streets, but he had a feeling Livia would have him remove his shoes anyway. His heart picked up a few paces as Kara took off her shoes, revealing her white athletic legs that he had so recently come to enjoy.

  As they removed their shoes, Karl glanced around, taking in the rest of the atrium. There were a handful of household shrines standing in alcoves, one of which looked like a forge god with a hammer and an anvil before him. The walls were draped in carpets and intricate tapestries that displayed Roman mythological stories, like the goddess of the hunt, Diana, sniping a wolf with her bow. Karl shifted uneasily on his bare feet at that one, as did Kara.

  Fenrir similarly growled with displeasure inside Karl’s mind. A bow is no match for a wolf, he muttered, ignoring how Karl took down his cult with his bow.

  But despite that, the room was filled with small vases and soft cushions on several benches near the wall. Surprisingly, the Romans had at least ten slaves working in the home. One of them, Hermes, it sounded like, must have been a doorkeeper, late to his job, which the head slave—with a British look to him—apologized for.

  “It’s alright, Felix,” Titus said, smiling at the younger male slave whose face burned bright red in shame, waiting patiently at the door.

  The other slaves were either cooking in the kitchen, moving from room to room with cleaning supplies, or moving to the garden beyond the atrium.

  “Are you surprised at the slaves?” Sporus asked quietly while Titus and Livia discussed something with Felix.

  “Yes and no,” Karl whispered.

  “There are millions of them here, in Rome,” Sporus said, looking with empathy towards them. “Rome would not survive without them. The Eternal City is built on them.”

  Kara shrugged. “They seem to have it good here.”

  “They do,” Sporus said as Felix departed after a kind word from Titus. “Trust me when I tell you, no slave has it better than those of Titus.”

  “Are these the Vikings you mentioned in your letters?” Titus asked, rejoining them to lead the group past what looked like a private forge and Livia’s living quarters, and finally through a somewhat messy family space.

  Constantia, alongside a middle-aged female slave, was picking up the pillows and toys Justus had knocked over in his chase of her. Justus lay groaning on the floor, hands over his crotch, where she had presumably kicked him.

  “Not fair,” Justus groaned.

  “You asked for it,” Constantia said, wearing a smug grin. The slave next to her buried her grin.

  “These are,” Sporus answered, looking at the kids with amusement. As soon as he spoke, Constantia looked up at him, suddenly nervous.

  “So you’re the one who took down the wolf god?” Titus asked as he motioned them to a private garden in the back.

  “It was more of a team effort,” Karl said while looking at his friends, who gave him grins at the humble display.

  Livia raised an eyebrow as she assessed him. She then directed them to the stone benches meant for guests beneath the olive trees that formed a natural canopy over the garden.

  They sat down around a little gurgling fountain where birds were jumping in and out to wash. A few slaves tended the plants and fruits that made up the modest garden.

  Karl noticed engravings on the edges of his and Kara’s bench as he sat down. Though he couldn’t understand the quote, he saw it was made by someone named Marcus Aurelius.

  Titus and Livia sat on their own bench, while Sporus joined Björn and Mýra on theirs.

  Karl briefly made introductions for himself and the others.

  Sporus, now that everyone was acquainted, spoke up. “Now that we can speak in private,” he said, “I want to know why you are here.”

  Karl glanced at Titus and Livia, worried about their connection to the Emperor. He could feel that Kara felt the same way.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Sporus said, shaking his head dismissively. “They can be trusted, I assure you.”

  “Whether or not you can be trusted is another question entirely,” Livia said, crossing one leg as she studied them.

  “We probably can’t be,” the Trickster said unhelpfully, “unless you give us a bounty of food tonight. Then we might be more open to the deal.”

  Livia rolled her eyes. “I hope you don’t eat as much as my son,” she said.

  “You should be more worried about these two,” the Trickster said, patting both Karl and Kara on the back as he rested on Karl’s shoulder. “Werewolf appetite puts a steep price on the grocery bills.”

  “Werewolf?” Titus said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “I haven’t seen much of those here.”

  “Nor will you if we don’t win the Emperor’s Games,” Karl said, fiddling with his gauntlets as he spoke. “King Arthur from England is preparing to invade our homeland. He’s destroyed all of our ships and will be here by spring.” Karl shrugged. “That’s why I’m here—to win the Emperor’s Boon and gain access to a fleet to invade them first.”

  “Should we have any need for concern?” Kara asked as Titus, Livia, and Sporus looked at each other.

  “Perhaps,” Titus said, scratching his light beard. “It’s hard to know with Max. From the rumors I’ve heard from his servants, he has been obsessed lately with other cultures.”

  “How so?” Sporus asked.

  Livia leaned closer to them, giving the sky a careful glance before speaking.

  “Not clear,” Livia said, her voice lowered. Her eyes were distant, as if she were completely in her thoughts. “All I know is that he is collecting books from all over the world, gathering them faster than they can be supplied.” Livia looked at Titus before continuing. “I even heard that he wrote books about the Americans, especially the tribe you came into contact with, and then read those books to increase his powers.”

  Titus hummed to himself and thought. Karl did not understand what they were talking about, nor did his friends.

  “I take it you found something?” Titus asked Sporus.

  The pale archer turned to him, nodding grimly. “It is bigger than I understand, but it answers no questions and only gathers more. I found Maximus’s sons fully grown beneath the palace.”

  “Impossible,” Livia said in disgust.

  “It’s true,” Sporus said. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

  “Are his sons cursed or something?” Björn asked, as Mýra sat silently beside him, looking lost in thought.

  “They’re supposed to only be a couple months old,” Titus said, his voice grave. “What did he do to them?”

  “I don’t know,” Sporus said, scratching his dark curly hair. “All I’ve heard about is that it’s Saturn’s Hourglass Ring to blame.”

  “His time-stopper,” Mýra asked, speaking up. All eyes turned to her.

  “How do you know that?” Sporus asked.