Chương 3: Chapter 1.3: Filial Rites

"Death," replied Marcus. The word froze the room. Favius's heartbeat quickened, and as if magnetically attracted, his eyes fell onto his mother. Tears began streaming down her face, but her expression remained a stoic mask. Then Urania gasped.

"No!" She jumped forward, hugging her father. Severin remained still as a statue, absentmindedly rubbing her back as if from a great distance. Brutus had shifted from leaning casually on his axe to holding it almost lazily in both hands. Suddenly, a low, bitter chuckle broke the tension. Severin shook his head. His voice was filled with cold venom.

"So the dictator's corpse has barely even cooled, and your Constitutionalists have already decided to bring back the good old days when the Senate was ruled by cold steel and low cunning instead of reason and debate? Is that what it is?" Marcus's jaw tightened as he narrowed his eyes. He took a deep breath and visibly relaxed.

"No. We will not return to those days. But the dictator's legacy cannot be allowed to stand. His allies and the moderates among his supporters will not be touched, but his inner circle must be removed." Severin stretched out his hands wide.

"Then go ahead, brother." He spat out the last word.

"Do the deed. Plunge your blade into me if you have the guts for it. Or shall it be a public execution?" Favius's heartbeat hammered in his ears. Urania was crying heavily while hugging Lavira. Marius looked unhappy yet mostly confused, and Lia fussed in the arms of her nursemaid, distressed but not yet crying. Marcus took another deep breath.

"It has been decided that all of those who are to die will be offered the chance to depart with dignity." He looked over at Lavira.

"I have brought hemlock wine for you." Lavira nodded sharply, her owl eyes glaring coldly at the man who had just told her she would die this evening. It was as if he was observing the scene from somewhere high above. This—this can't be happening. My family, my mother, my father—and— He froze and grew icy cold as the reality of the situation settled in. Losing his parents was one thing, but confronting his own mortality—that was too abstract to even bear thinking about.

Lavira spoke up, though he missed the first part of what she said.

"... and the children?" A sad smile settled on Marcus's face. He had taken a half-step forward as if to comfort Lavira, but then froze.

"I have petitioned the Senate for permission to adopt them. Most families of the loyalists were ordered to partake of the wine, but as I still lack a male heir…" He studied Favius and then briefly glanced at Marius, whose wide eyes showed he did not understand. Suddenly, Lavira broke down. She almost seemed to forget Urania as she pushed her aside and fell to her knees. As she collapsed, she grasped for Marcus's hand, touching his outstretched fingers gently.

"Thank you. By the Divine Mother, thank you, Marcus. We—I—" She buried her face in her hands as tears streamed down her face. Yet Favius could clearly see the smile on her face. She had always been a caring mother, and he knew that there was nothing more important to her in this world than her children. Severin nodded and briefly touched his wife's back before stepping toward the altar. He filled the cup that had recently been used to swear the oath of hospitality with wine and picked up a dagger.

One by one, starting with little Lia, he cut the backs of his children's hands, collecting several drops of blood. Lia erupted into tears and screaming. Marius took it with surprising stoicism, receiving a pat on the head and a kiss from his father. Urania refused to hold out her hand, but Severin knelt down before her, hugging her and whispering something in her ear until, under tears, she too allowed him to collect the blood. Then Severin stepped toward Favius.

"Son, know that this is my will. Your uncle Marcus—" He looked at the younger man.

"—is a good man despite all our differences. He will take care of you." Then he handed Favius the family dagger. It was an old, curved blade made of hammered copper. The moment Favius's hands closed around the grip, the idea came to him. One step. One thrust. Then pulling down with all his weight, gutting Marcus, who was merely standing a step away. Brutus—Brutus would act. He would kill the soldiers, and they were matched equally with the household guard anyway.

His mother hadn't yet drunk the poisoned wine that a servant had brought in from the entrance hall alongside an ornate box that Marcus had placed next to the family altar. I can still change it. Keep them safe. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. He clenched the dagger and took a deep breath. I only have one shot at this. But then Severin grasped both his shoulders and stared into his eyes, shaking his head gently. The bottom fell out of Favius's stomach. He knows.

But he doesn't want me to do it. He—he is accepting it. Why? After another dozen heartbeats, Favius finally brought the dagger down and cut the back of his hand, letting half a dozen drops of blood fall into the silver cup where they mixed with the wine. The dagger and cup were passed on to Marcus, who repeated the ritual. Again, blood hammered in rushing waves through Favius's ears as time stretched and compressed at the same time.

Marcus and Severin exchanged words, and at some point, both of them were staring at him. Marcus cleared his throat.

"I asked if you will forswear your previous family and swear to become my son, with all the duties and privileges of that position." Favius exchanged a look with Severin, and his father nodded.

"I—" Suddenly, the proper words came to his mind.

"I, Favius Ovinius Magnus, forswear the name Ovinius Magnus." He took a shuddering breath, and for some reason, there was water in his eyes.

"And swear that my name from this day onward shall be Favius Ovinius Loran, son of Marcus Ovinius Loran." Marcus nodded. Then Marcus, Favius, and the siblings sipped some of the bloodstained wine from the cup. It tasted like nothing. The other siblings were taken out of the room. The cup was emptied and refilled from a small amphora Marcus had brought. Lavira stepped forward after having accepted the hemlock wine with minimal hesitation. First, she hugged Severin, then Favius. She kissed him on the forehead.

"Be brave, my boy." Then, seemingly in tears, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear.

"Find my family. Find them if you ever need support." After those words, she stood up and drained the cup of hemlock-laced wine in a single gulp. The majordomo appeared and took her away to the other siblings in her bedroom. Severin turned to Brutus.

"Brutus, bring me my sword." Brutus swallowed, his knuckles visibly whitening on the haft of the axe. He ground out two words.

"Yes, Dominus." And he left the room. Severin turned to Favius, kneeling before him again and squeezing his shoulders with both his strong, well-muscled hands. Favius studied his slightly greying hair, and suddenly his father looked far older than his fifty years should allow.

"Three things, my son. Protect your siblings. Protect them above everything else. Swear this to me." Favius nodded, swallowed, and answered.

"I swear to protect my siblings at all costs."

"Very good, my boy."

"Next. Never forget you are the heir of the main line. Bear yourself with the dignity that befits your station, no matter what happens."

"And finally—" He looked at Marcus.

"You will meet people who will entice you to go against the Republic in the name of the dictator's legacy. Remember this, and remember it well. Everything the Iron Phoenix did, everything that we did, was to cleanse the Republic of corruption. To save it and its traditions. It's the constitution that separates us from the savages and barbarians out there." His grip tightened harshly.

"Never dishonor the Iron Phoenix's legacy by reducing it to mere dreams of tyranny." He enclosed Favius in a bear hug, and finally, the man's voice broke. Between tears, he got out four final words.

"I love you, son." Favius returned the hug with all his strength. An indeterminate amount of time later, Brutus returned with a beautiful gladius of steel that seemed to hold an inner pattern and shimmer with iridescent color. Favius clung to his father, but the man grabbed him under the shoulders and pushed him toward Marcus, who held out a hand. Bile rose in Favius's throat, but he reached out and took the man's hand with all the strength he could muster.

To his satisfaction, he heard a small gasp of surprise at the strength Favius put into the grip. It was weaker than expected. Unlike his father's hands, which were the calloused and muscled hands of a fighter, Marcus's hands were softer, those of someone not used to physical labor. What followed, Favius lived through in a daze. Severin knelt on the ground, then went to all fours, kneeling over the sword. He moved with a certainty that was oddly dignified.

With a sad smile and a last look at Favius, he let his weight fall onto the blade without hesitation. It passed straight through him, coming out through the small of his back. Only the sound of an exhale could be heard from the man, though he clearly pulled the blade upward, widening the cut. The body of the man lay still on the floor, his breathing fading as the puddle of blood spread ever wider. Not a single sound of pain escaped his mouth. Time seemed to proceed strangely.

At some point, Favius realized he was standing in the puddle of blood alongside Marcus and Brutus, though Brutus still stood by the family altar, opposing Marcus. A silence that could have lasted hours formed a strangely appropriate vigil for the man who had been his father and one of the greatest generals of the Republic. Finally, Marcus extricated his hand and walked over to the family altar, opening the ornate box and kneeling in front of the altar.

He collected the family relics—the cup, the dagger, and half a dozen other artifacts—placing them reverently in the box before licking his fingers and snuffing out the flame of the altar. Favius remained standing there as the soldiers Marcus had brought began the sordid business of looting the place. Furniture was extracted, servants were corralled, and valuables were thrown into boxes. All the while, Favius stood in the puddle of blood.

Suddenly, something blurred across the room and crashed into the wall with a loud bang. Pudding ran down the wall mosaic. Slowly, as if in a daze, Favius turned his head. A second projectile shot through the room. A man's scream, laced with animalistic pain, ripped through the air. Brutus was demolishing the table with his axe, his face a rictus mask of anger. The soldiers hurried out of the room, and Marcus returned, his hands raised in the manner one would use to calm a dangerous animal.

Brutus glared at him, lowered his axe, and growled between his teeth:"I am fine." Each word a clear repudiation of the whole sentence. Marcus smiled, nodded, and retreated. Time continued to pass. But still Favius could do nothing but stare at his father. Shouldn't I be crying? Shouldn't I feel something? But the first thing he felt following the death of his parents was a need to pee. He slowly moved. The first step was the hardest. Then he grew steadier and left a trail of bloody footsteps toward the privy.

He was about to climb onto the seat of what was, albeit luxurious, nonetheless a simple privy when he heard voices from under the window.

"Stop worrying so much, Lazarus. The One-Hundred-Man Slayer is just a single Magni-Cultor, and we have two magi of Magni-Cultor rank. Two fourth-rank cultivators against one." The man chuckled with a nervousness belying his words.

"And even if the mages fail, we still have the archers. I don't care how good he is. The poison on the arrows is quick-acting. It will work, trust me." Another, much younger man's voice let out a shuddering breath.

"You're right, uncle—" The other man's voice grew stern.

"I told you not to call me uncle while we are on duty." The younger voice let out a suppressed sigh.

"Apologies, Decurii."

"Good. Then let's get ready." The two men left. Favius didn't dare breathe until he could no longer hear their steps.

"They want to kill Brutus," he murmured to himself. Before he could think, he began running to find the man who had been a constant presence throughout his childhood.