Valentinian III,Roman Emperor's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The wine had stopped working hours ago, but Valentinian kept drinking because the alternative was thinking. He lay sprawled on heated stone while steam curled through the bath chamber, his men still laughing around him though the jokes had gone stale. One of them had passed out against a column, another sprawled across a couch with his arm dangling over the edge, fingers trailing through spilled wine. The marble floor was littered with toppled goblets and red stains that looked like blood in the lamplight. Valentinian stared at the ceiling and felt nothing but the dull weight of knowing his purse would be empty soon and his mother would still be sitting on her throne, counting coins that should have been his. He pushed himself up, steadied himself against the wall, and walked past his sleeping men without looking back. His sister would be in her chambers now, alone and bitter in her own way. She hated their mother too — not for the same reasons, but hate was hate and it could be shaped into something useful. He found her door and pushed it open without knocking. She looked up from her chair, surprise crossing her face before it hardened into the same guarded mask she always wore around him. Valentinian closed the door behind him and said the only words that mattered: their mother had to lose the treasury, and he needed her help to take it. His sister did not answer right away. She studied his wine-stained tunic and unsteady stance, then asked what he was offering in return. Valentinian had not thought that far ahead, but he lied smoothly and promised her freedom from their mother's control once he held the keys. She smiled — cold and sharp — and told him she would think about it. He left knowing she would say yes eventually, because she wanted their mother to fall just as much as he did, and that was enough to build a conspiracy on. But she sent word before dawn. He found her waiting by the private pool in the far wing of the baths, where the columns rose tall and no servants came without being summoned. She sat at the water's edge in yellow silk, feet trailing in the pool. Valentinian waded in and watched her face in the lamplight. She told him she would help, but only if he gave her the seal when it was done — not forever, just long enough to sign three orders of her own before he took it back. He asked what orders. She said that was her business. The water rippled between them. Valentinian knew she could use those orders to destroy him if she wanted, but he also knew he had no other path to the treasury except this one. He agreed. She reached across the pool and gripped his wrist, her fingers cold and tight, and he understood that he had just traded one chain for another. When he left the baths, the conspiracy was no longer just an idea. It was real, and it would cost him more than he had planned to give. He walked back through the palace as the sun rose, and for the first time since his mother had dismissed him from the throne room, he felt something other than empty rage. His sister would move against their mother now, and that meant he was no longer alone in this fight. But the price sat heavy in his chest — three orders signed with his seal, three commands he would have no say over. She could strip his remaining men of their posts, redirect what little funds he controlled, even summon generals in his name. He had given her a blade and trusted she would not turn it on him. The halls were quiet this early, and his footsteps echoed on marble still cool from the night. He had wanted an ally and found one, but allies were just another kind of trap when you had nothing left to bargain with except the one thing you were trying to seize.