Illusio Dei

Brutus rex Augustus entered the Presence of the Living Most High barefoot. The marble chilled his soles—ritual, not comfort.

The Most High, Octavius Lucian rex Augustus Julius reclined behind the desk, bare feet crossed upon the white and gold marble, half-veiled by flickering holoscreens: maps, military reports, the Empire in miniature. The light from them bled gold across His skin.

His garments were plain, white linen, unadorned, seeming almost out of place in the grand study. The air around Him thrummed faintly with heat—the mark of divinity contained. Brutus sank to his knees and waited, as protocol and fear demanded.

“Rise, Brutus,” Octavius said, absently. A hand brushed the holoscreens aside; they dissolved into the air. Brutus obeyed.

Their eyes met—gold upon gold. In all the Empire, that color belonged to them alone. The others—the lesser Rexus, the bright scions—could claim the hair, the height, the beauty. But only the Divina bore the molten gaze of the god Himself.

Octavius looked upon the face that so closely mirrored His—His twin, at his side since before they left the womb they shared—and paused. “What’s wrong?”

Brutus averted his gaze, barely daring to speak. His heart pounded loudly as he thought of her. Sofia. The dark haired, grey-eyed Sagax woman he was not allowed to love. Not allowed to—

“Brutus.” The voice was low and dangerous this time, a warning accompanied by pinpricks in his skin and a faint tremor as his heart rate increased unnaturally—the Most High’s Power moving in him, taking hold of his body so he could not disobey. Octavius’ jaw tightened, the familiar aftertaste of regret already bitter on His tongue. He softened when Brutus flinched, and released him. The air went still, and the tremor subsided. The Most High could not read direct thoughts; Brutus had to speak. “Tell Me what you came to tell Me.”

Brutus cleared his throat, searching for the words. “Most High—” He trailed off at a tilt of the god’s head, and self-corrected. “Octavius. Brother. It’s about Sofia.”

Octavius stiffened. “Brutus—”

“I know, I know. But, Most High, this is urgent.”

Octavius noted the way Brutus’ right hand would not still, seemingly trying to form chords out of thin air. His breath was unsteady, his eyes flickering strangely. And he had interrupted Him. Cautious Brutus had cut off the God of Astraea mid-sentence. Octavius sat up, leaning forward. “Very well. Continue.”

Brutus visibly struggled beneath the weight of the god’s full attention. “Sofia—” he froze, heart pounding. His eyes squeezed together as Octavius narrowed His gaze in suspicion.

“Brutus. Spit it out.”

“Sofia is with child, Most High.”

There was silence for a long moment. Both brothers knew what that meant, what the Law said about breeding between different castes. Everyone had flings with lesser women, sure, but most didn’t last for a decade and a half. Octavius had allowed it back then, so long as they were careful, not realizing what it would turn into. Given how often Brutus and Sofia saw each other, it had only been a matter of time before an accident happened. And yet Octavius had reason to suspect this was, perhaps, not that.

When the Most High spoke again, it was not as before. His voice, tight as a spring and cold as ice, was that of God, not brother. Not loud and booming, rather deceptively soft.

“Forgive Me, brother, I must have misheard you.” The pressure of His presence built with every word. Pounding in Brutus’ skull, his chest, a suffocating weight on his very being. “I recall you swearing to Me, on your life and Our father’s memory, that you would be careful. Surely you did not disobey Me.”

“Octavius—” Brutus gasped on the floor.

The voice started rising in volume. “Surely, you took great and painful care with how you broke the Law, that I might continue to overlook it. Surely, I misheard you.”

Brutus pressed his forehead against the cold marble, trembling. He was sweating beneath the Most High’s Power and rage. “Brother—”

“My brother would not betray Me.”

Brutus froze. This was a mistake. He’d known it was a mistake. Hell, Sofia had told him not to tell Him, but—

“What am I going to do with you?” The voice was weary now. The pressure had eased, and Brutus dared a glance up at his twin. The god looked human, almost, for a moment. Like He had before the Ascension. Brutus didn’t dare speak. He resolved to ride out the rest of this conversation, hope Sofia wouldn’t be arrested and killed immediately, and go from there.

“The Law says they must die.” The god’s voice was dispassionate.

“Most High—”

“It also says you must die.”

The air seemed to thicken as they both processed that. Octavius did not make any move to clarify His intent.

Octavius stood, rounding the desk to stand in front of Brutus. He crouched down, bringing Brutus up to the same level. “Look at Me.”

Brutus did, trembling still from the earlier show of force. Octavius’ eyes were hard, but Brutus could also see the conflict in them—and the disappointment.

“How far along is she?” Octavius finally asked. “Is she showing? Or near it?”

“Not—not yet, Most High.”

“Is there any way another could know?”

Brutus paused to consider. She hadn’t told anyone or officially taken a test yet, but—There were always ways. Octavius read the pause and let out the slightest sigh and stood, turning to walk back to His desk.

“You may go.”

“Most High, what of Sofia?”

“I have not decided yet.”

“Please, I just ask mercy—”

“Mercy?” The Most high turned back to face His twin. “You’re pushing My mercy already, brother. I am the Law. I must uphold the Law.”

Brutus stood up to be level with the god. “I understand that, but surely since your word is Law, you have the power to show mercy, Most High. Or even change—”

“Not this Law. They would call me false. Yes, I can change the Law at will. But the Laws of Caste and Doctrine were founded with the Empire. To change them now would be catastrophic. Never mind how they might think Me false.”

“If you are God, what does it matter? Smite those who think you’re not. Prove it to them. If you aren’t, and you’re just a man who—”

Power and pain seized the prince once more. His skull felt as if it were being torn open, his eyes gouged from the inside, his stomach revolting against him. His muscles spasmed as he was forced back to his knees.

“Blasphemy, brother?” Octavius’ voice was dangerously soft; a blade wrapped in silk. “I thought you more cautious than that these days. Tell Me again I am a man.”

“Most High—” Brutus rasped.

“Speak more carefully, Prince. Your private little thoughts and theories should stay private.”

Brutus bowed his head. “Yes, Most High.” Fool, he thought to himself. Idiot!

“Good. Now, as I said before: you may leave. That means be grateful you are walking out with your life and titles.”

“Yes, Most High. Thank you.”

Brutus pressed his forehead to the floor once more and stood, turning to go, the ornately carved, whitewood double doors that lead out into the hall looming in front of him. Octavius spoke again, “Brutus?”

He turned to look back at his twin, heart still pounding in his ears. Octavius’ face was impassive as ever, but His eyes told a different story. Brutus could see the war inside him.

“Learn from this,” Octavius said. It was a command, but also a plea. Brutus swallowed. He bowed, knuckles white in clenched fists, then turned without another word. Behind him, the door sealed like a verdict.

Brutus paced in his chambers. His fingers ached for the strings of the chordalis, but his was being repaired. His mind was still on his conversation with Octavius. The uncertainty of what He would do, the sinking dread that Brutus knew the answer anyhow.

Sofia watched her lover from the armchair in the corner, grey eyes analyzing every motion. Were the floors not marble, but wood, she figured he would have worn holes in them long ago. Repeatedly, he crossed over the golden fur rug and onto the marble, then back in the direction of the door, then toward Sofia, and back, fingers twitching at his side.

“Brutus,” she said softly, receiving no response. “Brutus, you’re making me dizzy.”

“I’m thinking,” he snapped. When she flinched, his eyes softened, then flicked away. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know how to get us out of this. I think he’s going to kill you, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

“Have you stopped to think whether I might have something to contribute?”

Brutus paused. He would never discount her intelligence—she was Sagax, after all, they were bred for it—but he had always considered her more philosophical than practical. He studied her—long, raven hair cascading down her shoulders, pale grey eyes that knew too much, subtle smirk always present on her full lips. Gods, she was beautiful. Though he had begun to wonder if her beauty was worth it. “What do you mean?”

Sofia leaned back in the big red armchair. “I have a plan already in place. A way out of the city, and off Astraea Prime itself—to Terravar.”

“Terravar?” The “planet,” if it could be called that, had been a gift to a younger Prince Brutus from his father—a humiliation, really. A barely habitable, backwater planet at the edge of the Empire and thus the known universe, with no meaningful output to the rest of Astraea and less total population than many smaller continents on other worlds. “Why in gods’ names would we go to Terravar?”

“It’s your domain—the people there are bound to serve you. There’s an estate there we could live in. Raise our child.” Her tone softened. “The terraforming there has come along quite well, really. There’s even green starting to show naturally in some places.”

“I am Rexus. I cannot leave the planet without leave of the Most High.”

“Oh, please, you do plenty of things without your brother’s permission.”

“Not this. How would we even get off the planet without Him knowing?”

“I told you. I have a way.”

“What way? What possible way could we sneak through all the planet’s defense systems and checkpoints?”

Sofia didn’t answer that one. “I told you not to tell Octavius.”

“I know.” Brutus sat on the edge of his bed, golden sheets shifting under him. “But—well, he would have found out eventually. What does it matter?”

“Because it complicates my plans. But it’s fine. We only need to leave tonight now. Before your brother makes a solid decision on what to do with us.”

“Leave tonight? Sof—”

“Yes. Tonight.” Her grey gaze pierced his golden.

Brutus was reminded of the day they met. The defiant Sagax scholar-in-training, refusing to let the Rexus Prince disturb her studies by commandeering “her” alcove in the Imperial Library. Another might have been angry, but Brutus had been amused. And soon quite infatuated with the woman. Now they were here.

“Sofia.” Brutus’ hands would not still, fingers still trying to play an instrument that was not there, nerves still reminded of the Most High inside them, of the pain that came with defiance. “I—I cannot betray Octavius. He is my brother, we shared a womb. He is our god, His power is terrifying, I—you’ve never felt His weight like that, it’s—I’ve never been apart—"

Sofia stood, crossing to Brutus. She took his face in her hands and met his eyes.

“He is going to kill our child.”

Brutus’ face twisted, “No, He’s not, He won’t, He’s my brother--”

“He’s the ruler of the most powerful empire in history.”

“He’s God, Sofia!” Brutus’ eyes burned with unshed tears. His breathing was rapidly increasing. “He’s God,” he said quieter. ‘And I’m, I’m connected to Him in a way you can’t understand. When I’m near Him, colors are brighter, everything is clearer, food tastes better. When I’m distant from Him, everything goes dull and dark and tasteless. He is my twin, my mirror, and my God. I cannot betray him.”

“He in not God, Brutus.”

The word struck something raw in him, and before either of them understood what was happening, his hand connected with her face. She moved with it and stepped back, cheek burning red, but didn’t flinch.

“You don’t say that!” Brutus snapped. “Don’t you ever say that. He’s — He’s —”

The tears started streaming down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —He’s —”

Sofia met his gaze. “God or not, he is going to kill our child.”

Brutus shook his head, backing away as Sofia continued.

“He is going to kill our child. He is going to kill me. He may very well then kill you.”

“I—”

“Listen to me, love.” Her tone was gentle, but there was no doubt about her words. “You need to decide here. You don’t want to betray your brother, I understand that. But Octavius is—is the figurehead of a system that has already betrayed us. Betrayed our child. He can’t help the system, no. He was born into it as you were, and more than you He was born to be God. What you need to understand is that you aren’t betraying Octavius, really—you’re betraying the system He is forced to stand for. He’s going to erase us for that system. You need to decide what you want.”

“What I want?”

Images flashed through his mind. Sofia’s raven hair whipping in the wind as she smiled at him on an autumn night. Her head bent over some ancient tome of Doctrine, searching for discrepancies or flaws that would get her killed if anyone knew she was searching. Her lying next to him in bed, covers draped over her curves as she sat up to look at him.

More images came then, not memories but possibilities. Sofia with a ring on her hand, smiling purely, unafraid of being caught with him. An infant in a cradle, watched over by nursemaids in the night. A little boy with his mother’s hair and golden eyes playing in a greenhouse garden on Terravar.

Sofia gave Brutus a knowing, loving look before Brutus finally spoke.

“I want a world where our child is allowed to live.”

Sofia smiled. “Then we have to make one.”