Chapter 6
The damp chill of the subterranean aqueduct clung to Julian’s skin as he crouched beside Cassian in the shadows. The distant reverberation of heavy boots on stone above confirmed that the pursuit was systematically expanding. Every echo sounded perilously close, bouncing off the vaulted ceilings of the ancient drainage network. Julian kept his hand on the hilt of his broadsword, his eyes scanning the gloom for any sign of movement.
"We need to move," Julian whispered, gently lifting Cassian back onto his feet. The old man leaned heavily against Julian’s muscular shoulder, his breathing shallow and rattling. They shuffled forward along the slick stone ledge beside the rushing canal, their footsteps muffled by the sound of flowing water.
After navigating a series of narrow turns, they reached a dead end blocked by a massive stone slab carved with the entwined figures of twin serpents. Cassian reached out with a blood-stained hand and pressed a hidden indentation beneath the lower serpent's jaw. With a heavy, grinding groan, the stone slab pivoted inward on a central axis, revealing a hidden alcove lit by the faint, greenish glow of ancient phosphorus lamps.
Julian stepped inside, pulling Cassian with him before sliding the heavy stone back into place just as a squad of Roman guards marched past the outer corridor, their torches casting flickering orange light across the sealed wall. Once the footsteps faded into the distance, Julian exhaled a slow, controlled breath, letting his shoulders drop slightly.
The secret vault was surprisingly dry and smelled of old parchment and beeswax. Rows of towering wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with tightly rolled leather scrolls and bound papyrus ledgers. At the center of the room stood a heavy oak desk upon which rested a bronze strongbox sealed with a thick glob of red wax bearing the magistrate’s personal signet.
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"The ledgers of the grand grain reserve," Cassian said, pointing a trembling finger toward the desk as he slumped into a wooden chair. "Break the seal, Julian. The proof of the manufactured famine is inside that box."
Julian approached the desk, his mind racing. Opening that box meant crossing a definitive point of no return. It was undeniable proof of high-level treason involving the highest magistrates and likely the High Priestess herself. He raised the pommel of his heavy sword and brought it down sharply against the bronze lid, shattering the wax seal with a dull, echoing crack.
