"He is wrong. Surely you agree, emperor. What do you think, emperor?"

In the ensuing silence, a snoring became evident. Julia looked up, peering high into the White Seat, and saw that her son had once again fallen asleep. She flushed with embarrassment and poked him repeatedly until he awakened.

"What? What is it?" Giton grumbled.

"Do you think living emperors should be worshipped as gods?" asked Councilor Galvano.

"Oh, well... I don't know." Giton wiped his eyes. "Is it dinnertime yet?"

A few frustrated sighs echoed through the room.

"I think you had best get some sleep," Councilor Bruesio said with a hint of a sneer. "Then we will reconvene when you are awake and fit to give commands."

That is not the way to speak to an emperor, Julia thought. Or the sonhimself in light... though, on reflection, he realized that Tivera's light had comforted him even more than the sun.

Days went by at sea. When required—and it was often—Marcus helped the sailors to the point of exhaustion. They braved choppy waters and minor storms, but for the most part fortune had favored them. But Marcus, unused to long journeys such as these, grew more and more seasick with each passing day.

To his left the land rolled on; from the densely-packed megalopolis that ran from Imperial City to Nichaeus, the area became steadily more agrarian. By the fourth day of sailing, the majority of land was farmed: rolling hills covered in wheat; walnut groves and olive orchards; and cattle ranches where plants refused to grow. It was noon of the