Prologue

I, Nicolaus the Damascene, once philosopher to a king, once tutor to the children of a queen, once biographer to an emperor, now live in exile. I move toward the tomb, whether to journey into Hades or to wander as a spirit lamenting on the shores of Acheron. I cannot say which gods will claim me, for I left behind Damascus and her gods long ago for those of Egypt and of Rome. My body will end its days here at Avernus, unmourned.

The one thing I know with certainty is that she will come for me. By virtue of position, I have been witness to more than any other man. I have seen rooms filled with gold, and streets stacked with bones. I have seen lakes turn to blood. I have watched the moon dance on the fingertips of witches, and stars extinguishing their lights at the behest of immortals. I have seen the beasts of the wilderness commanded into war by a woman. I have seen a lioness become a queen, and a queen become a monster.

I have seen things I cannot say aloud, though I am bound to write them here.

I will recount the story the emperor forbade me to tell. I will write the truth as far as I know it, in desperate hope that this may be enough. I cannot fight alone. All I have are words.

May these words be enough to save you.