Back in her quarters, Aurelia collapsed, curling up on the floor.

  The man called Roskvir stood over her in awkward uncertainty, while the two ladies-in-waiting did much the same by the door. After a moment, she felt herself being picked up, and brought to the bed she’d never used.

  Roskvir laid her down, then pulled an outer blanket to her shoulders. Before taking his leave, he set down the shogun’s offered wreath on the bed's nightstand.

  Aurelia snatched it, between sobs.

  She tore at branches, scraping the leaves from the stems. When they’d all fallen to the floor, she yanked at the wiry cores, hoping to snap in half what remained.

  She pulled three times, to no avail. The stems were too green and firm. But Roskvir extended his hand.

  Confused, she warily gave him what remained of the wreath.

  With a single sharp jerk, he ripped the woven branches in two. Then offered her back the broken crown.

  She clawed at the shorn pieces again a few more times, then threw them to the floor and lay back on the bed, turning away from him. Tears soaked into her pillow.

  She sensed him still vacillating at the door, as if there was something he wished to say.

  Then the door shut, and he was gone.

  * * *

  Tanhkmet poured over pins and inkblots dotting a map lit by candlelight, alone in a small study excavated from the underground rubble.

  Pins marked sightings of strange soldiers and war machines reported by the patrol officers as they’d rallied to him over the last days and weeks. Dozens of their precincts across the eastern provinces were circled in black ink, outlining those towns and regions suspected to have been already seized by their mysterious new enemy.

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  The Corps was good at that, at least, he thought. They were excellent scouts, even in such disorganized retreat. He’d always prefer to have a detailed map.

  But the sheer number of pins sticking the brown and faded parchment meant something else, too. Something much less agreeable.

  Those pins meant that so many airships of unknown origin had attacked retreating patrol officers across a stretch of territory two hundred miles long.

  Larger airships had been spotted on approach to several large cities before their garrisons evacuated. To say nothing of the communiques received from Hilomnos, that first fateful day. And as for Atum-Ra: he’d simply marked it off the map, with a stroke of his pen. He avoided looking at that part, as much as he could.

  Only one explanation, however implausible, could explain it all.

  Other human societies existed elsewhere in the world. They’d discovered how to ward off the dangers of the deep ocean, and cross its great expanse.

  That there could be other peoples beyond the shores of Setet ran counter to all conventional wisdom, everything he’d been taught since he was a child. But there could be no other conclusion.

  And he thought of Atum-Ra.

  So they were not merely conquerors. They were an enemy willing to do something like that.

  A knock came to his door.

  “Come in.”

  “It's a report from the pickets, again,” Lycera saluted. “Airships made passes over some of our furthest. It’s probably just the beginning.” She produced a sheet of paper from her blazer, pushing it across his desk. “But, the ships didn’t fire on them. They dropped leaflets. All like this.”

  The words “I SURRENDER” were printed in Setetic at the top, in large red letters, followed by the glyphs of an alien script. Below, a longer paragraph was written in smaller type.

  Present this leaflet as you approach occupied territory and you will have safety and humane treatment behind our lines. Contained are directions in our language that instruct any of our soldiers to receive you peacefully, and deliver you to their commanding officer.

  There is no hope in fighting on. You have already seen what our weapons can do. Do not invite further destruction upon your people. Surrender now.

  The reverse featured a rudimentary map of territories already under occupation, and labels indicating the most suitable locations to surrender.

  Tanhkmet stared long and hard at both maps.

  “Tell the squad leaders: we're convening a meeting, first thing tomorrow morning. There's only one thing we can do, now.”

  "Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war

  Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore"

  ABBA