[A memory tugs at Palamedes’ mind. He sits in a small room, an office of metal and concrete grays, sitting across from a woman that he somehow knows is both his ally and his former captor. She calls him Hect, they talk about Troia cell and something called the Cohort—and yes, the Emperor. Had there been an Empress before there had been an Emperor? Could Commander We Suffer have been the leader of another nation? Instinct tells him that the answer to both questions is no. Irritatingly, though, he lacks proof.]

…I believe we may be operating under a misunderstanding. [He speaks slowly, politely, knowing the wrong word could turn this abruptly towards violence. How he knows this, and why it leaves him with a sudden tightness in the back of his throat, he isn’t sure.] Idiosyncratic idioms aside, I don’t have any particular love for my Emperor. [A beat.] I don’t think.

[He considers taking a shot in the dark. It had worked with Nona—and oh, how he craves another thread-like connection to his home, someone else who can fill in his scattered remembrances.] Tell me, does the phrase ‘Blood of Eden’ mean anything to you?