Chapter 27
Kallias spent the night dozing in a chair outside Drusilla’s room.
It was, of course, unnecessary, but he’d promised Gaius that he’d watch over her, and he didn’t want to give the emperor any excuse to be displeased with him.
Besides, he doubted he would have been able to get any sleep even in his own bed, as his mind was full of guilt and worry over Lea.
In the morning, Kallias found that Drusilla’s symptoms had vanished overnight as expected. Even so, there were shadows beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept, and she waved away one of her maids who approached with a dress for her to wear.
“Is anything else amiss, my lady?” Kallias asked. “Did something disturb your sleep?”
Drusilla lay back against her pillows with a sigh. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s only…I worry about my brother.” Her delicate brow furrowed. “I thought he’d improve once we were, well…here.”
Kallias knew she was speaking of the change in their circumstances from a few months ago, when they were effectively the old emperor’s hostages, to now.
He might have expected the same thing: that Gaius’s paranoia would have eased once his position was secure.
But no such change seemed to be occurring.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything in that bag of yours that can make him better?” she asked.
Kallias shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid my skills are limited to ailments of the body, my lady.”
“I see,” Drusilla murmured, then waved a hand. “You can go.”
Kallias retreated to his office. Soon, Sextus arrived.
“How is Julia Drusilla?” Sextus asked straightaway.
“She’s well. Only a trifle tired.”
A knock came at the door, and Kallias opened it to see one of Drusilla’s maids. What is it now?
Despite his exasperation, he summoned a polite smile. “Yes?”
“Julia Drusilla is about to have breakfast, sir, and Gaius Caesar has requested that you verify her food does not contain walnuts,” the maid said. “The kitchen has sworn it doesn’t, of course, but I’m afraid he doesn’t trust them.”
Kallias suppressed a sigh. “Of course. I’ll be there directly.” He beckoned to Sextus, who fell into step just behind him, and they made their way to Drusilla’s bedroom.
He instructed Sextus to wait outside and entered the bedroom. Drusilla, still in bed, surveyed her brother with the resigned, weary expression she most often wore when dealing with his moods. An empty tray rested on her lap.
Gaius clutched a bowl of porridge, as if he’d seized it from the tray before she could eat it, and thrust it at Kallias. “I must be sure this has no walnuts in it!” Gaius demanded.
With a deferential nod, Kallias took the bowl, made of fine ceramic, and brought it to a small table in the corner of the room.
Dutifully, he used the slender silver spoon to poke through the barley porridge, searching for any trace of walnuts.
He knew there would be none to be found; after yesterday’s incident, the staff would have purged every trace of walnuts from the kitchens.
Still, he made a show of careful inspection before returning the bowl to Drusilla. “It’s perfectly safe, sir,” he said to the emperor.
Some of the tension in the emperor’s frame receded at Kallias’s assurance, but he pointed to the bowl. “I want you to stay while she eats it. If there’s any sign that she may become ill again, you must be here to mend her.”
Kallias refrained from pointing out that Drusilla had required nothing in the way of mending last night except a salve for her skin. “Of course,” he replied. “Though I’m certain she’ll be well.”
“Good. Now, I must prepare for the games.” Gaius turned toward the door.
Kallias took a reflexive step forward. “Shall I prepare to accompany you? After Drusilla has eaten her breakfast, of course.”
Gaius glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. “I thought I just informed you that you were to stay with my sister.”
“Yes, of course,” Kallias stammered. “I thought—after she has eaten—” He cursed himself for faltering.
His key to dealing with the emperor relied on a smooth combination of obsequiousness and confidence—not tripping over his words like a frightened servant.
“It’s bound to be an exciting day,” he finished lamely.
Gaius cocked his head. “I don’t believe you’ve ever shown such enthusiasm for the games before, Kallias.”
A sense of danger prickled over Kallias, but he kept his answer as close to the truth as possible. “I wished to check on that gladiator you asked me to tend. I thought it prudent to make sure she’s fit to fight, with her prior injury.”
Gaius narrowed his eyes. “The gladiator is not your concern. You are my physician.”
“I know that, sir, of course,” Kallias said hastily.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little absences lately, medicus,” Gaius said. “You’ve been spending far too much time away from the palace.”
Kallias stiffened. Had someone been reporting his comings and goings to the emperor?
“I have been indulgent,” Gaius continued, “but just think of yesterday. What might have happened if you were gone when we needed you most?”
Nothing, Kallias wanted to shout. Nothing serious had been wrong with Drusilla. But he remained silent.
“You are hereby relieved of any obligation to tend anyone besides myself and Drusilla,” Gaius declared. “I trust you’ll have no further reason to leave the palace.”
The threat humming behind Gaius’s words made Kallias’s heart sink.
He knew what it meant: he was confined to the palace for as long as it pleased the emperor.
His chance to see Lea—today, certainly, and possibly ever again—slipped away, like a leaf fluttering in the breeze that he couldn’t quite catch.
What would Lea think, with him absent last night and today? She’d either believe that something terrible had happened to him, or that he had simply abandoned her.
Either option was intolerable.
With that, Gaius swept from the room.
Kallias stood by in defeated silence as Drusilla ate her porridge. When she was halfway through, she waved him away. “I’m fine, clearly,” she said. “I’ll summon you if I have need of you.”
He murmured a goodbye, then headed for the door. Outside, Sextus still waited, an anxious expression on his face.
Kallias had momentarily forgotten that Sextus was there. “How much of that did you hear?” Kallias asked grimly as he turned toward his office.
Sextus hurried to keep pace with him. “Forgive me, sir, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Does he—does the emperor really mean to keep you here? Like a…” Sextus’s voice trailed off.
Like a prisoner, Kallias finished in his head. “Such moods often overtake the emperor. He will change his mind in a few days, no doubt.” Though even a few days away from Lea would be torment.
They entered the office, and Kallias closed the door behind. Sextus held himself with a tense, unhappy posture. “Would he—would he do that to me?” Sextus asked hesitantly, his face paling. “Prevent me from seeing my family?”
Kallias wished he could summon a convincing reassurance, but he could only manage a strained smile. “I hope you’ll give him no cause to be displeased with you.”
Kallias turned away to tidy the containers he’d used last night for Drusilla’s salve. He desperately wanted to be alone, and he tried to devise some errand for Sextus.
Sextus took a deep breath. “When I first started working for you, we agreed on a month-long trial. And if I’m not mistaken, it’s been about a month.”
Kallias laid one clay container on the shelf and turned around. “It has.”
Sextus straightened his spine. “I’m grateful for all that you’ve taught me, but if you mean to continue working here, I…I don’t think I can do it.”
Sextus’s words hung in the air. Kallias slowly seated himself on the stool next to his worktable. “You want to leave?”
Sextus nodded glumly. “Maybe I should be honored to work for the emperor himself. But I didn’t realize…
it would be like this.” He bowed his head.
“After last night…and this morning…I don’t think I can work for someone who makes threats like that to innocent people.
Who forbids his physician from leaving. What if I should anger him one day? ”
Even as dismay filled him, Kallias had to respect Sextus’s decision. There were many who’d be too blinded by the prospect of living in a palace and working at the emperor’s side to recognize the drawbacks of such an arrangement. Sextus had a good head on his shoulders for one so young.
Too good for Kallias, apparently. It seemed he was to lose his entire escape plan in one fell swoop.
Kallias forced a smile with the last shred of his composure. “I understand, Sextus. I’d never want you to work somewhere that didn’t make you happy.” Because, unlike me, you have a choice.
Sextus twisted his fingers together. “Does this…does this position make you happy, sir? I mean no disrespect, but often it doesn’t seem that way.”
Kallias attempted a careless shrug. “My circumstances are somewhat more complex. But not your concern.” He rose from the stool. “Let me fetch the wages you’re due. And I’ll write you a letter to describe the training you’ve received, in case you’d like to work for another physician.”
“I’d greatly appreciate that, sir,” Sextus said.
“Would you do me one favor—take a note for me to Penthesilea? I can give you directions.” At least he could try to explain why he wouldn’t be at the games today.
“Of course, sir.”
Kallias fetched Sextus’s wages, wrote up a brief summary of the training Sextus had received, and then drafted a note to Lea with a hasty apology.
He explained Drusilla had been taken ill and that he would not be able to leave the palace for some time.
He refrained from mentioning that he’d been outright forbidden to leave, as he didn’t want to worry Lea or cause her to do anything rash.
Then, he handed everything to Sextus, and they exchanged a subdued goodbye.
When Sextus was gone, Kallias stared dully at the neatly organized shelves that lined his office.
A burst of helpless anger overwhelmed him. He grabbed the nearest object—a ceramic jar of powdered frankincense—and hurled it at the wall. It shattered with a satisfying noise. A plume of powder rose from the wreckage like smoke.
He did it again, this time with a glass container of aniseed, and once more with a heavy pot of salt. That made a noise so loud it startled him, cutting through his haze of anger and frustration, and he stepped back, breathing hard.
He had to stop destroying his ingredients. It was wasteful, and the noise would only draw attention.
Wiping a hand across his forehead, he forced himself to sit, gazing at the destruction he’d wrought. Bitter disappointment still pulsed over him, like an itchy rash no salve could soothe.
The misery of his current situation was twofold.
First, he had no idea when he’d be able to see Lea again.
Second, though his plan with Sextus had been years from fruition, it was still a plan, a seed of hope that one day things would be better.
One day, he’d be free of this place. But now, with Sextus gone, he had nothing.
He felt more trapped than ever. In the past, he could soothe himself with the knowledge that he had more than many—a roof over his head, a steady supply of food, even a generous wage, as of recently.
But now, that wasn’t enough.
He wanted Lea. He wanted the freedom to love her as she deserved. He wanted to give her whatever future she desired, whether it was a secluded seaside cottage with a cat or something else she hadn’t even thought of yet.
It was intolerable to want something so badly, something that felt as far away as Mount Olympus itself.
This was why he’d never allowed himself to want more—to want anything, for that matter. Because when it was taken away, it felt like being slowly crushed by a boulder he’d never be able to lift.