Chapter III Lela #2
“I have hellebore,” she said slowly, “which works the same way.” She studied me, seeming to see right through my facade. Her face hardened, eyes narrowed. “Is this for him? Or for you?”
My brief pause was enough of an answer. I couldn’t lie to her, but I couldn’t seem to admit the truth.
“No,” she snapped. “You will not give up.”
I heaved a sigh, my breath steaming the chain-link bridle draped over my mouth. “I can’t do this anymore, Euphemia,” I pleaded. “Please.”
“Yes, you can.” She clutched my wrist. “You must.” She snapped her attention down to where she held me. “What’s this?”
I looked down, wondering what she meant, but she was staring into my eyes. “You’re going on a long journey, are you?”
I huffed a mirthless laugh. “Are you torturing me now?” My gut twisted. “That’s unkind. You know I can’t go anywhere.”
“Hush, girl. I sense something heavy. We must know more. Sit down.” And though she was much smaller than me, she pushed me onto a stool beside the worktable.
Her brow furrowed as she scrambled quickly, grabbing a white, flat clay plate with a rim around the rectangular edges. She hurried to the chicken pen, opened it, snatched one up, and returned, pulling a knife from somewhere in her skirts.
“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“Pshht. I’m not going to kill Cassiopeia here.” She heaved the chicken under one arm tightly. “Just a small sacrifice to see what’s going on.”
Without any more explanation than that, she nicked the bird beneath her breast where there were several feathers missing.
Cassiopeia gave a squawk as Euphemia gathered a few drops of blood on the flat of her blade then set the blade on the clay plate.
After smearing salve from a jar onto the small wound, setting Cassiopeia down, and then tossing a handful of grain from a bucket to her, she returned.
Carefully, she tapped the point of the blade. Three drops pooled into a tiny circle. Scurrying to a cupboard against the wall, she opened a drawer, rummaged around.
“There it is,” she grumbled and returned to the worktable. Beaming mischievously, she opened her fingers to show me what lay in her palm. A silver-gray triangle I recognized at once.
“Dragon scale?” I asked, my heart tripping faster.
“Indeed. From a noble dragon who fought a warrior’s death. Blessed by the gods.”
She took the coin-sized scale and dragged it through the blood, pulling a line of red this way and that.
“Hmm,” she said, still spreading the blood in tiny crisscrossing lines across the white plate.
“What do you see?”
I knew from past experiences with Euphemia that she had the sight.
Perhaps not as clear as my bunica, but she was given the gift to know things before they happened.
How she devised anything from a few drops of chicken’s blood, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to argue.
There was a distant whisper growing in the back of my mind, a call to listen from the magic that lived in my blood.
“Yes. I wasn’t mistaken. A journey for you, my dear.”
“To the afterlife?” For that was the only journey I could imagine taking.
She drew a circle around the center and lifted the dragon scale from the plate, staring intently. “There is death, most certain. I am not so sure it is yours. Hmm.”
She lifted a clear vial of oil on the table, uncorked it, and let three drops hit the blood-smeared plate. The oil spread in a nebulous pool and strange shape, tinged pink around the edges.
“Can you see if it is me now?” I asked impatiently.
“It is not yours.” She met my gaze, expression grave. “The most important thing I see is your freedom.”
“I will be free?” I asked in earnest disbelief.
She nodded definitively, her dark eyes pinched with pain. I slumped back and watched Cassiopeia pecking at the grain. Her pain was for me. A death, a long journey, and then my freedom.
“So I must die,” I whispered.
“Nonsense,” she snapped. “But possibly,” she said just as sharply. “A part of you must die, I think.”
I blinked in confusion. That made no sense at all.
“Heed what I tell you.” She leaned in and pointed a bony finger at me. “You must live and watch for the opportunity. It is coming. I see it. Trust Euphemia.”
She was likely simply distracting me from taking my own life, and yet, I couldn’t help but grasp onto the smallest hope it could be true.
“Come. Those behemoths out front will think I’ve ferried you away somewhere.”
“If only you could,” I murmured, following her back through her house.
There were voices in the main shop. Thea said something, then a male with a deep voice replied. I readied myself to meet Grigor’s ire for disappearing from sight, knowing he would report it to Valerius, when we stepped through the curtain of scarves.
I froze just on the other side, taking in the tall, gallant figure of the young senator from last night.
He wasn’t dressed in the fine blue toga of the night before but a shorter, simple white tunic with a blue sash around his waist. Somehow, he looked more attractive now than in his finery.
His eyes widened at the sight of me, seeming to be equally surprised.
“Lela,” he said softly.
A shiver trembled down my frame. I liked the sound of my name on his lips.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I couldn’t get over the fact that he didn’t observe my bridle with the same wariness or disgust that most people did. Especially the one I’d worn today. Some sick part of me wished I’d worn the prettier one.
Why? To impress this senator of Rome. Simply because he was handsome on the outside didn’t mean he wasn’t the same monster on the inside like all the others. Actually, it was likely worse since he could hide his inner beast with such pretty trappings.
“Salve, Senator,” I said calmly, regaining my poise as I walked to the outside of the counter in front of him. “I come for the same reasons all women come to Euphemia.” I angled my head curiously. “What are you doing here?”
Euphemia had all manner of customers, most of them women, but certainly many were men. However, they were free Romans—humans—of the Aventine who frequented her shop. After all, this pharmakopoles was tucked away in a backstreet between two brothels.
Trajan’s expression blanked. He was hiding something.
“In all of my visits to this shop, I’ve never seen a Roman nobleman here.”
His mouth quirked up on one side. He knew this was as odd as I thought, and he didn’t answer my question.
“It’s Tribune, actually.”
“Pardon?”
“I am a tribune of the senate, not a senator.”
It was my turn to stand in silent wonder. “You stand for the common people?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“I do. I hold the right to veto laws put forth by the senate that are unjust to the plebs.”
“Then you have much work to do,” I snapped, before adding, “Tribune.”
I noticed movement at the window. Grigor peered in with a frown, obviously not liking that I was speaking with another man. He’d brave Euphemia’s witchcraft shortly to drag me out and would likely report this to Valerius.
Before I took two steps, his fingers touched my arm. “Wait a moment.” I froze, staring up at him, wide-eyed. “Please.” He pulled his hand away. “I apologize.”
I froze, not because I was offended that he touched me—though that was strictly forbidden—but for the onslaught of emotion engulfing me.
Instantly, I remembered last night, something I’d forgotten until this very moment.
My hand gripped his arm, my blood seeping into his pores.
I’d never done anything like that before, and yet it felt important … necessary.
As soon as I did, I could see who he was on the inside—troubled, frustrated, furious, imperfect, but above all else, he was good. My magic had whispered to me in the temple.
Yes. This blue-eyed tribune of Rome was not of the ilk of Valerius. My blood read him and gave me a true account. That’s why when he asked for a moment, I faced him, folded my hands demurely in front of me, and nodded.
“Meet me in the garden when you’re done, Tribune Tiberius,” Euphemia called to him, while she smiled at me.
Tiberius. After listening to dozens of mundane conversations at Valerius’s parties, I knew that name enough to know it held importance. It was an old name, an honored one among the dragon households.
Euphemia and Thea disappeared behind the curtain, obviously giving us privacy. If it were anyone else, I’d fear they thought I was having an affair with him and would tell Valerius. But Euphemia hated the nobility, which had me wondering how she knew Trajan.
Trajan watched them go then turned his attention back to me. Though I’d been oblivious to the attention of men for years, I couldn’t ignore the spark of pleasure warming me from his obvious admiration, even while I wore this hideous muzzle.
“Are you well?”
I blinked. “Yes.”
“I mean, is your injury all right?” He gestured toward my leg hidden beneath my stola.
Though I was a slave and forbidden to wear Valerius’s house color outside of his home, he liked me to wear fine stolas of cream and beige.
No one could mistake me for anything but a slave with the bridle around my face and the chained collar around my neck, but he wanted to show me off as his pretty pet even when he wasn’t around.
I should’ve blushed at remembering that Trajan had caught me in an unattractive position last night. But for some reason, it didn’t bother me that he knew.
“I’m fine.”
“Good.” He exhaled a breath of relief, which seemed real, not pretend. “I was afraid you needed some extra healing salves from Euphemia, and that’s why you are here today.” He gestured toward my bag over my shoulder.
“No. My reasons for being here are none of your business.”
His amiable expression slipped. “You’re right. I was only concerned.”
“You should not be concerned for me,” I added coolly. “You should not think of me at all,” I warned him.
“You are right.” His jewel-blue eyes sparked brighter, his dragon lurking. “But I find it impossible not to.”
I ignored the tenderness in his expression. “I’m curious about something, Senator.” I shook my head. “Pardon. I mean, Tribune.”
“What is that?” he asked, brow pinched.
“Why were you in that part of the house last night? You were far from the party.”
“I left to find the latrina.”
“There was one for guests right outside of the triclinium.”
“I was curious about Valerius’s house. His extensive wealth seems to be greater than a consul should be able to afford.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “So you were spying to do what, exactly? Discover if his wealth of possessions outweighs his earnings? Do you believe he’s a thief of some sort?” I wouldn’t put it past him, but I found this curious indeed.
“He’s more than that,” he added, voice gruff, dripping with disdain. “He’s a corrupt piece of filth.”
“Agreed.”
We both stared in silence; that familiar spark of connection formed last night in the dark of the temple seemed to warm between us. It frightened me.
He’d witnessed my hidden secret, though not my darkest shame.
Then my magic sparked within me, urging me to bond.
Bunica had told me it was called tethering, when your magic sought out to connect with another.
For my sister Malina, that had meant connecting as an empath and not necessarily doing any harm.
But my magic surfaced when it wanted me to avenge myself or others.
This was why I was so confused that I was drawn to this Roman tribune.
My magic hadn’t sought to do him harm, but to read him. To know him. Why would my spirit guide me in such a way to an enemy?
Trajan finally cleared his throat then said, “I am glad your friend took care of the injury.”
“My friend?” I nodded, realizing who he meant. “Oh, Andreas. Yes.”
“He always takes care of you when this happens?”
He’d seen the rows of tiny scars on my inner thighs. I wasn’t ashamed. I did what I must to survive my prison.
“Yes. Andreas is a good friend.”
He clamped his jaw and nodded, his smile a thin, tight line.
“You never told me what you’re shopping for here,” I added.
“No,” he said easily, “I didn’t.”
“Or if you’re shopping at all. Perhaps you need something besides medicine from Euphemia.”
I’d seen people come and go from the shop in the years I’d been coming here, and there was no doubt that Euphemia dabbled in criminal activities.
Trajan stared at me intently, those piercing blue eyes holding me captive. His expression softened, his mouth tipping up into a smile.
“You’re a smart woman, Lela.”
Tap, tap, tap. The sharp knock on the window pulled my attention outside. Grigor was scowling, gesturing for me to hurry up.
I nodded to him, then looked back at Trajan. “I must go.”
As I turned for the door, he stepped back into my space, blocking me from the door. I froze, afraid he’d touch me again. Not because it repulsed me, but because this strange humming sensation in my blood at his nearness disturbed me.
“Lela,” he whispered, even though no one was in the room and no one could hear.
I stared up at him, wondering why he would stand so intimately near me. I was another man’s property, and there were dire consequences for a dragon to do anything to or with another dragon’s property.
“I can’t pretend to know the pain that sent you to the temple last night, to do harm to yourself, but what I can see is that you are stronger than he believes. You are stronger than him … in the ways that matter. You are better than him. In all ways.”
My heart drummed faster, his words sinking into my bones. I pushed past him and hurried down the steps, marching away at a fast clip, Grigor and Mitko falling in behind me.
I blinked away the agony welling up inside me, bringing tears to my eyes. I hadn’t cried in ages, having been numb for so long. No matter what Valerius did to me in that dungeon that was my home, I’d stopped crying years ago. And now this?
It wasn’t because his words weren’t true that they felt like a sharp blade slipping through my ribs and pricking my heart. It was that they were true … and I’d forgotten.