Chapter X Trajan #2
The man himself stood not far from it, a goblet of wine in one hand and the whip in the other. His chest bare and spattered with blood, he wore only a leather skirt, displaying his formidable size and muscular frame.
Next to him, General Drussus was saying something in his deep, gravelly voice, arms crossed. He was still wearing his armor for battle. He must’ve recently arrived from Thrace.
They noticed me as I stalked directly toward them, trying not to be overly interested in who the emperor was torturing for entertainment. I glanced at the naked man with his back to the sculpture of Igniculus, his arms spread out and bound to the female dragon horns.
I didn’t recognize him, thank the gods. There was so much blood covering his body, sliced open from dozens of cuts of the whip. One of his eye sockets was empty and bleeding.
Turning my attention to the emperor, I stopped and saluted, my hand to my heart, and bowed my head. “Caesar.” I stood at attention. “You requested to see me.”
His yellow eyes were slit like a serpent’s, his broad physique similar to that of Drussus at his side. I was built leaner than both of them, but just as tall. And just as deadly when it came to combat. I hoped I wasn’t about to be tested, but I was ready all the same.
“Ever the soldier, aren’t you, Trajan?” Caesar’s smile seemed genuine. “That’s good to see. I don’t want those sycophants in the senate house making you a weakling.”
Returning his smile, I said amiably, “Never, Caesar. Once a soldier, always a soldier.”
“Hear, hear,” he crooned, taking a sip of his goblet, the whip dangling in his other hand.
“Welcome back, Legatus,” I greeted Drussus, knowing he was recently returned from Thrace. “I hear congratulations are in order on your triumph in Thrace.”
“Thank you, Tribune Tiberius.” General Drussus was a no-nonsense, formal specimen. “They are. Though there are still more of these barbarians out there to kill.”
His gaze flicked toward the statue. Or rather, to the man near death dangling from it.
So did mine, finally noticing the pile of mutilated bodies behind the statue—other men who’d been whipped to death and apparently slit open as well.
A bloody gladius dripped on the serving table next to the tray of wine and sliced peaches.
“I wouldn’t be concerned,” Caesar told him. “Without their king, they’ll scurry to the hills and dung holes they came from.”
So they already killed the Visigoth king. My gut clenched. He was probably at the bottom of that pile. I suppose Julian and I had been wrong about him after all, and what we thought he was. For a dragon wouldn’t allow himself to be killed without a terrific fight.
I waited patiently for the emperor to tell me why I was here, willing my mind to rest, for my pulse to remain slow and steady. Like slipping through the deep waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea as my dragon, I let my current environment wash over me and not touch my psyche.
“I heard something about you,” Caesar finally said, watching me as he took another sip from his goblet then set it on the tray and stepped in front of the statue.
“What was that, Caesar?” I asked casually.
Crack.
His whip sliced hard and fast, his victim stiffening with a shout. His one eye—brown and wide—rolled toward the heavens.
Caesar chuckled, watching the beaten man writhe against the sculpture. “This one has outlasted them all, hasn’t he, Drussus?”
The general watched, steely-eyed. He was of the Media Nocte house.
I’d only seen him in dragon form once when his legion had joined ours on that same battlefield in Carthage so long ago.
He was a vicious giant of a beast in both half-skin and dragon form.
And there was no question he was loyal to Igniculus.
“I believe this man was important to their leader.”
“Was he?” Caesar set down his goblet and took a step closer. “What is your name?” he shouted as if to a deaf man.
The human bound to the statue breathed heavily and didn’t respond. Caesar cracked the whip in the air near his head. The man jumped, turning his face toward us. He was a gruesome mess.
“What … is your name?” Caesar asked clearly.
The prisoner managed to mumble through bloodied lips in a thick German accent. “Adolfo.”
Caesar turned to face us, the whip still dangling from his hand. “Good. Before I behead their barbarian king, I’ll let him know how much Adolfo suffered under my whip.”
So their king was indeed captured. There would be a triumph for Drussus and Caesar where they’d publicly execute him. That ruined my and Julian’s secondary plan.
Drussus merely nodded, seeming bored. He likely was, eager to get on to his next mission. Caesar finally turned his attention back to me, expression calculating.
If he knew that I’d hidden Lela in my home, then I’d already be dead. And he’d likely have her here in front of me, ready for his own personal kind of torture. So that wasn’t why I was here.
“A shame about Valerius,” he finally said.
“Indeed,” I agreed.
“Ha! You don’t believe that. I am aware he was an enemy of yours.”
I shrugged. “He was no friend of mine. But no man should be murdered in his own home like that.”
“That is a fact,” he growled.
I held his gaze—and my breath—willing my pulse not to quicken though I was struggling under the weight of his golden stare.
“Have they found his killer?” I asked casually.
“Not yet,” Caesar answered. “But we’ll find that cunt soon enough. And bash her brains in when we do.”
Steady breaths, in and out.
“You wanted his seat as consul,” he stated with conviction. “Everyone sees you’re an ambitious man.”
Exhaling a heavy breath, I nodded and pretended he’d found my secret. “I did.”
“Then why nominate your grandfather?” He waved his free hand, claws out, one tip bloodied, likely from plucking out the eye of his prisoner.
Thinking quickly, I replied, “From what I know of the senate, I didn’t have the numbers to get the vote.”
“Why didn’t you have your grandfather nominate you? His support would have given you the numbers. I know that he’s never really wanted to be consul.”
No, Grandfather had made it clear to his colleagues and friends that he didn’t want that position. It was too tied to the man standing in front of me, bare chest blood-spattered from his day of killing.
“Grandfather doesn’t believe I’m ready for such a high seat in leadership.”
Caesar made a disgusted sound in his throat, letting the whip fall to the ground while he picked up his goblet again.
“Your grandfather isn’t a man of action, Trajan. I’d rather you were Valerius’s replacement.”
He wasn’t simply expressing his disappointment. He was giving me a warning. I remained silent.
“Gaius is a follower of the old ways.” He sipped his wine, his bloody fingers more apparent now that I was facing him and paying more attention. “There’s no room for men like him.”
A new fear gripped my chest and squeezed. He would kill my grandfather to supplant him.
As if he saw that thought flicker in my eyes, he said, “I’m depending on you to keep Gaius on the right track.
I want no defiance along our path to an all-powerful Rome.
” His eyes flashed even brighter gold, his teeth elongating.
“To my Rome.” He held my gaze then asked, “Do you understand me, Trajan?”
“Yes, Caesar.”
I was to control my grandfather. If he voted against any of Caesar’s laws, he’d kill him.
“Good.” He grinned, flashing his fangs. “Who knows? Kato can’t be long for this world. You might even serve as consul right alongside your grandfather,” he added amiably as if he hadn’t just threatened to assassinate the most important person in the world to me.
“Kato is getting long for this world,” I agreed.
Caesar chuckled, looking back at the prisoner slouched in his bindings. “Yes, well, we all have our time,” he added soberly.
It grew quiet for a moment, the only sound from the labored breathing of the man bound to the statue.
“I was thinking of visiting my sisters in Ravenna for Marilla’s upcoming birthday,” I said offhandedly, having thought of this as an option to get out of the city and take Lela with me. “Would you grant me permission, Caesar?”
The new law required I get permission. I held his unsettling gaze.
“No, Trajan,” he answered evenly, holding my gaze intently. “You need to keep close to home. Keep an eye on your grandfather. Your sisters are welcome to return to Rome and visit you here. They’re at an age where they need husbands, aren’t they?”
Like fucking hell I’d bring them home. I’d already sent them farther away than Ravenna, into one of the many homes we owned in the wide empire.
“Perhaps.” I chuckled. “My sisters love their villa on the sea.”
“I’m sure they do.” He continued to study me then abruptly changed the subject. “Don’t you miss the battlefield?”
But I knew that Igniculus didn’t make small talk. He never said or did anything without a motive. Without a direct purpose.
“I do.”
He glanced at my simple tunic. “You don’t look like a soldier anymore.”
That was an insult, but I simply nodded. “Life in Rome is different than on campaign.”
“Indeed. But no less treacherous.” He waved to the prisoner. “Just ask Adolfo.” He laughed.
I snickered along with him, then he sobered quickly.
“Why don’t you give him a go? You seem a man who needs to let the beast loose once in a while.” He tilted his head, looking more animal than man. “As a matter of fact, I believe your dragon is scratching at your skin. Been a while since you’ve been in half-skin, hasn’t it?”
For a split second, I thought he knew. I thought he somehow saw that I’d been in half-skin only two nights ago.
“Yes, Caesar. It has.”
“Hmm.” He nodded down at the whip. “Why don’t you let some of that beast out then?” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. “It’ll feel good.” He studied me with predatory senses. “You need it.”
Drussus stared coldly, watching me far too intently as well. They were suspicious of everyone, as they should be.
I glanced at Adolfo, his one-eyed gaze on us, on me, and full of hatred.
Though beaten and tormented, he was still quite alive.
A lot left in him to torture. It wasn’t Caesar’s questioning that had sparked fear enough to elevate my heart rate.
It was being ordered to whip a helpless man.
Even if he was an enemy of Rome, no one deserved to die like this.
And now I was to contribute … or appear weak and disloyal.
The greatest fault Caesar saw in other men, other dragons.
Without another second’s hesitation, I stalked forward and bent over, lifting the gladius, not the rope.
Pulse thudding hard beneath my ribs, I marched forward, holding the gaze of Adolfo.
He stood up straighter as I approached, readying himself for whatever I planned to do—perhaps pluck out his other eye.
But I did none of that. Lifting the gladius, I pointed the blade’s tip over his heart, curled my other hand around the back of the hilt.
Adolfo met my gaze, realization dawning.
He exhaled a breath and closed his eyes.
I gave him that split second to prepare himself then shoved straight through bone to his heart with a sickening crunch.
Adolfo gasped at the sharp pain, his face tightening before he went entirely slack. My hands were still on the hilt.
With a swift tug, I pulled the blade free and walked back toward Caesar, the gladius dripping a trail along his white stone. Taking the sharp end in one hand, I presented it to the emperor, hilt-first. Igniculus grinned with a revolting kind of satisfaction as he took the knife from my hand.
“Thank you, Caesar.” I saluted with a fist to my chest, turned, and marched away.
His sinister laughter followed me as I marched through his palace toward the exit.
I moved faster when I reached the cobblestone drive and wound back down the hill, nausea burning through my gut.
Once well out of sight, I ran to the edge of the road and vomited into a bush.
My hands trembled as I wiped Adolfo’s blood on the skirt of my tunic and hurried home.