Chapter XI Lela
XI
LELA
I listened intently at the door, and hearing no one in the corridor, stepped quickly into the study next to Trajan’s bedchamber. Closing the door in case Alba happened to come to his bedchamber and pass by, I studied the small room.
There was a well-worn blue chaise with a pillow and crumpled blanket draping across it—Trajan’s bed.
The wall was lined with scrolls and bound books as expected.
I ambled closer to the desk, clean of any parchment or books.
I trailed a finger over an ornament shaped like a bronze dragon head, tipping it back to find that it was a decorative inkwell.
Walking behind the desk, I sat in his chair.
There were no business or political papers strewn about, everything must be neatly tucked away.
I opened a drawer on the right, finding several rolled scrolls.
Lifting one, I opened it to find some accounting with a creditor for household goods.
I placed it back and opened another—a banking statement.
I opened the drawer on the left and found a few pens and loose, blank parchment, three coins of denarii, and a hair comb. Sighing, I closed the drawer and wondered about this man. He was a man of secrets, I was certain.
“Where do you keep your secrets?” I whispered.
Perhaps where I did.
My pulse quickened. I opened the drawer filled with bookkeeping scrolls and felt toward the back for a false front. I knocked, but found the solid back of the drawer. Opening the other, I did the same, knowing instantly this drawer wasn’t as deep and my knock echoed more hollow.
“There you are.”
I poked and prodded until I found the latch that popped open. I quickly pulled folded letters from within and opened the first with a feminine scrawl on the front.
Thankfully, I could read Latin. The letter was certainly from a woman: It’s so rainy this summer, Marilla and I can hardly stand it.
The summer was milder than I thought it would be.
But we dearly miss the sea. Oh, how we enjoyed our villa in Ravenna, swimming in the deep blue waters in perfect privacy.
Thank you for your letter. We miss you as well. Marilla loves the wool shawl you sent. She promises not to play in the rain. She reminds you that she’s a young woman now, not a child. But I will watch her for you, brother. Do not worry.
I appreciate the velvet cloak you sent me. You’re right. It does keep me warm in these northern climes. You’re always thinking of us, and we of you. I cannot wait until we can be together again as a family.
I hope you’re keeping yourself out of trouble. Stay safe on your campaigns. We listen for news from Rome about your legion, always keeping you in our prayers. Marilla and I pay tribute at both the temples of Minerva and Mars to ensure your safety. Send our love to Grandfather. Be safe, brother.
“Brother?” I looked around, feeling guilty at invading his privacy. But it was so unexpected, I had to open another.
Each one spoke of their daily affairs, their welfare, and how they longed to see him, hoping he was well. When I opened the last one, a dried blue flower wrapped in thin muslin fell onto the desk. I set it aside gently. This letter congratulated Trajan on becoming tribune of the senate.
But what is this business of Julian betraying Caesar and flying away with a woman on his back after burning half the city?
This can’t be true. Marilla thinks it’s quite romantic, silly girl.
I simply cannot believe it. Calm, levelheaded Julian?
Your dearest friend? Please tell me what has truly happened.
Marilla sends all of her love and this blue lily she found growing along our riverbank.
It reminded her of home, and you. She knows how you love them so. All our love, Junia
I couldn’t account for why it was so shocking that Trajan was a devoted brother with two apparently lovely sisters writing to him regularly. But why was he hiding their letters?
I reached into the hidden compartment and pulled out a book. Another strange thing to hide. Then I found a few more folded pieces of parchment. When I pulled them out, I saw a broken red seal depicting a dragon flying upward. I recognized it as the House of Ignis sigil, the emperor’s.
A shiver crawled down my spine when I opened it, turning instantly to the signature. It was from his former general and according to his sisters, his dearest friend, Julian.
The letter asked questions about Romans I didn’t know, whether they had broken from the cause because he left Rome.
“What cause?” I muttered aloud before going back to reading.
It also spoke of domestic things that I found humorously peculiar: How does one till soil?
I am completely out of my depth. I had never thought this to be an occupation I would have to learn.
And yet, I find it comforting. I’m no longer killing in the field, but rather trying to make things grow.
I know you will laugh, but I am enjoying this life as a simple farmer.
Thank the gods for my wife. She is patient and the comfort I need, especially now that I am so anxious about what is happening in Rome. You should get yourself a wife, Trajan. I highly recommend it.
The letter closed shortly after that. I found two more, both of similar topics, speaking of someone else named Stefanos and a dog, that he enjoyed his new home.
Other people were mentioned, saying all were well.
He also thanked him for the information Trajan had sent, but didn’t specify what that was.
I refolded and tucked them all away, realizing I’d been snooping for far too long. He could be home any minute. I had no idea what he did all day or if his habits brought him back home early. It wouldn’t look good for him to find me digging in his desk drawer. That was no way to gain trust.
Once everything was set back into place, I returned quietly to his bedchamber and into the bath area. I tucked myself behind the changing screen on the far wall. This seemed to be the best hiding place during the day.
Back here, his sunken bath lay unused, the water clear but cold. I’d used a rag to wet and clean myself after I knew Trajan had left for the day.
There was a small window here where I could look out at other patricians’ homes and beyond the hills.
It also allowed me to see down into a corner of the garden.
This morning, I’d watched two servants chatting and laughing as they picked olives from the grove, baskets resting on their hips.
I wished I could do the same, longing to leave this room, to walk barefoot in the grass, yearning to be far away from here altogether.
I had spent so much time in captivity, accepting my fate, knowing I’d likely die at the hands of Valerius whenever I’d made him angry enough.
Then I’d killed him. And something awoke after freeing myself from his cruelty and abuse.
I was no longer looking forward to my death.
I no longer felt the urge to cut myself to relieve the pain welling up inside my soul. Now, I wanted to live.
Euphemia was right. I had to die to my old self to become new again.
My old self lived in a constant state of mourning, preparing to meet Charon on the River Styx.
But now, I was reborn, opening my eyes to a world beyond the veil of grief and loss.
If I could get out of Rome, I wanted to return to the Carpathian Mountains, to my homeland.
Still sitting on the cool tile next to the bath, I watched the deathriders circle the clear skies high above. There were six dragons of varying colors. I watched a long time, noting the circular patterns they made and their paths through the sky. I also noted when other deathriders replaced them.
Six more climbed toward the heavens, beating their wings hard. They emerged from near the city gates in the direction of the forum. The others I’d watched all day until this afternoon then descended, landing in the same area their replacements had come from.
I wondered if there was some sort of changing of the guard there, whether it was the same dozen, constantly replacing each other. Or if there were more of them. And how could I get to them?
My blood stirred warmly at the thought of using my magic against them. Of destroying the deathriders and escaping the city of Rome.
The sudden sound of heavy footsteps made me stiffen. I scrambled to my feet, realizing someone was headed this way. There was nowhere for me to hide as I heard the sound of boots hitting the floor in the bedchamber, then Trajan rounded the changing screen and toward his bath, toward me.
He barely glanced at me before he stripped off his tunic—stained with blood at the hem—and threw it across the bath chamber. I froze. Anger radiated from him as he stepped down then lunged into the cold water, grunting before he submerged his head entirely.
He came up, still ignoring me as he took a vial of scented oil on the edge of the tiles and poured the entire bottle into his hands. He spread the oil on his shoulders, chest, face, and hair, rubbing vigorously. Furiously.
“What happened?” I asked, breathless and afraid.
A dragon in temper was a beast to be wary of.
I’d learned that the hard way. My normal response would be to escape and hide.
But I had nowhere else to go, and there was a part of me that already knew that Trajan would not hurt me.
His sister’s letters made me see him in a gentler light.
His sisters’ love and devotion to their kind brother made me think there was far more to him than this flippant, impulsive patrician.
He scrubbed water down his face, standing waist-deep in the bath.
I was sure he heard me, but he didn’t answer.
Instead, he finished scrubbing his hands and fingers, the dark stains of blood vanishing in the water.
Then he marched back up the steps, grabbed a long drying cloth, and toweled himself off, his back to me.