Chapter 18 Lela
XVIII
LELA
We were yet again moving through the dark, but this time we were traveling in the privacy of Trajan’s litter. It was cushioned with silky blue fabric and pillowed benches. There were extra pillows against the seatback for comfort.
I’d dressed in the loose-fitting peplos that draped off one shoulder and slit high on both thighs.
I’d also worn my hair down and added heavy makeup to my face, eyes lined with thick kohl, which Koska had procured for me.
Costumed as Trajan’s prostitute for the night, I was ushered into the litter by veil of darkness so that his litter-bearers only saw a glimpse of me, their gazes on my body more than my face.
“They won’t wonder why you’re taking a prostitute to a noblewoman’s house?” I asked.
He’d been avoiding me the last few days, ever since the night of the triumph and our rather unusual conversation.
I’d never expected him to be so forthright with me.
Trajan had a lot of secrets, but he’d confided in me about his parents, about his fears for his sisters, and it had struck me to the heart.
I’d never imagined a Roman, especially a powerful Sapphirus tribune, to fear the emperor and his men the way I did.
I hadn’t expected to share such a similarity with a dragon.
It was both surprising and strangely comforting.
I understood now that he was truly in this battle against Caesar and his ilk not for more power or because he was blindly following his friend, the traitor general, but for his sisters.
That, I could understand. I could sympathize with.
If I could’ve saved my sisters, I would have risked death myself.
I never understood why my magic hadn’t manifested the night of the attack.
It should have. I should have been able to use my gift to save my family.
Bunica had always told me that I and my sisters would save the world.
My family was my world. Now, they were gone. How could Bunica have been so utterly wrong? She’d always been so wise, her sight so clear, except when it came to this. It made no sense to me.
“You think it strange that a nobleman would bring a prostitute to another woman’s house?” asked Trajan, dragging me back to the present.
In the semidarkness of the litter, only one oil lamp lit on my side, he seemed …
dangerous. But in a way that excited rather than frightened me.
His voice was a sonorous caress, his blue eyes glittering like a wild predator.
It reminded me of the wolves when they’d circle the woods of our village, looking for a young goat or lamb to steal away into the night.
“I don’t know,” I finally answered. “Valerius never did so.”
He clenched his jaw at the mention of my former master. He always did.
“Even so,” he added, “Romans are known for their…”
He seemed lost at the moment, his gaze roving my face and throat then lower to my bare shoulder, where the draping folds of the peplos hung loosely.
“Promiscuity?” I offered.
“Experimentation,” he corrected.
“I see.”
Suddenly, Trajan frowned and leaned toward the opening, peering out through the slit of the drapes. At the same time, a man outside said, “Stop,” in an authoritative manner. The litter stopped moving.
Without saying a word, Trajan reached across, gripped me by the waist, and then pulled me onto his lap.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “Play along and straddle me.”
I did, while he fisted a hand in my unbound hair, his face close to mine.
He tugged the strap of the peplos down my arm, nearly baring one of my breasts, and hiked my skirt up my thighs. Quickly, he maneuvered his own tunic up his thighs so that we were both in a semblance of undress.
Then his mouth was on my throat as he groaned and thrust up with his hips, mimicking sex. I grabbed one of his shoulders, dropped my head back farther, and moaned, my pulse pounding in my throat. Suddenly, the drapes snapped open.
“Fucking Dis,” Trajan growled, still holding me on his lap, his fist in my hair, but pushing me farther onto his knees. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The praetorian guard, which I knew by the specific uniform he wore with the emperor’s red dragon insignia on his chest plate, stammered out an apology as he recognized Trajan.
“I a-apologize, Tribune. We are in search of runaway slaves. One in particular who killed Consul Valerius. Under Caesar’s orders.”
“Do I look like I have any runaway slaves or murderers in here?”
The guard stared at me, the scar on his lip pulled tight as he thinned his lips.
He seemed somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
Then Trajan ground up against me. I exhaled a breathy moan, letting my peplos slide farther down my arm so that my breast was fully bared.
It worked, of course. The praetorian’s gaze left my painted face, transfixed by my body.
“Sorry, Tribune Tiberius,” he apologized quickly, lowering his gaze. “We are just following orders.”
“Well, praetorian. I’ll pay you and your men a hundred denarii if you close that curtain so I can fuck my whore in peace.”
His grip on my upper thigh tightened.
“Yes, of course. Good night, Tribune.”
The curtain snapped shut, and we were left alone. The boots moved farther away. The litter began moving again, but we didn’t. Trajan didn’t loosen his grip. The dragon glittered in his gaze while he looked his fill. The tension wound tight, heady.
In a flash, he gripped me by the hips and set me on the bench opposite him, retreating to his side and combing both hands through his hair. I quickly shifted the strap of my peplos back on my shoulder.
“I had to do that,” he said gruffly.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I assured him. “I’m all right.”
“Fuck,” he cursed, peering out the curtains, frustration and anger mingling in his tight expression.
“Do you think he suspected anything?” I asked after a moment, still breathless.
“I don’t think so.” He looked at me. “Our little ruse worked.”
“Good.”
He studied me, while I tried to catch my breath.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t.”
“You seem like you are.”
“I am frightened but not by you. What if he suspects I’m the woman they’re looking for? The murderess.”
“If he did, he would’ve taken you on the spot. Or he’d have tried.”
“Tried?”
His eyes flared ice-blue. “I’d have fucking killed all of them first, Lela.”
I stared, realizing he was telling the truth. He would kill for me.
He combed his hand nervously through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Stop apologizing. I’m not a fragile vase. I won’t break and fall apart so easily.”
His gaze returned to me as he bit his lip. “You’re right. You’re stronger than most men I know.”
“You mean mentally and emotionally, of course,” I added with a little sarcasm.
“I mean in the ways that count.”
The litter stopped and was lowered to the ground. Trajan’s expression tightened as he opened the curtain and stepped out, holding the drapes for me. There was a servant man at the open door of what must be Fausta’s home.
He glanced up the street then down, ushering us inside. To anyone else watching, we were simply a patrician and his whore stepping into another noble lady’s house for a bit of fun. But it didn’t hurt to be cautious.
Once inside, the man said, “I am Octavio. Follow me.”
He appeared in his forties, of average height and a slim build. We followed him through the opulent house, past a fountain with a sculpture of three naiads dancing with flowers as its centerpiece.
Finally, we made it to a private parlor with no windows where Fausta stood waiting. She was a beautiful woman—long brown hair styled in soft curls over one shoulder, her black stola elegantly draped over a fine figure.
“Welcome,” she said, stepping forward and greeting Trajan with a kiss to the cheek.
I ignored the instant envy that pricked my breast. I’d never felt such an emotion about a man, ever. There was no reason in regard to Jardani because he was mine and completely devoted to me. I hadn’t desired another man. Until now.
“Fausta, this is Lela,” Trajan introduced us.
She stepped in front of me. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” She looked at my disheveled state and turned an accusing look on Trajan.
“We had to pretend to be lovers when a praetorian guard stopped us in the street,” he told her.
“Did he suspect anything?” she asked.
“No,” said Trajan, his voice deeper and harder than usual. He was on edge.
Fausta looked at him questioningly, her expression suddenly going soft and concerned. But I didn’t understand why.
“I see.” Then she turned her gaze to me. “No matter.” She blinked quickly, the supernatural light in her eyes fading away. “I am Fausta Ovidius, and I’m going to get you out of Rome tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” asked Trajan. “You said it would be tonight.”
My pulse quickened suddenly. This would be the last time I saw Trajan. Nausea burned in my belly.
Fausta shook her head. “My informer told me today that Caesar ordered all shipments to be inspected tonight. I’ll delay moving her to the ship until tomorrow night, then the ship will leave port by dark.”
“The port master won’t suspect something?” he asked.
“No. Ships come and go by day and night all the time. The import and export business doesn’t ever stop, and my granary business is one of the most important.
My taxes to Caesar continuously fill his treasury.
” She shrugged. “Besides, tomorrow night is the feast at Caesar’s palace celebrating General Drussus.
It will be quiet on Palatine Hill with so many attending the feast.”
Trajan turned to me. “I should take her home then. Bring her back tomorrow.”
“Why?” asked Fausta. “She’s more protected here. My servants won’t talk. And we risk exposure moving her again until we have to.”
I could see him wrestling with his emotions, his concern etched in the tightness of his brow. Instinctually, I moved to face him and placed a hand on his forearm.
“It is all right. I’ll be fine here.” I smiled, even while I was sickened at this goodbye. “You’ve done what you promised,” I assured him.
He’d held up his end of the bargain in exchange for a favor. I didn’t mention helping him to see the Visigoth in prison, because I didn’t want Fausta to know of my magical gift. She might be helping me, but I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust anyone but Trajan.
By the gods, it was true. I trusted him.
“Will you give us a minute, Fausta?”
“Of course. I’ll wait in the entry hall.”
She left the room. Trajan’s expression was grave and solemn. He didn’t move, his posture stiff and unyielding. I knew in that moment, he didn’t want to leave me. Not because I was his property, but because he cared for me.
That sinking, lovely realization had me moving closer to stand before him. Reaching up, I did something I’d been wanting to do for some time. I cupped his face and felt the bristles of his trim beard, lightly moving my fingers of one hand across his brow.
His expression softened, but he still didn’t speak. There was pain in his gaze. I’d know. Pain was a familiar companion of mine. And yet I loathed seeing it on him.
“Thank you, Trajan.” I let my palms rest on his broad chest. “For everything you’ve done for me.”
For saving me, protecting me, allowing me to know intimacy in that one kiss we shared could be sweet and lovely again.
Trajan was a man of many words. He never lacked them. Until now.
He lifted his hands and cupped my face gently, brushing a thumb across the crest of one cheek. Then he bent his head and brushed the softest featherlight kiss against my lips.
He whispered, voice trembling, “Goodbye.”
Then he stepped away and stormed from the room, leaving me with that one word.
I should’ve felt nothing at all, except relief and joy that I was leaving Rome. But that wasn’t what resonated in my bruised heart, rattling through my bones, down to my hollowed soul.
It was another familiar friend that soaked me through and through—loss.