Chapter XIX Lela
XIX
LELA
I awoke to the sound of birdsong. Disoriented, I sat up and looked around.
It was a small, clean room with a table and pitcher for washing, a comb on the table, and a window with a view of a small flower garden.
Realizing I wasn’t in Trajan’s bedchamber, a sinking sensation swept over me.
Yet again, the tenderness around my heart ached, a bruise I feared would not heal.
Last night I’d been shown my room then left alone to wash, change into a clean tunic, and crawl into the small but comfortable bed.
Now, moving to the window, I found the blue lark singing its tiny heart away.
Then it flapped its wings and flew away.
I watched then blinked away the tears that pooled in my eyes, wondering why the joy of a bird made me cry.
Today, I would regain my freedom. There was no point in tears.
There was no world where Trajan and I could be together.
Besides, I was a broken mess. A shell of a woman. That was the only reason I longed for the first man who gave me kindness and care. It had to be.
“Good morning.”
I turned from the window to find Fausta standing near the doorway.
“You slept late. It’s nearly noon.”
She was dressed in a modest black stola, her hair perfectly combed and coifed with long wavy curls hanging over one shoulder. She was a conundrum.
“Why do you do it? You have everything.”
She didn’t frown and look surprised by my question. Nor did she ask for clarification. She was an intelligent woman who knew exactly what I was thinking and wondering.
“I had everything,” she stated coolly. “I do not now.”
She walked into the room and looked out the window where her lovely flower garden bloomed.
“My first husband Titus was my mate. My one true love. We met when we were children. He’d always had a heart for those less fortunate. I remember how he’d take in stray dogs or kittens, while his mother scolded him for it. His capacity for love was so great.”
She swallowed hard as I watched her telling the story, her gaze distant, remembering.
“When we were first married, one of our servants became pregnant. She had a lover, another slave in a house down the street. But when her child was born, he was a dragon. She brought us the tiny bundle and handed him over to Titus, expecting him to do what Rome demanded of bastard-born dragons. Either slit his throat or ship him off to be raised by the lanistae of the gladiator pits in the outer posts of the empire. The young woman didn’t even beg to have her son spared. ”
She heaved out a sigh, smiling to herself.
“Titus did none of those things. He promised her that her son would live and that he would send her to someone to raise him up well. And free. I didn’t understand why he’d take such a risk.
Igniculus wasn’t emperor then, but the laws were still strict.
We both worked together to smuggle the babe out of the city in the arms of a free woman we paid well. ”
Fausta turned to me, her face glowing with a defiant sort of joy.
“We did it once. Saving that boy from death or a tortured life made us realize what it meant to have power. It wasn’t given to us by the gods to stomp on the rest of the world. It was given to us to give grace and mercy and kindness to those less fortunate in their circumstances.”
I wondered at this Roman noble lady, another one defying my understanding of these people while I’d lived in Rome. I realized I had a narrow view living in Valerius’s house.
“Titus and I knew that the gods had joined us for a greater purpose, beyond our love for one another.” She stepped closer, her expression earnest. “To free as many as we could.”
Emotion thickened my throat. I’d thought this woman’s physical beauty was remarkable. But it was the beauty of her soul that made her truly lovely.
“You said Titus was your mate?”
She smiled softly. “Our dragons chose one another. We were divinely meant to be together.”
“I have heard of such a thing,” I told her. “Humans choose their own soulmates.”
“Do they?” she asked, her lips quirking in a mysterious smile. “Though I’m a dragon, I have seen many humans find their soulmates, destined by the gods.”
“How can anyone know what the gods want?”
“When you sense them in your life, you know.”
Knowing my magic made me feel touched by the gods, I thought there was some truth to that.
“Well,” I added confidently. “I chose mine. Jardani. He is dead now. Like your Titus.”
“I am sorry for your loss.” I could tell that she meant it by her expression. “But I believe the gods choose mates for humans as well. I do not think you will live this life without a destined love.”
Frowning, I added, “You do not know me. You cannot know that.”
“I suppose not. But I’ve always had a touch of premonition.”
“You have the sight?” I asked eagerly, adding quickly, “My grandmother had it.”
“Did she?” She smiled again. “That’s remarkable. I have only the smallest spark. I can sometimes read truths of people.”
I stared, wondering about this noblewoman of Rome, touched by Minerva as my bunica was. As I was.
“What truth do you read in me?”
Her green eyes brightened, then she reached out and touched the back of my hand, her fingernails extending into black claws. The sizzle of magic slipped over my skin like a warm breath. Her pale skin darkened with the outline of black scales.
“You may not be a dragon, Lela, but you are transforming. There is magic in you.” She closed her eyes. “Bright magic. It will become brighter still. I also see a journey and reunion.”
She opened her eyes, blinking away tears that had pooled there.
“What is it?” I asked. “What else did you see?”
“It isn’t what I saw. It’s what I felt.” Her expression brightened suddenly. “Come with me.”
A journey. Just like Euphemia had said. And a reunion? As I followed Fausta through her home, I wondered if the reunion would be with Trajan. A fluttering of hope buoyed me up that we would be reunited.
I’d dreamed of him last night. Of his tenderness, of the sorrow in his gaze as he whispered goodbye against my lips.
Fausta led me into an opulent room that could only be her bedchamber. By the time we reached it, all signs of her dragon had retreated back inside her.
The bed was draped in creamy silks and white cushions. There were multiple settees and chairs covered in embroidered gold fabrics. There was a giant wooden wardrobe with the carvings of a goddess in half-skin, her naiads surrounding her. The craftsmanship was extraordinary.
“Is that Minerva?” I asked.
“Juno, actually.” She laughed. “Titus had this one made for me. He’d always called me his queen, so I should have a queen’s wardrobe.”
She opened the dresser doors, which contained both drawers and an open area where her dresses were hung on hooks. So many beautiful gowns in black and cream with black embroidery and stones sewn into them.
Fausta reached in and pulled out one of the cream-colored gowns with tiny embroidered black dragons sewn along the waist all the way around.
“Tonight, you will wear this. We will take my litter as if we are going to Caesar’s party. Just in case we are stopped along the way. His guards are everywhere.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I’m a little taller than you but let’s see how this fits. Then I’ll get you something to eat.” She handed me the dress. “You can change behind my screen.”
“Thank you.” I took the gown and walked behind her changing screen, which depicted a beautiful black dragon in flight over a sapphire sea.
My mind wandered to Trajan as I slipped out of the tunic I’d changed into last night.
I wished I still had the gown I’d worn last night, craving the scent of him.
I stepped into the gown and pulled it up my body when I heard someone shouting in the hall.
It sounded like the servant Octavio who’d greeted us last night.
“No, you may not!” he yelled.
Heavy footsteps accompanied the man’s protestations. I crouched down and peered through the crack of the screen’s wooden frame. Fausta whirled and faced the door right as a praetorian guard stormed into the room, quickly followed by Octavio and two more praetorians. My heart skipped faster.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Fausta, facing him with all the regal mannerisms of her station. “How dare you barge into my home this way.”
“Fausta Media Nocte Ovidius,” the praetorian stated, his expression grave. “Where is the slave you’re hiding?”
“What are you talking about?”
That’s when I recognized him—the one with the scarred lip from last night.
No, I’d seen him even before that. Valerius had hosted a small party last year.
This praetorian had come with Caesar. My heart pounded faster.
The praetorian grinned, sniffing the air, his body bulging bigger, his claws extending.
“I smell her.” His gaze turned to the changing screen. My blood chilled.
I gasped and pressed my back to the wall, cold stone against my bare shoulders.
“She’s there. Get her.”
I heard the guards stalking closer as Fausta said in a condescending way, “I demand to know what you think you are doing?”
The screen was ripped aside and thrown to the ground. I flinched, staring up at the two guards—their eyes bright orange, pupils slit like serpents’, claws out as they snatched both of my arms.
“That is my niece from Herculaneum.”
The guards dragged me to stand before the scarred one, the one who’d stammered and begged forgiveness of Trajan last night. Obviously, we’d been wrong. He had been suspicious after we left.
His glare was sinister, promising pain. I’d seen that look so many times before from other men. Most specifically, Valerius. Rather than say a word to me, he turned to face Fausta yet again.
“Did you hear me, praetorian?” she snapped viciously, her own eyes glittering green and sharp with the dragon rising to the surface.
Rather than answer, he pulled a scroll from beneath his armored chest plate. “Fausta Ovidius, you are hereby arrested for harboring a known criminal and treason against the state of Rome.”
“No! You will not take domina away!” shouted Octavio.
The leader shoved him so hard, he hit the stone wall, his head cracking hard before he fell to the ground, motionless.
“Octavio!” Fausta screamed.
When she took a step toward him, the leader grabbed her arm and snapped her back. “Keep still, my lady,” he growled.
Fausta turned to look at me, fear stark in her gaze. For me. “Let me come with you. I’ll explain all of this to Caesar myself. You’re mistaken.”
The guard, still holding her, looked at me, an emptiness in his eyes that made me shiver.
“No. I know her. I remember seeing her before. She’s the pet of Valerius who wore the muzzle.
The one who killed him. It took me some time after seeing her in Tribune Tiberius’s litter last night.
” Then he looked at Fausta, sliding his gladius from its scabbard on his left side.
“There will be no trial for you, madame. No lies to save you now. Caesar has given me the authority to execute your sentence.”
“What sentence?” Fausta asked, her voice breathless.
In a flash, he sliced across her throat, blood spraying the air. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream, then her body crumpled to the luxurious carpet beneath her.
“Nooo!” I cried out, struggling on instinct against my captors. “Stop!”
While they grappled to hold me, the other one leaned down and curled a fist into Fausta’s silken brown hair then hacked the rest of his way through her neck, lifting her severed head. Bile rose up my throat as he turned to me and walked closer.
“Caesar wants Fausta on the Wall of Traitors. As for you, he has other plans.”
Fury lanced through me like a burning blade.
I’d been captured after these filthy fucking Romans had killed my family.
I’d been dragged back to this city, sold off and imprisoned, raped, muzzled, and kept like a dog.
I’d lost my voice and my will to live, merely existing to serve my master and drift through my days like a ghost. All because of these men.
Then one night, I met a different kind of man. He’d come to me in the temple, my place of solace. My blood had seeped into his skin, whispering of his goodness. From that moment, hope awakened. Then he’d shown me that life was worth living, and freedom was worth fighting for.
I glared at the murderer standing before me, holding the still-dripping head of my new friend, who’d risked her life to set me free.
“No.” My voice quaked with rage.
The praetorian’s eyes narrowed and he chuckled. “No?”
The other two guards gripping me by the upper arms—their mistake—laughed with him.
Without another word, I bent my elbows and reached high, gouging both captors across the face.
One let me go and yelled in pain. The other hissed, “Bitch!” Still holding one arm, he jerked me toward him and grabbed me by the throat.
But it was too late. I lifted my finger to my mouth as powerful energy vibrated through the room. The metallic taste of blood sang to my soul. My magic didn’t come in a soft whisper, it pounded into the room in a warlike scream.
“Cut off his head!” I shouted to the guard holding my throat.
He instantly let go of me and drew his sword, attacking the leader. Blades whipped and sliced through the air. The scarred one dropped Fausta’s head to the carpet when his comrade under my spell cut a gash across his arm.
“Come to me,” I called, my voice echoing with ethereal magic, a vibration that shook the walls. A figurine crashed and broke on the stone floor.
I didn’t speak to the guards in combat, but to the blood itself. An instinct I’d noticed only once before—that night in the olive grove with Trajan. As the guards whirled and clanged sword against sword, blood flew through the air. I held out my palms, calling it to me. And it came.
Flying directly toward my outstretched palms, the blood obeyed me. Power hummed through my veins and whipped through the air as the guards’ blades sliced one another’s throats, one by one, until nothing was left but the overcharged air and the mist of blood and my frenzied fury.