Chapter 28. Before Luca
BEFORE: LUCA
The baths of the Citadel District were nothing like the ones in the Lower City.
Smooth white limestone walls were erected in a maze, covered by climbing roses and vines that were spotted with the nests of swallows. Enormous mahogany doors served as the entrance, guarded by officials from the Citadel whose pale gray robes made them almost invisible against the fair stone.
I fidgeted with the Casperias’ token in my pocket, turning it over in my fingers as I watched the doors open. Two men emerged from inside, their skin still dewy and flushed.
The baths in the Lower City were more practical than anything, used for communal washing.
They were constructed of humble red clay bricks that were baked in the sun and adorned with simple frescoes of fig trees and serpents.
But here, even the steam drifting on the wind from behind those walls smelled decadent.
Like something that should be served in a silver cup.
Entrance to these baths was a sign of status, and those who held the highest wealth had their own chambers inside, the Casperias among them.
I knew legionnaires who were granted regular entry, but it wasn’t for the mineral pools or the rare wines poured for guests inside.
There were deals to be struck behind those walls.
Affairs and meetings that couldn’t happen out in the light of day.
I pulled the token from my pocket and turned it toward the light, watching the gleam ripple over the name Casperia.
Meeting like this was a risk neither of us should take.
Both the Forum’s factions were watching me, trying to predict what I might do when I took Kastor’s seat.
Maybe the worst possibility of all was me falling in love with Magistrate Casperia’s daughter. I feared it was too late for that.
I crossed the street, steps steady, like I knew exactly what I was doing. I’d never been to the baths and could imagine that I didn’t look like I belonged there. There were some things about the Lower City that just didn’t wash away.
The men posted at the doors stopped their conversation as I drew closer, and one of them met my eyes in a way that made me think he recognized me.
I no longer had the luxury of being an unknown face in the district, my obscurity fading by the minute.
In a matter of months, I’d gone from being Kastor’s sullied adopted son to a man who held the fate of a faction in his hands. I didn’t like that kind of attention.
The man studied the coin pinched between my fingers, eyes flicking up to me again. It couldn’t be the first time this family coin was used to invite a young man into the baths, but I could guess that it wasn’t for Maris. And even these men knew better than to tempt the wrath of a Magistrate.
The doors opened and the humid, warm air wrapped around me as I stepped inside.
Marble fountains lined the perimeter of the square entry, where perfumed water dripped and bubbled.
The same lotus flower that was engraved on one side of the coin was pressed into the stone above one of the corridors, and I followed it, casting a glance around me.
The sky above disappeared as I wound deep into the honeycomb of the baths, looking for the symbol that marked the chamber belonging to the family Casperia.
The sound of muffled voices and the hiss of water on coals grew louder the farther into the corridors I went.
The hazy smudge of figures moved through the doorways, veiled in the steam pouring out of the doorways.
When I found the one I was looking for, my hand hesitated, hovering over the door’s latch.
I wasn’t sure where exactly the point of no return was, but I was beginning to think I’d already crossed it.
I pushed the door open and stepped through the stone archway, where beams of sunlight were cast across the room from the windows high up in the eaves. It smelled like jasmine and rosemary, the scent thick in my lungs as I drew it in.
It wasn’t until the steam began to clear that I could see her.
Maris, the Magistrate’s daughter who’d somehow become the center of every one of my thoughts, stood on the other side of the basin in the middle of the room.
She watched me, the thin fabric of her blue chiton clinging to her and the strands of hair that framed her face curling in the damp air.
“I didn’t think you would come,” she said.
I kept my feet planted where they were, slipping the coin back into my pocket.
I wanted to argue with her—to say that she had known I would come.
Just like I had. I hadn’t even made the choice, as if my being here were something already decided.
But that thinking was too close to admitting I was the victim of fate, and I had to remind myself that I didn’t believe in the unavoidable, inescapable will of the gods. Not the way my mother did.
Maris came around the basin, and it wasn’t until she stepped into one of those beams of light that I could see the small scroll in her hands. The wax seal of Ophelius was visible along the edge of the rolled parchment. It was another message.
She held it out to me. “For Vitrasian.”
My jaw clenched. After everything that had happened over the last few weeks, I was more and more convinced that I had reason to be concerned about the correspondence inside.
I’d suspected for months that something was going on with Rhea, and it had all started with a burning scroll that looked just like this one.
“The Citadel has forbidden Vitrasian to speak with Ophelius,” I said, not moving to take it.
“I know.”
I waited for some kind of explanation, but Maris didn’t give one.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
When my eyes lifted to Maris’ face, I realized that she was thinking the same thing I was.
She wanted to open it. To know what Rhea and the Priestess were so intent on hiding.
But I was also afraid of what I might find written there.
The play Rhea had finished was set to be performed in just a few days, but I hadn’t seen her since the tribunal, and I hadn’t answered when she summoned me.
I didn’t want to face the fact that she’d known about the fields.
That she’d lied. That she was, in fact, just like the rest of them.
I finally took the scroll, sliding it into my pocket. “Is that why you asked me to come here? A message?”
“No,” she said.
“Then what is it? What do you want?” There was only one answer I wanted to that question.
“Your faction is turning against you, Luca. They plan to petition the Consul for a new leader’s seat at the next tribunal.”
I let out a half-hearted laugh, not believing that I’d let myself hope this meeting would be about anything other than the Forum. When it came down to it, Maris was one of them, too. The betrayal of the thought wound tight in my gut. “They’re not my faction,” I said.
“They will take it.”
I shrugged. “And I’ll let them.”
Her brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“They can have it. All of it.”
“You’re not even going to fight to keep the faction’s leadership?”
I studied Maris’ face, trying to decide just how much I was willing to trust her with. “I’m not taking the seat, Maris.” I said it out loud for the first time.
“What?” she whispered.
“When Kastor dies, I won’t take his seat in the Forum.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. You were right. It’s pointless—all of it.”
A look of utter disappointment changed the shape of her mouth, her eyes. But there was also some sense of relief there. Like after everything, I’d finally proven her right about me. The feeling was mutual.
“My mother is planning to hang the harvests around the Consul’s neck,” she said. “There are at least six among your faction who are planning to join her.”
I exhaled, impatient. “What is this?” What are you doing?
“Magistrates Gracilia and Aquintis are among them.” She looked me dead in the eye. “The Consul’s scribe is also involved in the plot.”
A slow, creeping tension moved up my spine when I realized what was happening here. “Stop talking.” My voice grated.
“As soon as you give up that seat, my mother will move to undercut your faction, and when she does, she will take the Consul down with them.”
“Maris, stop.”
“Who do you think will be Consul then?” The chamber was buzzing with the anguish in her voice.
What she was doing was more than reckless—betraying her mother and her faction.
“There isn’t enough godsblood in the world to quench the thirst of this city,” she rasped.
The picture she was painting was a grim one.
Casperia had endeared herself to the entire Forum by falling on her sword and uniting the vote to amend the dole.
Just in time for my uncle’s seat to fall empty.
Kastor’s death would weaken his faction; if I didn’t take his place and calm the fears of his supporters, I would be all but handing Casperia control.
Alliances were kept with those who either gave or reinforced your own power.
Casperia didn’t have the votes with her faction to secure her as Consul, but she would if she united the Forum.
And if she turned the Magistrates against the Consul and took the title for herself, the seat would never go to Vale.
Not unless he was eventually able to oust her.
Something that would be even harder to do if I had no vote.
“You risk too much,” I said.
Her eyes grew even darker. “You’re wrong. We haven’t risked enough.”
The tenor of her voice was uneasy, making me feel like there was still something else happening here that I hadn’t quite riddled out. Like we were standing on an edge, about to fall.
“If what you say is true, then we’ve already lost.”
“Not if we play the same game.”
I closed the distance between us. “You think you can just summon me here like your mother does with her legionnaires and convince me to join up with some scheme to control the future of the Forum?”