The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (22 page)

She stopped, but Cyrus held her tighter, pouring his strength into her. He would not let her slip away to that place where she locked herself away from him, from the pain of the past.

“What happened?”

Her sharp intake of breath was the only sound to be heard before she began again.

“Aquileia is a bloodthirsty and savage place, and its people are cruel. Many of the slaves who end up in the arena are Carthaginian and the Romans with their feelings of superiority and in their lust for blood love to watch their enemies slaughtered in droves before them. That I was of Carthage, that I was a
gladiatrix
, that I was the champion, only incited the fervor of the crowds. I’d grown so numb to slaughtering my own that I could do it almost without feeling.

“That was, until later, when it was all over, and I was once again alone in my chambers. I was cold within the arena, but later I felt it all,
everything
. The pain was so unending that I truly did not believe I would ever escape it.” She glanced at Cyrus, and it was his earnest expression that allowed her to continue when she would have stopped.

“The boy I killed had been caught stealing.” The anger she always felt when she recounted the story in the deepest regions of her consciousness swamped her again, igniting her fury.

“He stole because he was starving. Up until the moment he entered the arena, I could kill without truly seeing who I fought, but not him. I looked into his eyes, and I could taste his fear. I could not do it. I would not.”

The brush of callused fingertips against her chin drew her gaze to Cyrus’ face. For the briefest of moment liquid brown eyes swam before her face, soft, gentle eyes, full of fear and terror.

Once again, she felt a cool wetness against her cheeks.

“It was the crowd that condemned him and another gladiator was sent into the arena to do what I would not. I had no choice.” Her voice caught. “The other gladiator would have killed him, and then he would have killed me, so I slay them both.” Aurora felt her heart break all over again as she saw that moment flicker before her eyes. It was a moment she would never forget and always regret. “His name was Kaden. I tried to be merciful, I did not want him to know pain, so I told him to close his eyes.”

Aurora closed her own then and breathed out, and all of a sudden she was exhausted.

“He told me it was alright, that he understood.” Aurora smiled, though she did not realize it. “I told him he was very brave.”

After that, the room was so quiet Aurora began to drift off. She was drained in every way. She had nothing left to give, not to Cyrus, not even to herself.

“What happened after you retired from the arena?”

Aurora did not open her eyes, she simply smiled against his bare chest. Olympia had happened, The Order. That night, Aurora had planned to take her own life for what she’d done, the pain of her desolate existence had come to be too much to bear. Olympia, however, had seen her perform in the games, she’d apparently seen something else within her as well. Aurora did not know, and Olympia had never truly said, but before she’d left the arena with her
dominus
, Olympia had stopped them and offered an almost vulgar sum for Aurora. Her master had favored her greatly, but with the coins Olympia furnished, he could purchase ten more of her.

“I was soon purchased by a kind
domina
. She recently died, and I was sold by her son to Claudius’ home.”

Aurora winced at the lie, but there was no way around it. Cyrus was curious about her past, he would question her until he learned every detail from her time then, to her time now. It was simpler this way, and safer for them both.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes snapped open, a small, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Only Cyrus would thank her for unburdening her ravaged soul to him. She burrowed deeper into his embrace.

“It is you who is very brave, for having the courage to tell me this.” His arms tightened around her. “But you know his death was not your fault. We are slaves who fight in the arena. You had no choice.”

“There is always a choice, Cyrus.
Always
.”

“There is—you could have chosen to die alongside Kaden, but to what end?”

“At least I would have died with my honor, my dignity—”

Cyrus’ gaze darkened, his hand seizing her chin until she lifted her eyes to him. “You still have that, Aurora. Your honor, your dignity, no one can take that away from you unless you allow it. What you did for Kaden
was
honorable, it
was
dignified. What happened back then has nothing to do with honor or dignity, it has
only
to do with forgiveness.”

Her heart stuttered.

She wanted to protest, but she was too weary. “Kaden forgave you, Aurora. Don’t you think it is time you finally forgave yourself?”

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, finally admitting to Cyrus what she had not even admitted to herself until just now. She could not seem to forgive herself for what she’d done. She didn’t know if she ever could.

“That you would share with me something that has pained you so deeply tells me that you want to, which tells me that you
can.
” His expression was confident. “And I know just how strong you truly are, which tells me that you
will
, maybe not on the morrow, but one day.”

Humbled by
his
faith in her, when she still had such little faith in herself, Aurora’s throat choked with emotion. She stared into clear, blue eyes until she could do so no longer and once again she rested her head against his chest.

As she let herself be lulled to sleep by the steady, sure rhythm of Cyrus’ beating heart, she wondered where she would go from here, when this mission was over, her duty was done, and she was forced to leave Cyrus behind.

She’d never known a man such as him, never faced such a dilemma, but she knew her feelings for Cyrus changed nothing about her mission. She would do her duty and then she would disappear back to Ostia, as she always did.

Yet, she knew with a certainty that while she might leave him behind in body, for the man who’d touched her soul and dared to heal it, Aurora would leave a piece of her heart, that would always be his—forever.

Chapter Nine

Claudius believed her to be insolent and defiant, in need of humility. So she’d been relegated to the kitchen where she would spend however long he determined, learning how to humble herself.

Aurora had thought for certain such an act of impertinence would have earned her a journey into the fields, she’d actually anticipated such a response, which was why she’d deliberately provoked Claudius. Whether in the fields or the kitchen, Aurora could still obtain what she sought, but she did appreciate the ease of labor to be found within the kitchen—which she had Cornelia to thank for, though she never would. Cornelia had been true to her word, and in lessening the severity of her punishment, she had unknowingly aided their unified cause of hastening Claudius’ demise.

Between Cyrus and Cornelia, Aurora’s initial plan of gaining Claudius’ favor as his lover had been thwarted almost from the moment of her arrival. For weeks now, she’d spun her wheels devising a strategy that would
not
end in her certain death.

Claudius was paranoid, more so since he’d almost been poisoned. He’d purchased the services of some retired legionnaires to join his personal guard. To her way of thinking, that was a foolish decision on his part. If one were to plot against her, she would not invite
more
strangers into her home.

She’d counted six new soldiers. Not a great many of them, but more soldiers to contend with was not an ideal circumstance. Aurora had not worked out a firm strategy as of yet. With all the events that had transpired, she was constantly reforming her plan.

She knew she could not make an attempt upon his life in a bold manner. Whatever plan she arrived at would have to involve her striking Claudius when he was not heavily guarded. All she could do now was make preparations for when that time would come.

She glowered at the brazier she’d been instructed to clean, noting
this
particular task, was so at odds with those preparations. Aurora glanced down the line at all of the items—four cauldrons, several gridirons and trivets, and the domed oven, which she’d decided she would reserve for last.

It was not the labor, nor the menial task, which bothered her. It was where she was within the kitchen—back in the work area away from all the food. She sighed. Well at least she
was
inside the kitchen, where eventually she might be able to steal away and do what she’d set out to do since learning of her banishment.

Aurora looked up when Artemisia entered the room with a serene smile weaving its way across her face.

“The gods certainly favor you,” she chirped. “Thesia has taken ill, and we require another pair of hands to finish the noon day meal. Supper as well.”

Aurora grinned, already standing to her feet. For once she could only agree. This time the gods
did
smile down upon her.

“I would be happy to help,” she beamed, and Aurora spent the rest of the day working beside Artemisia until it was well past dusk.

As the servants filed out, she remained behind with Artemisia, and the matron of the kitchen—Bretta.

The stocky, stoic white haired woman from the Celtic lands of Briton was a task master, almost as demanding as Cyrus. She did not smile, nor did she mince words. The other slave girls had scurried about the kitchen, fearful as frightened mice.

Aurora and Bretta had seemingly called a silent truce.

Aurora was not a simpering little girl, so easily frightened.

Bretta knew this, so she simply did not try.

That did not stop the woman from shouting at her, of course, and barking out a list of impossible commands.

With their tasks done, Aurora prepared to leave, taking note of where
everything
was positioned, and its proper place. When she returned later, she would have to be quick for she would have little time and almost no light.

“The guards will be here shortly to return us to our quarters. Are you done?”

Aurora started to answer when a shadowed figure filled the entryway to the kitchen.

With a cold frown, she glared into dark, sinister eyes that raked her with pure malevolence.

“It would seem the prized champion, the mighty
gladiatrix
has fallen. How does it feel to be no better than the rest of us?”

Aurora took in Primus’ dirty and disheveled garments with a look of disdain. The right side of his face was slightly askew where she’d broken his jaw, but she noted, much to her displeasure, that it was barely noticeable.

“If I were you, Primus, I would not trouble myself with that knowledge, because no matter where Claudius puts me, I shall always be better than you.” Her pointed glare trailed the length of him very slowly this time, taking in his tattered appearance. “Where is it again that you now serve the House of Norbanus? Is it in the stables with the piles of horse dung or in the pen wallowing with the pigs?” He lunged for her, but she quickly raised a nearby bronze goblet and prepared to strike. “I would not do that if I were you, unless you wish for me to break your jaw yet again.”

His eyes swirled darker with rage. She did not know why Primus had always felt so strongly against her—even before she’d beaten him during training. She wagered his anger had little to do with her as a person, or even her position within the
ludus.
One thing Aurora knew well, besides pain, was the power of demons from the past. With Primus, it could simply be that she looked liked a woman who’d once wronged him, or maybe that she was from Carthage was the problem. It could be a number of things. Aurora would never know.

Petricles came to stand behind Primus, signaling to the former gladiator recruit that it was time for him to continue on. The slave did so reluctantly, his hard stare remaining on Aurora until Petricles was forced to escort him away.

“What was that about?” Artemisia asked when Primus was gone.

“Primus?”Aurora shrugged, her expression open, and her words light. “That was nothing. He is no one to me at all.” That much was true—Primus was nothing to her, as inconsequential as a stranger she did not know. She was not foolish enough to underestimate him, however. Primus was an enemy to be sure, one she would watch closely, but for now he did not pose a great threat to her, or her duty.

* * * *

It was not unusual for the guards assigned to the slave quarters to be more lenient with the slaves than the soldiers posted around the master’s villa, watching over the abode proper and its grounds.

Aurora had learned—for a few coins, if you were male, and sometimes a few
favors
if you were a woman—the guards would turn a blind eye to many things. Illicit affairs, a stash of foodstuffs secreted from the kitchen,
an inordinate amount of time spent bathing—
the slaves within Claudius’ home managed quite a lot under the ‘watchful’ eyes of the guards.