The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (23 page)

Of all the guards, Petricles had proven to be the kindest, the most indulgent. Yet he was not so kind or indulgent that he would let her out of her quarters without some compensation.

She pressed the silver
denarius
into his palm, one among several she’d earned upon her victory in the arena games. “I will only be but an hour visiting Cyrus. Thank you.” She smiled warmly, understanding that he’d been very reluctant to let her ‘visit’ with Cyrus again.

Petricles smiled, but his gaze barely saw her, for he seemed only to be aware of the young woman who stared back at him as if he was made of pure gold.

With a knowing grin, Aurora slipped quietly from her chambers, all the while, shaking her head. It all made sense. Petricles had always been quick to usher her from her quarters. Just as he’d always been courteous when she’d bathed, not once spying upon her naked. Her lips quirked higher. Artemisia and Petricles? She had missed that entirely. They certainly did well in hiding their attraction. Apparently, he did not favor men after all.

Aurora crept into the baths that were empty this late into the night, all thoughts of Petricles and Artemisia long gone from her mind as she focused solely on her present task. Yes, she’d told Petricles a lie. She was not visiting with Cyrus, nor would she this eve.

Aurora made her way over to the hidden entrance. She carefully pressed each stone in the proper sequence until the door scraped open, and as soon as she slipped inside the tunnel, she closed it shut. With hurried steps she trudged through the hidden passageway to the other end. She opened this door as easily as she had the other, using great caution as she left the secret tunnel, careful to be as quick and quiet as possible.

The
triclinieum
was empty, as she’d anticipated, given the late hour. With a firm thud, she closed the door, listening until there was a faint click. Satisfied that it was securely locked, Aurora crept quietly through the dining hall into the empty corridor, making her way toward the kitchen.

As was customary in such homes, the entryway to the kitchen did not have a door, so Aurora stepped inside.

It was an interior room, and there was no natural light. While the hearth opened up into a vent in the wall, it was not made in such a way to allow for light to enter the chambers. It took a few moments for Aurora’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they did she set about gathering up a sack of apricots, some black cohosh—used as a spice in many of the dishes—and a few shiny red apples. The apples and apricots, she set aside for later. She would take those with her back to her quarters.

She would have to be careful to hide them from Artemisia, who was not only inquisitive but at times, quite judicious.

The cohosh had already been ground into a fine powder, and earlier, Aurora had noted where the wine was stored. It was a simple matter of dropping the precise pinch of the herb into the jars of wine, which would be served to the household over the next several days.

When she was done, she grabbed the sack of foodstuffs she would require later and left the kitchen. She returned to her quarters without incident, and Petricles let her inside, without noticing that one arm remained firmly behind her back. Artemisia was asleep when she entered, so Aurora was able to stash the items she’d returned with into a corner. She nestled the sack between her pallet and another
tunica
she rolled into a ball
.

Aurora let out a relieved sigh as she stretched out atop her pallet and allowed herself to drift off to sleep. For once, Artemisia, nor Cyrus, nor Cornelia or any of the other obstacles determined to thwart her at every turn obstructed her from accomplishing her task. Her last thought as she stifled a yawn was, of course, there was always the next night and the one after that…

* * * *

Aurora remained within the kitchen for only a few days.

When Claudius’ ire with her passed, he allowed her to return to her training within the arena
.

It was not an entirely charitable gesture. They’d been invited to the games in Falerii, and Aurora was to go—to “redeem herself.”

To redeem Claudius, it was more like.

Cyrus thought it was too soon for her to return to the arena, but Claudius remained stubborn about his position—if she did not fight then there was no place for Aurora within this
ludus.

Cyrus had felt nothing but sympathy and compassion for her, that she would be forced to face the shades of her past so soon after her dubious performance within the arena of Capena. He still held such feelings toward Aurora, though fury now joined his cause.

At the first light of dusk he called an end to the day of training, impatient to get Aurora alone, and not for any of the more pleasurable reasons, although he thought of those constantly.

Maybe
after
he confronted her, listened to her lies, and decided what to do with her.

“Aurora,” he thundered, before she could leave the arena with Flavius and Legalus.

She stopped, looking up at him curiously.

As she closed the distance between them, he noticed there seemed to be an inordinate number of guards posted around the field this day.

For what purpose he did not know, but he could not have such a discussion with her before so many prying eyes and alert ears.

When she stopped before him, he speared her with a hard look.

“Later I will have Petricles send for you. We have an urgent matter to discuss.”

One eyebrow arched, and her eyes filled with a tempting combination of desire and amusement. “Urgent?”

Despite himself his body awakened, responding to the closeness of her, the fragrant, feminine scent of her essence that filled his lungs, making his breathing heavy with arousal.

Doing his best to tamp down the desire humming through him, he squelched a groan, saying firmly. “It is not what you think, and yes, it is urgent.”

Cyrus could tell she did not quite believe him, but she did not press him further as she turned to leave.

He watched her disappear from sight, and soon after he was summoned to meet with Claudius, who was requiring more frequent reports, as if his paranoia was growing more erratic by the moment. With each meeting, Cyrus gave him a different version of the same thing—
nothing.

And like the times before, Cyrus would tell Claudius what he had been telling him for the past weeks—Aurora had done nothing particularly suspicious or untoward. But this time she
had.
Of course, he would not share this with Claudius until he had at least confronted her.

He would need to hear her out, and then he would make his decision, but first he would have to deal with Claudius.

* * * *

The door to Cyrus’ chambers closed behind Aurora with a resounding, almost ominous thud, as if it hinted at what was to come.

The distinct and familiar sound of the door
locking
shut did not follow. Cyrus was the honored champion of Capena, Claudius’ loyal servant—he was not locked in his quarters like the rest of them.

“This morning when I passed by Petricles, he remarked with a silly grin across his face, that he trusted I had a fine night with you.” Cyrus’ brows creased. “I was struck by that because I did not recall spending last eve with you. So tell me, Aurora, how
was
our eve together?”

She smiled. “Blissful, of course, as any night with you would be.”

“But not yestereve.” He did not seem to appreciate her humor as he stalked her until her back was to the wall, and his body was within a hairsbreadth of hers. Any other time, his nearness, the heat of him seeping through her garment would have ignited flames across her skin. Even in his anger, Aurora was not entirely immune to the brush of his body against hers, but the fury exuding from his pores was enough to temper her desires—
somewhat
.

“Where were you, Aurora,” he demanded. “Last eve, when you told Petricles you would be with me, where were you?”

The lie tumbled with ease from her lips. “I was on the field training.”

Cyrus was not fooled. “Do not lie to me,” he rasped, his hands curling around her arms. Her heart quickened in her chest at the dark glower upon his face.

“Where were you?”

His question was met with silence, and he gave her a slight shake, his face twisted with frustration.

“Tell me, Aurora—”

“You asked for no lies, so I shall not lie to you. But neither can I tell you the truth, so you shall have my silence.”

His eyes flashed darker. “If I find that you have plotted—”

“Against Claudius?” Her temper flared. “You shall do what? Reveal me to him when you would not even reveal Cornelia? I have done nothing to Claudius, but even if I had, you would protect that man with your life when he risks yours every time he sends you into the arena.”

She was incredulous, and she wrenched out of his grasp. “You would honor that man with your life, with your loyalty, when you know he would not do the same—why?”

“It is simple. I promised him that I would.”

And to Cyrus a promise was everything, along with his honor, his loyalty.

“And yet, you did not reveal Cornelia,” she remarked quietly.

“I have Cornelia well in hand.”

Aurora’s eyebrows lifted at his words.
He did, did he?
Aurora did not doubt Cyrus, but neither did she underestimate Cornelia. Claudius’ wife struck Aurora as a woman no man could ever say he had
well in hand
.

Cyrus’ sharp exhalation of breath drew her attention firmly to his face.

“I hate this,” he whispered.

She looked at him, puzzled by his statement and the meaning of it, but she remained silent.

“I hate that I know you so well, and then, not at all.”

“You know me, Cyrus,” she said softly as she lifted her hand to caress his chest, in the place where his heart beat a steady rhythm.

He knew her heart. He knew her soul. Truly, he knew her better than anyone else, even Olympia.

“Whatever I do, whatever my purpose, just know this, I would
never
hurt you, ever.”

“You cannot promise that, Aurora.” His smile was rueful, sad. “Because you may not have a choice.”

She could not argue that, no matter that she wished to, no matter that she longed to protest. She would never
willingly
do harm to Cyrus, but she could not promise no harm would come to him because of what she had to do.

Aurora let her hand fall to her side as a heaviness settled in her heart, a heaviness that made her weary, that filled her with sorrow.

She turned to leave, but stopped with Cyrus’ next words.

“Claudius plans to fight you again so that you may prove yourself, and redeem your reputation.”

Aurora twisted around. “When? Where?”

“Within days. To Falerii. Claudius plans to fight you along with some of the most promising recruits. These games are small, and the test should prove to be a simple one. If you pass this test then you shall fight in the
ludi Victoriae Caesaris
.”

She grimaced. The
ludi Victoriae Caesaris
was a celebrated contest of gladiatorial might, and it came only once a year. It had begun as a tribute to honor the goddess of victory but was now mainly a celebration of the conquests of Caesar. If she failed at
these
minor games, her fate within the House of Norbanus would take a decided turn for the very worst.

That notion troubled her, but for only a moment, until she realized the meaning of it all.

The games were in Falerii, less than a half a day’s journey upon horseback. That would mean Claudius would be forced to leave his villa, and with it, the safety of his army of guards. He would take some with him, she was sure, but not many, and not enough.

“How many recruits shall accompany me, you said?”

“I have judged four to be ready.”

Aurora nodded. “And you shall accompany us?”

“Of course. Whenever our gladiators fight, I am there. We shall only be gone a single day. There are others who can train the men that remain behind.”

Aurora considered this—four recruits, along with Claudius and Cyrus. She wondered how many guards would join them, but she dared not ask, although Cyrus seemed to read her mind.

“There will be several guards with us,” he said crossly, his eyes sharpening on her.

Two guards at the least, though she suspected Claudius would take four legionnaires with him, but no more. He would not take so many as to leave his villa, which was full of gladiators, poorly guarded.

“I see the look upon your face, and it troubles me.”

She leaned into him and smiled. “You are far too paranoid,” she chided softly.

The sweetness of her expression disarmed him, but not as thoroughly as the sweetness of her lips as she kissed him.

When she drew away from him and the warmth of his embrace, his body was as tense as hers, vibrating with barely restrained desire that longed to be unleashed, to be fulfilled. She’d sought to disarm him, but in doing so, had disarmed herself as well if her breathless pants could serve as testament.