The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (30 page)

“Fight me as your life depends upon it, and you shall live.”

Her attention snapped to his face.

If she could survive…if she could just survive…

One more fight, and she would.

* * * *

Cornelia leaned forward in her seat.

Metal sliced against metal, blades catching the fading light.

Cyrus and Aurora.

Their bodies gleamed with sweat as they struck then retreated, lunged then drew back.

Cornelia was captivated, her breath quickening with every strike of their swords, and a smile spread across her face at the realization of what was unfolding before her eyes.

They were clever, the both of them.

The crowd had unleashed upon the arena a furious, deafening roar.

Cyrus and Aurora.

They gave the mob what they desired.

Two great champions pitted against one another—a true clashing of Titans.

It was theater, a great drama for all its time.

Cornelia gasped when Aurora fell, her back flat against the sand. The match was over, the victor decided. A frown creased her forehead, only to give way to a smile when Cyrus cast his sword aside.

The crush of people, the crowd clamoring all around them, erupted into a furor.

“Kill her,” Claudius screamed as if he was one of those bloodthirsty barbarians of the
plebian
class. “Kill her or I will not free you. I will have you whipped. Kill her unless you want to be sent into the arena to die beside her.”

Cornelia’s dark gaze darted between Claudius and the gladiator at the center of the arena.

“Do not be ridiculous, Claudius,” she snapped. “Listen to the crowd, listen to their demands. Kill her and you shall never fill these seats again.”

Claudius glowered at her, until the words of the mob rose up all around them, echoing across the arena.

Aurora. Parco suus! Carus champion ex Capena!

Aurora. Spare her! Our great champion of Capena!

Chapter Thirteen

If she could survive…if she could just survive…

For one more night it would appear she had.

Because of Cyrus.

Because he’d risked his life to save hers. She had not wished it so. She would rather have died than know Cyrus now suffered because of her, that he would die because of her.

She’d heard Claudius’ voice ringing true, louder than all the others.

Had Cyrus killed her, he’d have his freedom now. He would now be free to plot the course of his own life, instead of being locked away, wherever Claudius had decided to hide him after he’d been whipped and humiliated.

Cyrus shouldn’t have done it.

He should have killed her. She had purposely taken that fall so he could bring an end to the bout, and an end to her life. He’d known it, and his eyes had glittered with fury as he shouted at her to get up.

With the thunder of the crowd, no one but she had heard him.

She had remained there on the ground, defiant, shouting back at him to end her life so that he would have his freedom, so that he would not suffer the same fate.

He’d cast his sword to the ground, equally defiant.

Their angry gazes had locked until the chant of the crowd pierced their ears.

Spare her, great champion of Capena!

Claudius had no choice but to obey the will of the crowd.

He made his fortune on the backs of gladiators as an editor of the games. If the crowd knew him to be one who would not give them what they wanted, what they demanded, they would go elsewhere.

Aurora was grateful to Cyrus for so many reasons. Because of what he’d done this day, but also because of the man he was.

His sacrifice revealed to her there could be more to her existence than her obsession never to fail. When she drew her last breath, she would lament her failure to do her duty, but that would pale in comparison to the sorrow she would feel knowing Cyrus would suffer because of her, he would die because of her.

Aurora looked up as the soft patter of footsteps announced the presence of another. The guards hovered at the entrance, tensing until they saw who now visited.

The guards relaxed, letting the woman inside.

Aurora eased as well, until she saw the scowl on Artemisia’s face.

“Artemisia, what is it—”

“Do not pretend concern for me,” the girl rasped in a quiet voice that only Aurora could hear. “How could you strike against Claudius knowing what I told you? What I shared with you because I thought you to be my friend.”

Anger fused with hurt shimmered in Artemisia’s bright eyes bringing the heat of shame to Aurora’s face. She had forgotten of Artemisia’s desires entirely. In her quest Aurora had not once stopped to think of Artemisia and her desperate longing to know her sister’s fate.

She could not bear the weight of Artemisia’s pained expression as she dipped her gaze to the floor in shame.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I know how important it is that you find Maia, and I swear to you, if I could, if I were free of here and had the chance I would help you find your sister so that you would not need Claudius.”

“If you knew this, that I would never be able to find my sister with Claudius dead, then why did you do it? Why did you plot against him? Before you took his life would you have even asked of where my sister was, for me, for your friend?”

“I have lived for a long time with few friends,” Aurora began in a voice heavy with guilt. “I have forgotten many things in that time—how to love, how to be a good person. It would seem I have also forgotten how to be a good friend.” Aurora’s gaze found that of Artemisia’s then. “Claudius is not an honorable man, and he has hurt many. I was sent here to do a duty by him, but it would seem in the course of fulfilling my purpose, I have failed in upholding my honor.” She thought of how she’d betrayed Cyrus, how undeserving she was of his love. She stared at Artemisia. She was equally undeserving of this girl’s friendship. “Your words pain me, but they are the truth. I would not have thought to ask of Maia’s whereabouts. Had I succeeded, I would have left this place and you far behind.”

A stilted silence stretched before them as Artemisia weighed her words before she said in a quiet voice, “Would you have felt guilt later? Would you have thought of me and felt a measure of remorse?”

Aurora nodded. There were many people she’d encountered on her missions, but never had she found herself forming deep attachments with them. There were not many who she could say she felt remorse for befriending and then betraying, because she was always so careful to remain detached—but there were some. Though still, very few. And only one still haunted her at every turn.

Artemisia shifted, drawing Aurora’s attention, reminding her that the girl now waited for her honest answer.

Aurora gave it. “I speak the truth when I say I would have felt a great weight of guilt for what I would have done to you, to Maia, and I do not think I would have ever forgiven myself. You have been a good friend to me, keeping my secrets, but I have not been the same to you. If it was within my power, I would help you find your sister.”

“Swear to me then, on your life.”

Artemisia’s face, the vehemence of her words as she demanded Aurora’s promise, startled her, but it was the flickering amulet around Artemisia’s neck that caused Aurora to rear back in shock. The young woman palmed the weight of the amulet in her hand as she brought it out from under her tunica.

“Swear to me, on your life.”

“I thought that belonged to your sister,” Aurora uttered numbly.

Artemisia’s smile was slight. “She has her own.”

Aurora was still reeling from the revelation that Artemisia wore the talisman, not as a trinket from her sister, but in her own right. It was an amulet, a winged serpent forged out of bronze, to be worn until an acolyte became a Keeper. It was to be worn until she was deemed worthy of the mark upon her body, the mark of The Order.

Aurora stared at Artemisia who gazed back at her expectantly. She did not have to swear anything to Artemisia who was bound by her service to The Order to help Aurora. Regardless of what Aurora said, and Artemisia’s wishes, the girl was honor bound to help her as an acolyte within The Order.

Yet, Artemisia would help Aurora escape, not only because Aurora was a Keeper of the Oath, but because she was also her friend.

Aurora’s own honor, her compassion for this girl, demanded she do the same.

Aurora nodded. “I swear on my life, we shall find Maia—together.”

* * * *

As promised, Claudius had Cyrus lashed for his defiance. Not since his early days of coming to the
ludus
had Cyrus felt the sting of the whip against his back.

Every strike had been agony, every bite of the leather hide against his skin caused a searing, burning fire to scorch across his flesh.

Claudius had stood there, seemingly delighted by Cyrus’ humiliation. “You failed me, Cyrus,” Claudius had said. “And this is your punishment for failing me. You had but one task—to kill Aurora. And you could not even do that.”

Claudius had spat out the words, as if he’d forgotten the many other times Cyrus had risked his life for him. Claudius had stared at him with such disdain, as if he could not recall Cyrus’ years of service to his master and this house.

Claudius did not deserve his loyalty, but he would have it—though not to honor this house or its master. Claudius still had his loyalty only because it honored Cyrus. He’d promised Claudius he’d rout out the assassin and kill him, but Cyrus had not. Instead he’d let
her
live. His freedom had hinged on the fulfillment of his word, and Cyrus had not lived up to it. Whatever his fate, he accepted it, and he would face it with honor for not doing what he’d promised.

But none of what he’d seemingly lost mattered to Cyrus.

Not the pain, not the humiliation of being stripped of his title as
doctoris,
not the fate he now suffered—consigned to die within the arena, whether by outright execution, or the endless matches Claudius would force him to fight. Cyrus did not mourn the loss of his freedom, and that he would die a slave.

None of it mattered because he did not mourn Aurora’s death on this day.

When Claudius had demanded he enter the arena to dispatch of her, he’d been furious, although he’d been careful to keep his expression blank.

His plan to sway the crowd had been a sound one. The mob reveled in the display of skill—one champion pitted against the other in a battle for the ages. Bloodthirsty, they were, but they longed more to see their favorite champions yet again, than to see their deaths.

Together, with Aurora, they’d swayed the crowd, and at least for one more day she would live. The peace of that knowledge eased the pain of his body, and he closed his eyes already drifting into unconsciousness, but Cyrus found he could not sleep, not with the commotion ringing in his ears.

Lycurgus had been kind to fill him with herbs to ease the pain of his raw and bloody back, but as Cyrus listened closely, he would swear he was not dreaming, that he was not imagining the sound of a battle raging from the other side of the door to the infirmary.

The door burst open.

His eyes snapped open, not knowing what he’d find, but he had certainly not expected to see Artemisia standing in the entryway.

Artemisia?

Her hazelnut eyes flashed with determination.

A blade was clasped tight in her hand and given the blood, which poured in rivulets from the edge, he was of the impression she knew well how to use it.

Artemisia?

Sweet, good-natured Artemisia? In that moment, he could have mistaken her for Aurora. Especially when she took her sword to the chains that bound him, whacking at them violently until the links split apart, and he was free of the stone slab.

“Come,” she said when she was done. “We must go quickly.”

Cyrus rolled to his feet. “Go quickly, where?”

“To free, Aurora,” she said impatiently, as if she wondered why else would he think her there with a bloody sword.

He hesitated, not because he did not wish to help Aurora escape, but because he worried his accomplice was not quite up for the task.

When she tossed him a sword which she’d taken from one of the soldiers, he relaxed,
somewhat.

In the time he’d known Artemisia, she’d proven herself to be honest and trustworthy, possessed of a kind and compassionate heart. He did not believe her capable of the savagery and violence one would need to get past the many soldiers who guarded Aurora, who guarded this villa.

Cyrus was of that mind until he stepped from the infirmary and found the bodies of two guards crumpled at the door, their eyes wide with surprise.

Maybe she was not as sweet and good-natured as he’d once thought. With her help, he dragged the bodies of the dead soldiers into the infirmary so they could not be so easily discovered.