The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (32 page)

“He shall live, Artemisia. It was only a blow to the temple from the hilt of my sword. At the most, he will have a hard knot on his head and a pounding headache when he wakes.”

The young woman nodded as she stood.

Returning to her senses, Artemisia gestured for them to carry Petricles into a dark corner, along with the other men who’d fallen.

“He will only be out for so long, and when he comes to, he will surely alert the rest of the guards. We must hurry.”

“If he indulged in the wine, as all the others, then he shall remain asleep for quite a bit longer,” Artemisia replied.

Aurora, who’d begun stalking quickly toward the baths, looked at Artemisia from over her shoulder. The expression on the girl’s face brought a knowing smile to Aurora’s lips.

“But unlike with you, the whole lot of them shall not die.”

Aurora frowned at Artemisia’s words as they finally entered the bathing chambers.

“That was necessary.”

“I am sure.” Although, the smug gleam in her eyes assured Aurora the girl believed otherwise. The young acolyte thought Aurora had made a mistake with the mixture, that its potency had been unintentional. Aurora snorted. Did the girl really think her so inept? Artemisia was lucky they had no time to bicker.

Pressing on the stones in the proper sequence, Aurora waited for the telling click before the door swung open.

Artemisia did not follow, forcing Aurora to halt.

“You will need me on the other end of this passageway, and I will be there to aid you when you arrive.”

Aurora did not question how she knew where the tunnel ended. Such a question would only insult one who’d been trained by The Order.

Of course, Artemisia would know where this tunnel went. This villa had been home to her for six years, she probably knew where
every
tunnel led.

Aurora stilled at the thought. “You could not have possibly lived in this house for six years. Not if you are an acolyte, and not as young as you are.”

“I cannot believe that is what troubles you at a time like this.” Artemisia smiled, answering Aurora nonetheless. “A little more than a year. Now you must go, and quickly. Hide within the alcove, and await my signal. If I am not delayed, I shall be there shortly.”

“Your signal? How shall I know it?”

Artemisia winked. “Trust me. It will be impossible to miss.”

* * * *

Blackness greeted Aurora as she treaded quietly through the passageway carved within the bowels of the villa.

Music filtered through the dark and dank space.

The rhythmic pounding of the drummer’s beat pulsed steadily, piercing the stone walls until the sound of it was deafening. The clash of cymbals joined in, blending seamlessly with the strings of the
lituus.

Aurora unlocked the door to the passageway and pushed it open, stepping into the darkened alcove. She stood in the shadows, hidden behind the swathes of violet wool and white linen decoratively draping the walls.

From where Aurora was positioned, she could pull back the
pallium
, and peak out around the curtain unseen.

She spotted Claudius instantly.

He sat just footsteps away from where she hovered, his back to her while his gaze followed every sensuous movement of the slave girls he’d acquired from the East, who now danced before him, their hips swaying to the rhythmic music of their homeland. The dining hall was crowded with both gladiators and soldiers, whose raucous voices rose above the din of the music.

Much like the night before, everyone was caught up in the festive spirit of the games, seemingly untainted by the events of yestereve—the treachery of the
gladiatrix
champion of Capena, and that she still yet lived.

Though Aurora could not see his face, even Claudius appeared in a good mood, the wine relaxing him. He was at ease as he enjoyed the music, the wine and food, and the women dancing before him.

Aurora cradled the sword in her palm, remaining still and silent, patiently watching and waiting for Artemisia’s signal. She searched the people scattered about but Aurora did not see the acolyte. She scowled, wondering how was she to spot Artemisia’s signal if she did not even see—

The delicate figure of a woman danced across the floor then, her hips rolling, the golden beads adorning her almost sheer garments jangling softly as her body undulated in time to the pulse of the music.

Her face was hidden behind a black veil of the same color as her scant attire, but Aurora knew her friend well, and the woman dancing at the foot of Claudius’ raised dais, was indeed Artemisia.

When the signal came, Aurora could not stem the smile threading across her face.

Aurora had watched Artemisia, but the signal was all around her.

The music suddenly became discordant before it simply careened to a halt, as the musicians slumped over in a stupor.

To watch it unfold before her eyes, Aurora imagined a plague rolled like a wave through the room, sweeping across its occupants, as one by one, everyone within the dining hall either collapsed to the floor, if they were standing, or slouched where they sat.

Everyone
within the room now slumbered, including Artemisia, but Aurora was not fooled. She’d been the last to fall, and her swoon was far too contrived for it to have been genuine.

Only Claudius remained alert, which she’d expected. His paranoia would not allow him to eat from the common trays or drink from the common jugs.

Claudius sprung up from his couch and prepared to run. Of everyone in the room, he was the only one still awake, but as Aurora stepped from the shadows, her blade in hand, she determined that would not be so for much longer.

Chapter Fifteen

Claudius was already halfway across the room, racing for the arched entryway.

Aurora lifted her sword, aiming at the center of his back. She hurled it across the room, and it would have struck its target had it not smashed into the metal blade of another sword.

Her weapon careened to the floor, sliding across the room.

Aurora glared at whoever had just interfered, her expression growing darker with recognition.

She swore, the curse ripping through the air.

“Not
you
again.”

Primus’ smug sneer boiled her blood. “With Cyrus’ utter failure in the arena, our
dominus
needed someone he could trust to replace him as his personal guard. Someone who’d proven himself—”

“So he chose you?” Her brows lifted in disbelief. “A cowardly rat.”

Aurora left the raised platform, her gaze darting between Claudius and Primus.

Primus she could deal with, but if Claudius escaped this room, he would surely disappear within one of the secret tunnels of his villa, and she would never manage to find him, at least not before the guards found
her
.

She parted her lips, but before she could call out, Artemisia leapt to her feet, striking out her leg at the last moment, tripping Claudius. As soon as he was sprawled across the floor, the girl lunged for him, and they struggled violently as they twisted together, trying to pin the other down.

As Primus drew near, Aurora concluded she would have to deal with him before she would have the chance to finish off Claudius.

Primus charged forward, his blade reflecting the light, at the same time Aurora rolled out of the way, grabbing her sword from where it lay as she sprung to her feet.

He slashed wildly, while she chose her strikes carefully, each one drawing blood. She leapt in quickly, retreating even faster.

The speed of her movements frustrated him, making him careless.

He was clumsy with his long blade, untrained and unskilled as he roared out in exasperation at his futile efforts.

That he was able to catch her off guard—the tip of his sword slicing across her upper arm—was a testament not to him, but to her failure to remain focused.

Artemisia’s scream had drawn her gaze. The girl appeared unhurt, and she still struggled with Claudius, but when he slipped out from beneath her, Aurora knew he was soon to get away.

Aurora’s struck out violently, her every movement precise. With her smaller blade, she beat back Primus, she battered him pitilessly until he stumbled, his sword slipping from his grip.

His eyes widened then as he flailed, his hands grasping at empty air.

She slashed her blade in a horizontal sweeping motion, and the sharp edge ripped through the skin at his neck. By the time his back was flat against the floor, Primus’ eyes were dead, his body lifeless as blood gurgled from his wound.

Aurora regarded him with little sympathy.

Had he possessed the warrior’s heart, instead of that of a coward, he would have found himself a gladiator.

Had he possessed the skills of the gladiator, instead of the untrained tactics of a brute, he would have known how to fight and maybe he would have stood a chance against her.

Maybe.

The sound of a struggle snapped Aurora into action once again. Artemisia still tussled with Claudius, and as Aurora neared, she glimpsed a flash of silver in his hand.

It was the knife he’d started keeping on his person since the incident at Senator Vibius’ home. And now Claudius held the knife dangerously close to Artemisia’s throat.

Aurora raced over to them, grasping him by his
toga
to rip him off her.

Hurling him to the floor, she raised her sword, but he swiped wildly at her legs. The wound was shallow but it still ripped through flesh and a searing pain instantly shot up her spine from the tear in her calf.

Limping on one leg, she managed to elude the rest of his desperate strikes, her good foot slamming down on his wrist.

He howled in pain, the knife clattering to the floor.

Claudius knew then that he was dead, that he was finished, and he made one last effort, one futile plea for mercy, questioning her of what he had done—what he had done to deserve such a fate.

“I do not even know you,” he cried. “What have I done to wrong you that you would demand my life? Whatever it is, I shall right it. I shall right this wrong.”

The way of The Order was to kill without question, to kill without explanation.

To engage one’s target in the reasons for their innocence was believed to soften the heart. It would only endear one to the person, until you came to believe the truth of their words just as surely as they did.

With Claudius’ eyes fixed upon her, she plunged her blade into his heart, watching as he drew his last breath beneath her.

She was not the one who had decided Claudius’ fate; it was only her duty to carry it out. And not everyone could do what she’d been trained to do—to stare into the eyes of another being, to claim their life and then watch as it drained from them. She did it out of duty, because she believed her purpose was just.

“We must go,” Artemisia said, from beside her. “Can you walk?”

She tried, wincing at the first step.

“I have enough strength to make it from here, but I will need to bandage it soon.”

Artemisia nodded, lifting Aurora’s arm so that she could shoulder her weight. Together they hobbled out of the villa, to where two horses awaited them, their reigns tied around one of the marble columns along the colonnade. She knew who to thank for such a tribute.

Cornelia.

And thanks to Artemisia, Claudius’ home was devoid of all signs of life, as everyone still slumbered.

Aurora climbed atop her horse and gave one last fleeting look to the villa that had been her home these past four moons. She could not say she would miss this place.

Grasping the reins in her hand, she turned her mount toward the road and with Artemisia by her side, Aurora rode away from the House of Norbanus—never to return.

* * * *

Ostia’s temple to the goddess Minerva was a simple structure.

From the outside, four gleaming alabaster columns supported the entrance, and a series of steps carved a pathway between the center columns that framed the entryway. Once inside, the raised altar sat before a carefully sculpted depiction of the goddess, who was both fierce and beautiful with her three-plumed helmet atop her head, her armored breastplate across her chest, and a javelin in her hand. Her unseeing eyes stared out at all who entered, at all who came to worship her, and pay her tribute.

In the deepest recesses of the temple was a hidden door, carved in the stone, further obscured by the bubbling fountain. It served as one of the entrances into the tunnels beneath, and Aurora pressed the stones in sequence to gain entry within.

It was nearing dusk and the temple doors were closed to visitors, thus no one stood witness to her disappearance within the vestibule. Aurora walked quickly through the winding passageways, the darkened corridors lit by the small oil lamps hanging along the walls.