The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (6 page)

“And neither do I.”

A myriad of emotions with countless meanings crossed their faces then arced between them. Respect, admiration, promises, threats. Cyrus could not be sure.

What he
was
certain of was the one thread of emotion that connected them, which caused her lips to part, and his breath to rake through his lungs, insistent and needy.

Desire
—pure and raw.

It darkened her eyes until they were a rich, deep taupe.

He imagined his eyes were now swirling with violet, the color they always turned whenever he experienced strong emotions.

In that moment, Cyrus became aware of every single detail. The heat of her thighs against his bare torso, scorching his flesh. The warmth of her, atop his chest, with only the thin fabric of her
tunica
separating her from him. Her skin was not perfumed, but the scent of her was sweet, sensuous, and he drew it in, every part of him alive with her essence. Her breathing was as rough and uneven as his own and his fingers tingled, inching closer and closer to her bare thighs splayed across him.

He stilled at the sound of heavy footsteps echoing in the distance.

It was the guard making his way toward them, to retrieve Aurora. Cyrus looked quickly up at the sky. The moon was bright and brilliant. They must have been out there for more than an hour.

Aurora scrambled off of him, taking with her the soft, feminine curves of her body.

Slowly, reluctantly, Cyrus rolled over and stood to his feet.

Cyrus stared down at her, seeing the woman before him not as he’d seen her yestereve—as a burden, a chore.

When he gazed into Aurora’s eyes, he saw only a woman whose determination and passion matched his. She was a worthy opponent. He was ashamed he’d ever doubted her, underestimated her. He vowed he would never do so again.

He stuck out his arm and waited until she grasped his. He squeezed her forearm with his hand, and she did the same. It was the symbol of respect among gladiators, a testament to the oath they’d pledged to the
familia gladiatoria,
to the arena.

“Now that our
dominus
has seen you are quite capable in the arena, he shall see to it that you join this
ludus,
” Cyrus said, releasing her arm.

She studied him closely. “Are you still against this?” When he started at her question, she added. “How did I know?” Aurora smiled. “It was your eyes. I read them as I spoke to Claudius. You fear for me.”

“I do,” he responded truthfully. “But it is not what you believe. I do not think you unworthy at all. Yet, the defiance I glimpsed in your eyes yestereve, and then earlier, makes me worry that you are no longer suited to the life of a gladiator. And I imagine it is also the protectiveness I feel toward women because of my upbringing. Where I am from, women fight to defend their families and their lands, they should never be forced to fight for blood and sport.”

She tilted her head to the side, studying him from beneath a fan of sable lashes. Cyrus was more perceptive than she’d realized. Undoubtedly, she was no longer suited for the arena, but she would never reveal that, so instead she questioned, “And where is it that
you hail from?”

The Roman guard came to a stop before them, making any further discussion quite difficult.

“It is time for you to return to your quarters,” Cyrus replied. “But if you manage to survive your first day of training within this
ludus
, then maybe I shall tell you.”

She groaned then, an arduous sound that he heard long after she was led away.

As he watched Aurora saunter off, her hips swaying gently, for the first time in a long time Cyrus felt the stirrings of a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Chapter Three

Aurora wanted to die.

She wanted to close her eyes, and still her breath until the arms of death claimed her. She had experienced arduous training before, so she could not say this was the worse, or the hardest, only that she’d not experienced such demands upon her body and in such ways in some time.

Her body wailed in pain, muscles she’d not felt in years ached, and joints creaked.

She slid her naked form into the warm water and closed her eyes with a contented sigh, already desiring sleep, but truly wishing for death.

She blamed Cyrus.

He was a heathen, a tyrant, a barbarian. As
doctoris,
he’d revealed all facets of his depraved self. With every mistake, he’d shouted at her, the end of his whip striking dangerously close to her feet.

He had shown her no mercy, no favor—but she would not have wished him to.

Most of the recruits had been there for many months and had not been treated with the deference she’d been shown by their master. Most of them were virtually unknown to Claudius. Because of Claudius’ favor, the recruits disdained her with open hostility, while the gladiators begrudgingly tolerated her, ignoring her for the most part.

That she was a skilled fighter did not matter. That she’d passed the final test and risen to the level of champion was unimportant.

She was a woman in a gladiator’s arena.

Had she been in a larger
ludus,
she would not have faced such obstacles. She would have trained solely with other
gladiatrices
, but as she was the only woman, Cyrus had no choice but to pair her with the men. Men who neither liked nor respected her. In Claudius’
ludus
Aurora was not welcome—the lot of them had made that clear.

With Claudius already fawning over her, if Cyrus had done the same and shown her any special favor, he would have only made matters worse.

She sighed at that thought. Her mind was already weary, her body even more so, and continuing to dwell upon this
ludus,
and the men within it, only exhausted her further. So she let her mind drift away from any thoughts of the arena, save Cyrus. She recalled then that he still had not told her where he was from, but she acknowledged, she did not quite deserve it, not after her dismal day of training which she’d
barely
survived.

“What is that upon your back?”

She had not heard Artemisia draw near, and wished the girl hadn’t. Aurora was far too weary to engage in conversation, and certainly did not wish to discuss this matter. Still, Aurora managed to open one eye and peeked at Artemisia, her face guarded.

“A tattoo,” she said simply. If the girl was smart she would note her voice, and her cryptic words, and take them both as a hint—she was not.

“I know it is a tattoo, but what is it? What does it mean?”

“I do not know what it means,” she lied. “But as you see, it is a winged serpent.”

Aurora closed her eyes, shutting out Artemisia’s frowning face. The girl was clever enough to realize she had not received a marking upon her body of which she did not know the meaning. The girl was also smart enough to realize it would not be wise to question her further. This time she did not.

“I was with Cornelia as she dined with Claudius when word came
that you are quite skilled. That you fight impressively.” Artemisia beamed, deftly changing the subject. “That is good, you know. It means you will soon enter the arena, where you are sure to find favor among the crowds.”

“Hmmm,” was Aurora’s only reply because she did not know what else she could say. She’d not come there to return to the arena. She did not care if the crowds favored her, yet she knew her purpose there would grow more difficult if they did not.

If the crowds favored her, then so would Claudius, and if he favored her, then he would welcome her more openly, he would relax around her until he grew to trust her.

She needed his trust. His trust was key.

Aurora opened her eyes when three guards entered the bathing chambers, signaling it was time to leave and return to their quarters. The baths, which were crowded with most of the female slaves who worked within the household, began to empty as women climbed out of the pool.

Aurora started to climb out as well, but stopped when one of the guards stepped forward and said, “You may stay.”

That raised several eyebrows, but none said a word, none dared to for so many reasons.

She was the female gladiator—the
gladiatrix—
favored by their
dominus.

It would be foolish to express their displeasure. Their worth was far less than hers promised to be.

“It is as I said,” Artemisia whispered. “The life of a gladiator within this house comes with many privileges.”

The girl winked at her, before she scurried from the room, with her
tunica
clinging to her wet body.

The bathing chambers were soon empty, but Aurora was not alone. One guard stood on the other side of the entryway while she continued to bathe. Aurora could not see him, but she knew he was there. His hovering presence still did not stop her.

She turned her back to the entrance and waded to the other side of the pool, as far as she could get away from the entryway so that he would not hear her.

Aurora was always on alert for anything that would aid her mission, and that included finding hidden tunnels. So with the baths empty she quickly seized the opportunity to begin her search as she slipped from the pool. She padded on bare feet to the back of the room, her gaze searching, her hands roaming over the brick and stone that made up the wall.

Claudius Norbanus was a man of healthy passions. Aurora had no doubt a direct passageway led from his chambers to those of the baths for the female slaves.

Her eyes probed carefully, looking for lines that were too straight, depressions that were too even. She was certain such a passageway was there, but Aurora did not find one, at least not quickly enough.

Her back stiffened when she heard the distinct sound of metal clanking against metal. It was the guard’s armor shifting with his movements.

She stole a glance at the entrance to find it still empty, but she did not spare another moment.

With lightening quickness, she slipped into the pool. Pretending to bathe, Aurora’s hands barely shook, though her heart beat a pulsing, pounding rhythm in her chest. At the sound of muffled steps drawing near, Aurora peered over her shoulder, expecting to see the guard, anticipating he would tell her it was now time for her to return to her quarters.

It was not the guard.

Aurora frowned, her neck stiff as she bowed her head slightly.
“Domina.”

Cornelia did not acknowledge the greeting of respect as she rushed into the bathing chambers, her blue eyes shifting wildly as if she was a crazed animal.

“My husband favors you, like he has favored no other.”

Aurora wisely remained silent. Cornelia was jealous and mad, a deadly combination to be sure.

“You are all he speaks of, as if you are a noble, as if somehow you are divine.” Cornelia’s eyes flashed hard and cold, like rare sapphire stones. “His slave twits I did not mind, they were brainless and without ambition.” Her gaze narrowed upon Aurora. “But you are ambitious. You desire more than glory in the arena. I can tell. It is there in your eyes, threatening to overflow.”

It did not pass without Aurora’s notice that as Cornelia spoke, she drew ever closer. When Cornelia’s hand clenched into a fist, Aurora saw the small object within her grasp, reflecting the light, and every sense within Aurora’s body became alert.

The tiles were slippery, making any fight a dangerous one. Even though the woman was a deranged bitch, intent upon murder, Aurora could not kill the mistress of the house. Such an act would consign her to death.

Cornelia stopped at the edge of the pool, her eyes dark and sinister. Aurora held Cornelia’s mad gaze, her heart pounding, her breaths uneven, watching, waiting for the woman to strike at any moment.

A commotion just beyond the entrance grabbed their attention, and Cornelia gasped.

Whether it was truly surprise, or out of desperation that she would be caught trying to murder a slave, whatever object within her hand plunked into the water at the same time Cyrus rushed into the room, with the guard on his heels.

His chest labored with exertion as if he’d sprinted there.

Cyrus pinned Cornelia with a long, hard look, and while his attention was otherwise occupied, Aurora took that opportunity to slip down into the water and with her palm flat, she searched the bottom of the pool for whatever Cornelia had dropped until her hand closed around something small and made of metal.

“I apologize for my interruption,
domina,
but
dominus
wishes to see you,” Cyrus said.

Cornelia was not fooled by his abrupt appearance.

“What is it about this woman that has you both so ensnared? You rush down here for what? To protect her?” Cornelia mocked. “From me? I heard you had to resort to trickery simply to best her. If you could not defeat her then why ever would you believe I was capable of doing her harm?”

Cyrus was not fooled by her act either. His gaze was unyielding as he stood quiet along the edge of the pool, his entire body rigid. Cornelia glared between the two of them, until finally her gaze settled upon Cyrus.