Or perhaps from freedom.
Sariah cracked the door enough to see the man guarding her abode had gone, likely caught up in defense of the temple. Opening the door wide, she steeled her resolve and urged her friend to join her. “Come!”
Sariah made her way down the dark passage, toward the clang of swords meeting and men’s dying groans. Their screams of agony slowed her steps yet steadied her purpose even while she feared Titus had already been killed.
For whatever the rebels planned outside these walls had already happened and the Romans now brought the fight directly to them. They knew where their enemy lived because of her.
Sariah stopped where one passage met another, and Davisha plastered herself to her friend’s back. Acrid smoke tickled their noses, and Sariah ducked her head to try to avoid inhaling more.
“Can you see anything?”
Shaking her head, Sariah whispered, “It’s too dark and the smoke is rolling in. They will be here soon. We must hurry.”
Over Davisha’s whimpered questions, Sariah steered them to the right, further into the temple, toward the baths. No Roman would have reached this area yet and others may have gathered already in this safe, interior space.
Smoke became thicker as they moved, as the luxury of the temple burned, and they covered their faces with expensive, useless silks. Sariah skidded to a halt when they reached the warm expanse of the bath.
No one waited here. No one crossed their path.
“There!” Davisha cried, pointing to the far side of the tiled room.
Armed rebels flooded into the room from the opposite end of the temple. How was such a thing possible? Had they been hiding, lying in wait, all this time?
Sariah and Davisha clung to each other as the men rushed by. Before long, Sariah realized they weren’t focused on the fight. They pillaged, filling their hands with what riches they could grab.
Including them. One of the men grabbed Davisha around the waist, his voice a howl as he pulled her from Sariah’s embrace, her fingers sliding uselessly down the underside of Davisha’s arm as they tried to hold on.
“Sariah!” she shrieked as he carried her back the way they’d come. When her terrified voice faded, Sariah turned, ducked under the reach of another man, and sprinted to the outside of the room.
Feeling her way around the perimeter, she kept silent and tucked herself into the shadows. Soon, she reached the discreet entrance to the dressing room, where attendants changed their clothes after rituals ended.
Now off the beaten path, she took a deep breath and choked on the increasing amount of smoke. Coughs racked her body and tears spilled down her cheeks as she tried to see through the embers.
None of this made sense. How would this number of people be inside the deepest part of the temple? Unless the old tales held truth, and tunnels had been dug under the temple and through the mount before any of their ancestors had been born.
Although she sat alone, too many rebels and Romans fought within the sound of her voice. Was Titus among them? Had he lived long enough to assault the temple, the inside of which he knew better than others?
Perhaps. To wait for him here meant certain death, murdered by either side in this fight. Irrina had certainly told her counterparts of the treachery of her protégée. They would kill her as sure as any Roman centurion.
As sounds of metal meeting metal grew closer and more persistent, Sariah made up her mind. When a lull in the chaos rolled through the baths, she snuck out, and went back the way she’d come, heading toward the fight.
As she edged closer, the acrid scent of blood mixed with the smoke, and she gagged as she struggled to breathe. At the last possible moment, she veered right, to the stairs.
Pausing before making the treacherous climb, she fully understood the choice she now made. If Titus did not survive this fight or if he did and failed to come for her, she would take her fate into her own hands.
A thing she had never been permitted in her entire life.
She glanced to her left and saw the fight rushing toward her. Time had run out. She gathered her skirts and began to climb the steep stone steps to the roof of the temple.
TITUS’S TROOPS BECAME bogged down in hand-to-hand combat in the narrow passages of the temple. Once they met and destroyed the initial onslaught, only this remained.
To kill an opponent as you met his eyes.
And still, Sariah lingered at the forefront of his thoughts. With his men injured and some dying around him, finding this woman became part of his mission.
Because he’d promised. And because he’d fallen in love.
As they neared the passage where he knew her room to be, he sent two men down to pull her out. They retuned empty-handed. “Sir, the chambers are empty.”
He nodded, cursing inside his own mind. Would he have advised her to stay put, where the high priestess and her rebellious lot could easily find and kill her?
No. Either she’d escaped on her own or they’d taken her somewhere. He hoped for the former and feared the latter. They would use her as a hostage.
They forged ahead on his order, “Find the high priestess alive and bring me any of the women you find.”
The Legate and his men should be accessing the tunnels any moment, their entry into the temple from beneath squeezing the rebels in a pincer. Until their forces met, he knew nothing save forward movement, the locking of swords, and the death of men who likely did not know what they were dying for.
Meanwhile, the elaborate carpets, curtaining and carved timbers burned, the haze making vision impossible more than an armlength ahead.
“Sir!” Emmaus ran up to him, face animated. “A woman is asking for you. Come with me!”
His heart lodged in his throat. Sariah. By the gods, let this be Sariah. “Show me.”
They forced their way through a knot of their men dealing with the remnants of the first wave of rebels. Titus let his gaze sweep them, looking for any familiar face from inside the temple.
“Here,” Emmaus stopped, then stepped to the side to reveal a young, terrified temple attendant.
When she saw him, she fell to her knees at his feet. Her long, dark hair shielded her face from him, and he motioned to Emmaus to pull her to her feet.
Only then did he recognize Sariah’s attendant, her friend, the one she called Sister. He stepped close wiped soot from her cheek. “Is Sariah alive?”
She nodded, lowering her gaze.
Thank the gods.
“Where is she?” he prodded.
“We were separated by force in the baths,” she cried, struggling to form words.
Titus nodded. She was alive. Pointing to Emmaus, he instructed, “Keep the men focused on their task.”
“I understand.” Emmaus gave him a curt nod and eased back into the fray.
Titus took Davisha by the hand. “Show me where you last saw Sariah. Take me there.”
With her arm wrapped around him, he surged behind the line of rebels largely unnoticed. Once able to move, they hurried through the long central passage toward the baths, the stones warming beneath their feet.
Titus saw little through the haze and took a circuit of the large room, seeking the beautiful face he knew so well. She did not appear, the room empty of life.
He approached Davisha, who emerged from a side room, her face pale. “Did you find her?”
“She’s not in the dressing room,” panic tinged her words. “I saw her here last.”
“Where would she go?” Titus pushed. “Think! Does the priestess have her?”
“We have not seen Irrina.” Davisha shook her head, her frown growing deeper by the moment. Then her face brightened, as if she saw the sun on the horizon. “The roof. She would go to the roof.”
Now the frown grew on his face. “Not the tunnels?”
“What tunnels?” she asked, and he realized the attendants knew nothing about the trails beneath them. “I can take you to the roof.”
Titus nodded, his stomach knott
ing over what being on the temple roof might mean. She’d once mentioned how girls would go to the roof to kill themselves rather than return for another day of ritual sex. She’d shown him the passage before.
Suddenly, he understood. Sariah had no way to know he planned to keep his promise, whether he’d entered the temple and sought her out or not.
She likely believed he’d reneged on his word, or perhaps been killed as the rebellion began. If either of those things proved true, she would choose the roof rather than face the priestess’s punishment or live a life of service once again.
His legs could not move fast enough, and even as he followed Davisha to and up the steps, he listened for the emergence of the Legate’s troops through the bath area, where they’d stood moments ago.
Failing to be engaged in the battle would cost him, yet he followed his heart up the narrow steps instead, risking everything in the hope Sariah had not yet taken her own life.
PERCHED ON THE TEMPLE parapet, Sariah heard the sounds of the battle below. Metal clanged, men released war cries, and others screamed for their mothers.
Smoke billowed from the narrow doorway leading to the roof, one of only two such escapes. Irrina once told them the passages were hidden so the girls would not be able to escape their duties in death. Still, word travelled through the attendants and they all knew how to find death if they chose.
She turned her face to the clear, dark sky, the black velvet nightscape littered with glittering stars. Her life should be no different than those below. At least they fought for something they believed in.
Not her. She only wanted a way out, an open door to the opportunities other women had in this world. Something taken from her when she’d been too young to understand. Promises broken, lies told, money exchanged for her life, her future.
Titus told lies as well, lies she’d chosen to believe. And tonight, if she were to meet her end, she would leave this life the only way she knew, with song.
Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with fresh air and began to sing the mourning song of her people. The one the sisters sang among themselves when one of them jumped or was banished. Irrina would not let them mourn one another in public, so in private, they shared their grief in a haunting melody meant to recall the spark and energy lost when one makes this most terrible choice because there are no others.
As she sang, the clamor below faded from her ears, the weight from her body and she felt like a child again, at ease with the thought of entering the next life. Tears slid down her cheeks as she raised her arms to embrace the crescendo of the song, leaning forward into the night sky as she expelled her last breath.
Suddenly she reeled, arms struggling to grasp the air. In the darkness, she folded at the waist, a band of steel pulling against her as she fell forward.
A woman called her name as if from a great distance. “Sariah!”
She fell backward, her feet sliding off the stone ledge, and warmth surrounded her. Strong arms held her tight, tight enough she felt another’s heartbeat.
A question on her lips, she raised her head, “Titus?”
“Yes.” His voice, broken and raspy, sounded like heaven. “I came for you. I came for you like I promised. What were you doing up on the ledge?”
She stared at him, then glimpsed Davisha hovering behind him, undoubtedly responsible for leading him to the hidden passage. When she stretched out her arm, Davisha took her hand.
“In case I had no choice.” She returned her attention to Titus, surging into his embrace, his form now familiar. “You came, you came after all.”
“I promised,” he repeated, kissing the crown of her head. Then he pulled back. “Will you be safe here, with Davisha, until I return? I must go back to my men and finish this.”
Leave? What if someone came, if Irrina found them and threw them from the roof herself? “How will we protect ourselves should harm come our way?”
“Take this.” Removing his dagger from his belt, he pressed the handle against her palm and curled her fingers around the leather wrapping. “Use this if need be and stay alive until I return for you—for both of you.”
Sariah could only nod and watch Titus go, the smoke enveloping him as he retreated down the stairs. As if he’d never been there except for the dagger in her hand.
Her eyes locked on Davisha’s. “You brought him?”
“Yes, to atone for my mistakes,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Tonight there will be no need for our song.”
Not for she and Davisha, but what of the others? How would fate treat them as the rebellion born inside this temple was now stamped out in the same space?
“Come.” She herded Davisha to the far corner of the roof, where red light from the fire now licked the edges of night. They held each other and waited, one with eyes closed against the horrors of the night, while the other kept watch on the two entries to the roof.
Would she be able to use the weapon if need arose? She didn’t know, did not want to find out.
After a time, the noise from below faded, the only shouts now orders to take prisoners out of the temple. Behind Sariah, Davisha began to uncurl her body.
“Is the fighting over?” she whispered.
Are such things ever over?
“Wait,” she instructed, and they waited until she believed the temple emptied, for she heard voices outside the wall. “What if he was injured? Killed?”
Davisha’s small hand on her shoulder strengthened her, as did her confidence. “He will come back.”
And so, when a lone figure emerged at the far entrance, Sariah waited for him to identify himself before running to him, Davisha in tow.
His tunic faded by a layer of soot, his face darkened by spatter of blood, she returned his smile and listened to his words.
“We have the high priestess and her counterparts.” He removed his dagger from her stranglehold. “They have been taken from the temple, as have most of the women, your sisters. Come with me, I have something to show you.”
Holding onto his hand, she and Davisha followed him back into the temple, where small fires still smoldered. She covered her face as they wound their way deeper into the temple than she’d ever been.
She exchanged puzzled looks with Davisha as they began to descend into a cavernous room from a trap door behind the baths.
Davisha whispered, “Did you know about this?”
Sariah shook her head. “I’ve never seen this place.”
Titus paused and took a torch from a precarious mount on the stone wall. “A maze of tunnels and chambers lie under the temple, dug long ago, when this temple belonged to some other god.”
Sariah struggled to understand. “What do they do here?”
“Plot, plan,” he answered, pointing to an area across the space. “Store weapons. A working forge exists closer to the exit. There’s a whole city underground.”
As they twisted and turned, Sariah could barely believe her eyes. She’d thought the rebellion a silly idea because she had no idea any of this existed. Her information had only been a moment in a century.
When they emerged from the side of the mount, Titus greeted a man named Emmaus. “Take these two back to camp, keep them separate from the others.”
The man looked her over. “This is your goddess?”
Titus nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “Keep her safe, my friend. Get them food and water, whatever they need. I’ll follow shortly.”
Sariah’s heart strained against the idea of being separated from him yet again, and still she followed Emmaus, who gave his cloak to Davisha, who then shared with her.
“You lived. And soon,” Davisha whispered and Sariah chose to believe, “you will be with him.”
TITUS RETURNED TO HIS barrack as soon as he was able, well past dawn. He inhaled the stench of warring troops, hygiene forgotten while life was at stake. He took the time to wash the black and red from his skin, lest he terrify Sariah.
She lived continuously in his thoughts as he st
ood beside the Legate, giving report and hearing about casualties and prisoners. To his credit, the Legate seemed willing and able to give him deserved credit.
And offered him promotion as a result.
Now, as he entered his rooms, his heart stuttered to see Sariah curled into a ball in the middle of his cot. If not for her information, this ‘little’ rebellion might have found success. There would have been no warning, no knowledge, as the operation ran deeper than he or Sariah knew.
Over fifty young women had been removed from the temple, from the grip of a life lived in slavery to a stone goddess and a conniving high priestess.
Davisha opened her eyes and sat up at the foot of the bed. Titus held his finger to his lips to indicate silence. He did not want to wake her, not yet.
Finding blankets, he covered both women, then settled into his camp chair and closed his eyes. He fell instantly to sleep.
And jolted awake when he felt a hand on his knee. He reflexively reached for his absent sword before realizing Sariah knelt before him, trying to wake him.
“You have bad dreams,” she murmured, glancing behind her to ensure she hadn’t woken her friend.
He captured her hand and reeled her in to sit on his lap, draping the blanket over her legs. “Are you cold?”
“No,” she answered, at once both alluring and shy. “I only want to show you my gratitude. I am free for the first time in my life.”
The import of her statement settled on his shoulders. “What will happen to the women from the temple, your sisters?”
She shook her head. “When one of us is banished, the city does not take us in. They either leave or become true prostitutes. The city will not be kind, given the situation.”
He vowed to do what he could to help them. “They are not as lucky as you.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”
Lowered his voice, his words came out on a raspy whisper. “All I could think of was you, ensuring you lived so we could be together.”
Although her face betrayed no emotion, the relief in her eyes shone like jewels. She confessed, “I feared you had been killed and I would never see you again. I did not want to live without you.”
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