Lucia’s kind smile collapsed into lines of confused grief. “She was as strong-willed as you, and very young. Marcus’s military life did not suit her needs, and when she learned she was to have a child, she followed him. She fled this house in the middle of the night. She knew I would try to stop her, but she somehow believed that her news—delivered personally—would force Marcus home.”
Ademeni shook her head. The wife did not know her husband.
“She refused to come home and he refused to give up his command,” Lucia continued. “She died after a difficult childbirth—in Dacia.”
A small gasp escaped Ademeni. She had not known that particular piece of the puzzle. So Julia had died—and Callia had been born—in her homeland?
Before she could form another question, the long shadow of Marcus Cordovis slid across her. She turned to him, caught. In silence, he inspected her handiwork with a cursory nod to Lucia.
She swallowed around a painful lump in her throat. Had he overheard their conversation and sensed her digging for information?
While his sad gaze lingered on her face, his voice sounded tired and hoarse. She didn’t know whether he spoke to her or Lucia when he said, “That’s enough for today.”
* * *
After everyone had taken to bed, Marcus sat on one of the chairs beside the collecting pool. A soft wind swept through the courtyard, easing the misery that clung to his spirit.
He’d never calculated on so much talk of Julia when he’d decided to work in his home. Shortsighted, he’d seen only a way to manage Ademeni.
To spend time near her.
He pulled in a deep breath, the earthy aroma of turned soil relaxing his worries. He smiled. Despite the initial clumsiness of her efforts, the gardens were regaining pleasant form.
And what an inquisitive woman she’d become. Looking for some new weapon with which to wound him, no doubt. Lucia could hardly be blamed for speaking about her daughter, yet he wished she’d been more discreet.
How long before Ademeni learned that she connived to bring them together? Then what? He closed his eyes, his pulse thrumming with the wild imaginings of what might happen next.
A rustle behind him sent his hand to his dagger. He whirled to find Ademeni, wrapped in a woolen blanket, standing behind him. Her eyes held a strange blend of fear, humor and interest.
“Are you not well, dominus?” she asked, moving closer.
Why was she up at this hour? She couldn’t actually be concerned with his health. “I did not mean to wake you.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, offering a small smile, “the jostling of your mighty thoughts has disturbed my peaceful slumber. Do you require anything?”
“No.” He tracked her as she circled to a stop beside him. His pulse raced when the wind loosed long strands of dark hair. “You need not stay for my benefit.”
She paused, biting her lower lip. “May I stay for mine?”
“That depends.” His eyes traversed her body as he sized up his opponent. “Do you still wish to kill me?”
That strange, familiar conflict warred in her expression, yet her answer sounded as if it came from a tired old woman. “You are my enemy. You hold me against my will in your home.”
He bowed his head and inspected his hands, then locked eyes with her again. “True.”
“Yet…” she started, then faltered, finding a seat at the edge of the pool, near his feet. “I see that my existence is not as painful as some.”
His heart constricted with a flash of memory. “Then that young woman with Tertullian…she is truly your sister?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “One of many, but we are of the same mother. She does not have my strength.”
He shook his head, sensing where this conversation might lead. “I cannot do anything for her. Tertullian will tire of her eventually, and her life will become less difficult.”
Docile Ademeni burst to life, her argument spewing like lava from a volcano. “But you are his commander—order him to stop mistreating her.”
He studied her face with calm detachment, searching for his answer, impressing it upon her by leaning forward. “I do not command his home.”
“Then bring her here.” Ademeni moved to her knees, surprising him with the strength of her feelings. She stopped short of touching him, of begging.
While he agreed that Tertullian had become a brute, he had to show her the scope of the entire situation. “How many sisters did you say you have, Ademeni?”
“Many,” she repeated. “My father had several wives.”
“I cannot have the whole of Dacia’s royal family in my house.” The words pained his heart and mind, and he felt his loyalty shift. “My house cannot sustain more slaves, and you of all people must understand how suspect something like that would make me, politically.”
Her posture crumpled, shoulders bowing forward, neck bending under some unseen weight. Marcus wished he could see her face, but she hid her expression against her shoulder.
“Perhaps I can reason with Drusilla.” He stopped himself from reaching for her by curling his fingers into a fist. “She has great force of will, and she is not pleased with her husband.”
Defeat fractured Ademeni’s usually strong voice. “I heard that man speak of tens of thousands of my countrymen coming from Dacia as Trajan returns. What lies in store for them?”
Marcus shook his head, could not believe the number himself. He did not want to be the one to tell her the many horrible truths of Roman colonization, as he could not defend them in total. A lie would not do, and the truth would push her to the point of despair, where she might choose to remain.
“What does your emperor plan for them?” she pleaded. “You must tell me, dominus.”
His voice strained. “What would you have me to do?”
She stared at him. “About what?”
“About you,” he replied, not daring to look away. “Since I did not ask for you, what should I do? Turn you loose? Sell you to another?”
She did not hesitate. “I would have my freedom.”
His brow furrowed. “And what would you do with your freedom?”
“Return to Dacia.”
“I was afraid you’d say so.” Frowning, Marcus reclined in the seat and stared at the black canvas that sparkled with stars. He dreaded how she would respond to his revelations and put off the inevitable a few moments more. “The heavens are beautiful.”
Her gaze followed, and he listened to her shallow breaths. “The same stars shine in Dacia, as you well know.”
“I admired the beauty of your mountains,” he agreed. They had been Callia’s first home. “Tell me what you imagine is happening in your city right now.”
Ademeni hesitated, as if she’d never considered the exact fate of her world. “It matters not. It’s my home.”
“You will not recognize it.” His jaw tightened, clipping his words. “By now the city has been razed. Burned first, and then destroyed, stone by stone, to be rebuilt in the image of Rome.”
He paused, waiting for a response that never came. When he no longer heard her breathe, he plunged ahead. “Your family was brought here, and the majority of your young men are about to arrive. Consider what that means for the future of Dacia.”
His stomach churned as he painted the scene with broad strokes. Her eyes widened. He could see she now realized what he already knew. Her people would disappear. They would become Romans.
Hands fisted in her lap, she did nothing to wipe the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. Her voice wavered like a flame. “All that my father worked for, everything I know and love…destroyed?”
“They will send Roman citizens to Dacia, the very soldiers who conquered your land, to colonize and make it Roman,” he continued without joy. “What you knew as your home no longer exists, Ademeni. Even if I free you and you survive the long trip, you will not be welcome there. No one will remember you. No one will dare speak your father’s name.”
The brutal truth sett
led about them, a burden too heavy for anyone to bear without anguish. Her response tore from her throat in a cry of savage agony. She sprang forward, like a lion, and grasped the dagger in his belt.
Marcus twisted and wrapped his arm around her waist. Dragging her across his lap, he kept her close and boxed her hands in between their bodies. With a grunt, he wrenched the weapon from her hand and tossed it out of sight.
She used her fists, pummeling his chest and shoulders. “What right do you have?”
Unfazed by the force of her anger, Marcus captured her wrists. All this time, he’d never considered how Rome did her terrible business, crushing one people after another.
Ademeni stilled, panting. Her head low, she listed toward him, the scent of sandalwood drifting from her hair, her skin. As he inhaled, he became acutely aware that she straddled his lap.
She remained oblivious.
“You’re a liar.” Her body tensed, as if she might give him another tussle the moment he relaxed. “It cannot be as you say.”
He shook her and she quieted, her mournful eyes bending his iron resolve. “I’m not a man of politics and fancy words. I live my life in duty and loyalty to Rome. From the battlefield, what happens in the city is barely visible. One does not smell the stench.”
Her breath came in short gasps, and her face reddened. When she spoke, her words had lost their sting. “You dare make excuses for yourself?”
“Again, I must ask,” Marcus continued, hoping she’d regained a portion of her senses. “What am I to do with you?”
Her eyes held all of her bitterness in shallow pools of tears. “Why have you told me these things? There are more convenient and pleasurable ways for you to break my spirit.”
Her accusation sparked anger, and he tightened his fingers around her wrists. “You mistake me for my sister’s husband.”
She leveraged her body and closed her thighs against his rigid response. Hunger shot through his veins, along with a subtle warning. The line should not be crossed, yet the desire to do so threatened to drown him.
Her bottom lip quivered before she spoke. “Do you not take pleasure in telling me such things?”
“No,” he rasped. This conversation did not excite him. She excited him, from the lyrical way she spoke to the way she tilted her head.
Ademeni leaned near enough for him to study the pale freckles across the bridge of her nose and feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. Her perfume made him sluggish and drunk and thoughtless.
Her eyelids drooped, and a pink flush crept up her neck, settling into her cheeks. Perhaps she could read his thoughts as if written on her wax tablet. When she next looked at him, she parted her lips but said nothing.
In a moment of weakness, he bent his head and captured her mouth. Her body tightened then surged closer. She pressed against him, warm, pliable, wanting. Urgency swept through him, and he deepened the kiss, greedy to taste her, to feel more of her response to him.
Marcus released her arms, threading his fingers through her hair. It was softer than in his imagination. She tasted like honey and felt like home in his embrace. She clutched his tunic, a moan escaping the back of her throat.
At her small protest, the night rushed back in around them, and he pulled away. Panic knotted his gut, and he took a deep breath, lest he share his guilt with her. She’d ceased her tears, and he wiped the remaining wetness from her cheeks, searching her glazed eyes for any hint of her thoughts.
Ademeni let out her breath in a slow stream, and brought her hand to cover her lips as she retreated. A stab of unease destroyed his lingering desire. He’d made a mistake.
“Dominus…” She shoved against his chest, found her feet and fled to her room, leaving her blanket on the ground. He picked it up and started after her.
Useless. He couldn’t possibly think to comfort her. He had taken advantage of her weakest moment, bludgeoned her hope. His responsibility to her was along the lines of safety, not quenching his own thirst. Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and cursed the gods.
Despite his best intentions, he’d become no better than Tertullian.
Chapter Eight
Ademeni opened her eyes. She gauged the position of the sun against the wall as raised voices echoed from the rear of the house.
She’d gone back to sleep after a daybreak altercation with Flora. From the tone of the conversation, Ademeni suspected she might be in trouble again—the least of her worries now that her hope had crumbled.
She roused herself to better hear the discussion.
“She refuses to come out. To do her work!”
“Temper yourself,” Marcus warned. “Did you speak to her?”
“Apologies. Yes, I spoke to her. “
Closing her eyes, Ademeni shook her head. Heat rose in her body at the sound of his voice, unbidden and uncontrollable. “And?”
“She says she’s not well.” The statement fell to a long silence before Flora exploded. “Perhaps she’s spoiled instead.”
“Flora—” His tone issued a warning that silenced the quarrelsome slave. The conversation faded as Ademeni lay down again. She imagined he might create excuses for her behavior. Illness. Fever. Laziness. He would not mention that he’d crushed her spirit and then stolen a passionate kiss from her.
She cringed. Flora need never know what had transpired late last night. A woman like Flora would never give her the benefit of the doubt. She would accuse her of manipulations and schemes, which was not so far from the truth. At least Ademeni knew that Marcus had desired her for at least a moment.
Perhaps he had already forgotten the entire thing.
Footsteps hastened down the hall. The curtain to her door parted, and a shaft of bright sun split the dark room in half. Ademeni raised her hand to shield her eyes, her heart thundering in her ears. “Who’s there?”
Rather than the broad silhouette of Marcus Cordovis, the slight form of Lucia slipped into the room, letting the curtain drop behind her. “Marcus asked me to check on you.”
Ademeni sat up. “Did he leave?”
“Yes, he’s gone for the morning.” Lucia laid Ademeni’s abandoned blanket on the end of her bed. No telling where she’d found it. “What’s troubling you?”
Gone? A lump formed in her throat. Relief battled anger. Forgetting that she’d avoided Marcus this morning, Ademeni wondered that the great general wouldn’t face her.
She shook her head and fibbed. “Female troubles.”
Lucia nodded and leaned against the arch. “So…it has nothing to do with the things Marcus told you last night?”
Ademeni’s pulse stuttered. “What things?”
“The walls have ears,” Lucia said. “He does not lie about the ways of colonization.”
No, Ademeni suspected he never lied, may the gods curse him. Even as he’d spoken to her about her country, her people, she’d seen it unfolding in her mind’s eye. Logical, destructive, cold. The Roman way. Soon, it would be the way of the whole world. She could not fight such a system. She couldn’t save herself from being involved with the thing she despised.
Did Lucia know the rest? Did she even suspect how the night had ended?
Ademeni swung her feet to the floor and dragged her fingers through a tangled mess of hair. Bitter disappointment dogged her. He wouldn’t leave when he’d been so vehement about her finishing the garden. He didn’t want to see her—he regretted his impulsive moment. “Where did he go?”
“Marcus?” Lucia sounded surprised. “He went to the Forum. Something about personal business.”
Personal, not military. One worry overwhelmed her.
“He’ll sell me,” she blurted, then covered her mouth.
Lucia’s calm voice soothed her. “What makes you say such a thing, child?”
Her mind spun, fear mingling with the memory of his calloused hands on her cheeks, his hungry mouth ravaging hers. She’d become too much trouble. Too much temptation.
Had he finally decided what should be done wi
th her? “If what he says is true, and I shall never return to Dacia, then it is better…”
She trailed off, but Lucia finished. “Is it not better for you to be in Marcus’s house than any other?”
When Ademeni met Lucia’s eyes, she nodded. “I have done nothing but disrupt his household.”
A moment passed between them before then Lucia said, “There is something you could do to secure your position.”
Ademeni gave the older woman skeptical attention. No one knew Marcus better. “What is it?”
Sitting her down, Lucia laid a cool hand on Ademeni’s forearm and took a deep breath. “Are we not both women?”
Ademeni averted her eyes, Lucia’s meaning so clear, so simple. She’d already considered seduction in the dark of night, where no one could see her face flame, if only because it pleased her.
“Stop fighting with him,” Lucia murmured, “and show him that you appreciate his kindness.”
Ademeni turned from her, understanding something beyond the obvious. The matron encouraged this. Her attention to Ademeni from the beginning took on new meaning. The outings, the new clothes, the seashell pins, were all designed to bring Marcus’s attention to her.
So Lucia wanted Marcus to have an outlet for his lusts. That didn’t make the option any less feasible. No matter the other woman’s stake, Ademeni had already considered this approach for her own future. The game had changed, and more than her mind churned with possibilities. Her short marriage had already deflowered her body, and she could well protect her heart from harm.
She sat up straight. If done correctly, she might not only secure her own safety but might also find a way to help her sister, or travel a different path to freedom.
Silencing her inhibitions, she said, “Tell me how.”
* * *
Well after nightfall, Marcus returned to the house, dropping his gear inside the doors. The first of the legions had returned today, dribbling into Rome first by the tens, then by the hundreds. Hungry and rowdy, they’d infested the streets like scorpions. He’d spent most of the day corralling them into the temporary barracks on the edges of the city.
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