“Tomorrow.”
“I see.” Biting back trepidation, she reached out to stroke his cheek. “I heard on the street that you are his favorite general.”
Marcus brushed aside the gossip with cold fact. “People only say that because Julia was his cousin.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Cousin?”
The revelation drove Ademeni upright in bed. Marcus’s dead wife had been kin to Trajan. Lucia was kin. She turned cold, but the knowledge seemed to mean little to Marcus, who only shrugged.
“It matters little.”
But Ademeni well understood how strong such ties could be. Marcus would be forever tied to the emperor—if not because of Julia, then because of their daughter. Callia had become a political asset at birth, much as Ademeni had.
Dread crept over her, starting at her feet and settling in her mind. Trajan had put his faith in Marcus because of Julia, and Marcus had been loyal far beyond the death of his wife. Nothing short of catastrophe could force these two men to change their mutually beneficial arrangement.
Certainly not a Dacian slave woman.
Marcus raised himself on his elbow and stroked her hair. “What troubles you?”
She turned her face. She had been very naïve. To think she might have told him that her heart thundered when he walked into her sight. That her mouth ached to kiss him, even when he was angry. That she loved him, despite all the differences between them.
Differences that now seemed insurmountable.
She shrugged and reclined beside him, grateful for the darkness in which to hide her crestfallen countenance. It mattered little that he had been kind to her and had not abused the cords that bound her to him.
His petition to Trajan would be connected to Callia’s future, or some tract of land he coveted. She had forgotten her place in this new city.
Marcus tightened his arms around her and pulled her flush against his chest. She blinked back tears. She could not settle for being his concubine and endure the lack of freedom that title granted. Once he met with Trajan, he could be reassigned and leave Rome within days.
The thought of losing him spurred her to answer his embrace. At least in this moment, for this night, they were together. If that was all the gods had in store for her, so be it. She would make their connection last while she had the power.
She ran a bold hand across his chest and let her touch wander down his abdomen until she encircled slick steel. His hand slid around the back of her neck in response, and she allowed herself to assume a position of power atop him that made him chuckle.
Her hair swung forward and tickled his shoulders. Marcus tangled his fingers in the long waves and met her gaze in a wavering shaft of moonlight.
In the sadness that pooled in his eyes, Ademeni found her answer. He did not plan to free her or make his life with her legitimate. At least, as he closed his eyes and penetrated her, he felt as badly as she.
* * *
Marcus waited alone amid the mosaics of the antechamber outside Trajan’s opulent sitting room. He paced, his gut clenching at being asked to wait for his audience. Not once, but twice.
His gut never steered him in the wrong direction. Right now, it told him that something had gone amiss between him and Trajan in the space of a single day.
Something as simple as missing the games yesterday might have miffed the emperor. But he’d never been the kind to hold petty grudges or play sophomoric political games. Marcus didn’t know what was going on, but the delay set him on edge.
The door to the hall creaked open, and the same Praetorian stepped through to motion him forward. The man’s mouth became a flat line, and he refused to look Marcus in the eye. “The emperor will see you now.”
Marcus strode forward, still confident in his actions, though shaken by the coolness of his reception. He passed the guard in three steps but slowed at the entrance, where he turned to face Trajan.
The emperor sat on a gold-encrusted throne at one end of the long room. A crimson carpet stretched from his seat to where Marcus now stood. Sconces lit along the walls lent an eerie undertone to the moment.
Protocol demanded that Marcus kneel, and he did so without reservation. Yet Trajan usually let go of such formalities with him, so Marcus let caution temper his decisions in this meeting.
“Rise, Marcus Cordovis,” Trajan boomed in a formal voice. Their typical camaraderie was absent. “Rise, come and let us talk together.”
Marcus stood and strode forward. The scrutiny of the few people in the room and his inability to see them clearly in the dim light stung him. He directed his energy and attention to Trajan—the only one present whose attention he needed.
Stopping in front of Trajan, he saluted with his sword and stood at attention. Unable to read his emperor’s bland expression, he squared his shoulders and waited long moments for Trajan to speak.
“You have completed a successful campaign in Dacia, General. The gratitude of Rome belongs to you.”
Though his words rang hollow, Marcus bowed in appreciation. “I am a loyal servant of Rome and her emperor.”
“Yes, you have been…”
Marcus raised his head to find the emperor studying him with great intensity. “I continue to be your servant.”
“Some say otherwise.”
The accusation settled on Marcus’s shoulders, heavier than a royal chest of gold. Someone dared question his loyalty? Who could be so bold? “You know of my lifelong service. This is all that matters.”
Trajan nodded but remained distant in tone. “You have served me well in many arenas, Marcus Cordovis. You have been honored by Rome’s citizens and even embraced by my family.”
Marcus held his breath and waited for the lie to be revealed. Neither arguing nor agreeing could affect Trajan at this point.
“Yet I understand you have disparaged my dear cousin’s memory.”
Julia? “I would never—”
Trajan raised his hand and cut him off. “You have taken a slave into your house, have you not?”
Blood froze in Marcus’s veins. “Yes.”
“A Dacian princess?”
“Yes.” He could not argue these points, for they rang true. “Many soldiers have taken Dacian slaves. It is a common practice.”
“You have never practiced this common thing,” Trajan countered, leaning forward in his seat. “Rumors abound that you have fallen in love with your slave princess, that she directs your motivation and turns you against Rome.”
Anger ripped through Marcus’s body. “Who makes these accusations? Let him speak in public rather than whispering in the emperor’s ear.”
Even as he argued, anguish fell over Marcus like ashes. Gods help him, he had fallen in love with his slave, and his feelings did play a part in his petition to Trajan. A parchment that Trajan now held in his right hand.
“You know how I feel about such matters, Marcus.” For the first time, the emperor’s tone softened to friendship. “It matters little to me who you bed—man, woman or beast of burden. But you can understand how my concern grew upon reading your petition.”
True enough. The emperor’s penchant for young men was the fodder of camp gossip, but never mentioned in public. This wasn’t about bed partners, but politics.
Marcus gritted his teeth, unable to find any stable ground upon which to stand. His petition for a specific new post now brought his motivation into question, lending credence to his foe’s lies. Whoever had raised inquiries about his loyalty had done a superior job. Betrayal at this level meant death.
He squared his shoulders and used a firm voice. “I proclaim my innocence.”
Trajan had opened his petition and looked up from the words. He sounded bored. “Everyone does.”
Taking a step forward, Marcus raised his voice. “I demand to know the identity of my accuser.”
Trajan rolled the petition between his hands. “I cannot reveal this to you.”
Fresh frustration pushed Marcus forward again, e
very fiber struggling to right this wrong. He struggled to find enough air to breathe. “For what reason—”
A guard reached for his sword, silencing Marcus’s retort. Fists ready and jaw clenched, he was forced to wait out the wave of anger churning in his chest.
“You’re a powerful man.” Trajan cast him a bland look. “Your accuser fears you.”
As well he ought. “Then I request the right to defend myself to the emperor.”
Trajan’s eyes sparkled. “Granted.”
Marcus swayed with relief. Trajan loved a good debate, even if he had already made up his mind. This ploy could buy him enough time to uncover the identity of his accuser.
“In two days, you will present your case when I summon you.” Trajan sat back and furrowed his brow. “This time is a gift, Marcus, use it well. The gods have turned their faces from you. Because I know your service well, I hope you will find their favor again.”
Fighting disgrace, Marcus sucked in a deep breath. Turning about-face, he exited the room, the weight of Trajan’s judgment upon him. Now outside the scrutiny of the hall, he made his way to the stable and retrieved his horse without another word. Rome looked different as he spurred his mount homeward, dark and sinister. The prestige and promotions he had earned over long years of service evaporated like so much misspent water.
Someone hated him enough to throw such an accusation forward. Who stood to gain? Not since his early days had anyone stepped forward to challenge him. He’d been diligent to ensure a reputation of fairness and honesty among his men.
He slowed his approach to the house. When he left that morning, he’d expected to come home and share good news with Ademeni. He’d expected his petition to be granted without question, and for her to jump into his arms, surprised and grateful.
Instead, he found himself thrown to the wolves.
Defend himself? He didn’t know where to begin.
He dismounted and left his horse at the rear of the house rather than in the stable. As he rounded the property, he lurched to a stop. Light and music flowed from his courtyard. Raucous laughter followed, scraping up his spine.
How could there be rejoicing in his house on this night? Charging forward, he planned to clear the house with one barked command.
A crisp breeze cooled his temper and slowed his feet. Everyone he needed to see was already inside his home. None of them—except this accuser—would know the results of his audience with Trajan. They all simply waited for him to return and join the festivities.
With an eye toward locating his adversary, he contained his rage, straightened his toga and slipped into the courtyard to greet his friends and family.
* * *
Ademeni stayed to the shadows, darting in and out of the crowd that had gathered at Marcus’s home. Unannounced guests had begun arriving just before dusk, in various stages of drunkenness and frivolity.
She scowled. She had once been so carefree, so brazen and thoughtless. Men cast their eye on every form that passed, and the women were just as wicked. The later in the day, the more lascivious the gathering. Best to stay hidden, away from wandering glances and wayward hands.
What kept Marcus? She assumed he’d invited these people to his home along the path of his day. If he’d been granted an audience with Trajan and had his petition approved, he would be in a celebratory mood.
“Ademeni!”
The harsh whisper of a woman reached her ear, and she turned toward the far corner of the courtyard. A lone figure stood in the shadows, shifting from side to side.
“Lilah.” She scurried forward and embraced her sister.
Lilah’s frame seemed fragile, and Ademeni released her with great reluctance. “It is so good to see you. How are you?”
“As well as I can be.” Lilah tilted her head in her master’s direction. “He has lost some interest in me, thank the gods.”
Looking over her shoulder, Ademeni shuddered when Tertullian met her with a carnivorous grin. She returned her attention to her sister. “That is a blessing.”
“How is it with you?”
Her tongue faltered. How different were Marcus and Tertullian in the end? So they had used different methods to gain what they wanted, but the result differed not at all.
“Ademeni?” Lilah took her hands and squeezed them.
“Things are well with me…quiet.” She lowered her eyes. “I have learned how to survive.”
“So he has broken you too?” Lilah whispered.
Ademeni closed her eyes. Had he? In pursuing her freedom, she had become exactly what she wished to be free from. A wave of shame and nausea washed over her.
“We do what we have to do,” she mumbled to her sister. Thinking of those captives sacrificed in the games, she added, “At least we still have our lives.”
Though Lilah said nothing, her ashen expression said that she did not value her life as she now lived it. Ademeni blamed Tertullian—at least Marcus had not made her days and nights fearful and painful.
No, Marcus had chosen to break her heart instead. To leave her isolated as he went on his way. She didn’t truly expect him to consider her feelings.
She sighed. Yes, part of her had expected that much respect. He had led her to believe that she might. Or she had assumed far too much about his character.
“Your master is wise.” Lilah rightly interpreted her mood. “He has kept his enemies close, has he not?”
Ademeni’s stomach plunged. She had not considered this more manipulative option. Marcus could have been playing her favorably so that she would not do harm to him, his career or his family.
Not so long ago, she’d pledged to kill him. His kindnesses—real or imagined—had stayed her hand. Now, she feared that she had lost her own identity in her quest for any form of freedom.
Laughter and scattered applause rolled through the gathering. Ademeni and Lilah turned toward the commotion in time to see a smiling Marcus Cordovis greet his sister, Drusilla, with open arms.
Behind the smile, Ademeni read concern in the tense lines of his face. Despite the relaxed banter and friendly embraces, something seemed wrong. Over Drusilla’s shoulder, his eyes locked on to hers. Breathing became difficult through a veil of dread and excitement.
Behind her Lilah whispered, “What has he done to you?”
Ademeni had no answer, could not move her mouth to form words. No matter how she tried to fight, or attempted to convince herself that she was in control, she was not.
Something had gone terribly awry. She had come to care about his well-being, about his struggles and the future. She might have killed him seven times over by now. The speed at which she’d lost her way left her breathless.
It mattered little what he’d done to her. She’d fallen in love with him.
Chapter Fourteen
Marcus prowled through the dense crowd, careful to keep the appearance of levity and celebration—far from the roiling anger he tamped down in his gut. Flora handed him a goblet of honeyed wine, which he pretended to drink.
Too many had gained entry to his home. Most of them strangers entranced by light and noise. He was the only sober soul in the room. Straining out distractions, he searched for familiar faces.
His attention went naturally to Ademeni, half hidden in the portico at the rear of the pool. Her blank expression troubled him, pulled him toward her until caution jerked him back to reality. With great difficulty, he tore his gaze from her and continued to pick through the gathering.
Drusilla had already melted into the crowd, and he spied her lounging beside a longtime friend near the reflection pool. She sat still, with her head lowered and her shoulders bent, not her usual jovial self.
He caught her eye, and she offered a sad smile before looking away. This demeanor usually meant problems at home, and problems at home began and ended with Tertullian.
Where had that scoundrel gotten to? A cursory look showed him absent, but Marcus knew better. That hound had to be about—Tertullian wouldn’t miss a
chance to mingle with society, revel in Marcus’s perceived glory.
Marcus turned in a slow circle, forgetting his quest for Tertullian when he saw Ademeni again. Dressed in a simple white gown, she seemed translucent, like a spirit. She moved with ease and grace, her hair escaping the golden bonds at the base of her neck. Her sister came and stood beside her, and they talked quietly for a moment before going separate ways.
If he’d known the trouble this woman would bring to his house—to his career—he would have sent her away before he’d grown attached to her. Her first impression should have been warning enough.
Not true. He felt for her the first time he’d seen her, admired her fire and determination. Fate had placed her in bonds and in his care. He would not mistreat the wisdom of the gods by mistreating her. Another way out of this maze would present itself.
He tore his gaze from her and refocused his attention. Drusilla and Lilah would not have come unaccompanied. Tertullian could not stay hidden for long.
On cue, the man stepped from the back of the house, near the kitchen, and into a burst of orange torchlight. For a moment, the shadows playing across his face made him look sinister, and Marcus’s first instinct was to reach for a weapon to protect Ademeni.
A broad smile broke the illusion, and Tertullian called out to Marcus, “Where have you been?”
Marcus put his head down and forced a path through the milling crowd toward his brother-in-law. Tightening his control, he answered, “Here and there, you know how these things go.”
“So you had your audience with Trajan today?”
Marcus nodded, appraising Tertullian with a scathing eye. “One of a hundred.”
Tertullian waved off his modesty, too drunk to notice he was being studied. “What great honor did he bestow on you this time?”
Looking for any hint of jealousy or accusation, Marcus answered, “None yet—he is considering my petition in addition to his own rewards.”
Tertullian turned empty eyes on him. “I’m sure you will receive all that is due a general of your stature.”
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