by Vivian Arend
Numicius chuckled. “Not that many, but enough for my purposes.”
“Which are?”
His host wagged his finger and shook his head. “I’m too smart to play this game.”
“Fine. But since we’re being forthright, how long has the real Numicius been dead?”
Numicius’s pupils expanded until his eyes were the same flat black as the others. “You are far more clever than I gave you credit for.”
“Actually, it was Sexta who clued me in. She saw one of you Barbarians take the form of a soldier while we were in Shalfak.”
“And how is my little servant?”
A new knot twisted in his stomach. Was Sexta trying to double-cross him? Or had she been fooled by Numicius? “She’s back at the palace, spilling every one of your secrets to the emperor.”
“Not that there are many to spill. But still, I warned her what would happen if she did.”
Marcus curled his hand into a fist when he heard the menacing tone of his host’s words. “If you touch one hair on her head, I’ll make you wish you’d never crossed the barrier.”
Mocking laughter answered him, and Numicius rose from his chair. His limbs seemed longer than they should be, and he moved with the distinctive gait of a Barbarian.
It was only then that Marcus began to notice the subtle differences between him and the others. His skin was paler with a distinctive gray tinge and seemed to be stretched tight over his bones. The evidence of his Barbarian nature was peeking through the Deizian he pretended to be. “Your disguise is slipping.”
“Which is why your appearance is such a happy coincidence. When your barrier fell months ago, I managed to sneak across and took my first disguise. A few days later, I arrived in Emona and killed the first noble I could find.” He stepped down from the daïs, his grin widening. “But even this form couldn’t get me close enough to carry out my plan before it started to fade. You, however, would work very nicely.”
Marcus’s blood turned to ice. “Let me guess—you want to get close to the emperor? Do you actually think he wouldn’t notice if you disguised yourself as me?”
“By the time he did, it would be too late.”
The Barbarians behind him grabbed Marcus’s arms and pulled them back. A new burst of pain burned under his scar, and the pitcher fell from his hands. Numicius came closer, his fingers elongating into the pointed, spindly digits of a Barbarian.
Marcus twisted and pulled, ignoring the agony in his shoulder. “Your plan will fail.”
“Even if it does, it will matter little to you.” He wrapped his hands around Marcus’s throat. “You’ll be dead.”
Despite their narrow width, the Barbarian fingers possessed a remarkable amount of strength. They tightened around Marcus’s neck like a hangman’s noose, growing ever tighter in their bruising intensity. Each breath became a struggle until he could no longer draw one. Blackness bloomed along the edges of his vision. His knees buckled. He opened his mouth to shout, but no sound came out.
I’m sorry, Sexta.
His eyes stung. His pulse pounded in his ears, growing faster and faster until each beat bled into the next one. His vision ebbed until the last thing he saw was Numicius staring down at him with a satisfied grin.
Then an explosion ripped through the villa.
The shock wave jerked Marcus back from the brink of death. The fingers around his neck loosened as he and the Barbarian were knocked to the floor. Sweet, blessed air poured into his lungs and soothed the fire inside them. Tile fragments rained down on him, piercing his skin in dozens of tiny slices. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils, followed by the metallic tang of blood.
A pair of rough, meaty hands grabbed his arm and yanked him up. “Come on, Marcus,” Rufius growled.
He blinked several times, his vision coming into focus with irritating slowness. He stumbled behind Rufius, who plowed through the crowd like a battering ram. The morning sun blinded him as they burst into the garden. “Where are we going?”
“Back to where we came from,” Rufius replied, still dragging him along.
Marcus gritted his teeth and tried to keep up. Once they were out of this mess, he’d ream the former soldier for disobeying orders, but for now, he was thankful for the rescue.
The harsh whisper of an arrow grazed by inches from his ear and heightened his senses. “They’re firing at us.”
“Tell me something I didn’t know.” Rufius altered his course, zigzagging through the garden to use the columns and statues as shields. “How are your rappelling skills?”
“Good. Why?”
“Because we need to get down as quickly as possible.” He crouched behind a fountain and handed Marcus a metal loop with a locking hinge. “Put this on your belt and pray to the gods we make it down alive.”
Marcus slipped it through his belt and nodded.
Rufius pointed straight ahead to the edge of the cliff. “On the count of three, we make a run for it. Lock that around the rope and fall as quickly as you dare.”
“What rope?”
Rufius grinned and counted to three.
They sprinted through the open lawn. When they got to the end, Rufius clipped his ring around a rope attached to an embedded stake and a cluster of bombs.
“What the—”
“Just taking a page out of your lady friend’s book.” Rufius disappeared down the cliff.
Marcus dropped to his stomach and kicked his legs over the edge. The mass of Barbarians charged at him, green blood marring their disguises. A volley of arrows shot up into the sky. He locked the ring around the rope and pushed off.
The arrows blackened the sun above and rained down on him. A new sting of fire burst through his back. His hands went numb and fell away from the rope.
He was falling. The hiss of the metal against the rope created sparks that sizzled and hampered his progress. He fumbled for the rope. The friction sawed through the flesh of his palms, but he jerked to a stop.
“Keep going!” Rufius shouted from below.
Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to catch his breath. Every movement sent waves of pain radiating from the center of his back. Blood trailed down his wrists and forearms. “Go on without me.”
“Not likely. Just keep going. You’re almost down.”
The Barbarians peered over the edge at them, and the archers drew back the strings of their bows. A new resolve filled him. He wasn’t going to let Rufius rescue him only to perish because he was too scared to move. He let go of the rope enough to fall a few more feet and rappelled down until his feet touched the ground.
Rufius pushed him against the face of the cliff and touched a lit torch to the end of the rope. “This ought to stop them.”
The fire raced up the rope, and Marcus’s jaw dropped. Leave it to Rufius to turn a rope into a fuse. “What exactly was in that gear bag?”
“My emergency plan. Take cover.” Rufius pulled him into the brush and shoved him to his knees a split second before the boom sounded.
The guttural screams reminded him of the bomb Sexta had thrown into the cavern full of Barbarians in Shalfak. Gray-skinned body parts littered the ground around them, oozing green blood. But when the smoke cleared, he and Rufius had only sustained a few more scratches.
“We need to get you to a healer, fast.” Rufius turned him around, and the snap of wood filled his ears. “I know better than to remove them without a healer to stop the bleeding.”
Marcus counted each one. “Just three?”
“Yeah, and lucky bastard that you are, they weren’t fatal.” He threw a cloak over his shoulders to hide the broken shafts.
Not yet, anyway. He tried to laugh, but the motion took his breath away. The coldness creeping along his skin mocked him. He’d escaped death once today, but the villain wouldn’t let him go just yet. “You should go, Rufius. The emperor needs to know what we saw, and I’ll only slow you down.”
But his companion looped his arm around Marcus’s wais
t and lifted him to his feet. “And one day you’ll learn that a good soldier never leaves a member of his team out in the field.”
The fierce but foolish loyalty calmed him. “So you’re not going to obey my orders?”
“Nope. Besides, I don’t want to tell the emperor I left his best friend to die in a ravine.” He moved forward. “Now, let’s go before those Barbarians have a chance to cut off our escape.”
Marcus willed one foot in front of the other and offered a prayer he’d live long enough to warn Titus.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sexta chewed the end of her hair as she paced the room. The late afternoon sun poured in through the window. Outside, voices signaled that a crowd had gathered inside the palace. The empress had given birth last night, and the child was going to be formally revealed to the empire this evening.
But she hadn’t seen Marcus since he left that morning.
Worry clouded her mind. I should’ve never let him go. I should’ve waited and told the emperor about the Barbarians when he questioned me, not ambushing Marcus with that information.
She stopped and shook her head. No, she’d been right to share what she’d witnessed as soon as possible. Any warning was better than none, especially since the emperor hadn’t sent for her yet. After spending most of her life guarding her heart and pushing everyone away, she was finally learning to open herself up to someone and trust him.
Now if only he’d come back.
Her stomach churned in nauseating waves, and she resumed pacing.
A knock sounded at the door, and her heart leapt into her throat. Please be him.
But when the door opened, it was the palace steward standing there, not Marcus. “The emperor wishes to speak to you.”
Sexta let go of her hair and smoothed out the dress a slave had brought her this morning. “As he wishes.”
Varro led her through the palace, past the throne room where slaves rushed to finish the last-minute preparations for the presentation, and to a small door flanked by two members of the Legion. They stepped aside as the steward approached, their gaze focused on her.
Sexta wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, but kept her chin held high. She had nothing to hide. But the fluttering in her chest reminded her that her life depended on convincing the man on the other side that she was innocent.
Varro pressed his hand against the lock pad and opened the door. “This way.”
He didn’t move from the doorway as she entered the small chamber. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving her alone with the emperor and two more members of the Legion.
The bodyguards acted the same way as their brethren had on the other side of the door, watching her every movement with suspicious glances. The emperor, on the other hand, wasn’t as easy to read. He sat with his chin in his hand, his fingers covering the expression of his mouth. He stared at her as though she were a riddle for him to solve.
She came as close as she dared and dropped to her knees, her head bowed. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
“You know why I’ve sent for you?” he asked, his voice stern.
“I believe so, Your Imperial Majesty. You wish to question me about the events at Shalfak.”
“I do, but right now, I need an honest answer from you. Did you lie to Marcus?”
She snapped her head up. Fear still pulsed through her body, but for an entirely different reason now. “Has something happened to him?”
“You tell me.”
“I cannot tell you what I don’t know.”
The sharp edge to her words sent the members of the Legion reaching for their swords, but a signal from the emperor kept them from drawing their weapons. He stood and approached her. “He left this morning to investigate your benefactor and hasn’t returned.”
Her throat closed, and the room started spinning. If she hadn’t been kneeling, she feared she might have collapsed. “What do you mean, he hasn’t returned? I told him not to go there alone.”
Emperor Sergius pressed a finger under her chin and lifted, indicating she should rise. “Did you lie to him?”
She shook her head and struggled to fight back her tears. “No. I told him everything I knew.”
“Everything?”
A note of panic edged into her voice. “Yes.”
“Be careful, Titus,” a woman’s voice said from the other side of the room. An Alpirion woman with bright teal eyes appeared from the opposite doorway. “If you frighten her to the point of fainting, it will take you that much longer to get the answers you seek.”
Sexta jerked her chin free and lowered her eyes once again. She feared the emperor, but she was terrified of the empress. The Rabbit had killed dozens of men over the years, and if the emperor ordered her death, his wife could easily carry out the sentence.
Thankfully, her appearance distracted the emperor enough to allow Sexta to take a step back from his scrutiny. “Azurha, dear, you should be resting.”
“No, I need to hear this as much as you do.” She came beside the emperor and laced her fingers through his. “Sexta, you told Marcus that you witnessed a Barbarian take the form of one of our people. Is that true?”
“Yes, Your Majesties. I swear upon my life it’s true.”
They exchanged a wordless glance before the emperor spoke again. “And do you think Numicius Aculeo is in league with them?”
She sucked in a sharp breath as she remembered the flat look in his eyes and the sickly pallor of his skin at the party. “Worse. I fear he’s one of them.”
Fear flickered across the emperor’s face before he turned to one of the members of the Legion in the room. “Captain Horatius, I want you to send a group of men over to Aculeo’s villa immediately. Arrest him and search the grounds. If you find Marcus or Rufius, bring them back here.”
The captain of the Legion bowed. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” he replied before exiting through the door Varro had opened for her.
Sexta forced herself to breathe. “Please, let me go, too. I need to find Marcus, to know he’s alive.”
Emperor Sergius turned back to her and shook his head. “No, Sexta, I’m afraid I can’t allow that, not when your involvement in this matter is still under question.”
“I knew nothing of the Barbarians or Numicius’s involvement with them until after I returned to Shalfak.”
“Then once we arrest him, perhaps he can corroborate your story and clear you of any guilt.”
Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. A growing sense of apprehension threatened to smother her. If anything happened to Marcus, it wouldn’t matter if Numicius confirmed what she’d been telling him or not. The emperor would extract his punishment on her.
But the threat of execution no longer filled her with dread. If Marcus was dead, she wouldn’t resist. She was the reason he’d been placed in danger, and she’d bear the punishment.
As the other member of the Legion took her arm to lead her away, she caught one final glimpse at the imperial couple. The emperor glared at her as though he’d already confirmed her guilt, but the empress was a different story. Her stare was just as intense, but instead of being fixed and unyielding, she appeared to be trying to dissect the truth.
A bitter laugh choked Sexta’s throat. Who would’ve guessed her only hope for mercy lay with the infamous assassin? She cast a pleading glance at the empress before she turned around and let the guard lead her away.
Her feet grew numb and heavy as the guard took her back through the throne room and into the wing of the palace where Marcus’s room was located. A small part of her was grateful she wasn’t being sent to the dungeons below, but frustration forced her hands into fists. She had always been a woman of action who took matters into her own hands, not relying on others to accomplish things for her. She wanted to be going with them, searching for Marcus, not hiding in his room and waiting for someone to deliver the news to her.
Varro was waiting outside the door for her. “You didn’t mention the spill,” he said as she pas
sed.
“What spill?”
He pointed to the large wine stain on the carpet. “I’ll send some slaves by in a few minutes to retrieve it so it can be cleaned.” He caught her gaze as he was closing the door and nodded as though he were trying to convey an additional message.
The locks clicked, and a hand clamped over her shoulder.
Sexta yelped and whirled around to find Djer standing behind her with a finger to his mouth.
“Thank the gods you’re safe.” She threw her arms around his chest and hugged him. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you, of course.” He grinned and slid his eyes toward the stain. “A rather useful distraction, don’t you agree?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll explain more once we get you out of here.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Djer ducked into the shadows before it opened. Varro entered with two slaves and pointed to the carpet. “Roll it up so it will be easier to carry.”
She waited for Djer to emerge and knock the steward out, but instead, he said, “You heard Varro, my lady. We need to roll the carpet up so it will be easier to carry.”
Her breath quickened. Varro and Djer were in league with each other? Then she realized what they were asking her to do. The familiar terror seized her heart and squeezed it. “I can’t do that. It’ll be dark and tight and—”
“If you want to help us find Marcus and stop the Barbarians, you’ll do it.” Varro pointed to the carpet, his sharp eyes underscoring the sternness of his words. “Now, hurry, before we lose any more time.”
Her hands trembled as she lowered herself onto the edge of the carpet. How long would she be trapped in it? Would she run out of air? Would she be able to keep her panic at bay while they snuck her out of the palace?
Djer gave her a sympathetic smile. “It will be fine, my lady. I’ll not let any harm come to you.”
He’d rescued her before, and he would again. She nodded and closed her eyes.