by Vivian Arend
The slaves gently rolled her inside the carpet. Their muffled voices counted, and she rose into the air to rest on their shoulders.
Breathe. Just breathe. Remember, you’re doing this for Marcus.
The same waves of panic assaulted her, but this time, she was strong enough to overcome them. She dug her fingers into her palms and forced herself to remain calm as they carried her through the corridors. The fair air of the palace gave way to the strong scents of baking bread and roasting meat, followed by the smell of fresh hay and the faint stench of manure before they stopped.
“Careful,” Djer ordered, and she felt herself slowly sink to the ground.
They unrolled her, and when she looked up, she was inside the royal stables.
Djer helped her up while Varro watched the doorway. “The wagon’s about to leave,” the steward said. “If you can get her on it, you should be able to escape before they notice.”
She approached Varro. “Why are you committing treason to help us?”
“Who said anything about treason?” He cracked a smile that deepened the wrinkles in his face. “I’m merely following orders.”
Her brows drew together, but before she had a chance to ask him what he meant, Djer ushered her out of the barn to the fully loaded wagon outside. He lifted the canvas to reveal a small hiding spot in the middle of the clay amphorae. “Hurry, my lady.”
She climbed on board and Djer followed, pulling the tarp back over them. The wagon jerked forward, its wheels rumbling over the cobblestoned road.
“Once we’re outside the palace walls, I’ll explain everything, my lady,” he assured her.
The late afternoon sun beat down on them through the canvas. Sweat prickled her skin. The wagon stopped, and bits and pieces of the conversation between the driver and the guard filtered through. Sexta drew her knees up to her chest and prayed the guards wouldn’t want to inspect the items under the tarp. She held her breath until the wagon started moving again.
A few minutes later, Djer said, “The empress came and questioned me this morning.”
“And did she believe you?”
“How do you think I escaped?” The white of his teeth seemed brighter under the dim light of the tarp. “She enlisted Varro to help us escape.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed me when I said you’d do all that you could to protect Marcus and the empire.”
For the second time in less than an hour, she hugged Djer. “Thank you for always looking out for me.”
He pulled back, his smile softening. “I have a feeling once we find Marcus, you won’t need my protection much longer.”
Her heart flipped. Yes, if they found Marcus, she wouldn’t leave his side. He said he would protect her, and she would gladly accept it. “And what will you do if I no longer need you?”
“I’m sure I’ll find something to do, my lady, never fear.”
The din from the crowded streets surrounded them, and the wagon drew to a stop again. This time, Djer threw back the tarp and helped her out.
“That was too simple,” she said, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.
“Agreed.” His gaze flickered to the left, and she followed it just in time to see a figure melt into the shadows. “We’re being followed.”
“Then let’s do nothing to raise their suspicions. Marcus said he was going to Numicius’s villa, so let’s head in that direction. Just keep your eyes open for him along the way. ”
She just hoped she’d find him before it was too late.
Marcus sagged against Rufius. The pain in his back had long since dulled into a numbing ache, but he still struggled to draw a breath. His pulse beat erratically as though he’d been sprinting through the crowded streets instead of stumbling through them. All signs that he was losing too much blood. “How much farther to the healer?”
“Not much.” Rufius adjusted his grip on the arm Marcus had thrown over his shoulder and lifted him up.
“You’ve been say that for the last twenty blocks.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
He gave the former soldier a bitter laugh. At this rate, he’d be a breath away from the afterlife by the time they made their way through the ever-thickening crowds. It seemed all of Emona was gathering around the palace gates to hear the announcement of the imperial heir. “You’d move faster without me.”
“Nice try, but we’ve been over this how many times? I’m not leaving you to die in the streets.”
But there was no doubt that death was coming to claim him. He felt it in the clammy sweat that coated his skin, in blackness that constantly threatened to envelop him, in the chill that seeped into his soul. Cold blood trickled down his legs and squished between his feet and sandals. But he forced himself to keep moving. If there was any chance of him getting back to Titus with the news, he’d do his best not to take it for granted.
And if I could just see Sexta one more time...
His knees gave out from under him, and he closed his eyes. A vision of her danced through his mind. The sunlight burned off her auburn hair, and her eyes were bluer than the clearest sky. She smiled at him with the same love as she did last night in his arms. Yes, that was how he wanted to remember her. It was a good image to hold onto as he slipped from this world.
The noise from the streets faded into the rush of blood past his ears. Reality slipped away as he focused on his memories of Sexta. Maybe if the fates were kind, he’d see her again in the afterlife.
“Marcus.”
His lips twitched at the sound of her voice. It was so close, he knew he had to be dreaming. But what a pleasant dream.
“Marcus, please, open your eyes.” A note of panic edged into her voice, signaling this was more than a dream.
He cracked open one eye. Sexta leaned over him, the sunlight behind her turning her hair into fire. Worry marred her lovely face. She held his face in her hands and said his name again.
His dry lips refused to work properly. He wanted to speak, but no sound came out.
Behind him, Rufius murmured something about arrows, but Marcus was too wrapped up in her. The gods had granted him this small miracle—a chance to say good-bye to her—and yet they mocked him by taking away his ability to speak.
Her hands left his face and moved to his thigh. She removed his dagger from its sheath with a hiss, and he wanted to laugh. Two days ago, he would’ve expected her to double-cross him by plunging it into his heart.
Instead, he was pushed forward, and the back of his tunic was ripped away. A warm glow bathed his bare skin, a hundred times more soothing than the afternoon sun. Instead of the sharp sting of pain he’d become all too familiar with over the last hour, he found peace and comfort. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled.
“That’s one,” Sexta said beside him, and his senses sharpened.
She was healing him.
He reached up for her arm and pulled her into his line of sight. She still held the dagger in her hand, not a healing rod, but as the sun glinted off the ore along the blade, he realized how she was using it.
“Lay still, Marcus, so I can finish.”
He slumped back into her arms and pressed his ear against her chest as the pain in his back became a distant memory. The steady throb of her heart quickened from the toll of using her magic through such a small conduit. Healing rods were usually made of pure ore to maximize the healer’s magic, but she was focusing hers through the narrow veins that adorned his dagger. As he grew stronger, he wrapped his arms around her waist and steadied the trembling that engulfed her.
And when it was over, they had switched places. He was the one holding her up, and she was the one with her eyes closed and struggling to draw a breath. The dagger clattered to the street, and she clung to him.
His chest tightened with love and gratitude. He’d been given yet another chance to be with her. Maybe the gods weren’t mocking him after all. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied in a shaky vo
ice. “We’re still far away from the palace gates.”
“And Numicius has his army of Barbarians ready to strike,” Rufius added.
Regret tugged at Marcus’s insides as he forced himself away from Sexta. As much as he wanted to hold her, duty came first. She met his gaze and nodded as though she understood the struggle facing them.
With the help of Rufius and Djer, they both stood. “Do you feel strong enough to continue?” she asked.
“I have no choice.” He took her hand in his and brushed his lips over her knuckles.
Rufius nudged him forward. “Then let’s not waste any more time with those lovebird stares, shall we?”
The four of them wove their way through the streets, their pace harried but not so fast that Marcus couldn’t speak. “I thought I told you to wait in my room.”
“And I thought I told you not to go Numicius’s alone.”
“I had Rufius.”
“And I was released under the discreet orders of the empress to find you.”
A grin played upon his lips. Azurha was growing bolder with her role as Empress. “So I take it Titus isn’t aware of this?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. That means we have an excellent diversion to gain access to the palace.” He moved behind her as the palace walls came into view and he drew her arm behind her back. “We’re returning escaped prisoners.”
“Sounds good to me.” Rufius shot a questioning look to Djer to see if he’d comply with their plan.
The muscular Alpirion nodded and pretended that Rufius had him completely under control, even though anyone with eyes could see the ridiculousness of the situation when comparing the stature of the two men. Djer was not the type of man who could easily be subdued by a small army, much less one man.
Marcus turned off the main road to the palace and led them to the side gate used by the Legion. As soon as the sentry spotted him, the gate opened, and two members of the Legion greeted him.
One of them took Sexta by the arm. “We were wondering how you escaped.”
Marcus pulled her back and glared to the soldier. “I have her under control and will be taking her directly to the emperor.”
“Good, because he was furious to find they were gone.” He fell into step with them. “Captain Horatius went to lead a search party for you.”
“As you can see, I’m alive.” Barely. “But based on what I’ve witnessed today, you’d be wise to tell your comrades to be on the lookout for any citizen with unusual eyes.”
“Unusual eyes?”
“Yeah,” Rufius added, giving Djer a shove and obviously enjoying his role as jailer. “Large, flat eyes that seem to be nothing but the blacks of the pupils.”
The member of the Legion drew to a stop and looked at them as though they were both mad.
“Just do it,” Marcus ordered, not bothering to elaborate. He needed to get to Titus before Numicius carried out whatever he was planning. But first, he needed to stock up at the armory.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sexta rubbed her arms and peered out of the armory at the crowd gathered in the courtyard. Trying to spot one of the disguised Barbarians in that sea of people was like finding a distant planet among the stars in the night sky.
Marcus pressed the hilt of his dagger in her hand. “Take this in case you need it.”
She studied the small arsenal he’d gathered and raised a brow. “You have all that, and you leave me with just this?”
“It’s a fitting weapon for a woman.”
“I can handle a gladius.” She reached around him for one of the swords, but he clamped his hand over her arm and pulled her away.
“I don’t want you tempted to enter this battle and get hurt. You’re to go directly to my room and wait there.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to sit back and let you risk your life again. I’m staying by your side.”
“No, you’re going to do what I say.” A growl rippled through his voice, but that only intensified her determination.
She lifted her chin and shrugged free of him. Seconds ticked by as they stared at each other, neither one of them wanting to back down.
Rufius wedged himself between them. “Stop it, both of you. Your little lover’s spat is costing us time we can’t afford to lose.”
The trumpets blared outside, and the crowd erupted in a cheer. Sexta’s heart skipped a beat. If she were a Barbarian determined to bring the empire to its knees, this would be the perfect setting to strike.
A curse fell from Rufius’s lips, and he reached for his sword. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who thought that.
Marcus gazed out into the courtyard and frowned. “Our best bet is to avoid the crowd and enter the palace from the rear. From there, we can get to Titus and warn him.”
Rufius pointed to the crowd. “And what if Numicius and his creatures are out there right now?”
A muscle rippled along Marcus’s cheek, and Sexta understood his moment of indecision. They were the only ones who could spot the Barbarians in disguise. If they could pull them from the crowd, they might prevent the attack.
But Marcus shook his head, his mind made up. “Our first obligation is to protect the emperor and his family.”
Then he turned to her and added in a softer voice, “But promise me you’ll stay out of the thick of things.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’ll try my best.”
It was the closest thing to a promise that she could give him. She’d agreed to Numicius’s terms because she thought it was her path to freedom, never dreaming it would imprison her in such a way that the safety of the empire was threatened. She stowed the dagger under her skirt. If she saw Numicius, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. It was the only way she’d ever truly be free.
Marcus led them to the palace door and ushered them inside. Every lock they came to opened for him, and it didn’t take them long to arrive at the heart of the palace. They entered through the back door of the throne room, sliding past the members of the Legion who lined the wall behind the imperial family.
The emperor and empress stood on the daïs, their backs to them, receiving their guests who’d come to bear oaths of allegiance to the new heir. Empress Azurha stiffened as though she’d heard them, but she never turned around.
Marcus gestured for Rufius to fan out and search the crowd. He gave Sexta’s hand a squeeze and indicated for her to stay by the door before heading in the opposite direction and disappearing into the crowd.
Sexta kept her head bowed as she scanned the room. The heated glares from dozens of Deizian nobles burned her skin. Never in all her life had she felt like such an outsider. The members of the Legion on either side of her kept her under close watch, their hands on their swords. If she hadn’t come in with Marcus, they’d probably be dragging her to the dungeon right now. But no one wanted to disturb the ceremony unless absolutely necessary. Not even Marcus, who could’ve easily climbed the stairs and whispered something in his best friend’s ear. With any luck, they would be able to get through this without causing a scene.
Time crawled by at a tedious pace, but Sexta appreciated the calm. Her shoulders loosened, and her hand fell from the hilt of the dagger hidden under her dress. She was just about to thank the gods for this turn of events when a flicker of movement caught her eye. A small group of six soldiers entered the throne room from the opposite side and moved along the fringes of the crowd.
Her breath caught as she recognized the insignias on their breastplates, and her blood ran cold. They were members of the squadron stationed at Shalfak, their uniforms allowing them to approach unhindered. They were close enough for her to look into their flat black eyes, and her throat tightened. The Barbarians were here.
She drew the dagger Marcus had given her and immediately was captured by the members of the Legion on either side of her. They pressed her to the wall, one of them clamping their hand over her mouth to smother her cry of warning while the other t
ried to pry the dagger from her. Two others surrounded Djer, their weapons drawn, and a gasp rose from the crowd.
One of the Barbarians sent her a wicked grin as he rushed the daïs, pulling his sword from its scabbard. The members of the Legion were too busy trying to drag her out of the room to pay attention to him. She gave a muffled shout and sent Djer a panicked look.
It was all her bodyguard needed. With a fierce roar that would have made his ancestors proud, he knocked one of the members of the Legion aside while he yanked the sword from the other. Then he ran toward the daïs and intercepted the Barbarian a few feet in front of the emperor.
The guard dropped his hand from her mouth to pursue Djer, and she shouted, “Barbarians in the throne room.”
Time seemed to slow, making the next few seconds seem like hours. A high-pitched scream of terror rose from the center of the crowd, and a gap in the crowd formed to reveal an Elymanian with a bloodied sword and flat black eyes.
Her mouth turned as dry as the Apirion desert. By the gods, how many of them were here in the palace?
The members of the Legion stared at Djer and the Barbarian disguised as a soldier, not knowing which man was the true enemy. Several of them recovered from their shock long enough to move between the combatants and the imperial family, but the soldiers from Shalfak were already charging the empress and the babe in her arms.
Fear surged through Sexta’s veins, but instead of paralyzing her, it gave her the strength to act. She wiggled free from her captor and tackled the soldier in the front, driving the dagger deep inside his chest. They fell to the floor, and his disguise melted away to reveal the gangly, gray-skinned features that were unmistakably Barbarian.
Sexta rolled to the side only to have a line of fire rip along her flank. The air left her lungs in a hiss of pain. She looked up in time to see a blade bearing down on her and screamed.
In all his years, Marcus never imagined he’d witness the scene unfolding before him. It was one thing for an assassin to slip into the palace unnoticed to make a kill, but this bore every indication of a full-blown invasion.