by Vivian Arend
Djer managed to stop the first attacker that rushed Titus, but it was the second save that made Marcus’s heart stop beating. Sexta ran toward the soldier, his dagger in her hand, and fell to the ground with her target.
Marcus pulled the gladius from his belt and shoved his way through the crowd. Even though he was running, he felt like he was swimming through honey instead, never moving fast enough to rescue her. Blood stained her dress by the time he reached her, and her eyes were wide as the soldier standing above her sliced his sword through the air.
Marcus stretched his blade out and blocked the blow. The momentum threw him off balance, and he tumbled to the floor, crashing into the Barbarian she’d killed seconds before. Green Barbarian blood splattered his face as he removed his dagger, but he whirled around and caught one of the other Barbarian soldiers in the back of the thighs.
The second his blade bit into the soft flesh, the Barbarian’s disguise vanished, revealing what he was to everyone in the room. More screams rose from the crowd, and chaos erupted as the citizens rushed the door.
Marcus swiped his blade through the throat of the Barbarian who’d attacked Sexta. Then he pulled her off the floor, grateful to feel her warm breath along his cheek as he took a moment to embrace her before he shoved her into Djer’s arms. “Get her out of here now!”
“Marcus!”
She said his name in such a way that made his heart ache and reached for him even as the Alpirion dragged her into the corridor that led to the imperial quarters. Marcus offered a small prayer to the gods this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her.
The door shut behind Azurha and young Manius. He turned to find Titus standing beside him, his sword drawn.
“Get in there with your wife and child,” Marcus said as he fought off another Barbarian.
“I’m not going to cower behind a closed door while my people are in danger.” Titus made such quick work of his attacker, Marcus wondered if he’d been taking lessons from Azurha. “How many more are there?”
He stared out into the crowd that was trying to squeeze through the small door. “I have no idea.”
But the cries of pain told him enough had survived the explosion at Numicius’s villa to infiltrate the crowd. Only a handful of Legion members joined them inside the room. “Where are the others?” he asked.
“I sent a group of them with Captain Horatius to search for you.”
Marcus gritted his teeth and launched an attack on the next Barbarian he saw. He’d played right into Numicius’s hands, even if the Barbarian leader hadn’t succeeded with his initial plan. The Legion had been divided, leaving them weakened and vulnerable.
He moved closer to his best friend, refusing to let the Barbarians harm him. “It’s you they want.”
“Then let them come and get me.” Titus lunged forward, stabbing the dagger in his left hand into his opponent’s shoulder before delivering the killing blow with the sword in his right hand.
“Let me guess—you and Azurha use combat as foreplay?”
Titus gave him a hint of grin that told him that wasn’t far from the truth before engaging the next enemy.
Marcus peered out into the crowd for the one man behind all this. Numicius was too much of a coward to be on the front lines, and for all he knew, he might have taken on another disguise, but the burning in his gut told him the mastermind was here. It also warned him that something seemed off. If the Barbarians wanted to kill Titus, wouldn’t their leader wish to claim that glory?
A chill snaked up his spine as he finally locked gazes with the one man he’d been searching for. Numicius stood in the center of the room, not far from the globe that controlled the Barrier, and sent him a challenge with the cold grin that curled upon his lips.
Marcus plunged into the crowd, his target never leaving his sight. He’d have his revenge. He’d fight until he ripped the heart from the Barbarian’s chest and made him pay for every atrocity he’d inflicted. And then he’d finally free Sexta from the one man who’d tried to control her.
Numicius easily deflected his strike and followed it up with one of his own. The other Barbarians seemed like green youths compared to their leader. His blade sliced through the air with the speed and accuracy of an accomplished master.
Marcus struggled to keep his sword up. Instead of being the attacker, he found himself constantly on the retreat. Numicius rained blow after blow on him, showing no signs of the fatigue that rattled his own body. Marcus had escaped death twice today, but would he be lucky enough to survive it a third time?
“Your people are so disgustingly weak and predictable,” Numicius said with a sneer.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re a fool if you think you can bring the empire to its knees by killing the emperor.” He spotted an opening and jabbed his blade into the Barbarian’s flesh.
Numicius’s disguise faded as he clutched the wound on his side, but his grin still mocked Marcus. “The emperor is just a man, and we have far bigger plans. He’s not the one we want to fall.”
The meaning behind the Barbarian’s threat slammed into him with such force that Marcus stumbled back. Why didn’t he see it earlier? As long as the barrier stood, the empire was safe. His gaze shifted to the globe in the center of the room, and his gut clenched.
There, just below the spinning orb, was a bomb large enough to destroy the one thing that controlled the barrier.
Numicius jumped at the moment of distraction and lunged.
Marcus rolled back on his feet to avoid the blow, but not fast enough. The blade ripped through the skin and sinew of his good shoulder, matching the scar on the opposite side that marked the prior path of an enemy’s sword. His vision blurred and turned red from the pain. His hand went numb, and his gladius fell to the ground.
His gaze shifted from the Barbarian to the bomb, and he knew what he had to do. He flung his dagger at Numicius’s chest, not bothering to wait to see if it hit its mark, and dove toward the bomb. The fuse sizzled in a shower of sparks, mere inches from detonating the device. He clamped his good hand around it to smother it, but released it with a cry of pain a few seconds later. The fuse still burned, despite the blisters on his palm. His thoughts turned to Sexta, and his heart ached for her when he realized he was left with just one option.
He had to remove the bomb from the throne room before it went off and destroyed the barrier.
Marcus scooped the bomb up and dashed toward the corridor opposite from the imperial quarters. If this thing was going to blow, he wanted it as far away from Titus and his family as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Titus finishing off Numicius, and a sense of pride filled him. Their enemy had been vanquished, and he personally would make sure the Barbarians’ plan would fail.
The fuse seemed to quicken the closer it got to the denotation device, and he forced his legs to move faster. The further he got it from the throne room, the less damage it would cause. He waited until the sparks reached the very top of the bomb and threw it.
The bomb exploded less than a cubit from his hand.
The blast blinded him in a flash of white and hurled him backward. Fire twisted up his arm, followed by a scream of pain that seemed to be come from someone else. The air left his lungs in a whoosh. His body went limp. A loud smack reverberated against the back of his head, and a weightless void hovered on the fringes of his consciousness.
“Marcus, stay with me,” Titus ordered, but the pull of death was stronger than he could possibly imagine. A faint version of his best friend’s face peered down over him. “Don’t you dare die on me, you reckless idiot.”
Marcus’s head rolled to the side, and his stomach lurched. His lower arm was nothing more than a mangled mass of flesh and bone surrounded by a pool of blood. Titus was tightening a belt around his upper arm just above the elbow to staunch the bleeding, but it was no use. His hand was gone, and no amount of healing magic could bring it back.
“Don’t bother,” he croaked.
Titus paused and st
ared at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“Promise me you’ll take care of Sexta.”
“Marcus—”
He grabbed Titus’s arm with his remaining hand and dug his fingers in. “Promise me.”
Grief filled his best friend’s eyes, and he nodded. “I promise.”
Those two words were all he needed to hear. The barrier was safe, and Sexta would be cared for. A cloak of peace surrounded him, and his body went numb. He released Titus and surrendered to the blackness.
Sexta huddled in the corner of the room and hugged her knees. Prayer after silent prayer tumbled from her lips. Nearly an hour had passed since an explosion shook the walls of the palace, but no one had come through the door that separated the emperor’s private quarters from the rest of the palace.
Djer stood beside her, his face expressionless as he watched the door with his hand on his sword. If any Barbarian tried to come through, the Alpirion would be the first one to attack it.
Across the room, Empress Azurha paced like a caged lygress while the emperor’s mother cradled her grandson. Worry filled their eyes. Every time the empress started for the door, she turned around and looked at her newborn child before resuming her path along the floor.
The locks clicked, and everyone in the room froze.
Varro and the members of the Legion drew their swords, ready to protect the empress and the heir with their lives.
The door opened, and Emperor Sergius peeked around the corner.
“Titus!” Empress Azurha ran to him and threw her arms around his neck before pulling him into a passionate kiss that forced Sexta to lower her eyes. “Thank the gods you’re alive.”
She held her breath and waited for Marcus to appear, but he never came. Fear clamped around her heart. He was never far away from his best friend. Where was he?
The emperor said a few words in private to his wife before turning to Sexta. Dried blood caked his skin and clothes, but the dark glow of regret in his eyes held her attention. He approached her with hesitant steps and dropped to one knee an arm’s length away. His mouth opened and closed without a sound, and he turned his gaze to the floor.
Dread shook her core and shook her hands. Whatever he had to say to her, it wasn’t good news. “Where’s Marcus?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
The emperor drew in a deep breath and swallowed. “I’m sorry, Sexta.”
Her heart shattered, and tears spilled from her eyes. She shook her head, unable to accept that he was gone. “No.”
“I wish I had something else to say...”
Raw grief tore at her insides and manifested in a wail that echoed through the room. Djer dropped beside her and pulled her into his arms while she sobbed, but nothing anyone could say or do would soothe her.
The man she’d loved was gone, and part of her died along with him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marcus stared in the fire and didn’t bother to acknowledge his visitor. Only one person dared to enter his room. Even the slaves knew better and left his meals on a tray outside the door. “It’s no use, Titus,” he grumbled.
“Good to see you, too, Marcus.” Titus threw his cloak on the bed and warmed his hands in front of the fire. “It’s snowing.”
“Thank you for the weather report.”
An awkward silence followed, so common during these visits. He’d begged Titus not to heal him, but his best friend refused to let him journey into the afterlife. Now he was left with a stump of an arm that plagued him with phantom pains and reminded him of the things he could never have. For the past five months, he’d hidden in this room in a small villa on the outskirts of Emona. His world had been shrouded in a deep depression that ate away at his soul and drove away the will to live.
“They just finished my new ship.” Titus turned his head toward him as though he expected some sort of reaction. “She’s even faster than The Seventh Wind. Care to take her out and see what she can do?”
Marcus gave him a hard glare and lifted what remained of his left arm. “How can I steer a ship when I’m missing a hand?”
“You still have one good hand.” Titus moved in front of him. “Don’t tell me you’re turning down a chance to sail the fastest ship in the empire?”
He rose from his chair and curled his fingers into his palm. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t change my mind?”
“And how many times do I have to tell you you’re being a fool?”
He gritted his teeth together and walked away. “Look at me, Titus. Would you like to be seen in public like this?”
“You just lost part of your arm, Marcus. There are men in this empire who’ve borne more serious injuries than you, and they didn’t lock themselves away from the rest of the world. You’re acting like a vain child.”
“I don’t have to listen to this.”
“I’m still the emperor,” Titus reminded him, “and you’re kept here in secret according to my good will. Some days, I have half a mind to drag you kicking and screaming from here and show you everything you should be thankful you still have.”
Marcus immediately thought of Sexta and relaxed his fingers one by one. “I can’t have her, not when I’m like this.”
“You didn’t even give Sexta a chance.”
“What would you have done in my position? I can’t fight. I can’t steer a ship. I can’t even cut my own meat. I’m completely useless, and I couldn’t bear to see the pity in her eyes. She’d eventually tire of me and leave me for someone else.” He turned back to the fire and fought back the ache in his chest. “Besides, I’m just taking a page from her book. She’s better off believing I’m dead.”
“That’s what you think,” Titus replied, the hard edge of his voice challenging him. “You told me once I was no good without Azurha, and you were right. Now it’s my turn to give you the same advice. You’re no good without Sexta, and you know it.”
“She deserves someone better than me. A man who can provide for her. A man who can protect her. A man who can be everything she needs.”
“And who’s to say you’re not that already?”
He closed his eyes and pushed those silly thoughts from his head. Titus had told him she’d mourned him in the days followed the Barbarians’ attack, but then left Emona a week later. She’d moved on, and it was for the best. “How is she?”
“Still grieving, but otherwise well. I still hate that I agreed to mislead her into thinking you’re dead.”
He rubbed the center of his chest as though it would massage away his own grief. “And you’ll keep your promise to take care of her.”
“I gave you my word, Marcus.”
“And that’s all I need to know.” He sank back into his chair and resumed staring into the fire. “Now go.”
Titus’s mouth thinned into a line of anger. If Marcus had been any other man, he’d probably be punished for speaking to the emperor in such a manner. “What can I do to end this nonsense?”
“You can let me die, just like I asked you to do five months ago.”
“Fine.” Titus drew his sword and approached him.
Marcus’s pulse jumped, and he held his breath, waiting for the strike that would end his miserable existence.
But instead of killing him, Titus threw his sword on the floor in front of the fire. “If you want to die, then do it yourself, if you can find the courage to actually do it. I refuse take the life of my best friend, no matter how much of a selfish bastard you’ve been these last few months, and I can assure you that if you ever got your head out of your ass, you’d see you have plenty left to live for, including a woman who loves you.”
Marcus remained perfectly still as Titus grabbed his cloak and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His best friend’s words churned in his mind like a rough sea. If he showed himself to Sexta, would she take him back? Or would she reject him the way he feared?
His gaze flickered to the flames reflected on the polished blade
. Death seemed so much kinder than risking his heart again.
But as the night marched on, he left it where Titus had thrown it. Doubt plagued him, and his conscience mocked him for being a coward. When the late hour begged him to retreat to his bed, he got up and hoped his resolution would be stronger in the morning.
Sexta followed Varro into the throne room. The pit of her stomach fluttered, but she wished she could blame it entirely on her nerves. She pressed her hand against the growing bump and willed the child inside her to be still.
It was the first time she’d returned to Emona since she’d lost Marcus. The emperor had given her time to grieve before presenting her with a new ship, explaining that it had been Marcus’s last wish that she be provided for. She’d explored the empire from corner to corner, but nothing could fill the emptiness inside her. The only small consolation came when she realized she was pregnant with his child.
Varro led her past the giant globe Marcus had given his life to protect. She’d heard the story from several different people about how he’d snatched the bomb the Barbarians had planted under it and carried it out of the throne room. Bitterness mingled with the grief inside her heart when she saw it, but she understood why he’d taken such a risk. If he’d hadn’t, the barrier would’ve fallen.
He died a hero. That’s something I can tell his child.
The steward pressed his hand against the bronze pad by the door to the private room off to the side. “He’s expecting you.”
She responded with a single note of dry laughter. More like he’d ordered her to return to Emona last night. Thankfully, she’d been close enough to fly back within a few hours and not keep him waiting long.
Emperor Sergius was leaning on his desk when she entered, his back to her. When he didn’t look up, she lowered into a curtsy.
“You sent for me, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Sexta.” He turned around and gestured for her rise. “I wished to talk to you about—”
He froze and stared at her stomach. “By the gods, I wasn’t expecting that.”