From Unseen Fire

by Cass Morris

  At her side was Alhena, the youngest of the sisters, who had eyes like the sky before a storm, an intense swirl of blue and gray. In contrast to her sister’s trend-setting appearance, Alhena wore her blazing-red hair plainly, pulled back from her face and pinned up to expose her neck. ‘Too severe for a child her age . . .’ Not a child, though; she now wore a woman’s garments and had put off the protective charm of the bulla necklace. Still, she looked quite small standing next to Aula, and her cheeks still bore traces of prepubescent roundness. Sempronius knew little of her except that she had been blessed by Proserpina—a rare and sometimes treacherous gift. Sempronius hoped, for the girl’s sake, that her tutors had impressed on her the importance of grounding herself, and that whatever husband Aulus Vitellius found for her would prove to be a kind and patient man.

  When Sempronius entered the atrium, the ladies were receiving Galerius Orator and his wife Marcia. Their son was present, too; the Vitelliae had deemed the evening a family affair and so, some guests had brought along even those sons who had not yet entered manhood.

  Marcia Tullia, only a few years younger than Galerius, had a dignified beauty: dark hair with just a touch of silver, cool blue eyes, and an intelligent face. If she had been a common plebeian woman or one of a host of spare daughters, she might have stayed in the Temple of Mercury her whole life. Instead, she had wed Galerius Orator, and for all the trouble they had found themselves in under Ocella, the match was not only mutually advantageous, but tender, warmed by admiration and devotion. ‘How might Galerius’s life have been different had her path been different? Or my own, for that matter?’ Sempronius wondered, well aware of how much of his safety was owed to Marcia Tullia’s warnings.

  The son was obviously still growing into himself, gawky and awkward, at that age when the limbs fast outpaced the rest of the body. He took after his mother, dark and serious, with his father’s hawk-like nose. He was already in training for the priesthood. If his father became consul, as he was likely to do, Young Lucius could not follow him there, under the restrictions of the lex cantatia Augiae. If he had a mind as good as his father’s, Sempronius considered that another shameful waste of potential to add to the law’s tally. Blessed with gifts of Air like his mother, the lad could at least look forward to a position as a pontifex someday, guarding the religious orders of the nation.

  As the Galeriae moved away, middle daughter Latona appeared—and Sempronius realized, as an unexpected warmth filled his chest, that he had been hoping she would arrive in time to greet him. Of the three Vitelliae, Latona provoked the most intrigue. Since she had first entered adult patrician society, Sempronius had sensed in her some potential unfulfilled.

  As a mage of Water as well as Shadow, Sempronius knew what dammed-up power felt like—and he could sense the pressure point where it threatened to burst. The intervening years had done nothing to dim his sense of trammeled potential in the Lady Latona; if anything, Sempronius perceived a widening breach in the dam.

  Taller than either of her sisters and swathed tonight in a gown of shimmering bronze, to Sempronius’s eyes, Latona shone like the sun. Her skin had a slightly honeyed hue, not ivory like Aula’s and Alhena’s, and her hair was pure gold. The similarities between the three Vitelliae daughters were evident at a glance. Aula and Latona had the same emerald eyes; Latona and Alhena both had tip-tilted noses; all had delicate, aristocratic bone structure and full rosebud lips.

  Sempronius watched as the sisters greeted the cheerfully unsophisticated Autroniae. He thought well of the Vitelliae for inviting them, considering that they were an up-and-coming plebeian family unwelcome in many patrician homes. Marcus Autronius served with Sempronius in the Senate, but could never be consul, not as an Earth mage. His younger brother, called Felix, had recently returned from Numidia, lamenting the lack of suitable action there. He had a martial look about him, the sort who thrived on life in the legions, but with the ladies, his manner was easy and charming. Something he said made Aula titter, though it seemed to have startled Marcus. Their father had the contented roundness of a man of comfortable living, and his wife, though garishly dressed, was pink-cheeked and amiable.

  When it came time for Sempronius, Vibia, and Taius Mella to greet their hostesses, Aula reached forward to grasp Vibia’s hands, grinning broadly. “So glad to see you, my dear! We thought you might not make it.”

  Vibia’s smile was not quite so freely emotive as Aula’s, but she inclined her head graciously. “I should never have forgiven myself had I been unable to accept such a kind invitation.” In truth, Sempronius suspected she would have been as happy to travel at a more leisurely pace, but he had sent a messenger to urge her haste.

  Sempronius and Taius were not intimately enough acquainted with the ladies to offer greeting embraces of any kind, but when Latona lifted her eyes to him, Sempronius felt his heart seized by a tremendous impulse to touch her. His fingers burned for it, though he could not for the world have explained why. “I hope you’ve been well since we last met,” Latona said. “Or, as well as can be expected, considering.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Sempronius replied, then gained enough control of himself to bestow her with the grin that typically put women off their balance. “If one has to go into exile, there are certainly worse places for it than Tamiat.”

  Latona tilted her head to one side, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “No trouble with the locals, then?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sempronius replied. “They may worship crocodiles, dabble in curses and profane magic, and indulge in unspeakable depravities, the women may parade half-naked through the streets, and the royal family may be a nest of murdering vipers, but . . . I found them to be most charming, really.”

  Latona gave a little half-laugh, looking as though she were entertained but could not quite decide whether or not to believe him. “How pleasant your life must have been, then,” she teased him.

  “Entirely. I can thoroughly recommend it to any Aventan as an unexpectedly edifying vacation.”

  The smile curving her lips was more than polite, and she met his eyes boldly, though she dropped her voice below the usual tones of greetings and introductions. “I do so enjoy edification. You must promise to tell me all about it,” she said, “especially the curses and depravities, half-naked or otherwise.”

  He couldn’t help it; her frank statement coaxed a bark of laughter out of him, causing both his sister and Latona’s to glance over at them questioningly. Sempronius found that he desired little else than to keep talking with this woman, to make her laugh in earnest. The feeling caught him quite by surprise. “I shall endeavor not to disappoint you, then, Lady,” he said.

  “And I shall hold you to that,” she replied. There was something dancing merrily in her expression—a promise, or a challenge. Sempronius couldn’t be sure. Nor could he stall in the entryway any longer, so he moved on to nod his greetings to Aula and Alhena, letting Mella file in behind him. His thoughts, though, lingered behind.

  * * *

  Aulus Vitellius stood in the peristyle garden, welcoming guests as the slaves ushered them from the atrium and pointed them towards their seats. As the daughters of the house brought up the end of the line, Aula caught Latona by the elbow, hissing beneath her breath. “What on earth did you say to Sempronius Tarren?”

  “Something that would shock the curl right out of Alhena’s hair,” Latona answered.

  “Well, whatever it was, everyone who saw that’s going to be talking about it.” Mischief lit up Aula’s eyes. “And I’ll make sure anyone who didn’t see it hears about it, for certain. Fancy my proper matron of a little sister causing the first stir of the evening.”

  Latona felt a blush come to her cheeks. Drawing that sort of notice had hardly been her intention. ‘Careful, careful . . .’ she warned herself. ‘You should know you can’t play and tease like that. There are always repercussions.’

  A little rebellio
us spark, one that had ignited more frequently in these past few weeks, argued against that logic, begging her to do as she pleased. And it had pleased her to make Sempronius laugh. Aloud, she said only, “It’s a sad state of affairs if making a man laugh is enough to provoke commotion. We truly must be starved for entertainment.”

  “Abydosia seems to have agreed with him,” Aula commented, glancing down the line of guests towards the man in question’s broad shoulders and dark head of hair. “Most of the men returning either lost forty pounds or gained them, but he looks positively improved by exile.” Latona had no argument against that but shushed her sister as they entered the garden.

  It had been decades since society had considered it promiscuous for women to dine while reclining, but since some ladies still preferred to sit rather than lounge, the tables arranged in the peristyle garden had both couches and chairs around them. The wife of Chief Augur, her wrinkled face split by a wide grin, eased herself down to a chair saying, “Ha! I remember when ladies who lay down to eat were considered fast.” And then, gimlet eyes sparkling, she leaned towards Latona, saying—in what was probably meant to be a conspiratorial whisper—“And I reclined on plenty of couches in my time! But these old bones, well, they just don’t settle down the way they used to.”

  “I simply don’t believe you can remember the time when this was scandalous,” Latona insisted, with a dazzling smile. “You don’t look a day over thirty, Crispinia.”

  “Good girl,” she said, reaching over the table to pat Latona’s hand. “Always liked you. Now, tell me what you thought of that play where I saw you last week. Damned frivolous piece of tripe, if you ask me—”

  And so the banquet began. The slaves brought out table after table of delectables: hot sausages, fine white rolls with honey, olives, figs, a capon’s liver steeped in milk, sturgeon, eel, prawns in a fine sauce; pheasant and thrush and fatted guinea hens. It had been easy to procure the very best. For so long, few patricians or plebeians of wealth had been in the city to throw such extravagant affairs. The merchants had practically slavered to provide the Vitelliae with luxury goods that had too long gone under-appreciated.

  Around the couches, the buzz of conversation grew to a steady hum, broken with frequent laughter. The men returned from exile told tales from life abroad, and as was so often the case in times of trial, turned their misfortunes to humor. Not the false and brittle charm Latona had been forced to adopt in Ocella’s court, nor the contrived merriment Aula had affected instead of mourning, but this, too, was a kind of coping. ‘The past cannot be forgotten,’ Latona thought, ‘but maybe—maybe—it can be set behind us.’

  By the time the desserts were served—nuts and fruits and almond cakes—the guests began to leave their appointed places to mingle freely between the couches, particularly those younger and less prestigious members of the company. Though the evening had begun with a certain degree of formality, with free-flowing wine, cheerful music being played by comely slaves and hired girls, and such a general feeling of good cheer and relaxation, it was not likely to continue in the same upright vein. The Vitelliae knew well how to ride the line that separated a loosening of stricture from a total lack of sophistication, and their guests were all too willing to set themselves at ease. The great men retained their seats while the young bucks moved about, jockeying for position near those who held influence—or near some of the lovely ladies.

  Autronius Felix made his flirtatious rounds in the company of several friends, including Young Publius Rufilius, a good-looking young man who was son to the famous General Rufilius Albinicus. The two swains could not have appeared more different. Felix was broad and stocky, with solid shoulders and powerful thighs. His hair and eyes were dark, his skin ruddy, testament to his plebeian status and the freedmen somewhere in his ancestry, and he moved with a charmingly careless ease. Patrician Publius Rufilius, on the other hand, was tall and slim-waisted, with the smoothly powerful grace of a thoroughbred horse. He well deserved the nickname of Young Apollo, with his golden hair and blue eyes, bright with merriment and mockery. An unlikely pair in some respects, perhaps, but they shared a carefree irreverence that made them natural allies.

  Sempronius gave up his seat beside Taius Mella to a young senator seeking financial advice—all the more readily when he noticed that a spot on Latona’s couch had opened up. ‘Where is her husband, I wonder?’

  * * *

  Latona’s thoughts, as Sempronius watched her, were on her sisters. Alhena’s natural reticence had been getting the better of her, and Latona had worried that her shyness might read as arrogance. Latona felt, beneath her sister’s unease, not just discomfort, but insecurity.

  ‘Of course,’ she realized, with a pitch of her heart. Alhena had little experience in society and small idea how to behave. Latona had sent a charm Alhena’s way—a boost of confidence to combat anxiety—and now Alhena was sitting across from old Crispinia and a priestess of Proserpina. Her expression was serious and her mannerisms still tight, but at least she was actively engaged in conversation.

  Aula, meanwhile, seemed to have chatted with everyone in the room—and flirted with half of the eligible young men. Aula had a knack for putting guests at their ease. She lounged between the Autronian patriarch and a historian of considerable esteem. Latona would not have guessed the two men to have had much in common, but Aula had both chuckling with interest as she chattered animatedly.

  “She is a marvel.”

  Latona startled. She had not even noticed that Sempronius had sat down next to her until he had spoken, and she remembered now his uncanny ability to pluck thoughts out of other people’s brains.

  He gestured towards Aula with the hand holding his cup of wine. “So long across the water, I had forgotten, but your sister is a remarkable woman.”

  “I’m sure she would thank you for the compliment, Senator,” Latona replied, inclining her head slightly.

  “Would she take it kindly if I tendered my long-overdue regrets regarding her husband’s misfortune? Or would she not thank me for the reminder?”

  His dark eyes were sincere; he meant no empty pleasantry, and so Latona gave him an honest reply. “I think she would rather not be reminded of it, sir,” she said. “She does not speak of it often, even to me, and I believe the whole family would just as soon put those dark days behind us entirely. But I will thank you for the kindness of remembrance, on her behalf.”

  “Will she remarry now?” Sempronius inquired.

  A playful smile toyed at the edge of Latona’s mouth. “Are you asking, Senator?”

  Sempronius laughed good-naturedly. “No, I fear not. As delightful as your sister is, we would be an ill match.”

  Latona laughed, too. “It will take a man of special temperament to make her happy, I think,” she admitted. “She was quite fond of Quinctilius; I do not believe she would settle for a less amiable match.”

  “And your husband?” Sempronius asked, and for the blink of a moment, Latona thought he was asking if her husband made her happy. “He was in town for the funeral, wasn’t he?”

  “I— Yes,” Latona replied. “Yes, he was, but he headed back to Liguria the next day. He has new slaves there, and he’s worried this news of rebellion coming in from Iberia might have stirred them up.”

  “Isn’t he eligible to stand for praetor soon?”

  “Next year, but I don’t expect that he shall,” Latona confessed. “It’s such an expensive venture, and I believe he’d rather keep reinvesting his funds in his business.” She tilted her head to the side. “You’ll be standing yourself this year, won’t you?”

  “I intend to, as soon as elections are set,” Sempronius replied, though in almost too casual a manner. He masked it well, but Latona’s magic gave her an insight. Spirit knew ambition, and she could feel the bite of it nested inside his words. “But,” he went on, with a grin sliding onto his face that made her want to inch closer
to him on the couch, “enough of politics. I don’t think anyone here truly wants to talk of Curia matters tonight, and I promised to tell you about Abydosia.”

  She did move closer to him at that, though under the guise of repositioning herself more comfortably on the couch, leaning over to take a fruit tart from the table. “I’m gratified to find you a man of your word,” she teased, voice merry. “Do begin with the grandest debauchery you can think of.”

  From across the room, their affinity caught Aula’s attention as she glanced between her conversational partners. ‘Well. Now isn’t that something?’ Her mind rapidly set to turning over the possibilities presented by a strengthened alliance with the Semproniae. Sempronius Tarren was not so very great a man yet, but he had the aura of greatness about him. Aula didn’t need any magic to tell her that.

  Veteran of so many dinner parties and social functions, Aula had made something of a study of how men and women presented themselves, and she could see the sparks of interest between her sister and Sempronius. Their bodies were angled towards each other, just a fraction closer on the couch than was strictly proper. A flush danced on Latona’s cheeks as she spoke to him, and Aula did not think it came solely from the wine.

  Aula was not the only one who noticed the warm conversation going on between Latona and Sempronius. His sister Vibia caught sight of them when she turned in her chair to ask Marcia Tullia a question. Her brow creased; she misliked the too-warm, too-genuine smile lighting her brother’s face. It bespoke an unguarded attitude that unsettled her.

  For her part, Latona was enjoying herself too thoroughly to put much thought into how they must appear to any onlookers, but she was dimly aware of her own entrancement. It was rare for her to feel so captivated by someone, and yet it was a quality that Sempronius had always owned. His appearance was comely, but hardly extraordinary. Brown hair, brown eyes, a proper Aventan nose, a good strong jaw, but with no particularly notable features to set him apart. He was no paragon of masculine beauty, like golden-haired Publius Rufilius, nor sinfully dark, like Young Crispinius, nor even bearing the rugged attraction of the Autroniae brothers. But there was something magnetic about him all the same, a fathomless quality that made it difficult to take her eyes off him.