by Cass Morris
Sempronius laughed mirthlessly. “I’ll make an appropriate apology to all offended deities later. Just get the damn thing out, Felix.”
“Yes, sir.” With a swift, jerking motion, Felix yanked what remained of the arrow out of the back of Sempronius’s arm. Sempronius cursed another blue streak, but gestured with his other arm for someone to bring water to cleanse the wound. He had expected the pain to ebb after the arrow was out, but instead, it was spreading, an ache growing down towards his elbow and up towards his neck. His fingers, numb and stiff, were slow to respond when he tried to flex them. And his magical sense prickled with Shadow’s warning of foul deeds done.
Felix brought the arrow up to his eye to inspect it. “Um.” he said, rotating it between his fingers. “Does this look odd to anyone else?”
Marcus Autronius took the arrow and held it to his nose. He sniffed twice, then dropped it. “Poison.”
Everyone in the room startled, except Sempronius, who closed his eyes, half in resignation, half wincing. “Poison?” Aulus said. “But that would mean . . . We thought it was an accident!”
Sweat was beginning to glisten on Sempronius’s forehead, and his jaw started to chatter. Shadow’s sense made him acutely aware of the blackness already spreading in his blood, and for the first time, he worried that his control might slip and cause him to give himself away. “Fetch . . . Latona . . .” he said.
“Latona?” Aulus asked. “No, nonsense, why would my daughter—”
“Fire magic,” Marcus said. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Sempronius?”
“Of course.” Galerius had picked up the reasoning. “She might be able to purge the poison.”
“What?” Aulus’s face went ashen. “Latona doesn’t have any training as a healer! It’s not just inappropriate, it’s absurd—”
“Try . . .” was all Sempronius could manage, but Marcus finished for him.
“Let her try, at least! We may not have the time to get him into Tibur to a physician—if there’s even one there who could help. We certainly don’t have the time to get him back to Aven.”
A deep frown creased Aulus’s face, but he gave a stiff nod and left the room, returning a moment later with Latona in tow. A worried pallor had taken over the usual golden glow of her face. Sempronius nodded at his arm, summoning the strength to speak even as the darkness pressed at him. “Been poisoned, Lady Latona. I need . . . need . . .”
Marcus took over again. “He’s fading fast, Lady. We need Fire magic to purge the poison. No one else here can do it, and by the time we found an antidote or got him to a priest or a physician—”
“But—” Latona’s jaw hung open as she glanced between Marcus, Sempronius, her father, and the other men in the room. “I— I can’t, I don’t know how, no one ever taught me— I’ve never done anything like this.”
Sempronius shifted in his chair, choking back a groan of pain. “Latona.” Her eyes snapped to his. He saw her terror, her insecurity, writ clear on her face even without the insight of his magic. “You can. I believe this.”
XXXI
The moment, long and horrible, seemed to hang in the air. Sempronius’s deep brown eyes were unfocused and going red around the edges, and though he was trying not to show his pain, his breath was ragged and labored. There was not just a plea in his gaze; there was a command, to do as he believed she could. As ever, his confidence in her eclipsed her own.
‘You have to try.’
There was nothing else for it. Latona had no idea if she was capable of this magic, but she could not condemn Sempronius through her own insecurity.
She shucked off her mantle and tossed it at someone—she wasn’t even aware whom—then stepped close to Sempronius. “I need fire,” she said. “Bring a lamp, please.” Marcus came near with one. “Hold it steady, here.” She placed one hand around the clay, feeling the warmth against the hollow of her palm. Soon she had the thread of it—the heat and the spark, a source for her magic to draw on. “Please,” she whispered, not certain who she implored, and then she pressed the palm of her other hand over the puncture wound.
Fire was not the strongest element in healing magic. Water did best, or Light, but Marcus and Marcia were the only other mages present, and neither had those talents. Fire could purify, though, and that was what Sempronius needed now.
Latona squeezed her eyes shut, trying to forget how many of the most important men in Aven were about to witness her attempt. ‘Venus and Vulcan, look here and guide me. Hunt it out,’ she thought. ‘Let the magic seek out the poison and burn it clean.’ A warmth tingled in her fingers and spread out across Sempronius’s skin. With effort, she managed to focus it tighter, forcing the magic into the wound, probing the envenomed flesh.
Sempronius hissed in pain, but Marcus, standing behind her, held her arm so that she could not draw it back. Was that a surge of Earth energy she felt, steadying her? “Keep going,” he said. “He’ll be fine.”
Latona wanted to tell him that she didn’t know if it was working, but she forced that thought from her mind. Such weakness and waffling would ensure failure. She focused in on the purging heat, ignoring Marcus whispering behind her, ignoring her father’s pacing, ignoring everything but the beat of her own heart, the warmth of the lamp, and the pulse of the magic. Harder still was ignoring what came from inside Sempronius: his pain, the whirl of his panicked emotions, the stress of keeping them under control, and a dark haze that she could not identify, but suspected had to do with his impending unconsciousness. ‘Focus, focus . . . true, Claudia never taught you these skills, but you’ve read the theory, you can do this. If you don’t do this, Sempronius dies.’ And that thought harrowed, but Latona could not allow that fear to divert her attention.
The purging magic operated by channeling through healthy flesh with ease, pushing back when it encountered obstacles. The poison had its own peculiar sensation, a devouring rot like the sickly mush of an overripe plum. When Latona’s magic came against it, she drew the Fire through herself and encouraged it forward to burn through the infectious taint. There was a rhythm to it, of push and pull, and soon she had her magic flowing through his blood in relentless pursuit of the impurities.
After a few minutes, she felt Sempronius’s body relax, no longer instinctively fortifying itself against an intruder. The release of tension sagged through her as well. “I think . . . I think that’s done it . . .” she said, stepping back. She felt arms holding her up and realized only then that her knees had gone out from under her. Marcus had caught her, awkwardly, as he still held the lamp, then passed her off to her father. A slave had stepped forward with a damp cloth to wipe her hands clean of Sempronius’s blood. “He’s . . . he’ll be all right. Though he really should see a proper physician as soon as possible.” She regained her feet, bringing herself upright as Sempronius, with some effort, hauled himself out of the chair. Latona remembered what Rubellia had warned her about, the propensity of Fire magic to overheat. “I may have accidentally given him a fever.” It was a known hazard of using Fire magic to heal, a reason that Water and Light were preferred.
Around them, the rest of the men burst into conversation, speculating on who might have loosed a poisoned arrow in the woods near Galerius’s villa. But Latona hardly heard them. Her blood pounded in her ears, and in her chest she felt resonant satisfaction. ‘I did it. I did it. There was a challenge, and I met it.’
“Thank you, Lady,” he said, taking an unsteady step towards her. He made as though to kiss her hand, but used the opportunity to draw himself close to her ear. “How did you know?” Sempronius’s voice was hardly a whisper, nowhere near loud enough for the others to hear. “When you and Terentilla came to us in the woods. How did you know something was wrong?”
Her cheeks colored. “Spirit magic. I felt . . . I felt your pain.” It bespoke the connection between them, one that she felt tightening now that she had sensed the danger
so immediately.
He pressed her hand, admiration shining through the exhaustion in his eyes. “You are an astonishing woman.” His voice was still low, but its warm flow curled right around Latona’s heart. Then he released her, stepping back. “Galerius, I’m afraid I may have to trespass on your hospitality a day or so longer than planned. I don’t think I’m up to riding quite yet.”
“Of course,” Galerius said. “I’ll send out riders immediately, to see if they can find who loosed the arrow.”
“Thank you, though I doubt they’ll have much luck.” Sempronius rotated his arm experimentally, wincing. “I suspect whoever is behind this is a long ways off by now.”
“Sit back down, man,” Felix said, half-shoving Sempronius back into his seat. “We’ve still got to sew you up.”
“Quite right. As soon as this is done, if someone would be so good as to fetch my sister. I imagine she’s beside herself with worry.”
“Come, my dear,” Aulus said, taking his daughter’s elbow. “No need for you to see this.”
There was a fierceness in his gaze, though not anger, and with her magic still primed, Latona could feel the source of it: fear, old but rippling. ‘Of course,’ she thought. ‘Years of trying to keep me unnoticed, and now I go and successfully perform magic beyond my training in front of Aven’s foremost men.’
Aulus squeezed her arm lightly. “You need to rest.” It was an order, not an observation. Latona thought about challenging him, and if she had felt the burrowing resentment she so often did from Herennius, she might have. Her father’s sternness, though, came from concern, and so she relented. Loath though she was to be parted from Sempronius, she let Aulus lead her back to the chamber she had shared with Aula.
XXXII
CITY OF AVEN
True to his word, Galerius had dedicated his resources to finding the attempted assassin, but by the time he and Sempronius returned to Aven, a few days after the rest of the hunting party, their efforts had not yielded any new information. Sempronius appreciated the effort, but he suspected there would be no clues to uncover, at least not through traditional means. All the men who might want him dead had capacity enough to cover their tracks. ‘One more thing to ask the mirror.’ The moon was on the wane, and soon, Sempronius would be able to search for answers in his own reliable fashion.
In the meantime, he had to tender his thanks to the woman who had saved his life.
Sempronius set out for the Palatine Hill once his arm had healed sufficiently. Though Latona had purged the poison, and likely anything else that would cause infection, the wound still ached. His whole upper arm was covered in an ugly purplish-red bruise, which made donning a toga even more uncomfortable than usual. The Asclepian priest who had seen him upon his return to the city had wanted Sempronius to rest for weeks—but that was a luxury a candidate for office could not afford.
With him were Corvinus and two household slaves bearing baskets of fresh goods, just in from his country estates. Despite their excellent quality, Sempronius felt it a meager tribute. It was, however, an appropriate gift from a widowed senator to a married woman, nothing that would raise eyebrows or set tongues wagging. He would have come bearing bolts of Seric silks, golden bangles, and jeweled pendants, but such luxurious offerings would be sure to cause a flutter. While a buried mischievous instinct relished the notion of stirring up Latona and of flouting Herennius, Sempronius could little afford a scandal, not with the elections so close.
He had considered books, such as he had given the youngest Vitellia after the Cantrinalia, but further contemplation of the implications forced him to discard that, too, as too personal. If anyone mistook such a gift to the unwed Alhena for a courtship token, it was fodder for gossip, but not infamy. The same to another man’s wife was a different matter. So, appropriate, impersonal fruit it was.
Sempronius called first at the Vitellian house, where Aulus was happy to receive him, although Aula seemed truly dismayed to inform him that Latona was at her husband’s domus on the Caelian Hill.
More ill luck followed: Numerius Herennius was not only in town, but at home when his steward admitted Sempronius to the atrium. “Sempronius Tarren,” he said, caution riding high in his voice. “What brings your honored personage to my house?”
“I was hoping to speak with the Lady Vitellia,” Sempronius answered, careful not to use the familiar form of her name.
“What is your business with my wife?” Legs splayed apart and arms folded across his chest, Herennius evidently thought he was doing a reasonable impression of an imposing figure. Sempronius’s eyes caught the uncomfortable angle of Herennius’s shoulders, the nervous flicker of his gaze; Shadow observed the suspicion near-brimming from the man. Herennius reeked of petty insecurities.
Beyond Herennius, Sempronius also caught sight of a dark-haired young woman peering around a column: Merula, who scurried off towards the back of the house. “She did me a good turn at Galerius Orator’s hunt,” Sempronius said. “You may have heard there was an accident with a stray arrow. The lady has more talent in healing than she realizes.” Herennius’s nostrils flared in an incredulous huff. “I wanted to deliver a token of my appreciation.” Sempronius gestured at the baskets. “Fruit and berries, to grace your tables, with my thanks.”
“Yes, well,” Herennius said, “I shall pass on your gratitude. I’m sure the lady will be exceedingly receptive.” Herennius’s words were polite, but his tone belied his bitterness. “I’m sure you have important business to be conducting elsewhere, Senator. Do not let me delay you.”
Herennius’s short-sightedness was to Sempronius’s advantage, and he had no compunction about using the man’s flaws against him. “The lady acted with both bravery and compassion,” he said, “though perhaps she has been too modest to speak of it herself. I am greatly in her debt, and I cannot consider myself well-discharged of my duty until I have expressed my gratitude, in person.”
Herennius’s face reddened, but before he could say anything else, the lady in question appeared. Merula, at her elbow, was whispering hurriedly to her as they walked along. She glided forward, wearing what Sempronius recognized as her publicly gracious smile. ‘How often does she have to wear that in her own home?’ Hardly looking at her husband, she nodded in greeting to Sempronius. “Senator,” she said, her voice cool and careful, “It is a pleasure to welcome you to our house. I hope nothing is amiss?”
“Nothing indeed, Lady Vitellia. I only wanted to express my gratitude for your assistance in Tibur.”
Herennius hurried to respond before Latona could. “Give the gentleman your thanks so he can be on his way.”
“Not without taking some water, surely,” Latona said.
“He has no need to—”
“Sempronius Tarren is a friend and an ally of my father’s,” Latona said, her voice growing louder and harder. “It would be churlish indeed to deny him the courtesy of our house.” She pressed her lips thin before adding. “Please, husband, don’t feel that it should keep you from your appointments. I know you were on your way to the emporium. You may consider your duties as a host discharged.” She laid one hand on his arm, gesturing to the door with the other.
Herennius shrugged her off more roughly than was necessary. “He does not pass beyond the atrium. Your girl will stay here, as will my steward.” Glaring from one of them to the other, he snapped his fingers at an attendant, who passed him a cloak. With the barest attempt at a civil nod to Sempronius, Herennius stalked from the building.
Some of the tension ebbed out of Latona’s body as the door shut behind him. “I apologize for my husband,” Latona sighed. “He has much on his mind.”
Sempronius could have played along with her deflection, but somehow, it no longer seemed appropriate. This woman, this incredible woman who fascinated him, had saved his life and yet dared not trust her own talents. If civil manners dictated he allow her to apologize
for Herennius’s bad behavior, then Sempronius could no longer be civil.
“No,” he said. “That isn’t it.”
Latona blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Sempronius glanced at Herennius’s steward, still standing by the door with Corvinus and the other Sempronian attendants, and Latona took his meaning. She gestured him into the atrium, and they sat on two benches that came together at a right angle by a fluted column. Merula sat in a chair behind her mistress, but Sempronius knew she was loyal to Latona and would keep her secrets. He pitched his voice low enough that the steward would not overhear. “Your husband doesn’t like me, plain and simple,” he said. “And he knows that you do, and that makes him nervous. And . . . I think he is threatened by you.”
“Threatened?” Her laugh was brittle, false, which told Sempronius that he had hit the mark. He smiled slowly as comprehension dawned.
“Sweet lady,” he said, “who taught you that being extraordinary was dangerous?”
* * *
Sempronius had a way, when he chose, of disarmingly intense eye contact. There was otherwise nothing remarkable about his gaze; his eyes were plain brown, quite normal. But he could fix a person with a concentration like a stalking panther, and, feeling quite the doe, Latona found herself unable to break the gaze.
“The world,” Latona said, scarce above a whisper. “Sempronius, you know—how many people learned that lesson under Ocella?”
“I spent two years in Abydosia learning it,” Sempronius said. “But some dangers must be faced down, not avoided. You are strong enough to bear it. By the gods, Latona, think what you have borne, without breaking.” She shook her head, and his hand jerked slightly, as though he had reached out to grasp hers, but, mindful of observing eyes, caught himself only just in time. “You are stronger than you know. Your cleverness, your goodness, your power—you could set this city spinning if you chose to.”