by Monica Burns
“When we enter that convent, you’re to stay with me. Understood ?”
It was a harsh command that told her not to think about arguing with him. She met his hard gaze, and the flash of emotion she saw cross his handsome face made her heart skip a beat. Cornelia was right. He was worried about her, and it wasn’t just because of her father. A small jolt of surprise blasted through her. It was the first time she’d thought of Marcus as her father. And there was something about Dante’s overprotective manner she found both irritating and pleasurable.
“I’m a good fighter,” she said in a firm tone. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know that, but if you run into trouble, I want to be there. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Fine, I’m sure my father will appreciate your attention to my safety.” It was her way of putting distance between them, but he didn’t let her get away with it.
“Marcus doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with it. I care about your safety. If something happened to you . . .” His voice trailed off into silence.
Amazement mixed with pleasure sped through her veins at his words. He did care about her. Probably more than he wanted to admit based on his expression. He had feelings he couldn’t or wouldn’t act on. There was a harsh bite to that thought that hurt, and worse than she wanted to admit.
“I can take care of myself,” she said with small bit of rebellion. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stick to you like glue.”
“It will make me feel better,” he growled with obvious exasperation at her cavalier response. Without another word, he ushered her forward and onto the boat. As he left her on the deck and disappeared below, she scowled at his back. He was acting like this was her first mission. The thing was, a part of her liked the way he was acting.
She enjoyed the way his manner made her feel as though she was a treasured object to be protected. In fact, not even Michael had ever made her feel that way. It was a sensation she enjoyed far more than she should. She shook her head at her fanciful thoughts.
“This is so fucked up,” she muttered to herself and sank down onto one of the seats lining the port side of the boat.
The usual state of edgy nervousness assaulted her as she stared out over the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the yacht slipped quietly away from the dock. It wasn’t a new sensation. She always felt like this just before she went out on mission. But tonight was different. She was confused, too. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and she didn’t like it. It only added to her jangled nerves.
She took in a deep breath of fresh sea air then released it slowly in an effort to relax. Overhead the night sky was brilliant with stars. Normally Rome’s city lights obscured the night sky, but out here on the yacht, which was running with the minimum of lights to avoid detection, the night was as crystal clear as she’d seen it in weeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement and jumped as Cornelia sat down beside her.
“I apologize,” the Praefect said in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay. I’m just a bit on edge. Happens before every mission. How are you doing?” She studied the woman’s shadowed features.
“I’ll be fine.”
There was something in the woman’s voice that said she didn’t want to talk, so Cleo remained silent. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what Cornelia was feeling at the moment. Did the woman regret having children? Was the joy of having a child overshadowed by the pain she had to be experiencing now? Somehow she was certain the answer Cornelia would give her was yes.
Cleo turned her head into the wind, and a couple of strands of hair pulled loose from her braid to brush her cheeks. She pushed them aside as she stared out at the dark water. Although she didn’t envy Cornelia the pain she was enduring now, Cleo envied her for having a child. It was the one thing she could never have.
No, not the only thing she could never have. She couldn’t have Dante either. The thought ripped through her with an emotional force similar to taking a kick upside the head. She sucked in a sharp breath. Deus, she hardly knew the man. What did it matter that she couldn’t be with him? She swallowed hard. It mattered, and that was the scariest thought of all.
Chapter 16
MARCUS stood in front of the wall screen that displayed a digitally enhanced image of the Tyet of Isis document. It amazed him how remarkably well preserved the parchment was after almost two thousand years of storage in the small box. Still, it had taken Atia and another researcher three weeks just to unroll the fragile paper so it could be photographed yesterday.
Today was the first time he’d seen the details of the document up close. The centuries had destroyed portions of the artifact and created a jagged border that ate into the text and symbols on the parchment. Some of the material had crumbled as it had been unrolled, leaving several holes in the document.
Despite the lost text, he’d been able to glean quite a bit of information from the manuscript, and even from the drawings interspersed in the text, including icons he recognized from his past life when he’d lived and fought at the side of the first Sicari Lord in ancient Rome. Even through the centuries, some of his memories as Tevy were as real and vivid as his current life.
The fluttering of Atia’s thoughts brushed his mind. The door of the research room opened quietly, but he didn’t turn around. As usual, she was early. It was something he’d counted on this morning. There had been little opportunity for him to be alone with her for the past several days. He was certain it had been a deliberate move on her part.
Although he couldn’t see her, it was easy to tell she was hesitating to enter the room. She’d always been good at shielding her mind, but their bonding years ago had created a connection between them that allowed him to feel her emotions even when he couldn’t read her thoughts. The bond between them had grown stronger with age. He only wished the connection had been this strong after Gabriel’s kidnapping. He drew in a harsh breath.
It had been three weeks since Atia’s confession, and he’d not attempted to confront her about it. He’d needed time to take in her revelation about the day of Gabriel’s kidnapping. Her declaration had stunned him, but knowing she’d kept her secret all these years because she’d been afraid of him had been a painfully bitter pill to swallow. It only emphasized the chasm between them because he understood now why she’d been afraid to tell him the truth.
When she’d shared the full story of that day, he’d argued that he would have understood. But perhaps she was right. In all likelihood, his anger, fear, grief, and inflexibility would have made him condemn her for failing to keep their son out of Praetorian hands. He was glad she hadn’t told him the truth for that very reason. His condemnation of her would have been undeserved. He understood now how difficult it would have been to take their son’s life that day.
The stark memory of Gabriel in the Pantheon rocked through him. Logically, Marcus had accepted that Gabriel was no longer his son, but it had not made it any easier to fight him. It was how Gabriel had been able to gain the upper hand in their battle. Deep down, Marcus knew there had been several moments when he could have easily finished off his son.
He’d known from the first clash of their swords that he was a better fighter than Gabriel. But he’d not pushed his advantage, and over the last week he’d come to realize it was because he hadn’t wanted to kill his son. He flinched as his body remembered the slicing pain his son’s sword had inflicted on his thigh.
It had been a mortal wound. But Gabriel hadn’t been happy with that. He’d wanted to destroy Marcus completely. As Gabriel had hovered over him, ready to land the final blow, Atia’s plea for mercy had made their son hesitate. It had been long enough for Marcus to do what was necessary.
His muscles tightened into hard knots at the memory. Thrusting his sword deep into Gabriel’s heart had been the most gut-wrenching thing he’d ever done in his entire life. The pain of that moment had surpassed the agony he’d experienced when th
e Praetorians had taken his son.
It made him understand all too well why Atia couldn’t have taken Gabriel’s life the day the Praetorians kidnapped their son. He’d found it hard enough for him to kill his son despite knowing what Gabriel had become. But sweet Vesta, he couldn’t imagine how difficult it would have been to take Gabriel’s life when he was nothing more than a toddler. Now he understood the sorrow she’d been living with all these years.
The door to the research room closed, but the warmth of her presence remained. He knew she’d wanted to run, but her pride wouldn’t let her. Again there was the flutter of her thoughts against his, and he turned to face her. The small frown on her face was one he recognized. She was planning. Most likely strategizing how to get rid of him. He wasn’t willing to let her come up with a way to do that.
“Have you had time to try and read this?” He gestured toward the screen with a slight jerk of his head. The question startled her, but she recovered quickly.
“Yes, I looked at the images last night before locking up. It was late, and I wasn’t really able to make heads or tails of it. The drawings of the standards from the different legions of the Roman army didn’t make sense to me. They’re obviously part of the message, but without knowing what the different positions mean, I couldn’t decipher it,” she said with disappointment.
Her frustration was something he understood. She’d been searching for the Tyet of Isis for most of her life, and now that she’d found it, she was faced with yet another puzzle. The fact that he probably wouldn’t be of much help to her in solving the riddle didn’t sit well with him. It irritated the hell out of him that he could remember horrific scenes of men dying in battle, and yet recalling a simple tilt or twist of the Roman standard was beyond his capability.
“Actually, the drawings of the standards would make perfect sense if you were a member of the Praetorian Guard two thousand years ago,” he said wryly, knowing they didn’t make much sense to him now, even though he had been a part of the Guard in his past life as Tevy.
“Then you know what it says?” she asked with restrained excitement.
“No. I said it would made sense if you were a member of the Praetorian Guard two thousand years ago.” He shook his head. “I only remember bits and pieces of my life as Tevy. The different positions of the standards here aren’t the common ones used by the Roman army. These are specific to the first Sicari Lord’s legion and refer to specific actions.”
“What kinds of actions? Are you saying it’s a map?” Disappointment flashed across her lovely features. It made him want to wrap her in his arms.
“Based on what I’ve translated so far and the varied angles of the standards, I believe so. You see the drawings of the signa here, here, and here?” He pointed to several standards drawn on the document. “Do you notice anything different about them?”
“All of them are drawn at various angles and positions,” she said.
“Precisely,” he said. “In battle, the standard was a rallying point. The signa could be seen above all the fighting, and it was used to give commands to the troops. A trumpet would sound over the noise of the fighting, which told the men to look for the standard. Using different tilts and angle positions of the standard, a general could give commands to his men.”
“So you’re saying that the different positions of the standards in this document are telling us where we should look for whatever it is we’re supposed to be looking for?”
“Yes, even the coins are a clue.” He pointed to the images drawn front and back in all four corners of the document. “Do you recognize them?”
“They’re drawings of a Sicari Lord coin except for the one in the lower right-hand corner,” she said in a cautious tone.
Avoiding his gaze, she slowly moved to stand a little nearer to him. So close and yet as far away as the years they’d been apart. The thought was no less painful than a dagger thrust between his shoulder blades. He had his work cut out for him where she was concerned. His thoughts reached out toward hers and encountered chaos.
Beneath that serene façade of hers she was far more apprehensive than she wanted him to believe. He retreated before she had the chance to realize he was attempting to probe her thoughts. Without taking his eyes off the enlarged image of the document on the screen, he dared to take a step toward her and pointed to the lower right-hand portion of the screen.
Even with the corner of the document destroyed, the one image remaining was easy to identify. The head of Ptolemy I Soter was quite prominent. Little remained of the image next to Ptolemy’s, but Marcus recognized the remaining fragment.
“This one is a Sicari Lord coin, too.”
“What on earth makes you think that?” she scoffed as she dismissed his statement with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing like the other three, which are almost identical to the Sicari Lord coins we have in the vault. This one has Ptolemy Soter’s image on it, and what’s left of the image beside it certainly doesn’t boast any Latin text like the other three coins.”
“It’s Macedonian,” he said quietly.
“Macedonian?” She looked at him in surprise, her outwardly serene composure giving way to the woman he knew in his youth. Curiosity and excitement sent color cresting over her cheeks as she stepped closer to the screen to study the small portion of text that time had failed to erode. Bending slightly to examine the image, she shook her head and tilted it in his direction. “All right, it looks like Macedonian writing, but that makes it even less likely it’s a Sicari Lord coin.”
“He lives twice who dies well,” he said quietly.
“What?” Her brow furrowed as she straightened upright to study him in puzzlement.
“The Sicari battle cry. It’s the text on the back of the coin.”
“How could you possibly know that?” She stared at him in disbelief. “There’s barely enough text on the image to even make out what it says.”
“I know because I own a coin just like it.” He watched her lips part in a silent gasp, and a knot twisted his gut as the desire to kiss her rose up inside him. He crushed the need. “It’s been handed down to every reigning Sicari Lord since the time of Maximus.”
Atia turned her head to look at the document on the screen once more. Her surprise had given way to contemplation as she studied the writings in front of her.
“Why would a coin with Ptolemy’s image on it bear the Sicari motto?” she mused.
“Ptolemy gave a coin to only the most trustworthy of his personal bodyguards, as a proxy that declared the soldier was acting on Ptolemy’s behalf. Most of the men who received a coin were with him and Alexander when they invaded India.” Marcus folded his arms across his chest as he studied the document for a moment before looking back at his wife. “Although I’m sure the story has lost pertinent details over the centuries, it’s said they came back from their campaign changed men.”
“Changed how?” she asked. When he arched his eyebrows at her, she shook her head with skepticism. “Are you suggesting they had the same abilities as a Sicari Lord or a Praetorian Dominus?”
“Yes.” Marcus nodded. “I think whatever transformed them in India they brought back with them.”
Atia drew in a deep breath and released it as she silently considered his theory. Although her thoughts were still blocked off to him, he could sense her growing excitement as she bit down on her lower lip. Her gray eyes grew warm with exhilaration as she met his gaze. He was immediately reminded of the first time they’d met. Her eyes had glowed with the same intensity he saw lighting her expression now. He’d captured her heart then, and he suddenly believed it was possible to do so again. Somehow they’d find a way to put the past behind them.
“If they brought something back with them, it would have had to be a potion or possibly even a plant,” Atia murmured.
“Since it probably had to be something they ingested, a potion is the most likely explanation. Whatever it was, it must have changed their molecular structure . . . mo
dified their DNA to account for the Sicari abilities. Our abilities.”
“Then you think whatever we’re looking for has the ability to transform our genetic makeup?’
“Yes. It would explain the stories that the Tyet of Isis could lead to our destruction.” With a nod he looked at the document on the screen. “If the Praetorians found a way to enhance their abilities, they would have an advantage that the Order might never recover from.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her nibble at her lower lip, her attention clearly focused on his words. Unfortunately, the only thing he could focus on at the moment was what a lovely mouth she had. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, using the pain to keep him from doing anything that would break this tenuous peace between them. He needed to be patient.
“Is it possible you drank or ate something that changed you when you lived in ancient Rome?” Atia asked quietly as if thinking out loud.
“Probably, but I doubt I knew it at the time. My guess is that only one or two people had access to the secret, and they surreptitiously gave it to the soldiers, who in turn would see themselves as blessed by the gods.” The back of his knuckles rubbed the line of his jaw as he sensed a swell of amusement in her. He cocked his head in her direction. “You find something funny in this?”
“I’m just wondering if Tevy believed himself blessed by the gods or that he was a god when he acquired his special abilities.” Was she teasing him or taunting him? Ridiculing, most likely. She’d always said he was too arrogant. He grimaced.
“You really do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?” Somehow he managed to keep his voice even, despite the sting her words inflicted.
“What?” Confusion made her frown as she shook her head.
“You’ve always said I was arrogant. I imagine you think I was equally so when I was Tevy.”
“No,” she exclaimed as her hand stretched out to him. “I didn’t mean it that way at all. I was teasing you. I have no doubt your integrity as Tevy was the same as it is today. You’re a good man, Marcus. You always have been.”