More translucent canopies were being hung from each column in every color of the rainbow. They were also automated to close and retract by remote. Everything was being check to make sure it would work. Amelia half thought there was a timer set for every action, but no. Caesar probably had slaves to keep time. And guards to brutally whip them if they missed a beat.
Past that madness the palace actually had walls. It wasn’t a full cube building, either. It was a broken hollow square. Past the hallway running left and right into a U, the space was open in the middle. It was a garden with water spilling over the walls, and three fountains spraying up glittering droplets in the middle. There were trees here, and flowers. Not quite as tropical as Amelia’s green room, but so much more beautiful because it was outside.
The air was cooler here, she could actually take a deep breath without burning her lungs in the process, and the billowing, transparent sheets draped above from end to end provided a little shade from the two suns. Amelia felt her tension drain out of her in a rush that made her sway. The tranquility of the place was breathtaking.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” Amelia said on a dreamy sigh. Then woke the hell up. “And by that I mean, no. I don’t like it, I don’t want to live here, will never sign anything binding, and I don’t like you. It. Here. This place. I don’t … like it?”
Honoria smiled and pinched Amelia’s cheek. “So adorable!”
Amelia had nothing to say for herself. She hung her head, keeping her gaze on the ground so she wouldn’t gawk anymore. The building in the far back was completely separate from the one they’d entered through, creating a clear pathway into the garden on each side.
“These are my private chambers,” Honoria said. “Servants sleep back there but this is where I bring only my most honored guests.” She led Amelia through the place on a grand tour, showing her where her rooms would be, and then pointed out what she called the garderobe, a small room with a modern toilet inside. Thank God for that.
“And here is the bath.”
Amelia cringed at the word, girding her loins for what she was about to see. But the chamber they entered was fantastically beautiful. There were two large pools in the middle, one cold, one hot. The walls were marble, carved and laser-printed with colors … an ancient version of porn. There were tables set up along the walls for towels, soaps and oils, and a couple of chaises in the corner with a tray of fruits and a metal jug of something.
“I’m sure you’re worn out after your journey,” Honoria said. “My servants will attend your bath and bring you fresh clothing. When you’re ready you may go to your rooms to rest, or perhaps the garden.”
Fresh clothing? She looked over Honoria’s outfit, and those of the serving women around her. “You’re going to make me wear bed sheets, aren’t you?”
Honoria smiled mysteriously and made her exit.
“Fantastic,” she said on a resigned sigh.
For the next two hours, Amelia endured the indignity of having strangers bathe her. She didn’t want to but the alternative was to bathe on her own and have the serving women get beaten or whipped for having neglected their duties. They told her as much, eyes wide with fright, as they begged Amelia to let them take care of her.
So she gritted her teeth and endured. The hot bath came first. They tossed flowers in the water and poured in some kind of scented oil and let her soak like a chicken in marinade for a while. This isn’t so bad. She managed to relax for all of a second.
But then the women came back and insisted on scrubbing her with wash cloths. Every. Last. Inch of her. They washed her hair, too. Then they helped her out of the hot bath and over the slippery floor to the cold one that knocked the breath right out of her. More scrubbing continued until she was red from head to toe. And not from blushing, either. Those washcloths, soft as they were, in combination with the cold water rubbed her completely raw.
Amelia shot out of the pool the moment they released her.
But it still wasn’t over!
While she’d been in the cold pool, someone raised the temperature in the room until it felt like a sauna. The women, Lillian and Rosalie were their names, brought out oils and proceeded to massage them into Amelia’s skin. She could tell they were as uncomfortable as she was, probably because she wasn’t making it easy on them. When a third woman came in carrying a tray of razors, Amelia snapped.
“What are you doing?”
The new woman blinked at her as if no one had ever spoken to her before. “I … I’m here to shave you,” she said, showing her the tray with its assortment of blades. All shapes and sizes like a neat little collection of torture tools. Amelia had been around enough scalpels to know when a knife was sharp enough to cut flesh like butter.
“No.”
“But my lady—”
“No. I’ve been a good sport about this, I’ve let you women do things to me some of my past boyfriends hadn’t been allowed to do. You’ve bathed me, oiled me up and thank you for your effort, I actually feel slightly better. But no way in Lucifer’s red hot, sulfur spewing, ever burning hell am I letting you anywhere near me with those blades. Are we clear?”
The woman nodded and scurried away.
Amelia let out a sharp breath of relief. “God, I hope she doesn’t get in trouble for this.”
Lillian and Rosalie ducked their heads, snickering.
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Something funny?”
“It’s just…” Rosalie started.
“It’s been so long since we met someone normal here,” Lillian finished.
Little did Amelia know that sentence would be the highlight of her day.
Chapter 20
By the time the larger sun went down Amelia was as ready as she was ever going to be. Rosalie helped her put on the stupid bed sheets that passed for the height of fashion here. At least they were a flattering shade of blue that brought out her eyes. Lillian tried to arrange her hair up but it wasn’t working out, since Amelia’s hair barely reached her collar bone. They tried to talk her into a wig but, like the razors, that just wasn’t going to happen. So instead they pinned it out of her face with silver adornments to match the pendant she wore.
Noticing neither Lillian nor Rosalie wore one, Amelia asked Lillian what it was. The girl explained the basics of its function without meeting Amelia’s gaze. Well, tried to. It was hard to catch her meaning with all the “you knows” and awkward hand gestures.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You mean I can’t have sex while I’m wearing this?”
Lillian and Rosalie exchanged an uneasy glance. “No, mum,” Rosalie said. “That’s no’ it at all.” She busied herself cleaning up while Lillian moved closer to the doorway as a lookout. What was going on here?
“Hurry up,” Lillian said.
Rosalie nodded and, without looking at Amelia at all, she began. Her words were halting and her cheeks blushing as she spoke about how her mistress had taken her bulla as punishment for having flirted with her son. How the men of the household had looked at her the moment it was torn from her neck. Amelia couldn’t understand how the girl could talk about it all. At the age of eighteen, she’d been passed around like a bread basket, going to a different man’s bed every night. If she refused him, she’d been beaten.
Horrified, Amelia listened to Rosalie describe the staff infection that had nearly killed her, the days of agony and delirium. Her mistress, sick of all the noise, had ruthlessly kicked her out into the street. If not for the charity of a passing healer, she would have died.
When she finished with her story, Amelia looked to Lillian for confirmation. “How did you become slaves?”
Rosalie hesitated but after a moment redoubled her efforts to fold a satin sheet and shrugged. “Renegotiated my contract.”
“You can do that?”
Lillian snorted. “Sure you can,” she said bitterly. “That’s what I did too. I used to be a weaver’s apprentice. When she croaked, I couldn’t find
work elsewhere. Only had a year left to my contract but in Rome, without someone’s patronage, I wouldn’t have lasted a week.” She breathed a big, almost happy sigh. “So here I am, a member of the Caesar’s household. Better lodgings, more food, clean clothes, baths every day if I want them, and no one beats me with a cane unless Caesar is upset. All I have to do is bear it for another twenty years.”
Amelia couldn’t even process that.
“Word of advice,” Lillian said. “Don’t touch anything that might look like a contract. They have ways of getting you to make your mark whether you know it or not.”
She stored that away for later. “But wait. I’ve seen other women without these things. Both rich and poor. Are you telling me all of them are treated this way?”
Lillian shook her head. “Many choose not to wear them. But we’re most definitely not all treated the same. A rich lady can have her variety. But a slave is still a slave.”
So that was why Gabriel had been so adamant about her keeping it on. Just what was she supposed to be here in Rome? She didn’t have a master, or an employer; and she definitely didn’t have status. She was nobody. Her very existence here depended on Honoria’s mood. Any time the Caesar chose, she could cut her loose and let her fend for herself.
Amelia barely registered the slave girls leaving. She was pissed. And she was scared. Honoria had good as chained her. But it wasn’t for her. The bulla had been a test. And Gabriel had failed it, revealing a weakness Honoria would exploit at the first opportunity. The Caesar would dangle her in front of Gabriel and make him do anything she wanted. Or else.
First chance she got, she was going to wring Honoria’s neck. Or maybe pour acid in her bath.
Lifting one foot at a time to flex her ankles and get used to the straps of her sandals, Amelia mentally centered herself. Caesar might know what made Gabriel tick but she didn’t know Amelia. If they were to have any chance of getting the hell out of here, she’d have to play it cool and controlled. She was a scientist. And this was a prime opportunity to observe her subject in his native habitat.
Gabriel was probably already feeling the panther inside him and it would wreak havoc with his mind for a while. For his sake, she had to stay objective and in control. Amelia was no good to either of them if she let her emotions get the best of her. I have a job to do.
It was time to clock in.
The back house was quiet behind the oasis. The smaller of the two suns was little more than a bright star. It produced no additional heat, and very little light. It was like a prolonged sunset when the sun is millimeters away from slipping behind the horizon. Beautiful, but useless as suns went.
Torches had already been lit, burning fragrant like incense, and their scent and soft light created a heady atmosphere. Amelia emerged into the dark garden, enjoying the cool breeze. Those fountains and waterfalls acted as some sort of natural air conditioning. The ground retained the heat of the day, she could feel it through her sandals, but the air was comfortable out here. Amelia gave one last longing sigh. One day she would have a garden like this, she vowed. And she would damn well live to see that day.
From the garden’s front edge she could already see shadows moving and music playing. It was like nothing she’d ever listened to. String and air instruments blending in a heady, pagan rhythm so different from the classical melodies she was used to that her heart beat in symphony to it. It was music to dance to; to make love to. To live to. Hailey would love it. Amelia stepped foot into the front portion of the house, into a reverberating amplifier. Somehow the hallway captured the sound of music, made it bounce around the walls and threw it back outside much louder than before. She’d love to know how they’ve done that.
Out in front, the party was in full swing already. It all looked like a dream. Amelia was sure she’d walked over white marble coming into the house. Now the terrace was covered with silks and pillows, furs and all sorts of other things to hide what lay beneath. Lamps behind the soft canopies cast shadows of dancers from all sides, their forms swaying sensuously to the music’s steady beat. It was a passionate dance, as primitive as the music itself. Amelia wondered how many of those dancers were trained acrobats, to stretch and bend the way they were. Or was that a trick of the light?
She tilted her head at one pair. Even without the benefit of seeing their expressions, the way they always kept close, kept touching, their faces a breath away, indicate a depth of connection she almost envied.
Do you ever crave, Amelia? Gabriel had asked her once.
I might be beginning to, she thought in answer.
There were three other shadow couples, clearly hired performers rather than guests. As the music intensified, so did their dance. Amelia hastily looked away from one pair getting a little too caught up in the moment. She dropped her gaze and hurried away, making her way through the gathering crowd.
She almost ran into a group of women. Only the flutter of skirts in her field of vision made her stop before she mowed them over.
“Gladius is back, did you hear?” one of the women whispered excitedly.
“My slave girl saw him enter town,” another replied. This was clearly a private conversation but Amelia couldn’t move her feet from the spot. There she stood, making herself an innocuous part of the crowd, listening in on what they had to say. She felt like a voyeur eavesdropping on them. It was embarrassing and immature but for the life of her she could not make herself move an inch. “I made her tell me all about it while I made use of that little toy I told you about.”
The others tittered at this. “You might as well admit it wasn’t so little, Juliet.”
This Juliet chuckled. “With pleasure. It wasn’t.” Then, with a wicked smile in her tone, she added, “I’d had it fashioned after Gladius. Gods how I missed him.”
Amelia’s face burned, her stomach tightened, and her brows drew together in indignation. Should not be listening. She was torn between walking away and going up to Juliet and slapping that look of longing from her cosmetically altered face.
Another woman in the group chimed in with a sympathetic hum. “As do I. Now there’s a man who knows how to pound a woman into ecstasy.” A disgustingly dreamy sigh followed, which made Amelia want to retch. But still she stayed right where she was. “Even my husband couldn’t find complaint when he found out. He said he’d rather see a blissful smile on my face than hear my shrill voice when I come.”
What the hell!
Gabriel had slept with these women? And not just slept. From the sounds of it, he’d gone far above and beyond the call of duty. Amelia felt her nostrils flare. She pressed the back of her cold hand against her cheek to cool it. A bunch of gossiping hens. Don’t believe a word they say. Did they have no shame at all? They were talking about him like a piece of meat! And out here where everyone could hear!
“I was his first, you know,” one woman boasted and Amelia dropped her hand in shock. “Back when he first came here. I was the first, and for a heavenly while, the only one who got to have him.” For a moment she was relieved. The woman had almost made it sound like he’d been a virgin until that time, which was ridiculous. Then the dark haired aristocrat patted her already perfect hair and added with fake humility, “You all have me to thank for teaching him all his impressive tricks.”
I can’t hear this! Amelia covered her ears to block out the argument that ensued about who’d taught Gabriel what. She was almost hyperventilating, tense from head to toe, wanting to scratch those women’s faces off—for what? Amelia backed away, putting some distance between her and the group before she did something violent. She realized with a baffled sort of wonder she might be … no, not might be; she was. Jealous.
People brushed past her as she walked backwards, seeking some sort of shelter from her crazy emotional outburst. Get a hold of yourself! She had no business feeling anything about any of this. Amelia rooted her feet, dropped her hands to her sides, and made herself stand still while she calmly and rationally collected her thoug
hts and explained to herself that—
“Heavens, the things he said to me while he fucked me out of my wits made me come so hard I nearly swooned. Gladius is a god.”
—that someone was about to get their face ground into the dirt and flattened with a three ton statue.
God, what was happening to her? This isn’t me. I don’t do this. I don’t feel like this. Never before had she had so much trouble with her emotions running rampant. And it wasn’t just the jealousy, although that was a big part of it.
She was in a strange place where the rules worked against her. Her safety was in serious jeopardy, she was being manipulated left and right, she had no allies here and no way to contact those few she had outside of Rome. On top of all that, Gabriel was out there somewhere, probably freaking out as his mind and body changed and if it didn’t kill him he had a whole lot of self-inflicted torture to look forward to. Nothing was going according to plan. There was no way to salvage the situation and everything kept going from bad to worse! She hardly knew up from down in this place and the only thing she was certain of was that she had to get out. Now.
It took every ounce of her already frayed control for Amelia to walk to the grand staircase off this mad house. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach when she looked down from its edge at the daunting sight below.
While she’d been ruminating, the smaller sun had set, casting Rome into darkness. But it wasn’t complete. Standing there, she could look out over a large area of smaller buildings. Every street branching out from the main corridor was lit up with torches. It was a more daunting sight than full darkness would have been. The shadows cast by torchlight were worse than ghosts, dancing over walls and the ground. Amelia was in no way superstitious, but even she got nervous at the sight. Light enough to remind her how dark it was.
A smidgen of false hope in a wholly hopeless situation. And that was before she looked down.
The staircase was lined on each side with soldiers standing at attention, facing forward like statues. A row of them stood at the very bottom like an army of bouncers keeping unwanted guests outside. They were all armed with spears, metal helmets gleaming on their heads and bright capes billowing in the breeze to reveal swords strapped to their hips. When she edged toward the first one on her right, his head swung around to her, a pair of sharp eyes staring at her from an unsmiling face. She edged right back away from him.
Blood Debts (The Blood Book 3) Page 18