by Monica Burns
“If you find Maximus, kill him.” The words made her gasp in fear. Octavian shot her an amused glance before meeting the soldier’s eyes. “But before you do, tell the traitor that his wife … and unborn child … are to be burned at the stake for heresy.”
This time her gasp was one of horror. The bastardo knew about the baby. A wave of
intense fear swept over her. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. Wanted her baby to live. Octavian turned back to her and smiled. It was the smile of death, and she cried out for Maximus.
PHAEDRA jerked awake as someone’s hand touched her arm. With a cry, she rolled away from the touch to come up in a crouch on the opposite side of her bed. The nightmare of Cassiopeia at Octavian’s mercy still vivid in her head, she blinked the sleep from her eyes to see Cleo watching her with concern.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
“Mother gave me instructions to watch over you for a few hours. You were crying out in your sleep, so I thought it best to wake you.”
She relaxed slightly and leaned back against the headboard. Her hands shoving her hair out of her eyes, she stared at her friend. Cleo had spared Lysander’s life at the Circus Maxentius, and she wasn’t sure why. Cleo rarely gave anyone a second chance, but Phaedra was glad she’d given Lysander one. She winced.
What was she thinking? The man had hidden the truth from her. From all of them. And the worst of it was, a small part of her had known. All of the little moments when he’d always seemed to know what she was thinking. She’d put it down to a special connection between them, but now she saw it for what it was.
He’d been reading her mind all this time. It was a violation. He wasn’t any better than that son-of-a-bitch Praetorian called Gabriel. The knowledge sent a fiery pain through her blood until it seared every inch of her body with pain. He’d betrayed her. Betrayed them all.
“Okay, I know you’re angry, but he’s got a good explanation.” Cleo’s words echoed softly in the room. She shook her head.
“Explanation?” She released a hiss of air from between her teeth. “There is no explanation. How much damage has he done spying on us?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cleo snapped. “Do you hear what you’re saying? How can you love the guy if you’re going to talk about him like that? Lysander isn’t a spy. He’s not even a full-blood Praetorian.”
“No, he’s just the son of the Praetorian bastardo who killed my parents.” The viciousness of her angry words made Cleo jerk with surprise.
“Il Christi omnipotentia. Are you sure?”
“I won’t ever forget seeing that bastard’s face through the peephole of that priest’s closet my mother shoved Ares and me into.”
“But you can’t blame Lysander for the circumstances of his birth.” The horror on Cleo’s face ebbed as she stretched out her hand, but Phaedra jerked away as her friend shook her head.
“I don’t blame him for what his father did. But he lied to me.”
“About what? The fact he’s half-Praetorian?”
“Yes,” she bit out harshly. “He could have told me, and he didn’t.”
Lysander hadn’t even given her the chance to accept him for what he was. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. What would she have done if he had told her before this? The question frightened her because deep in her heart she didn’t like the answer. Her reaction wouldn’t have been any different than it had been last night.
But he hadn’t given her a chance, either. He hadn’t trusted her with his secret. She had no doubt that her love for him would have helped her overcome the shock of the truth. But now she was dealing with more than just the truth. She was dealing with who his father was and the fact that Lysander hadn’t trusted her. That above everything else hurt the most.
“He won’t come to you. You’ll have to go to him.” Cleo’s comment made her jump.
“What makes you think I want to see him?” Her question was icy, but she knew she wanted to see him despite what had happened.
“Because I know you’ve got questions.”
“Questions he should have tried to answer before this.”
“If you love him, you’ll at least listen to what he has to say.”
“Don’t you dare preach to me about love! You know what betrayal feels like, and this is a betrayal.” She ignored the way Cleo’s face went white. Her friend knew better. “Lysander didn’t tell me the truth. Instead, he made me believe we were going to be happy together. Forgive me if I can’t find it in my heart to easily forgive that.”
The silence between them was sharp and discordant. With a sharp nod of her head, Cleo stood up and headed toward the door. She paused in the doorway.
“The Prima Consul has called for a briefing at oh-nine-hundred in the ready room. Make sure you’re there.”
As Cleo walked out of the bedroom, Phaedra watched her leave with a heavy heart. The disappointment in her friend’s eyes wasn’t something she enjoyed seeing, but at the same time, the fact that Cleo had forgiven Lysander so easily amazed her. Her friend’s words echoed in her head again. If you love him, you’ll at least listen to what he has to say. She did love him. But she wasn’t ready to listen to his explanations, and she just couldn’t trust him.
No, the truth was, she didn’t trust herself. Could she look at him on a daily basis without remembering the fact that his Praetorian father had butchered her parents? It didn’t make her feel good to ask the question. If she really loved him, she should be able to see beyond his blood. But it was still so raw and painful. Especially when it came to the memory of her parents. In some ways, loving him felt like she was betraying her parents.
She closed her eyes, only to have Nicostratus’s gloating features enter her head. A shudder rippled down her spine. The Praetorian was a monster that wouldn’t stay in the closet. It was bad enough to know the man had killed her parents, but to see him in her dreams as Cassiopeia’s tormentor was just as horrifying. Nicostratus was a dead ringer for Octavian, and he was just as evil now as he had been in ancient Rome. His renewed presence last night made her realize there were no coincidences in all that had happened over the last several weeks.
Each dream was following a loose timeline of the events leading up to Cassiopeia’s death by Maximus’s hand. While there were only similarities between her dreams and the present, the characters involved made her think a climax would happen in the near future. A climax that would revolve around her, Lysander, and Nicostratus.
As Octavian, the Praetorian had been responsible for destroying Cassiopeia and Maximus in ancient Rome, and the man was about to do it again. Nicostratus might not be aware of it, but the monster had already driven a wedge between her and Lysander. Seeing Nicostratus in her dreams had left her feeling just as helpless and scared as Cassiopeia. It was a sensation she didn’t like. A deep longing to have Lysander’s arms around her sank its way deep into her bones until she ached.
What was she going to do if she couldn’t find a way to come to terms with all that had happened? She blinked back tears. It was as if a part of her were missing. She knew it was Lysander. He made her whole. The knowledge only increased the ache in her body, telling her there was no right or wrong choice, only the acceptance of things she couldn’t control.
Chapter 21
THE conference room was quiet as individuals and small groups filed into the room. Even the Vigilavi staffing the facility had been ordered to attend the briefing. That could mean only one thing. Atia had already informed the Council about last night’s events, which meant word would spread fast about Lysander and everything that had happened last night. Atia wanted to keep gossip and innuendos at a minimum. She watched the Celeris adjusting the webcam. Generally, the Prima Consul addressed the Order only on special days celebrated by the Sicari. Today wasn’t one of those days, which meant Atia was going to share the news of what happened last night, personally.
Did that mean the Council had reacted badly to the
news? Cato. If anyone was going to cause any trouble, it would be him and his small band of weasels. Phaedra frowned. The man was petty and vindictive. If he could make trouble for Atia, he would, simply because he’d lost the Prima Consul title to her. Had he perhaps pushed her into a corner where Lysander was concerned? Maybe the Council had insisted she remove Lysander from duty altogether until a hearing could be convened.
When she’d first entered the room, she’d automatically looked for Lysander, but his absence didn’t surprise her. As her gaze continued to scan the faces in the room, she suddenly realized Ares wasn’t in the conference room. Neither was Emma for that matter. The sight of Cleo coming through the door made her tense. They’d parted badly earlier, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Relief sailed through her as Cleo offered her a half smile and headed straight for the chair next to her.
“You okay?” Cleo leaned toward her. “I know I was a little rough on you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m just … it’s just a little more complicated than you think.”
“I know, but you’ll work it out with him,” Cleo said with a quiet smile. “The two of you belong together.”
Phaedra shook her head as a frisson skimmed across her skin with the softness of a piece of silk. It was a familiar sensation, and her heart plummeted downward before it began to pound rapidly in her chest. Her gaze darted to the conference room doorway where first Ares, Emma, and then Lysander entered the room followed by the Prima Consul. While her sister-in-law stood near the door, the other three moved toward the head of the conference table.
As much as she hated to admit it, the sight of Lysander made her long for the comfort of his embrace. She thought he might scan the crowded room for her, but he didn’t. The black eye patch he wore only emphasized his emotionless features.
It was as if someone had placed a leather patch on a bust of cold, hard marble. But it was the tight line of his jaw that said he wasn’t as calm and collected as he appeared. The fact that her heart ached for him, even after he’d lied to her, told her how much she loved him. She loved him so much.
But did she love him enough?
The moment Atia took center stage, Ares and Lysander moved to flank the Prima Consul. It was a clear show of solidarity on Ares’s part. Her brother had obviously come to terms with Lysander’s Praetorian heritage. Did Ares even know that Lysander’s father had murdered their parents? It was possible her brother hadn’t seen the Praetorian’s face as clearly as she had.
Either way, Ares was holding Lysander blameless for his mixed blood. So what did that say about her own ability to forgive? A sliver of regret etched its way into her heart, but she ignored it. Lysander had lied to her, and that wasn’t something she could forgive easily. He’d hurt her not so much with the lie as with his inability to trust her. The Prima Consul arched her eyebrow at the Celeris monitoring a laptop at the far end of the conference table, and when he nodded, Atia stared in the direction of the webcam.
“Greetings. I know this is an unusual occurrence, but I wanted to prevent rumors and misinformation from making their way through the organization. What I share with you today is information I shared with the Order’s Council just a few hours ago. Last night, Legatus Lysander Condellaire and his team found a valuable artifact that has brought us one step closer to finding the Tyet of Isis.”
Atia’s declaration caused the entire room to stir with excitement, and she raised her hand for silence. “In addition to this new discovery, there were other revelations brought to light last night. Revelations the Council is now aware of and which I will share with you now. For some time now, there have been ritualistic executions of Sicari, Vigilavi, and others connected to the search for the Tyet of Isis. All of those executed have borne an unusual mark we now know is an incomplete version of the Chi-Rho, and it is the work of a Praetorian Dominus.”
As the Prima Consul paused to allow time for her words to sink in, Phaedra sensed the mood of the small gathering change from excitement to serious misgiving. She imagined the reaction was the same at other installations watching Atia’s address. As the group shifted restlessly in their seats, Phaedra turned her attention to Emma, who was standing just inside the door of the conference room. Emma’s parents and mentor had all been victims of the ritualistic murders. Even Emma had been a target, but Ares had chosen to protect her and had fallen in love as a result. A small part of her envied her brother’s happiness. Atia’s voice interrupted her train of thought.
“The warriors who fought the Dominus last night now know what we’re up against and will be better prepared the next time they encounter this newest threat to our existence.” The Prima Consul paused to look at Lysander’s emotionless expression before her unrelenting gaze of authority swept across the faces of men and women in the conference room to return her attention to the webcam. The imperial look of confidence on Atia’s face said she dared anyone to question her on whatever decision she was about to announce.
“Last night also revealed something I and only one or two other individuals have known for a long time. Legatus Condellaire’s father is Praetorian.” Everyone stirred at the news, but Atia’s hard look of disapproval made the occupants of the room quickly grow quiet. “Up until the Praetorians tortured the Legatus last year, he had always believed his father had died fighting our enemy.”
The Prima Consul turned her head toward Lysander with an expression of regret and pain. Atia was a politician, but Phaedra was certain the woman’s emotions were genuine, not simply a display for her audience. The woman truly felt anguish for what Lysander was going through. Atia cleared her throat to resume her address to the Sicari in the room and those watching.
“The circumstances of his birth were kept from Legatus Condellaire out of respect to his mother and her traumatic sexual assault. A year ago, when the Praetorians tortured the Legatus, his biological father was his interrogator. The Praetorian recognized Legatus Condellaire, torturing him physically and emotionally with the knowledge. The man who did this is Patriarch of the Praetorian Collegium.”
Another gasp flew through the room, and emotion constricted Phaedra’s throat as Atia’s words sank in. Slowly, she absorbed the Prima Consul’s words. Dear God, the man who was now Patriarch, and second only to Monsignor in the hierarchy of the Collegium, had raped Lysander’s mother. She’d been concentrating so hard on the fact that Lysander’s father had murdered her parents, she’d not really considered what his mother must have suffered at Nicostratus’s hands. Only a woman of strong mental reserves could have chosen to keep a child from such a horrendous act of violation.
Her gaze flew to Lysander’s expressionless features. He appeared unaffected by Atia’s announcement, but she knew better. The muscles of his scarred face were taut, making the tic in his cheek more noticeable. Her fingertips tingled with the need to touch him, soothe his pain. Christus, he had to be in a living hell right now hearing Atia share his secret shame.
And she was convinced he was ashamed. If he hadn’t been, he would have told her the truth. Told someone. She flinched. He had told someone. He’d told Atia. He’d entrusted the Prima Consul with his secret, not her. Instead, he’d pushed her away. It wasn’t the first time she’d acknowledged the fact, but it cut deeper this time. He’d shut her out, and the pain of it pounded its way through her bloodstream until every one of her nerve endings screamed a protest.
As she studied him, she saw him stiffen. His gaze briefly scanned her face before he
resumed his stare at the wall. Was he reading her mind right now? Without thinking, she reached out with her senses to find him amid all the other emotions that were flooding the room. It was like moving through a crowded square of people to reach him.
When she did, it was as if she’d reached sanctuary, despite the pain she sensed in him. It didn’t surprise her that his emotions were so open to her. With all his energy focused on maintaining his impassive expression, he had nothing left with which to lock down the em
otions running rampant behind his mask. The darkness of his feelings washed over her in a violent wave of fury, despair, and shame.
He was ashamed of who he was. No. What he believed himself to be. He didn’t believe he was Sicari. Deus, no wonder he’d kept his distance from her over the past year. She swallowed hard as she realized how difficult it must have been for him. What would have happened if she had pushed back sooner? Demanding an answer as to why he’d rejected her. Would he have told her his secret? She didn’t have to probe his senses any deeper to know the answer was no.