by Monica Burns
As Lysander stared at the screen, the images from his last dream rose up to haunt him. Maximus—he’d gone to the Saepta Julia to rescue Phaedra from Octavian. The small alleyway he knew about had been the only way he’d been able to reach her. An alley he’d found when he’d moved the Tyet of Isis and placed it with Vesta. Emma’s voice penetrated his consciousness.
“It’s in the niche that once held a statue of Vesta. It’s between two icons etched in the base of the columns bordering the niche.”
By the time he realized he’d spoken out loud, it was too late. The sudden tension in the room only exacerbated his own. The muscles in his face tightened painfully at the looks of amazement and suspicion on the faces of the people in front of him. Fotte. This wasn’t going to be any easier than the other night.
“How in the hell do you know that?” Pasquale was staring at him like he’d grown two heads.
“Maximus,” Angelo said with a note of awe in his voice.
Emma hurried around the table to a satchel beside her chair. She rooted around in the depths of the brown bag for a moment. When she pulled out the item she was looking for, Lysander recognized her father’s diary. With a sense of urgency, she flipped through the book, until she stopped about three-quarters of the way through.
“Lysander’s right. There are two icons directly opposite each other on the niche’s columns,” Emma said with quiet excitement as she sent him a smile of reassurance. “The center of all that is Sicari would be the Tyet of Isis, which is at the center point of those two icons.”
“So exactly how did he know that?” Pasquale’s tone was belligerent. The minute Phaedra leaned forward to speak, Lysander gestured for her to remain silent.
“Because he’s Maximus reincarnate.”
Atia’s quiet words made the room grow silent as she walked toward him. It was one thing for Angelo to say he was Maximus, but for the Prima Consul to say it was a different matter altogether. He swallowed the sudden rush of fear rising in his throat as he saw the slender, velvet-wrapped item she carried. The Dagger of Cassiopeia. When she reached him, she laid the artifact on the table.
“Angelo was right recently, when he suggested a Primus Pilus of mixed blood would find the Tyet of Isis. Lysander was Primus Pilus for Ares in the Chicago guild, before he assumed command of this guild for the purpose of finding the artifact. As everyone now knows, his mother was Sicari, but his father Praetorian.” Atia paused for a moment as she looked around the room. “The actual prophecy, handed down from one Prima Consul to the next, makes it quite clear that Lysander is Maximus.”
Gently, she removed the weapon from its metal scabbard and laid it on the velvet beside the sheath. Embedded in the middle of the grip was a ruby. At the top of the hilt, the squared-off pommel was roughly scarred and misshapen. It looked like someone had dropped it in a forge for a few minutes. Surprisingly, the blade itself looked as pristine as the day he’d first held it. The thought startled him, and he almost recoiled from the table. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and turned his head to look at Atia.
“Bis vivit qui bene moritur,” she said in a strong voice.
There was reassurance in her gray eyes as she met his gaze. He lives twice who dies well. The Sicari motto. It was often spoken before a warrior entered into a battle with the Praetorians. He knew it was Atia’s way of saying she believed he was Maximus, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of living up to the reputation the Order had built for the first Sicari Lord over the past two thousand years. Even his abilities were a far cry from what Maximus could do.
The sound of a chair rolling away from the table made him jerk his head in the direction of the noise. Luciano Pasquale eyed him with respect as he offered him the traditional Roman salute.
“Bis vivit qui bene moritur.”
One by one, each of the team members stood up and offered him the salute. The last member of the team to stand was Ares. The salute he gave was all the more powerful because of the brotherly affection Lysander saw in his friend’s eyes. Taken aback by the gesture of acceptance, he locked his jaw against the emotion the sign of respect created in him. Finding it hard to speak, he gave everyone a sharp nod and cleared his throat. Fists pressed into the tabletop, he looked around the table.
“All right, everyone. We’ve got some planning to do.”
For the next two hours, the team laid out a plan for accessing the Pantheon in the middle of the night. When it came time to decide who would actually go on the mission, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He knew everyone wanted to go, but he was certain Nicostratus was watching the house.
Any sign of the entire team heading out on an assignment would alert the bastardo that something was up. They’d be followed, and things could get uglier than usual. What he needed was a bare-bones squad of the best members in the installation, and he knew he wasn’t going to be popular when he announced his selections. His gaze met Atia’s, who had sat quietly and patiently in the corner of the briefing room, offering the occasional input. She suddenly rose and gestured for him to follow her out into the hall. When they were out of ear-shot of the team, she eyed him steadily.
“You know I have the right to select team members for this assignment, but I wish to create a united front.” There was an inflexible note in her voice, and he knew better than to argue with her. It just wasn’t worth it at this stage of the game.
“I take it you have someone in mind?” he asked in a low voice.
“I intend to go with you.” He jerked back from her in angry dismay, but she reached out to touch his arm. “I intend to take Ignacio with me. The Prima Consul has the right to be a part of any mission a Sicari team undertakes. You know that. It’s just not done very
often.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your right of office. I’m responsible for your safety as well as my team, and I say you’re not going.”
“You don’t want to argue with me on this, Lysander. I’ll simply follow you, and that could easily jeopardize the mission. I intend to exercise my right in the matter, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“It’s insane.”
“It’s necessary.” A flash of pain flitted across her features before she met his gaze again. “You also know that Phaedra must come.”
“No.” He released a sharp hiss of air as he objected.
“She’s your best healer. This mission is too critical for you to leave her behind. Violetta’s incapable of healing life-threatening wounds, and if we send our best people on this assignment, I want someone capable of saving a life.”
His heart sank at the thought of putting Phaedra in the kind of danger they might face tonight. If something happened to her … he swallowed the fear inside him and nodded sharply.
“Emma stays here. Her skills aren’t strong enough. It’s a miracle she escaped harm at the Circus Maxentius the other night.”
“Agreed,” Atia murmured. “I assume you want Ares to come.”
“Yes. And Cleo.” The minute he mentioned her daughter’s name, Atia stiffened and shook her head.
“No. I won’t risk—”
“Cleo, short of Ares, is my best fighter. I need her. Your safety is paramount, and the Order will have my head if something happens to you,” he growled. “She goes or you stay.”
“Va bene.” With a sharp nod, Atia agreed.
“Then I think we have everyone we need.” The minute they returned to the briefing room everyone went silent. His gaze surveyed the expressions of everyone at the table, and he steeled himself for the protests.
“After consulting with the Prima Consul, the following people will be going to the Pantheon tonight to retrieve the Tyet of Isis. Ares, Cleo, Phaedra, myself, and the Prima
Consul with her Celeris . We’ll meet here in the briefing room at oh-one-hundred for lastminute instructions. That will be all.”
The moment he finished speaking he heard the loud crack of someone slapping their hands against the tabletop. Every
one jerked their head toward the sound, and he saw Cleo jump to her feet with a look of angry fear on her face.
“Are you out of your mind, Mother? You haven’t gone on an actual mission in years. It’s too dangerous.”
“You forget your place, Cleo.” The icy tone in Atia’s voice made Cleo flinch, but she didn’t back down.
“And you forget yours, Mother. This isn’t a little jaunt out to one of your archeological sites. If you fall into the Collegium’s hands, what happened to Lysander will be a picnic compared to what they’ll do to the Order’s Prima Consul.” Cleo didn’t wait for a response, but stormed out of the briefing room.
After just a few seconds of tense silence, everyone quickly gathered their things and left the room. The disruptive moment had made everyone uncomfortable, but Lysander understood his friend’s anger. Lysander turned his head toward Atia, whose features were a bit pale, but serene. He had to admire her for her ability to remain composed under her daughter’s blistering attack.
Atia had to know Cleo was right, which made him wonder what was really driving her decision to join them. As Prima Consul, Atia occasionally took risks, but never any this grave. His thoughts slammed to a halt. The Sicari Lord. She was going to contact Marcus. He couldn’t help the rush of relief that surged through him.
He wasn’t a fool. The odds of them running into Gabriel and Nicostratus tonight were high. And they could use all the help they could get at this point if that happened. There was too much riding on this. The artifact had to remain out of Octavian’s hands or everything the Sicari held dear would be lost. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, he just did.
He turned toward Phaedra and winced at the sight of her talking with her brother. Impulsively, he reached out with his mind to caress her cheek. She turned her head toward him the moment his invisible touch brushed across her skin and smiled. He’d never seen a more beautiful creature in his entire life. His gaze drifted away from her face to the dagger on the table. His body tensed and grew cold as he looked at it.
This had killed her once before. What if he was forced to do the same again? Fingertips pressing into the tabletop, he closed his eye for a brief moment at the unbearable thought. A warm hand captured his, and he could feel the beat of her heart through her fingers, while the sweet, buttery scent of her brushed against his nostrils. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, uncaring of what anyone might think. She was his, and he’d do
whatever necessary to keep her safe. No matter the cost to himself.
Chapter 26
THE stone wall against Phaedra’s back was chilly as they waited for Ares to signal he’d opened the rear door of the Pantheon. Her nerves on edge, the three clicks in her earpiece made her jump with surprise when they came. Beside her, Lysander quickly ordered Cleo across the narrow street that wasn’t much more than an alley. She watched her friend disappear down into the fosse that surrounded the sides and back of the building.
When Cleo vanished, Lysander ordered Atia and Ignacio to cross the street and follow her. The older couple didn’t waste time and disappeared in seconds. A warm hand clasped Phaedra’s in a silent message of love and reassurance. In the dark, she couldn’t read his expression, but his whisper was warm and comforting.
“I’ll be right behind you, carissima.” He released her hand. “Go.”
She didn’t hesitate. With a quick push of her hands, she shoved herself away from the cold wall and raced across the cobblestone street. She slipped past the crumbling wall to drop down almost six feet into the trench that surrounded the monument. Several feet away she saw someone slip through the door into the Pantheon. She took a step forward and froze. Someone was nearby.
“Lysander.” It was a struggle to keep the panic out of her voice.
A dark shadow dropped down into the trench, and her heart slammed into her chest with fear. Pressed into the outer wall of the monument, she tried to control her racing pulse.
“It’s all right, cara.” Lysander grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door as he bent his head toward his shoulder mike. “Atia, your company is waiting for us.”
In seconds, they were in the building, and Lysander closed the heavy metal door behind them as quietly as possible. The darkness complete, she shivered as the powerful individual she sensed seemed closer with every forward step she took. The muscles in her body grew taut as her senses registered the strength and power of the man.
She’d never sensed anyone this powerful before. Not even Gabriel had made her senses react this way. The hairs on her arm were standing on end, while her skin was warm from the blood rushing frantically through her veins. Lysander tapped his flashlight on then quietly ordered her to follow him. Somehow, she managed to jerk herself out of her stupor to do as he commanded.
He didn’t seem the least bit concerned, even though she was certain he sensed the person who currently had her senses wired for overload. They quickly passed through the narrow corridor and emerged from behind an altar into the temple. Overhead, the dome’s paneled
ceiling rose up to the oculus, which was open to sky and elements. Moonlight spilled onto the temple’s marble floor, and the beauty of the building was breathtaking.
It was an incredible work of art, and despite the fact that it was almost two thousand years old, it hadn’t changed much in all that time. The only thing missing were the statues of the gods. It created a sense of loss in her, even though she followed no particular set of religious teachings.
What had once been home to the worship of the gods had become something altogether different. Now it was a tomb and place of worship for another faith. It seemed almost sacrilegious, and she recognized the longing inside of her for what it was. Cassiopeia had worshiped here. The soft whisper of a sound from the far corner of the temple jerked her out of her lapse of concentration.
The moonlight illuminated the majority of the temple’s interior, although most of the niches were out of reach and dark as midnight. She saw Atia move toward one of the darkened recesses in the building’s wall, and Phaedra suppressed a gasp as a tall figure stepped into the light. Instinct made her draw her sword as she leaped forward to protect the Prima Consul. No sooner had she done so, than Lysander stayed her.
“It’s all right. He’s with us,” he said quietly as Ares and Cleo moved to join them.
“Who the fuck is that?” Cleo jerked her head in the direction of the man who towered over her mother.
“He’s a Sicari Lord.” From the sound of his voice, Ares was clearly in awe of the man.
“Well, it’s clear Ignacio doesn’t like him.”
Cleo pointed at the Celeris, whose body was rigid with tension as he watched his charge engage in an animated, almost heated, conversation with the Sicari Lord. At that instant, the Sicari Lord’s head came up, and he stared at Cleo. Immediately, her friend fidgeted beneath the penetrating look.
“Christus, why the hell is the bastardo looking at me like that?”
As the Sicari Lord stepped away from Atia and headed toward the four of them, she heard Lysander draw in a sharp hiss of air and mutter a harsh curse. Atia bolted after the Sicari Lord, a worried frown furrowing her brow. Phaedra’s gaze left the Prima Consul’s concerned expression to return to the man coming toward them in clothes typical of what Sicari Lords were reported to wear.
The man was dressed like a warrior monk from the past, his flowing cape cloaking his dark apparel, and she was certain his boots came up almost to his knees. It was an oldfashioned form of dress, but on him, it was intimidating. He stopped short of their small group to study their faces and removed the hood from his head to reveal his handsome
features.
There was something so familiar about him. Somewhere in the back of her head a dim memory of a young tribune playing with Demetri filtered its way into her head. She gasped. He was older, but it was still the same face of the man she’d known in ancient Rome. The Sicari Lord nodded at Lysander, who bowed slightly in deference.
“Well, Maximus. Isn’t it time you stop bowing and recognize me for who I really am?”
The Sicari Lord’s question made Lysander start in surprise as the man pulled up his sleeve and extended his arm. In the moonlight, it was easy to see the lightly colored birthmark in the shape of an eagle. The legion’s mark. The same faint-colored stain Lysander had on his arm. He stiffened as his gaze took in the Sicari Lord’s amused expression. Astonishment made Lysander’s green eye open wide as he quickly stepped forward and grasped the man’s forearm in a timeless Roman greeting. The smile on his face didn’t surprise her, but the dazed expressions on her brother’s and Cleo’s faces almost made her laugh.