The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath)

by Nadia Aidan

  She wanted his love, as ill-fated as it was. She longed for his devotion, though she knew she could never be his wife. She understood he had obligations to his homeland, and why he’d not told her of them before, but that did not mean she happily accepted such knowledge.

  Aurora did not realize moisture had gathered in her eyes until he rolled her beneath him, and with a curse on his lips, he cradled her face.

  “You will forever have my heart, Aurora, you must know this. No matter what happens between us, you are the only woman I have ever loved, and nothing shall change that.”

  Her eyes were sad, even as her heart soared. For so many reasons she could not savor this moment, she could not fully bask in the beauty of his words.

  Now that Aurora finally knew what it meant to love, she still could not truly have it. Because while she had Cyrus’ love—another would forever have him.

  Forming words escaped her so Aurora did the only thing she could, she lifted her hand, her fingers tangling in his hair as she brought his face closer to hers. She then joined their lips in a kiss that scorched through her, searing her heart, inflaming desires only Cyrus could awaken, and then satiate.

  She kissed him with the passion of her needs, and the love that weighed down her heart. Words continued to escape her, so with her kisses, with her body, she conveyed her deepest feelings, her rawest emotions.

  They tore off their garments with urgency, as if they could spare only seconds before they had to touch one another once again. Cyrus’ body was hot and hard against hers as the weight of him pressed her down into the pallet beneath her back. She welcomed the heaviness, because it assured her that he was real, that she had not imagined him, not conjured him from the deep abyss of her longings.

  As he began to push his way inside her she wrapped her legs around him, her hips lifting, sending him tunneling deeper.

  Her sensuous movements beneath him snapped his control and a curse rent the air as he filled her on one smooth thrust until he was buried to the hilt of her.

  He stroked inside her at an almost frenzied pace, and she matched the rhythm of his surging flesh, with a desperation that mirrored his own.

  Cyrus made love to her as if he knew this would be their last time together, as if he knew what she plotted. He made love to her as if he knew he would never feel her skin against his, her body beneath his, her sheath surrounding him, accepting him, gripping him tight.

  Aurora soon became convinced his intuition had to have hinted that this was to be their final time together because he pounded inside her with a desperate urgency, until Aurora knew she’d been branded, she’d been claimed, she’d been marked so thoroughly, so irrevocably that Cyrus would be forever tattooed upon her heart.

  They found release at the same moment, and he roared out his completion as she cried out her own. He filled her with his seed, and she felt it stir warmly inside her womb until the tight fist of her sheath had milked him thoroughly.

  Aurora held him to her when he collapsed atop her. And when he rolled to his side, she turned her head to smile at him, but instead of smiling back, his eyes were angry, and a dark glower spread across his face.

  Cyrus reached out to her, but his arm would not move, his entire body was heavy and clumsy as if he’d drunk too much wine, but he knew that he had not.

  “What have you done?” he demanded of her.

  “I had hoped you would simply drift off to sleep without taking notice,” she said with a small, almost wistful smile. “But I should have known even in this, you would prove stubborn.”

  “You have poisoned me.”

  She touched his cheek, softly caressing his face, but he could not move, for he was paralyzed.

  “It is only a bit of mandrake root and henbane.”

  But mixed with wine, the combination was potent, toxic.

  “You stowwll it frermm the infirrmarry.” He frowned at his slurred speech, until he realized he could not frown, that his entire face was frozen.

  “I weelll stoppp youuu.”

  Her smile was gentle, he imagined her kiss was even more so when she pressed her lips to his, though he could not feel a thing.

  “You will not stop me, Cyrus,” she said, her eyes sad. “Because after this moment, you shall never see me again.”

  Her gaze lingered on him, and he glimpsed the indecision on her face as if a war waged inside her. Cyrus did not know what it was that caused her to hesitate, until she finally spoke with a voice that was hoarse, that trembled with pain.

  “You will forever have my heart, Cyrus,” she whispered, echoing his earlier words. “You are the only man I have ever loved, the only man I shall.”

  Cyrus did not see her steal away, because he could not lift his head, but he knew she was gone when the air around him shifted, becoming frigid and cold.

  After she left, he could no longer fight the encroaching darkness, and it was not long before he lost his battle and succumbed to the blackness all around him.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time Aurora slipped from Cyrus’ chambers, the House of Norbanus was quiet and still, and she was greeted by drunken snores as guards slumbered everywhere she looked.

  Petricles was nowhere to be found, and, as she’d anticipated, her door was unlocked as were several of the slaves’ doors. The guards had never made it down to see to their rounds in the female quarters, though she was sure every male slave was locked within his chambers. Claudius may have been in good spirits because of her victory, but he remained cautious.

  Aurora entered her chambers to retrieve a small bundle she’d hidden beneath her pallet. Artemisia, who was curled up in the corner, stirred for a moment, but did not waken.

  Aurora took only the small iron disc, leaving the rest of her belongings behind. Before she left, Aurora gave Artemisia a fleeting look. The girl was kind, and full of compassion for others. She remembered what Cyrus had said of the young woman—that Artemisia had been happy to watch over her while he went to Falerii.

  She had so few friends, but she decided to count Artemisia among them, though she had not known her long. As Aurora left her chambers, she silently wished Artemisia well.

  With hurried steps, her sandaled feet silently struck first the mud brick ground of the slave quarters, then the mosaic tiles of the outer chambers, until she drew closer to Claudius’ inner sanctum. It was only when she entered his private quarters that the colorful tiles finally gave way to pure marble of a gleaming white.

  Aurora clung to the shadows of the walls, as she crept through the villa. Several guards were posted all about, but they did not stand alert. Instead, they were slumped over, some were even stretched out along the floor.

  She weaved her way through the estate, nearing the chambers where Claudius lay sleeping. Even if he was not alone, even if other guards were posted about as she suspected they were, the odds were in her favor. She had not seen one person refuse the cup, not Claudius, not his soldiers. If she faced a guard, his movements were sure to be slow and imprecise. And while he fought against her, Claudius would likely not stir once from his bed.

  Aurora could feel the rush of blood thrumming through her. With every mission she experienced this—the quickening of her heartbeat, the anticipation of success, the thrilling fear of failure. The sensations pouring through her, pumping steadily caused her palms to dampen with sweat and her belly to churn and roil. She both loved and dreaded this feeling as she faced the unknown.

  Aurora passed through an archway and turned a corner. She was almost there.

  She turned another corner, her last one. She could already see Claudius’ chambers at the end of the vestibule, but before she could reach them, something obstructed her view.

  Not something, she realized immediately—someone.

  A frown slashed across her face, twisting down the corners of her mouth and furrowing her brow.

  Aurora scowled at the figure moving toward her, cursing herself for whatever she’d done to displease the gods that
this was to be the person to delay her.

  Her expression darkened on the shrouded figure when it stepped from the shadows and stood before her. A smile wormed across his face, and her frown hardened on her lips. Of all those to impede her on this night it seemed only fitting that it should be her cursed nemesis.

  “Primus.”

  He seemed pleased to greet her, although it was contrived. Primus was only pleased because he imagined this as another opportunity to taunt her, until she remembered he had nothing with which to taunt her—she’d been victorious this day in the arena, and the entire House of Norbanus had celebrated in her honor.

  “What? You do not partake of the festivities to honor your great triumph? Why? Are you still too good for such things, such revelry? Is everything and everyone about this place beneath you?” he sneered.

  “Not everything, and not everyone, just you.”

  The words were barely out before he was upon her, attacking her as he slammed her back against the wall. Not prepared for the sudden assault, she let out a startled yelp at the burst of pain shooting straight down her spine. His hands began groping her in earnest, and she soon understood why he’d believed himself lucky to happen upon her.

  He thought he would defile her, humiliate her on her day of victory.

  She knew Primus to be a fool, and from the acrid warmth of his breath slapping across her face, she also knew he’d had too many cups.

  It would have to be so—that he was drunk and foolish—if he thought he could best her. Aurora quickly regained herself, and her position, her fist smashing into his jaw. He stumbled back, but much to her ire, he did not crumple and fall as she wished him to.

  Primus’ eyes widened as if he could not believe she’d struck him. Yet, when his surprise gave way to recognition, Aurora stilled. He stared at her with fresh eyes, and she imagined the force of her blow must have cleared his head of his drunken stupor.

  She stifled a sharp curse as Primus’ gaze slipped over her, taking in her hair pulled off her face, her dark hooded cloak, the deadly purpose in her eyes and the razor edged disc in her hand.

  His eyes grew wider still and before she could stop him, his voice rang out, calling for the guards.

  She struck him again, this time much harder than before and his bellows stopped as he collapsed to the floor in a lifeless heap. Aurora left him there, and with long strides she stalked quickly toward Claudius’ chambers.

  But it was already too late.

  Four guards stood before her.

  She spun around.

  Four guards were at her back.

  All of them were now closing in.

  She could run, but they would catch her.

  She could fight, but they would kill her.

  Her only choice was surrender, and then maybe she would live another day to fulfill her duty, her purpose.

  Thus it was so, on the day of her greatest triumph, her plot was uncovered. The chakram, which she’d used that day in the forum, was found in her very hand, and it alone carried with it her guilt.

  But there was more.

  The herbs they would discover within her chambers, taken from the infirmary.

  The pumice she’d concocted that had killed nearly a dozen soldiers.

  And then there was Cyrus—his body found inside his quarters, still and lifeless.

  Thus it was so, on the day of her greatest triumph, her treachery was uncovered, and Aurora found herself once again locked inside a cage, but in a place far worse than the quarters of the slaves.

  Oh, how far she had fallen, from the lofty champion of Capena, to the lowest dregs of society.

  As the iron door was closed shut and securely locked, Aurora found herself in a place she’d never once been—a cage for prisoners, for criminals, for those who were damned, for those who’d been condemned to death.

  * * * *

  Cyrus did not know for how long he slumbered but when he woke, he was in the infirmary, and a small sliver of sunlight pierced the darkness of the shadowed room.

  Lycurgus was there, and he would not let Cyrus leave until he was assured the poison was from Cyrus’ body, no matter it had only been enough to bring about unconsciousness, not enough to kill. After he’d imbibed seemingly endless cups of water, Cyrus left the infirmary, and he would have returned to his quarters, had one of the guards not met him just beyond the doorway to inform him that Claudius wished to see him.

  Cyrus was weary, his body weak from the effects of the herbs Aurora had given him, and a terrible pain pounded at the base of his skull—

  Aurora.

  His hands clenched into fists at his sides. She had betrayed him, yet again. She had—he stilled.

  “Dominus wishes to see me?”

  At the guard’s nod, he frowned, already turning in the direction of Claudius’ chambers.

  How was it so?

  Aurora had poisoned him so that she might steal away to assassinate Claudius.

  But Claudius still lived, which meant—

  Icy fingers of bone numbing fear ripped through his chest, and he did not realize he’d ceased to breathe until he was forced to gasp for air. Cyrus did not know how he found himself inside Claudius’ private quarters, because he did not know how he’d managed to walk on two stiff legs, seemingly weighed down by iron.

  “You wished to see me, dominus?” His voice was strained and ragged, emerging from his body as if sharp daggers scratched at his throat.

  Claudius stood before the hearth, turning at the sound of Cyrus’ voice.

  From his position across the chambers, Cyrus could not glimpse the inner workings of Claudius’ mind given the shadowed planes of the man’s face. He appeared a blank, empty parchment, devoid of any revealing expression.

  Claudius nodded for the guard to leave and that was when Cyrus saw her, lounging on the couch in a corner as if she was bored.

  Cornelia.

  He wondered of her purpose there.

  His gaze narrowed—if she’d had anything to do with Aurora’s failure…

  Cyrus imagined she did. The woman was a snake of the lowest kind, and if she was anyway responsible, he would not rest until she suffered the same fate as Aurora. Cold eyes revealed the direction of his thoughts, and when she stiffened, her lips parting, her eyes registering surprise, he knew his threat was clear.

  “It is good to see you are well,” Claudius said, forcing Cyrus to drag his gaze away from Cornelia. “Lycurgus told me of your poisoning. It would seem we have all been a fool to Aurora’s betrayal.”

  Aurora.

  Cyrus longed to know what had happened to her, what fate she had met, but he dared not probe too eagerly, lest Claudius discover his relationship with Aurora had been more than it appeared.

  “I have locked the witch within my prison until we leave for the games.”

  Every muscle within his body jerked.

  One did not imprison a dead woman. She was alive.

  “I have arranged to have her executed at the games this day,” Claudius continued. “Since she is determined to remain silent, I see no other use for her. Despite all my efforts, she reveals nothing. Hours of what has surely been unending pain, and still she refuses to admit to any of it—filling my cup with poison at Senator Vibius’, the deaths of all my guards, nor her attack upon me in the forum. And we have evidence of it all. We found an assortment of potent herbs within her quarters, and the chakram on her person. Had Primus not called out, I am sure I would be dead.” Claudius was incredulous. “This troubles me greatly—how easy it was for her to insert herself within my home, and go about her plot. I cannot believe she had no other help, but she does not reveal who sent her, not even with the promise that I would ease her punishment and spare her life and only confine her ‘til the end of her days.” Claudius peered at him. “What of you, Cyrus? Artemisia, who knows her well, believes she acted alone. But what of you? You know her well also. Do you believe she plotted alone?”

  Cyrus raced to keep up with the dir
ection of Claudius’ words.

  Aurora was alive, but she was to be executed at the games later this day.

  Primus had stopped her? He did not believe such a thing for that man was an idiot, but he’d done it—somehow.

  She’d endured the pain of torture, but still remained quiet.

  Cyrus looked to Claudius—his dominus wondered if Aurora had acted alone. Despite himself, Cyrus’ gaze strayed to Cornelia, who shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of his stare, but his eyes did not leave her as he spoke, “I do not know if she acted alone or not, dominus, but I think you would be wise to remain on guard in the event she had an accomplice, and that accomplice still roams about.”

  Claudius regarded him with an appreciative stare. “That is why I have trusted you in this. You are ever wise and clever. You are also loyal. When the guards found you, your garments were torn and your quarters were in disarray. I know you must have struggled with the witch before the poison set it. I know you tried to stop her. For all you have done in guarding me against her, your loyalty, your bravery, I shall see you free,” Claudius announced. “After the ludi Victoriae Caesaris has come to an end, and I have executed that traitor, you shall have your freedom.”

  The elation Cyrus should have felt at Claudius’ words never came. Every day of his enslavement he’d longed for this very moment, had waited in anticipation for the joy he would know when he was once again a free citizen.

  What he felt was neither elation, nor joy. He was not entirely certain of the emotions coursing through him, only that a myriad of feelings clashed against one another, and he could not make any of them out.

  Whatever he felt, however, it was bittersweet—for by dusk of this day, Cyrus would be free, yet Aurora would be dead.

  * * * *

  After he left Claudius, he should have retired to his quarters until it was time for them to leave for the games. The day promised to be a long one, and he was already weary, but he could not watch Aurora go to her death in the arena without speaking to her one last time.