Inferno's Kiss (33 page)

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 . . . modified 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.”

“Am I? I wonder.” He bowed his head to study the floor beneath him. The marbleized white stone looked as fractured as his thoughts. “I managed to fail you at a time when you needed me the most. Hardly the markings of a
good
man.”

And he had failed her.
Christus
, she’d nearly died. He’d lost his son that terrible day. Losing Atia as well would have pushed him over the edge, but then he’d wound up losing her anyway. Gabriel’s kidnapping had driven a wedge between them, and it had illustrated how little they’d understood each other then. Perhaps even now. Atia’s hand touched his arm.

“We both failed. I should have trusted you. I should have told you everything when Gabriel was taken.”

“I’m no longer certain you made a mistake in not telling me what happened when Gabriel was taken,” he rasped as his throat tightened with emotion. She jerked with surprise, and he swallowed hard in order to speak. “I’d like to think otherwise, but my perspective has changed in recent weeks. I now understand what it’s like to face the prospect of killing your own child.”

He wanted to believe he wouldn’t have judged Atia for not following the old code, but they’d known even then that Gabriel would be a powerful Sicari Lord. If she had told him how she’d failed to sacrifice their son to save him from the Praetorians, he doubted he would have forgiven her. He didn’t like admitting it, but he knew it was true. He couldn’t blame her for being afraid to tell him the truth or for hiding Cleo from him.

“We were both faced with a terrible choice, but you were stronger—braver than me.” Her face grew pale, and her voice cracked for a moment before she continued. “You did what a Sicari Lord is trained to do. You chose to put aside your personal feelings and protect others. It was the right thing to do.”

“And you did the right thing not telling me about Cleopatra.” He saw her jerk with surprise as he met her gaze with a steady look. “If you believed me incapable of forgiving you for Gabriel, why wouldn’t you think I’d take her from you? I can’t fault you for that. I only wish things had been different.”

She turned away, and her sorrow swept through him like a raging storm. It matched his own torment. Uncertain as to whether she would reject his physical touch or not, he reached out with his thoughts and gently forced her to face him.

They stared at each other for a long moment before she came to him of her own accord. She didn’t cry. She simply clung to him with a strength that surprised him. After several long moments, she pulled away from him and put some space between them. He didn’t want to let her go, but instinct told him not to protest.

Patience was the only way to win her back. The thought made him suppress a grunt of frustration, but she must have sensed his disappointment. Her gray eyes darkened with emotion as she met his gaze. For an instant, he thought she was about to open up to him, but she didn’t. With a shake of her head, she looked away and moved to resume her study of the document on the screen.

It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to break the silence and drive the conversation in the direction he wanted. Arms folded across his chest, he dug his fingers into his biceps, hoping the discomfort would keep him silent. Several drawn-out moments later she shot him a quick look before returning her attention to the screen.

“Lysander might have some memory of what the different positions of the standards mean,” she said quietly. “I think we should ask him to take a look at the document.”

“I thought he was still in Italy?” Marcus frowned in surprise as Atia shook her head.

“No. He arrived last night with Phaedra. She insisted on coming home, and the only way Lysander would agree to let her leave the Genova hospital was if she came to White Cloud to rest.”

“All right. Then we should get him to take a look at the document as soon as we can.” He paused for a brief moment. “I also think it’s time he knows the truth. Dante as well.”

She whirled to face him in surprise. “You’re going against Aurelia’s wishes? She didn’t want them to know about each other. It was for their safety.”

“They’re no longer children. Dante will soon be the reigning Sicari Lord, while Lysander is the first Sicari Lord reincarnated. It stands to reason they’ll eventually meet. In truth, I’m surprised they haven’t already.” He frowned slightly as he considered what would happen when the half brothers met. The resemblance between the two was remarkable, even in spite of Lysander’s disfigurement.