Tangled Web (23 page)

No click.

“Let me try.” Galerius switched places with Varro, but the results were still the same.

“Why would the emperor change the locks?” Varro asked.

A crash followed by a grunt came from the other side of the locked doors. Azurha’s breath caught. Pontus had already proven he could wield Deizian magic in unusual ways. “Because he didn’t.”

Galerius locked gazes with her. His eyes widened as if he was reading her thoughts, and he nodded. “We need to get in there now.”

The two other members of the Legion came to his side, ready to follow their captain’s lead. The three of them rammed into the door in precise formation. The doors creaked. “Again,” Galerius shouted.

Azurha stood back and watched their efforts to break down the door. Another crash came from inside the chambers, sending a tremble down her spine and throughout her body. She had never felt so helpless, not even when she had been a slave bound between the pillars. She had nothing left to lose then, but now…

A ball of warmth formed deep inside her chest. It amplified her pounding heart, coursing through her veins like molten lava and gathered in her raw and bloody hand. Her fingers shook under the force of it.

She tried to restrain the heat, but it continued to wear away at her like storm waves along a seaside cliff. Strong. Powerful. Wild. Chaotic. Destructive. Whatever it was, it wanted out.

And she was too weak to contain it.

“Move,” she shouted before she unleashed it at the door.

28

Titus climbed out the tepidarium and reached for the towel Varro had left for him. He’d sent the steward away almost an hour ago, preferring absolute solitude while he wrestled with his doubts. He’d hoped to find some sort of resolution to his problem while soaking in the warm water. Instead, he was left feeling more confused than ever.

Everything pointed to Azurha. He’d been a fool not to put all the pieces together sooner. She was the Rabbit. The Rabbit had been hired to kill him. And she’d been caught with a dagger in her hand, attacking a member of the Legion in front of dozens of witnesses.

But that’s where things stopped making sense. From what he knew about her kills, they were usually done in secret, quiet and discreet under the cover of night. Her victims were usually found when the morning dawned, a rabbit’s foot tied to their body. If she’d been hired to kill him, she would have done it here in his chambers when she shared his bed, not in the middle of a crowded coliseum.

Doubt clawed away at his stomach like some kind of wild beast.
Am I accusing the wrong person?

But that still didn’t explain what had happened this afternoon.

He reached for his tunic and jerked it on. There was one person he needed to question before he faced her—the soldier.

The locks clicked, and Titus headed for the main room, expecting to find Varro. When he entered the room, however, no one was there. “Varro,” he called out.

No answer.

“Galerius?”

Still no answer.

His breath hitched, and a chill rippled down his spine. Whoever had entered his room was still there.

Titus forced a calm expression on his face while he scanned the room. Nothing appeared out of order. The evening breeze danced though the silk curtains that concealed his bedroom, but that was the only movement he detected. His pulse throbbed in his ears, making it harder to pick up any miniscule sounds.

Maybe I’m just hearing things.

The feeling of unease that wound through his gut refused to let go. He licked his lips and reached for his sword. He ventured toward the bedroom, taking care to make his footsteps as silent as possible.

A gust of wind ripped through the room. Gooseflesh puckered his skin, even though the air was warm. The wild magic he’d felt since meeting Azurha stirred to life within him. It massaged the tension from his shoulders, replacing the fear with confidence. He had restored the barrier on the other side of the empire. Whoever had snuck into his chambers was no match for what he could conjure up.

He entered his bedroom and yanked back the curtain. The white linens of his freshly made bed glowed under the moonlight. An intense melancholy filled his lungs when he drew in a breath. He’d sleep alone tonight. That is, if he could find sleep.

The doors rattled behind him, snapping him to attention. He spun around to see who was trying to break into his chambers. His grip tightened around the sword. The wild magic churned inside his chest, growing stronger with every beat of his heart. Muffled voices came from the other side of the thick oak doors. Flashbacks of the attack on his airship filled his mind. His muscles tensed, ready to fight off whatever assailants would pour through the opening once it was breached.

And then he caught a shadow move out the corner of his eye.

Titus turned just in time to see a figure fly toward him from a recess. He held up the sword like a shield and braced for the impact. The golden blade of a dagger flashed in the candlelight. He knew that blade. Even though he couldn’t see the embossed rabbit on the hilt, he recognized it. But the person holding it was not who he expected.

Pontus landed on top of him, a snarl twisting his features. The impact forced the air from Titus’s lungs, but he ignored the burning in his chest as he fought off his cousin. The dagger clanged against the hard steel as Titus blocked it, never piercing his skin.

Titus gathered his strength and shoved Pontus off him. Once the weight left his body, he scrambled to his feet and lowered his shoulders.

Pontus mirrored his posture. “You were supposed have been dead by now.”

“So sorry to disappoint you, coz.”

Pontus slashed the air with the dagger. “I should have gone with my gut. That will teach me never to trust a woman to do a man’s job.”

Titus pivoted to the side to avoid Pontus as he lunged toward him. Some of the heaviness lifted from his heart when he comprehended what his cousin had just said, and his feet felt quicker than before. “You hired Azurha to kill me?”

Before he could get an answer, something smashed against the door. Pontus jumped at the distraction and leapt toward Titus again. His blade missed, but his hand snatched Titus’s tunic. They both tumbled into the main room, the sword falling from his grasp in the process. But Titus remained focused on Pontus and the dagger bearing down on him.

Time slowed. His heart seemed to beat to the tempo of an executioner’s drum. His hands moved through the air as if they were mired in sticky tar rather than nothingness.

But when he clasped his cousin’s hands and stopped the blade a mere inch from his heart, reality came crashing back around him.

Sweat beaded along Titus’s forehead while he wrestled with Pontus. A few feet away, the door began to splinter under the rhythmic pounding from outside.

“You’re weak, Titus.” Perspiration dripped down Pontus’s face, and his voice shook in synch with his hands. “Your death will be a blessing on the empire.”

“And you think you would be better than me?” Anger rolled though him, and the blade began to back away.

“Yes,” Pontus hissed.

The door gave way enough for him to recognize the sound of Galerius barking orders to his men. The traces of Azurha’s wild magic filtered through the cracks, wrapping around him and soaking into his muscles. “You’ll be dead before you leave this room.”

Pontus gave a quick, sharp laugh. “By the time they break through my spell, your body will be cold.”

Needles of unease prickled along his spine. How had his cousin overpowered his own magic? “So you’re the one behind all this. Azurha. The barrier. Maybe even my father’s death.”

Pontus grinned. “No, I’m not responsible for all that, but I’m not alone.”

The wild magic grew stronger, pulsating through every inch of Titus’s body. A primal roar broke free from his mouth. The magic exploded from his body, hurling Pontus off his chest.

At the same time, the doors exploded off their hinges and showered the room with splinters. Titus whipped his head to the side to shield his face from the debris. A second later, he turned back to see Pontus running toward him with the dagger drawn. The sinister gleam in his cousin’s eyes spoke of madness.

Titus drew a breath and braced for impact.

Pontus jerked to a stop inches away from him. His mouth hung open like trap door, and the dagger fell from his hand with a clang. His head rolled down to stare at the bloody blade protruding from his chest. A high pitched squeak escaped from his lips before he staggered forward and collapsed.

And behind him, with her hands still holding the hilt of the sword, stood Azurha.

Her face remained cold as she pulled the sword from Pontus. Her eyes reminded Titus of a lygress hunting on the plains, fierce and determined. This was the assassin he’d heard so much about, the one who could make grown men plead for their lives when they heard she’d been hired to kill them, but he didn’t fear her anymore. She plunged the blade into his cousin once again, as if she wanted to make sure he was dead, before she released the weapon and backed away.

The second her eyes met his, the huntress faded, leaving the vulnerable woman he’d come to love in her place. “Did he hurt you?” When he shook his head, she whispered, “Good. I wasn’t too late.”

Her eyes glazed over, and a needle of alarm pierced his heart. Something was wrong. Blood caked her face and stained her stola, but he had no idea how much of it was hers. The flesh along her left arm was raw and caked with blood. Her normally sun-bronzed skin had turned ashen, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and making her cheeks appear sunken. Her knees bowed out under her, and she slumped to the ground.

Titus dove to catch her. Warm, sticky liquid oozed over his hand when he touched her side and stained it crimson. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?”

He pressed his palm against the wound, already drawing upon his magic to heal it, but she clamped her hand around his wrist and shook her head. “Don’t,” she rasped. “Poison. Magic won’t help.”

A stone plummeted into the pit of his stomach as he heard her words. Her body trembled in his arms. Her breaths grew ragged. All evidence of the poison that was slowly consuming her. She was dying in his arms.

And all he could do was watch.

When he watched the life ebb out of his father less than a month ago, he felt only a hint of the frustration that ate away at him now. He was the emperor, damn it. He could raise a barrier to protect his people. He could order men to the executioner or pardon them at the last second. And yet, he couldn’t save the one person he loved more than his own life. Every beat of his heart reminded him how useless he was, mocking him over and over again, building into a crescendo like the primal scream that welled up in his soul.

When it mattered most, he was doomed to fail.

Her grip loosened, and he caught a hint of a smile playing on her full lips. “I couldn’t kill you, Titus, not after I fell in love with you.”

Her confession forced the air from his lungs. It wasn’t all a lie. She loved him, too. The wild magic swirled inside his aching chest, soothing the burning grief that threatened to consume him. A glimmer of hope appeared to drive away the darkness. “Don’t give up on me now,” he whispered into her ear.

Her eyes rolled back. Death was coming to claim her, hastening the sense of urgency that surged through his veins on the tails of the wild magic. He closed his eyes and directed it toward her slashed skin. As long as her heart still beat, he would pour every ounce of his power into healing her.

A black cloud filled his mind. It wrestled with the bright blue magic, threatening to choke it. His breath caught. He tightened his jaw and doubled his efforts. Something fluttered on the other side of the misty veil. Azurha’s pulse. It was weak and fragile, but it was still there.

He shaped the wild magic into a clawed hand and punched through the black cloud. On the other side shimmered a golden light that grew less and less brilliant with each second. He cradled it in his hand of magic, feeding it. Nurturing it. Restoring it until it shone as brightly as the yellow sun that illuminated the day.

The black cloud hung on the fringes, ready to pounce. He may have been able to spare her life for now, but as soon as he retreated, the poison would attack again.

Titus split the wild magic, forming a second hand. While the other still shielded her fragile life essence, this new hand assaulted the black cloud with the fury of a pack of lygers. It circled the cloud, batting it, forcing it into a small corner of the void until it shrank into a compact ball. Sweat beaded along his forehead from the effort, but the feeling of Azurha’s slow, warm breath on his cheek gave him the strength he needed. He used wild magic to scoop up the blackness and yanked it toward the outside world.

Hoarse coughs that shook his entire frame pulled him from his concentration. It took him a moment to realize they were coming from him, not Azurha. His eyes snapped open. The black cloud hovered in front of him with misty tendrils flowing to fill his mouth and nostrils.

“Your Majesty,” Varro cried out. The silver metal of his blade flashed though the heart of the cloud, scattering it along the breeze. All traces of the poison vanished in a matter of seconds, leaving Titus free to draw in the deep breath his body demanded.

He offered a quick prayer to the gods before turning his attention to Azurha. She appeared to be sleeping so peacefully in his arms that a twinge of fear made his breath hitch. Was he too late? But as he stared at her, he noticed the bloom of health in her cheeks, the lush rosy color of her full lips. Her warm skin chased away the last traces of worry, as did the strong beat of her heart when he pressed his palm against her chest.

Varro knelt beside them. His eyes widened, deepening the folds of his eyelids. “Emperor Sergius, what did we just witness?”

The fear on his steward’s face did little to dampen his spirits. Against all odds and his own doubt, he’d managed to save Azurha. “Perhaps I will explain it after I have a chance to discuss it with her.”

Titus gathered her into his arms and stood. Fatigue soaked into his bones, reminding him of the trials of the day, but he ignored it. “I’m taking Azurha to the harem where she can recover.”

Galerius stiffened. “Should I place guards in her room so she won’t escape?”

“There will be no need for that. She is not my enemy.” He surveyed his chambers from the splintered doors that hung at odd angles on their hinges to the growing pool of blood that seeped from Pontus’s body. A shudder rippled down his spine. He’d come so close to losing it all.

Varro followed his gaze and nodded. “I’ll see that this is cleaned up as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you.” Titus moved to the door, still cradling Azurha to him like the most precious object in the empire. Peace washed over him. He’d been granted a second chance, and this time, he refused to let anything stand in the way of what he wanted, of what he needed. “In the meantime, I have no intention of letting her out of my sight.”

When he reached the harem, he laid Azurha on the bare bed in the room she’d briefly inhabited and sat next to her, resting his chin on his fisted hands. His pulse returned to normal. The steady beat of his heart reminded him of the uphill battle facing him. Azurha had redeemed herself to him, but would the rest of the empire be so forgiving? And if he pardoned her, would it threaten his fragile hold on power by giving the nobles a reason to question his judgment?

A knock tore him from his thoughts. His hand reflexively reached for his gladius, his nerves still rattled from the attack. His grip loosened when he heard the familiar shuffling gait of his steward.