The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (25 page)

Once in town, she lost herself within the bustling
forum
where she traded one brass scalpel for a threadbare cloak with a hood. The other she exchanged for a crude iron
chakram
. It was not as fine, nor as well crafted as the one she’d received from The Order upon taking her oath, but it would serve its purpose.

It had taken her longer than she’d anticipated to find a metal worker who dealt in Kushan weaponry for the
chakram
, so when she caught sight of Claudius’ party on the horizon, she moved quickly into position.

As she’d expected, there were only two guards with them, for only two could be spared with so few of them well. One guard sat to Claudius’ right, while Cyrus rode on his left. The four recruits trailed behind them on horseback, with the second guard bringing up the rear.

They trotted along the crowded road, making their way through the raucous
forum
where craftsmen and merchants peddled their wares.

Aurora disappeared into the crowd of people, moving to a place where there was a slope in the ground. She stood atop it, her eyes never once leaving the group of approaching men. She hovered several paces away, partially obscured by one of the merchant’s stalls. Aurora did not need to be close to strike, her weapon had been carefully chosen for its accuracy and speed from a distance, and unlike the bow and arrow, it was not cumbersome and obvious.

Blood surged hotter in her veins as she observed Claudius’ party. Aurora remained patient and still, watching as they drew closer, waiting for them to pass her by. Drowning out all other sounds around her, she listened only to the steady beat of hooves striking the ground with a lazy, meandering rhythm.

Aurora saw nothing but Claudius, she heard nothing but his horse trotting closer to her position, closer to where she lingered in the shadows.

Aurora readied herself, her heart pumping, her breaths even.

Her fingers curled then uncurled around the disk and she held her breath as she prepared to release her weapon.

Someone bumped against her, a laughing child racing through the market. Her heart quickened then quieted. The
chakram
remained tight in her grip, but the slight jostling caused the weapon to catch a ray of sunlight and it flickered bright.

Before they passed her, before she could falter, she released the sharp disk, hurling it through the air.

But the sunlight upon the iron flickered even brighter, drawing attention.

Cyrus turned, Claudius with him.

Aurora ceased to breathe when Claudius’ eyes widened in fear as the
chakram
raced toward him, but Claudius was not the reason the air stole out of her chest.

Cyrus.

She mouthed for him to stop, but no words came out and she watched in horror as he inserted himself between Claudius and the
chakram
barreling toward him.

At the very last moment, he lifted his sword, deflecting the spinning disk, but it did not miss him entirely. The
chakram
sliced across his arm, before returning to her.

Without taking her gaze from him, she caught it with one hand raised in the air.

In that instant, their eyes met, and recognition clouded in the depths of his—recognition and astonishment. Aurora’s heart stuttered when she glimpsed the naked pain in his blue eyes, the embittered pain of her betrayal.

She ripped her gaze from his, disappearing into the crowded market, before the guards could see her, before they could chase after her.

Aurora raced back to Claudius’ villa, before she could be missed—before she could be caught.

* * * *

If Cyrus had been able to hear Aurora’s thoughts, he would have told her that she
had
been caught—by
him.

Only
him.

He’d not told Claudius, not yet, and Cyrus did not know why.

That was not true.

He
knew
why, he just didn’t understand why he did it—why he still protected a woman who would lie to him and then betray him.

I would never harm you
, she’d whispered.

He stared down at his wounded arm. The gash was deep, which was why they’d been forced to return to the villa instead of continuing on to Falerii. Cyrus was steadily losing blood and required stitching from Lycurgus.

I would never harm you.

But she had, and the wound she’d inflicted cut him far deeper than any gash along his arm.

Cyrus noted that the sting of her betrayal was much worse, far worse than another’s.

Cyrus had not forgiven the one who’d betrayed him, the one who’d had a hand in his enslavement, but that pain was not as sharp, nor as deep as what Aurora had done.

Maybe it was because three years had passed. The sting of such treachery had dulled.

Maybe.

Or maybe Aurora’s betrayal was worse because his feelings for her ran much deeper than even he’d realized until now.

Cyrus was barely aware of being ushered into the infirmary by one of the guards. He barely noticed the pain, or the rank smell of vinegar and turpentine being poured into his wound to cleanse it. As Lycurgus stitched him up, then dressed his wound, Cyrus was aware of none of it.

Aurora.

His senses were full of her, overflowing with her.

She lay atop the stone slab of the infirmary, as he’d left her only hours ago—her eyes closed, blissfully and peacefully asleep.

When Lycurgus was done, he left Cyrus there alone with Aurora, taking the guard with him.

Lycurgus was desperately needed in the barracks to attend to the dying soldiers— seemingly one every hour. The guard was needed elsewhere as well, taking up a post that was likely vacant.

Cyrus could leave the infirmary whenever he felt ready to. Anticipating, she’d be awake by then, Lycurgus would likely return to check on Aurora at dusk and send her back to her quarters by nightfall.

As he stood over her, his features etched into a scowl, Cyrus saw no reason to wait until dusk when he knew already she was of
perfect
health.

“Wake up,” he growled, his uninjured hand already reaching out to seize her by her
tunica.

Her eyes snapped open, just as he dragged her into a sitting position.

“Who are you? Truly. And do not lie,” he rasped, his voice low and dangerous.

Her eyes rounded then narrowed as she wrenched free of his hold and hopped down from the stone slab.

“What is wrong with you handling me in such a way? I am a sick woman.”

Every part of him vibrated with fury. “I told you Aurora, do not lie to me. Tell me the truth or I will—”

“What? You shall tell Claudius?” Her expression hardened. “You shall tell him what exactly? That I was sick in the infirmary when you were injured? That you saw me somewhere when all others would swear I was here. Tell me, Cyrus, what
will
you tell Claudius?”

Later, Cyrus would not know what drove him, what made him speak so cruelly when he knew every word to be a lie. Or maybe he would. He would ponder that maybe it was the smugness in her voice, the mocking expression upon her face. That she would betray him and then physically wound him in the process, without showing a measure of remorse, infuriated him, but more than that, more than the anger, it pained him to the core of himself.

“You are right. I have nothing to tell him, so I shall say nothing at all. But be forewarned Aurora, from this day on, there is
nothing
between us, and you mean
nothing
to me. You threaten Claudius’ life again, and I shall kill you myself.”

Cyrus turned from her before the pain in her eyes threatened to crumble his resolve. Before he caved and took every cruel word spoken back, and then took her into his arms to soothe the anguish he’d just caused.

“You do not have to tell me I mean nothing to you, because I saw you earlier,” she spat. “I saw you with Artemisia. I saw you kiss her—”

Cyrus froze at the same time she abruptly stopped.

He turned to face her, his eyes raking her deep. “Yes, Aurora, please continue. You saw me with Artemisia when you were supposed to be sick in this very infirmary.”

Her mouth, which had been open, all of a sudden snapped shut.

“I do not know what you saw, but you did
not
see me kiss her—”

“You touched her, you grabbed her and took her into your arms and then leaned in as though you would.”

Aurora’s eyes widened as if she could not believe she’d blurted out more.

He almost pitied her. Her misplaced jealousy was making her careless.

For some reason, which Cyrus could not seem to fathom, he felt the need to defend himself, though she truly did not deserve to have her mind eased, not after everything she’d done.

“You’re a fool, Aurora, and I am one right along with you. I
hugged
Artemisia after she agreed to watch over you while I was gone.” Her gaze dipped to the floor, filled with embarrassment and shame.

“Yes, Aurora, while you were plotting to kill. While you were skulking about, devising a plan that so carelessly put my life in danger, a man you claim to care for, I was thinking of you and your well-being.”

She called his name, her eyes entreating him to listen to whatever fabrication she was determined to contrive, but he shook his head.

“I do not wish to hear it, Aurora. I do not wish to hear any more lies from your lips. It is obvious I mean nothing to you, and I find it impossible to feel anything for a woman who cares so little for me.”

Cyrus turned to leave, to flee the naked pain within her watery eyes that would haunt him for most of his days, and all of his nights. Cyrus did not get far when the door to the infirmary swung open and in walked Claudius.

Claudius was a man so full of his own self-importance that he either did not notice or he did not care that he’d entered a room shrouded in a thick fog of tense silence.

“It is good to see you up and alert,” Claudius said to Aurora. “You as well,” he directed to Cyrus, as if it was a fleeting thought, as if Cyrus had not
just
risked his life for him only hours before.

Cyrus did well in hiding his ire, while Aurora could not be credited as such. The scowl on her face, the dark glare in her eyes went unnoticed to Claudius, but not to Cyrus, who thought it ironic that she would be affronted on his behalf for an injury
she’d
caused.

“
Ludi Victoriae Caesaris
approaches quickly,” said Claudius, glancing between the both of them, before his gaze settled on Aurora. “I do not have to tell you these games draw an immense crowd. People come from across The Empire to witness the best gladiators from each of the
ludi
that participate in these games. Have no doubt, Cyrus is our champion, but with his sword arm injured, he shall not be ready in time.”

Cyrus stilled because he knew what was to come next, and he did not think such a decision was wise. She was not ready, certainly not for one of the most celebrated games of all the year.

“You, Aurora shall fight and honor this house.” Claudius looked crossly at her, with a sharp stare that was unmistakable. “And you
shall
be ready.” Or she would die within the arena—a fate to be delivered either by her opponent or by the roar of the crowd.

It did not matter which. If she failed this time, there would be no one and nothing to save her.

* * * *

For a gladiator, the
ludi Victoriae Caesaris
was the greatest stage upon which one could fight. The three-day festival came only once a year, and gladiators from rival
ludi
would face one another. Only the best fighters were sent, only the fiercest, the bravest.

Each city held their own festival, their own celebration. The most opulent could be found in Rome’s great Circus Maximus, but the ones in lesser cities were also quite extravagant. Capena was well known for its elaborate games, drawing crowds by the thousands.

Aurora decided the revelry and drunkenness of such an event would provide the perfect opportunity for her finally to dispatch of Claudius. Though she knew she would
have
to fight in these games in order to gain such an opportunity to get to Claudius once more.

Other fighters from the House of Norbanus would be featured, but Aurora was the honored gladiator, the one to fight in the
principalia—
the last fight upon the opening day of the games.

Without the test of the games in Falerii, she did not truly know if she was ready, and neither did Claudius, which was why her days of training had grown longer, more arduous, more intense.

Aurora could have told Claudius
physically
she was more prepared than any other within his
ludus,
it was her mental state that was in question, as it had always been when it came to entering the arena once again.

With the games just days away, Aurora was weary. Physically, mentally...Emotionally she was beyond weary, she was raw. Cyrus had done his best not to speak to her in the days since their quarrel in the infirmary. If it did not have to do with his instructions to her as
doctoris,
he did not speak to her at all. He barely even looked at her, while she could not seem to
stop
gazing upon him.