The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (4 page)

“For six years, since I was the age of twelve.”

Aurora soon learned Artemisia was a captive from the lands of Arabia and for several years had tended solely to the kitchen, but now also served as a maid to Cornelia, the governor’s wife.

“I would ask you another question,” Aurora began, choosing her next words carefully. “A man visited me last eve. He wore the collar of a slave, but did not carry himself as such. He was thickly muscled, as if he was a gladiator, and yet, he spoke with almost perfect Latin, he could have been a Roman patrician.”

Artemisia’s guileless eyes twinkled. “That is Cyrus, our champion of Capena. He is also
doctoris
and quite handsome, is he not? But he will have none of the women within these walls or beyond. He maintains a strict code of discipline and honor.”

Aurora noted Artemisia’s words with bemused interest. Thick, dark locks, firm, sensual lips and those eyes—as clear as the sea, that if one stared too hard and for too long they would drown themselves within them. Cyrus’ harsh masculinity would hold an allure for most women, and yet he touched none. She considered the meaning of the young girl’s words, but said nothing. Seconds later, the sound of a key twisting within the lock, brought a swift end to any further discussion.

A guard entered the room, his bronze armor reflecting the sudden blast of light that flooded the space, and both women squinted.

“You.” He pointed to Aurora. “
Dominus,
will see you now.”

Aurora followed him out of the room and waited as he locked the door behind her. He did not shackle her wrists, but she noted he stood so his left side was closest to her, his sheathed blade well out of her reach on his right side. She took notice of his actions, she took notice of many things as she was led up a series of twisting steps, then through a large gate.

Aurora passed through another smaller gate before she entered the abode proper.

Her worn sandals left the mud brick and found purchase upon smooth, gleaming marble with tiles decorated in rich colors to depict images of local divinities.

With the guard still at her side, Aurora entered the
atrium
, which was spacious and opulently decorated with mosaics. She soon made her way through a short hall into a lush, green garden that was surrounded by marble statues of Roman deities and overflowing with a brilliant array of colorful flowers. At the center of both the
atrium
and the garden were pools, full of crystalline blue water, and the garden boasted a fountain. She heard the trickling water long after she passed through another vestibule into the private quarters of the governor and his wife.

The guard led Aurora into the
triclinieum
where a sole occupant, Claudius Norbanus she assumed, reclined on one of the couches, dining.

There was no one else in the room, save two guards, one of them being the guard who’d escorted her there. It was only at the last moment Aurora saw
him.
He stood deep within the shadows of the corner, as silent and stoic as a sculpted stone statue.

Cyrus.

She knew his name now.

He stared at her, as if he could see clear through her. She returned his gaze, her eyes steady, unwavering, penetrating him. He must have gleaned something from her expression because he blinked in surprise, then glanced away.

“Aurora,” Claudius greeted, and she reluctantly dragged her attention away from the man who held her captivated, to gaze upon Claudius Norbanus.

“As the
dominus
and master of the House of Norbanus, I welcome you to my home.”

Aurora bowed her head in response, a nod of subservience, out of remembrance of a past life she’d done all but forget.

“I am told you have met Cyrus, the
doctoris
of this
ludus
,” Claudius remarked, a comment to which she nodded again. The governor had not asked her a question, so she did not answer in kind. Another remembrance of the life she’d once lived as a slave a long ago.

“He tells me you do not wish to fight.”

Aurora stiffened at Claudius’ direct words and her gaze speared Cyrus before returning to the governor, seeing him truly for the first time.

He was not a handsome man, he was frail and wrinkled, his skin splotched with age. His eyes, however, were sharp—clear and discerning. They also brimmed with an emotion she’d glimpsed in the eyes of many men from an early age.

Lust burned in their depths, desire darkening his pupils as his attention slid over her, slowly appraising her figure in the worn
tunica
.

Had this been a time long ago, his rapt attention would have curdled her stomach, now it compelled her, arming her with another weapon. He desired her, which meant he could be manipulated, he could be used.

“Is this true? Do you not mean to fight for the House of Norbanus?”

Her lips, full and lush, curved into a smile that teased, that taunted. Such a smile had felled men of a far stronger purpose. He was not such a man, when she watched his nostrils flare with lust.

“My apologies,
dominus.
It is not that I do not mean to fight, for I would fight to honor the House of Norbanus. And that is why I have refused. Because it has been some time since I was last in the arena. I would not wish to dishonor this house with my lack of skill. Not when I possess other skills to please my master.”

Her bold words were met with a sharp cough.

She cast a baleful glare at Cyrus, for his interference, until she realized the cough had not come from him. It had been distinctly feminine.

She turned at the same time a radiant, almost painfully beautiful woman entered the room. Adorned in an elegant
stola
, the deep indigo hue of the shimmering garment stood in lovely contrast to skin as rich and smooth as goat’s cream, skin that was then gently kissed by hair of silken, lustrous sable.

As lovely as the woman was, her features still managed to twist into an ugly frown that was for Aurora alone.

She did not appear pleased to see her.

Aurora experienced a similar feeling for the raven haired woman’s interruption.

“You would tempt my husband so boldly, and you have only but arrived here? She is insolent, is she not?”

Cornelia. Claudius’ wife. At least that explained the animosity radiating from the woman.

Aurora was surprised, however, that Cornelia directed her last question to Cyrus, a
slave,
and actually expected an answer, when she said, “I asked you a question, Cyrus. This new slave is insolent, is she not?”

Claudius seemed to be as uncomfortable as Aurora, the both of them caught up in the web of sexual tension that hovered between Cornelia and Cyrus.

Aurora recalled what Artemisia had said earlier and understood immediately the events unfolding before her. Cornelia longed for Cyrus’ touch, but he refused her, and she could do nothing. He was the champion gladiator of her husband’s house. Cyrus brought in
denarii
, while she spent it. Cyrus was a slave and she could be executed for betraying her husband with him. Cornelia could not compel Cyrus to lay with her, they both knew it, and it ate away at her, to be denied by a common
slave
.

“I imagine Aurora is many things,” Cyrus answered finally.

Every brow in the room reached for the sky at his words, which suggested a host of meanings, but truly revealed nothing.

“It is
Aurora
to you already?” Cornelia mocked, bitterness trickling through her voice. “First you, now my husband.” Cornelia raked her with cold eyes. “It would seem the whore has a voracious appetite.”

“That is enough, Cornelia,” snapped Claudius, his tone firm. As unstable and crazed as Cornelia appeared, Aurora considered it a great feat this woman’s unhinged mind could even grasp she’d reached the end of her husband’s patience and it was best to restrain herself.

From the way Cornelia’s eyes shifted erratically, brimming with anger, Aurora gathered the woman’s restraint would not hold for very long.

“As Cyrus noted, I am certain you are quite adept at many things,” Claudius spoke directly to her, but with his jealous wife’s presence, he was subdued. The lust that had burned so openly in his gaze just moments ago was now nothing more than a dying ember. Aurora imagined her lusts would wane as well if she were wed to Cornelia. The woman appeared as cold and frigid as a Germanic winter.

“But I would first have Cyrus judge your skills in the arena, before you discount yourself,” Claudius continued. “If you are found lacking in the arena, then I shall find another purpose for you—”

“In the fields! I would have her toiling in the fields—”

“Silence, Cornelia.” Claudius glared at his wife. “I shall decide where she serves this house, not you.”

It was obvious Cornelia wished to protest, but the stern look upon Claudius’ face brooked no further argument.

Claudius nodded to the guard who’d brought her to him. “Return her to her quarters.”

He glanced at Cyrus. “When you have completed your training for the day, summon her. I would have you test your skills against her.”

Cyrus did not look pleased, but he bowed his head out of respect.

Aurora was then led from the room and returned to her quarters, which were now empty of Artemisia. She noticed upon her return, the house was fully awake, alive with the din of noise and the heavy tread of footsteps.

Aurora drowned out the cacophony of sounds floating around her to reflect upon her assignment.

Her mission was to secure her place within the House of Norbanus, gain Claudius’ trust and kill him at the first opportunity. Aurora did not relish taking a life. During her days as a gladiator, she had despised it. And of late, she’d grown weary of the toll her duties exacted upon her weathered soul. She consoled her conscience with the knowledge that Claudius was obviously a detriment to The Empire, but far worse, he was given to the depravities of his perversions, bartering in the trade of children for sexual servitude.

What he did was against the laws of Rome, for there were many impoverished parents who would sell their children outright. Instead, Claudius took the children of his enemies and those who owed him debts, because his station conferred upon him absolute power over the region, and no one would dare protest against him out of fear.

Still, that was not why she’d been sent to eliminate him. There were many who dealt in the unlawful trade of children and The Order did not involve themselves. Claudius had done something to threaten The Empire.

His actions in the kidnapping and bartering of children could very well be the threat, or it could be another offense entirely. Whatever it was he’d die because of it; he’d die to right his wrong. It wasn’t her duty to know all of Claudius’ sins against the Empire. Her duty was simply to dispatch of him.

As if reminding her of her assignment, soft laughter echoed through the tunnels. It was the laughter of the slave children who were still young enough to idle about their days.

She closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting back to her original purpose. Every slave was subject to the whims of their master and could be sold at any point, but especially one new to the household, and especially if they did not prove themselves valuable to their masters.

Aurora let out a raw, jagged breath, her stomach already roiling, already quivering at the thought of entering the arena again. She’d vowed never to return, not after what had happened, not after she’d finally escaped such a life. But here she was, every demon she’d thought she’d vanquished, every memory she’d fought to bury, returning to haunt her.

Her heart hammered harder and faster beneath her breast, sweat beading her forehead. If she didn't prove herself as a fighter, she could not be certain she’d find a place as a servant within Claudius’ home.

She drew in another breath, this one quiet, calming. She opened her eyes.

She could not fail. Never
once
had she failed. Not at
anything.
She recalled the lesson learned long ago
. Failure brought only pain, punishment—if you failed, it brought you an early death.

Death may very well be her fate, but no matter her fears, no matter her wishes—she would
not
fail.

* * * *

Despite his reservations and his displeasure at having to do so, Cyrus summoned the woman at dusk as he’d been commanded.

He stood within the center of the training arena, two wooden short swords at his feet and beside each of them, a
parma
.

He glanced over at Flavius at the same time she entered with a guard by her side. The guard stopped at the edge, but she continued forward, her chin high and proud, her shoulders back.

When she halted before him, she looked curiously between him and Flavius.

“I would have you fight one of my newest gladiators,” he said in answer to the question brimming in her eyes.

“You do not wish to match your skills against mine. You do not think me a worthy opponent.”

He did not mistake the smug gleam upon her face, yet Cyrus did not rise to the challenge. “It is difficult to judge your skills while engaged in a battle. I will learn more of your abilities from my position as a spectator.”