Page 25 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)

XXIV

JULIAN

The lilting of flutes drifted across the grand hall beside the atrium, where the musicians played from a corner. Guests mingled and laughed, drinking wine and picking at the platters of food now being set out for them. The night had barely begun and I was ready for it to end.

I had hired extra servants for the night from a neighbor who kept more slaves than he needed. I watched them working the room, Malina with them now, setting out one of many of Kara’s impressive platters—a tiered display of honey-drizzled figs, pears, and pomegranates. Malina kept her head down and returned to the kitchen. I blew out a breath of relief and turned to survey the room.

I’d managed to acquire the musicians from that tavern where I’d followed Malina to. But I’d requested they play lighter, celebratory music rather than the melancholy tune they’d played in the tavern. So far, they were doing their job well.

I’d also hired dancers from one of the brothels in town, promising the madame extra denarii if any of my guests wanted more than to watch them dance. This was my job. Procuring prostitutes for my uncle and Ciprian’s guests.

There were a few ladies of noble houses here as well. That should’ve alleviated my fears of my own party turning into an orgy, but I knew Ciprian. And I knew my uncle. I dreaded the moment this feast descended into debauchery. Not only because their hedonistic practices disgusted me, but because Malina might witness it.

“Nice guest list.” Trajan had sidled up next to me, wine in hand.

“Isn’t it?” I remarked dryly.

“There’s that fucking Valerius. Snake in the grass if I ever saw one.”

I loved the way Trajan had a talent for saying heinous things with a jovial smile on his face. Valerius, one of the consuls—the one most devoted to Caesar—stood next to Igniculus, chattering on about something that made my uncle smile. He was lithe and lean-muscled for an older dragon. Though his hair was more gray than black and he didn’t spend his days on the battlefield, he wouldn’t be easy in a physical fight.

Only six months ago, Valerius had been attacked in the street late at night by a group of thugs trying to rob him of his purse. Likely because it was dark and he was unescorted, they thought him a human, not dragonkind. He managed to break one robber’s arm and stab the other in the eye with the knife he was trying to use against Valerius. Then he shifted into half-skin and killed the other three.

“We’ll have to plan well to take out that one,” I said under my breath.

“No worries. Grandfather and I have our plan almost perfect. ”

“Let’s meet on it tomorrow.” Trajan looked at me in surprise, but I kept my gaze on the guests. “We need to act soon.”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing yet. But Ciprian is going to be a problem. He seems to have targeted me as his chief rival and wants to stir trouble between myself and my uncle. We need to put the plan into motion before Ciprian’s machinations get in the way.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He stepped away and greeted Fausta of the Media Nocte line, a recent widow who may be looking for a new husband. Her glass-blue gaze caught mine over his shoulder, then she gave me her scintillating smile and angled her neck in a submissive pose.

It was a sign to other dragons that she was yielding, flirting. Her stola in black silk was draped in flattering folds over her slim body, pinned at one shoulder with a dragon-head brooch, the eyes glittering rubies. She bared one shoulder, the fabric of her silky gown a perfect complement to her fair skin. Her honey-brown hair was coifed in intricate braids on top of her head, with loose curls falling to her shoulder. She was the epitome of Roman beauty.

I nodded in greeting but didn’t take her bait to walk over and talk. My uncle had undoubtedly invited her. He’d made mention more than once that she would make a good wife. Instead of engaging with Fausta, I remained fixed on the outer edge of the party, using my role as host as a reason to stand apart and make sure all was satisfactory for my guests.

As if on cue, Ruskus appeared at my side. “Dominus, the skull bearer and his attendants have arrived.”

Gut tightening that I’d have one of these foul rituals take place in my house, I said, “Have them set up on the terrace. I’ll let the emperor know.”

My gaze found Malina circulating through the room and filling wine glasses. I’d had all of the servants wear formal attire—white tunics with red sashes—to represent my house. But it only accentuated Malina’s beauty more. Her sun-bronzed skin and glossy black locks contrasted against the clean white of the more fitted tunic. Her figure was on fine display as well, which had me even edgier.

If I could’ve gotten away with it, I’d have put her in a dowdy sack. But Uncle Igniculus would be insulted. Like all dragons, he desired to be surrounded by pretty, shiny things. And me trying to hide her would’ve only emphasized how important she was to me.

“Julianus!” my uncle called across the room and waved me over. My gut clenched.

Ciprian was now standing beside him, looking as smug as ever. I strode slowly across the room, stopping to greet a guest here and there. Most of them were from the Media Nocte dragon line, as expected. Ciprian would’ve ensured more of his own kin was present to witness his rite.

“Salve, Ciprian. I didn’t see you come in.”

“Salve,” he replied. “Thank you for hosting my Rite of Skulls, Julian.”

The way he casually used my name grated along my spine. “Of course. I am happy to host the newest legatus on this prestigious occasion.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” said Igniculus, grasping me by the shoulder affectionately. “The two rising stars of Rome coming together.”

I didn’t miss the menacing glance from Ciprian before he widened his smile agreeably. “Indeed, Caesar.”

“The skull bearer has arrived,” I added quickly. “If you’d like to get started.”

I wanted it done and over with as soon as possible.

“Yes. Let us begin,” proclaimed my uncle.

I waved a hand to the musicians. They all stopped immediately. The musician with the large drum between his knees, the hide pulled tight on a wide brim, stood and carried his instrument quietly toward the terrace. He would serve as the only player during the ritual .

“Friends and guests,” I called to the room, “please make your way to the terrace. We will begin the sacred Rite of Skulls momentarily.”

A buzz of excitement rippled through the room. There were no priests or priestesses. This rite wasn’t held in a temple or in the forum, but in the house of a general of the emperor’s choosing. That’s because this rite wasn’t sacred. It was created by Igniculus to celebrate his might and that of his elite generals of the greatest power on earth—Rome. And anyone who witnessed it was considered the most privileged of dragonkind.

Igniculus grinned and grasped Ciprian’s shoulder. “Ready to join the highest ranks?”

“I am, Caesar.”

“Who will be your sanguis auctor ?” he asked.

The role of blood giver was considered an honored position and was always chosen by the one receiving the rite.

“I think she will do.” Ciprian nodded toward Trajan where Malina was refilling his goblet.

“No,” I automatically snapped, fire licking through my veins and locking my muscles tight.

Ciprian chuckled. “It’s my choice, is it not?”

“But she’s a slave,” I argued, trying to ignore my uncle’s keen observation. “You didn’t bring a highborn female to serve as your sanguis auctor ? I assumed that’s why Fausta was here.” They were cousins, after all.

“Fausta would rather gut me than serve me her blood. Our families have never gotten along.” He turned to my uncle. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the sanguis auctor doesn’t need to be a dragon, do they? I was told that General Antonios chose his own favored slave in his Rite of Skulls.”

“That is true,” agreed Igniculus, staring at Malina with new interest, sending a prickle of unease along my skin. “But why her?”

“That’s the slave girl, the witch they say helped the Celts overcome Bastius and his men somehow. The one Julian snatched from the battlefield.”

If I could’ve killed him right then for bringing her to the emperor’s attention, I would have. But I remained stone-still, even while I scowled at the bastard.

“Ah, I see,” said Igniculus. “Your pretty new plaything, Julian.”

“I think it would be appropriate for a conquered slave who once served our enemy to serve me her own blood.” Ciprian’s smile skated chills over my flesh. He turned his attention to Malina winding her way toward the kitchen with the wine decanter. “Besides, look at her. She’s a feast for the eyes, is she not?”

“You have no problem with that, do you, Julian?” My uncle’s question was not a question.

Through gritted teeth, I replied, “Of course not.”

“Good.” Ciprian clapped me on the back like we were friends. “I’ll see you on the terrace. I must prepare.”

My other guests were filing outside onto my wide terrace, which opened down toward the city. But I couldn’t remove my gaze from Malina and what I was about to ask her to do.

“I can understand, my son,” my uncle said in that familiar, intimate way when he had advice for me. “I had an obsession over one of my own slaves once, a long time ago. Best cunt I ever fucked.”

His crassness grated while I pretended it didn’t.

“What happened to her?” I asked, watching Malina disappear down the corridor.

“I had to kill her, of course.” He sighed like it had been a reluctant duty that pained him only a little. “She disobeyed me.” Then he turned to face me, his expression sharp and grave. “They can lead you astray with that pussy of theirs. It would be best you get rid of her soon.” He leaned closer and told me in that authoritative tone, “Ride her hard for another week, then sell her. Don’t keep that one.”

It was a command .

Swallowing the bile that tried to rise up my throat, I simply nodded. “Of course, uncle. Good advice.”

“Trust me. You can’t keep a crafty whore in your house.”

“You’re right,” I agreed yet again, forcing my expression to remain passive while I was dying inside. “I’ll go instruct her for what she must do.”

I parted from him and marched toward the kitchen, while dread twisted a knife in my belly. I now had a week to implement our plan. Because my uncle wasn’t making suggestions. He now thought me bewitched by a slave girl, and he wouldn’t have that. Not his prized nephew.

Of course, I was bewitched—body and soul. Happily, blissfully entranced by my mate.

I found her refilling the decanter beside Kara, who was plating more food for the feast to follow.

“Malina,” I called to her.

Nausea swelled as she came to me.

“What’s wrong?” she immediately asked.

“There’s something I need you to do.”

Tugging her to a corner away from the servants bustling through the kitchen, I explained the ceremony that was about to take place in my home and that Ciprian had requested she be his sanguis auctor, which was his right.

I waited for her to refuse, or at the very least, to show her disgust. But she did neither. She placed her hand on my arm, her touch a gentle warmth, then said, “Of course, Julian. Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do it.”

Then I felt that tiny hum of serenity pouring into me, an intoxicating tranquility. She was using her gift to keep me calm. She’d done it more and more of late.

“Thank you,” I told her, glancing around to be sure the hired servants didn’t hear me .

They’d certainly spread rumors if Julianus was thanking his slaves, something the emperor and most Romans disapproved of.

She leaned closer and whispered, “Whatever it takes to get through this night.”

Her green eyes glittered by the lamplight. She didn’t say more, but I knew exactly what she was thinking. We had to keep the farce going long enough to get through the night, to make sure everyone—most importantly my uncle—believed I was one of them .

I was not. I was woven from another cloth. The ghosts of my mother and father haunted me in my dreams. More than once, I’d woken drenched in sweat, the soft cries of my mother echoing from a nightmare, her shame of what had become of her son a constant, stabbing grief in my heart.

Malina straightened, wearing that fearless expression I knew so well. “Lead the way.”