Page 26 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)
XXV
MALINA
It was quite fascinating that Emperor Igniculus had labeled all non-Romans barbarians, and yet, he was the true savage. The Rite of Skulls was nothing more than a barbarous ceremony to highlight the cruelty and brutality of the dragon’s reign. Of this emperor’s reign. And I was to be a part of it.
Standing exactly where Julian had told me to, next to the skull bearer, I waited. The skull bearer was dressed in a plain black toga, depicting his lineage. His head was shaved clean and his face was painted to mimic a skeleton’s head .
The guests stood on the far side of the terrace behind a line of torches, near the long banister. They faced inward, the lights of the city glowing below Palatine Hill. They were all of dragonkind. Standing in a long line to witness this rite in hushed silence, their towering figures and regal attire, serpentine eyes glittering in the dark, made an ominous spectacle. A chill skittered over my skin.
A long, crimson carpet had been placed across the terrace for this ceremony. Along both sides of the carpet stood ten of the twelve generals of Rome, staggered down the line, Julian the farthest away. Near him, at the far end, Emperor Igniculus sat upon an ornate throne made of brass, the arms shaped like dragon’s claws, spikes cresting the chairback. It had been set upon a dais so that he could oversee the ceremony from on high. Or, he simply liked to look down upon his subordinates, to remind them of his status. Perhaps, it was both.
The throne must’ve come with the skull bearer and his attendants—also wearing painted faces like death heads—who all stood in the shadows behind me.
Directly at the end of the carpet stood Ciprian. He was bare chested now, except for his leather sheath with his gladius strapped across it, a black linen wrapped loosely around his waist.
Julian had explained the procedure of the ceremony, so I was aware what would happen. But knowing something and experiencing it were two entirely different things.
A drum began to beat in a slow tempo, the signal to begin. If it weren’t for the steady buzz of dragon power wafting in the air, the otherworldly glow of their eyes in the semidarkness would tell me I was standing among the most dangerous predators in all the world.
I turned to face the skull bearer, who held the gold-plated skull on a pillow—what was left of the king Ciprian had killed. I lifted the ghastly thing, shining under the moonlight, and upturned it where the empty hollow of the dead man’s skull became a bowl. The back rim had been smoothed into a perfect dip for someone’s mouth to drink from.
The skull bearer poured wine into the empty skull until it was half-full. Then I turned and began my long march up the red-carpeted aisle.
Stopping at the first general, a behemoth of a man with a square, flat face and a horrifying scar across one eye, I held up the bowl. He unsheathed his gladius, pulled the blade across his palm and let it drip into the skull. After a few seconds, he lifted his hand away and resheathed his blade.
I walked diagonally across the carpet as Julian had instructed, the cool wind pushing on my tunic. But it wasn’t the chill in the air that had the hairs on the back of my neck rising. It was the low, deep rumble of dragons growling while the beat of the drum continued.
It wasn’t simply the generals in the ceremony, it was all of the guests too, like a choral song of beasts, harmonizing for this obscene display. I kept my eyes down except when I had to present to the next general.
On and on, I went down the line, head bowed and skull bowl up while they poured their blood into the ghastly goblet. When I finally made it to Julian, I still kept my eyes down. I didn’t want anyone to notice the way I looked at him, or to shake his resolve in seeing one ounce of fear in my eyes. Because there was fear inside me, so much of it.
My gift from the gods could be wonderful, but right now, I wish I could turn off the scraping of bloodlust beating against my flesh, trying to rip into my psyche. The beasts on this terrace smelled fresh blood, and they all wanted a taste. Except, perhaps, my dragon.
I dared not look into his eyes as he cut his palm and let his blood drip into the bowl. Afterward, I slowly walked and stood before Ciprian. Until now, I’d held the skull goblet with two hands .
I had no idea what would happen if I spilled the contents in this skull, but I knew the punishment would be severe. And Julian would either have to stand back and watch, or worse, he’d intervene. And that would be a death sentence for both of us.
Gripping the skull tight with one hand, my thumb hooked tightly around the dead king’s gold-plated mandible, I presented my left palm to Ciprian.
A dragon can’t taste blood and not transform. He will shift into half-skin.
Julian’s words repeated in my mind, the ones he’d whispered quickly to me in the kitchen, preparing me for the inevitable. Still, I couldn’t keep from trembling.
Ciprian gripped my wrist and unsheathed his blade. His chest began to swell, his shoulders widening, his entire body stretching taller, yet he remained mostly in human form.
“Look at me, witch,” he commanded.
I ignored the deeper growl rising from Julian to his left. I recognized the sound and presence of his dragon above all others, yet I couldn’t let anyone know.
So I obeyed the order of Ciprian, lifting my gaze to his red eyes, slit like a serpent’s. He grinned, revealing a row of sharpened teeth, two canines lengthening as I stared in a stupor.
He reached out with his gladius and slit a shallow cut on the fleshy part of my palm. I didn’t even flinch, then my blood was dripping into the bowl.
“Mmm,” Ciprian hummed and sniffed the air, still more human than dragon, “such a sweet sacrifice.”
It was a mockery to the gods to call this a sacrifice. There were no priests. No priestesses. This rite was presided over by the self-appointed god, Igniculus. An unholy horror of a creature.
Ciprian gripped my wrist harder and dipped his head down. His long, black forked tongue licked out and across my palm. I made a small sound of distress that caused movement where Julian stood, but then he froze. I dared not even look.
Ciprian’s red eyes bored into mine. I felt true evil looking back at me. Then he grinned and let me go. Instantly, I gripped the skull with both hands and knelt at his feet, presenting the bowl high above my head as Julian had instructed.
Almost over, almost over, I repeated in my head.
Staring at Ciprian’s bare feet, I heard the cracking of bones and his guttural moan as his wings and horns emerged, his body growing even taller. All I could see were his feet, which elongated and formed sharp, black claws that curled from his toes.
Then I felt his heavy hand on my head. I flinched again, terrified he was going to rip it off. But his crooning growl was one of pleasure, his voice low when he said in garbled speech, “I like.”
Whether he meant me or the fact that I was kneeling submissively before him, I had no idea. He patted my head like I was his dog, only briefly, then his hand was gone and the bowl was lifted from my hands.
But it wasn’t Ciprian who’d lifted the bowl. I hadn’t even noticed that the emperor had slid from his throne and now stood beside him. The emperor’s rough, booming voice jolted me where I still knelt, my gaze on the ground.
“Romans! Children of the gods! Hear me now.” The growling hum and the drums stopped at once. “I lift this golden chalice, made by our might and our power, which yet again proves our right to rule this world.”
A chorus of applause and a few cheers of approval lifted from the audience as if they were merely at the theater. Then they fell silent. The wind ghosted across the terrace, a few stray leaves scraping on the marble. My heart remained in my throat, the oppressive energy in the air threatening to strangle me where I trembled on my knees. I wrapped my hand around my other where the cut still dripped to the white stone, squeezing to stop the bleeding, but also because it kept me sane in this horrifying, surreal moment.
“We gather tonight to celebrate Ciprian Media Nocte Seneca. He has earned his first king’s skull and his right to stand among the generals of Rome. We salute him.”
Another round of applause mingled with growling dragons this time. I glanced up to see Igniculus holding the golden skull above his head, a gruesome trophy with my own blood mixed in the swill.
“We welcome him. Legatus Ciprian Seneca.”
Ciprian walked past me toward the emperor, brushing his tail along my thighs, the tip curling slightly in a possessive motion before he was out of reach. The audience erupted in more applause as the drum began to beat again. I glanced up to see Ciprian draining the mixture of blood and wine from the golden skull, but then my gaze found Julian.
Bona dea.
He was the only one not applauding or cheering or smiling or even watching Ciprian. His golden gaze was hot and furious and on me. I finally reached out through our tether, flinching at the rage filling his entire being. Swallowing hard against the fury threatening to engulf him, I poured my affection as well as serenity through the thread.
At first, it had no impact at all. Julian remained rigid and fuming while the rest of the nobles stepped forward to congratulate Ciprian. He slowly shrank back into human form, clutching the linen at his waist, which had come loose.
The whole ceremony was an odd juxtaposition of monstrous and civil. The patricians applauded him like he was receiving a garland around his head at a triumph. In reality, he stood there half-naked, holding a man’s skull that had been dipped in gold, his new prized goblet.
Trajan sidled past Julian, whispering something before maneuvering closer to me, still applauding and keeping his gaze on Ciprian, pr etending to celebrate. When Trajan was close enough for me to hear, he whispered, “You may rise and go back to the kitchen. Best you stay out of sight for the night.”
Without wasting a second, I was on my feet and hurrying past the drummer and the skull bearer and away from this nightmare as fast as my legs would take me.