Page 6 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)

V

JULIAN

This was not good. Or smart. And yet, here I was, strolling down the hill toward the forum with Malina a few steps behind me.

It chafed to force her to make the long walk, but taking her on horseback would only draw more attention. She’d draw plenty on her own without a patrician of my status trotting around the city with his new slave on the back of his horse with him.

When we entered the outskirts of the city, I slowed, wanting her close. Needing her close. Thankfully, the forum wasn’t that far. I’d bought my home specifically because it was closer to the business end where I could discover news of the battles and the senators quickly and where I could meet friends discreetly.

Though I trusted my servants absolutely, the emperor had spies everywhere. I didn’t trust that my neighbors within sight of my home might not be watching who was coming and going.

The forum was the best place for covert meetings. Ones that wouldn’t seem planned or suspicious in any way. That was my hope this morning. To meet a certain friend and exchange some information without incident.

But now, I had Malina with me. And the quest to find and buy her caregiver from the Celtic clan. Her friend may not have even survived the journey in the slavers’ nets. They weren’t always gentle when carrying their cargo in their talons. If she was an older human, she would have to be tough as bones to have survived.

We took the long path through a row of apartments. This part of Rome wasn’t as filthy as others, but I reached back and grabbed Malina’s forearm, keeping her close anyway. When I glanced over my shoulder, she was staring wide-eyed at the people bustling here and there, then her gaze caught the graffiti along one long wall.

I followed her gaze. The graffiti was always of one mind. Vulgar, with many large, exaggerated phalluses. There was a depiction of the emperor in half-skin, standing on top of the Colosseum breathing fire to the sky, his erect penis larger and longer than his tail. There were others of various Roman senators and generals doing foul things.

My attention caught on one scene. It was a caricature of me, wearing my military uniform with the red tunic, my sandaled foot on a dead man, a Celt by the blue woad on his face. Beyond him was a line of dead Celts that went all the way until the wall was broken by a doorway to another apartment. My gut clenched.

This was recent, for I’d only returned home last night. Of course, the news may have carried to Rome sooner. The praeco liked to send one of his lackeys to the battlefields to get his news out quickly .

Malina stared at the depiction of me. I steeled myself and faced forward, tugging her closer and focusing on the boisterous crowd growing louder as we approached the forum.

The forum was an assault to the senses, as always. The vendors crying out their wares, customers haggling, a bull bellowing, the clopping of hooves on stone, and sheep bleating. Then there were the smells—a mingling of musky bodies, both man and beast, the sweeter scent of fruit and baked bread, and the definite whiff of decay on the wind. But it may be the sights most of all that had Malina’s green eyes so wide and round.

A push of people wound through the makeshift paths of food carts, animal pens, slave pens, and past the Curia—the centered building where the senators met and decided the fate of all Romans. Acid burned in my belly.

But it was the sight lining both sides of the Curia that held Malina’s attention.

She leaned close to me, her scent locking me in place. “What is that?”

I stared at the heads in various stages of rot—some mere skeletons barely hanging on to the pikes they’d been thrust upon.

“To the left is the Wall of Victory. Emperor Igniculus likes the kings of his enemies posted there.” I noted the most recent on the end, blue woad covering his face, his reddish-brown hair floating in the wind, tongue hanging from his gaping mouth.

“You’re running out of room,” she murmured quietly.

It was true. The wall’s residents extended to the corner of the forum and kept going. There was little space left where the wall ended at another building, the granary.

“The emperor will simply build another one for his heads,” I told her without emotion. “He won’t give those up.”

“And the other side?”

To the right of the Curia was a longer row of victims’ heads. Many were dragon heads, some skulls in half-skin, their horns shorn white to the bone by the wind and elements slowly peeling away the flesh. Traitors had been executed in various stages of shifting.

“That is the Wall of Traitors. Romans who have betrayed the emperor.”

“How long has he been collecting traitors?”

“Since he took the throne, seven years ago.”

Had it been so long? My pulse quickened at the reality that we’d been living this way for nearly a decade.

She paused in the middle of the square and stared at the giant bronze statue, a tribute to our forefathers, which stood above the crowds. Romulus and Remus suckled from the she-dragon who raised them, who gave them her milk and her blood, and a power as great as the gods. She curled around them as they fed, her wings folded. Romulus was the first red dragon, Remus the first black—the oldest and most powerful houses of Roman nobility.

“Come,” I snapped, weaving a path through the people toward the slaver’s pens.

Everyone jumped out of my way as I expected. If they didn’t recognize who I was, they noted the color of my robe and that was enough.

The red house, the Ignis line, and the black house, the Media Nocte, were the oldest and most prestigious lines of dragon families. By birth, we were naturally most dominant, the most powerful, and the most deadly. It wasn’t a mistake that every emperor was either from the Ignis or the Media Nocte houses.

The slaver Menteo, a weasel of a man with only half his teeth, wore his usual long gray toga—signifying him of the house of Griseo. He shouted from his short pedestal where he could direct his workers to bring out the next human to the auction block. There were many in the pens in the garb of the Celts I’d conquered only yesterday—most of them young, healthy women and children old enough to work .

I gritted my teeth, wondering if they’d killed the old and too young from the Celtic encampment, defying my orders again. Usually, I oversaw the transition from battlefield to Rome, but last night, I…

I, what? Had lost my mind in the moment. No, it hadn’t been me. It was my dragon. He saw her in danger and there was nothing I could’ve done.

Behind Menteo, the auction block was busy and bustling. A young woman, stripped naked, was standing and trembling while the auctioneer was pointing out her assets to the Roman men and women at the foot of the stage who shouted out bids for her.

“Menteo,” I bellowed from outside the gates. He worked from inside the pen, directing his wishes close to the property for sale.

Those beady eyes found me, then he smiled that toothless grin. “Legatus! Legatus!” he cackled. “What a healthy crop of treasure you’ve brought me. There will be plenty of profits for your coffers, I promise. Do you need coin now?”

That slithering sensation crawled down my spine, but I pushed it away.

“No, Menteo. I’m looking for a woman to take off your hands.”

He chuckled again. “Ah, yes. A pretty one to match her.” He pointed at Malina. “A nice pair would do you good. A healthy legatus needs good sport to release his aggression, does he not?”

Malina stiffened next to me, her pulse jumping in her veins beneath my fingertips. Fucking Menteo.

“Not for sport,” I declared in an easy tone. “An older woman.”

Menteo frowned, but then Malina tugged on my tunic. I followed where she pointed. The woman wasn’t as old as I’d thought, her copper-red hair barely graying at the temples. Her dark, watchful eyes were on Malina but she didn’t make any attempt to show that she knew her.

“That one.” I pointed to the woman Malina had shown me. Enid. She was a fair-skinned woman and small-framed. She was also filthy with blood and dirt, like most all of them. She hunched her shoulders forward, bracing her middle with both arms, leaning her weight on one leg.

“Sir?” Menteo stared at the woman I wanted.

I didn’t have to explain myself but I wanted to get the fuck out of this wretched place before my nausea rose even more.

“She’s the mother of the Celtic king,” I lied, pointing to the Wall of Victory. “She has information on other clans I need to find. Get her,” I commanded, deepening my voice.

Menteo’s expression shifted to fear and he instantly snapped orders at one of his men, pointing to the woman Malina was anxiously staring at. They shuffled her through the throng, unshackling her ankles but keeping the ones on her wrists, then pushed her through the iron gate. She hobbled forward.

Instantly, she and Malina clasped hands but made no other sign of affection. I tossed a gold coin over the wall to Menteo, who snatched it out of the air. That was far more than an elderly slave cost, but it was a bribe as well. Menteo knew that I liked my privacy and no hassles. He wouldn’t go blabbing to any other Romans that I’d gotten myself a slave with important information about one of our enemies.

All generals were competitive, and information was the most important treasure of all. To most.

“Thank you, Legatus!” he shouted, winking, and went back to bellowing at his men to get the next one up on the auction block.

“This way,” I called over my shoulder, having released Malina’s arm.

She helped Enid, who was smaller than her, walk and they followed closely. By the time we made it halfway across the square, the praeco—a thick, jowled man—had stepped onto his dais and began shouting his news to the forum.

“The honorable Legatus Julianus Ignis Dakkia has defeated the Celtic hordes and has returned their king’s head for our Wall of Vi ctory. We now await to discover where Caesar will send his brave and strategic nephew next. All hail Legatus Julianus, the Conqueror!”

My blood ran cold. As the cheers of the crowd went up, I refused to look back at Malina. And I thanked the gods the praeco hadn’t seen me.

“Even more good news for Rome,” he continued to bellow out over the throng. “With the courage of a great Roman, Prefect Ciprian crept into the Thracian camp and beheaded their general. The Thracians are defeated. Our victory owed entirely to the valiant Prefect Ciprian of the Media Nocte. Hail to Prefect Ciprian!”

A louder roar erupted in the crowd, my gut souring with every word. That snake Ciprian had most likely disobeyed his legatus and managed to come out the conquering hero over the Thracians on the southern border, for that was where they were moving next according to my uncle’s last intelligence.

Now I’d have to suffer more of that sycophant’s ego, for fuck’s sake.

I caught sight of a tall Roman with dark wavy hair. Trajan needed a haircut. He was beginning to look disheveled.

He leaned against a fruit cart, smiling to the woman who owned it, his sapphire-blue toga haphazardly draping over his shoulder.

When I drew closer, he straightened and nodded. I nudged Malina on the arm.

“Go over to that fountain.” A small drinking fountain off to the side should keep them out of the way and out of trouble a few minutes. “You can get her some water. Stay there till I come get you.”

Those green eyes darted at me, but she did as I told her, which was the only thing going well so far this morning.

Trajan took the pear from the fruit vendor’s cart and followed me to an alcove where we usually met. From here, I could still see Malina. Enid sat on the edge of the stone fountain while Malina washed the dirt and blood from her arms.

“You left with one and now you have two?” Trajan bit into his pear, looking nothing at all like the warrior he did last night when I left him in Gaul. He grinned, knowing he was sparking my anger.

“You need to get your man to cut your pretty hair.”

“The ladies like my pretty hair.”

“The emperor likes us to look militant.”

He heaved a sigh. “I’ll cut it before the victory feast.” He waved his half-eaten pear toward Malina and took another bite. “Aren’t you going to tell me what that’s all about?”

“No.”

His carefree smile vanished. “Are you withholding something from me?”

“Nothing you need to know.” Not yet anyway. “What did your grandfather say about the senate while we’ve been gone?”

He chuckled darkly. “Quite a lot has been brewing.”

“Tell me.”

“For one, Valerius put forth the vote to outlaw slaves from marrying free humans or other slaves. They cannot marry at all now. The vote was won, of course, though Otho offered some dispute that I’m sure Caesar didn’t like.”

I contemplated that a moment. Malina was on her knees, washing the older woman’s bare feet. The woman had lost whatever shoes she’d had between last night and this morning.

“Makes sense,” I finally said, turning back to Trajan.

“Why’s that?”

“If the slaves cannot marry, they have no true ties to anyone but their master. That bond even between two slaves can give them courage.”

“Courage for what exactly? To start a family?”

“Rebellion, Trajan. Revolution.”

“There’s no way the slaves of Rome would have the gall to start a revolution.”

“I don’t know.” My gaze swung back to Malina, her dark hair shi ning with a reddish tint in the sunlight, her braid hitting her hip as she washed Enid’s ankles. “You’d be surprised what’s in their hearts.”

“You would know,” added Trajan, tossing the core of his pear into the bushes. “Your house is different.”

I darted a warning at him. “Don’t say anything like that aloud ever again.”

“There’s no one here, Julian,” he assured me, calm even while my voice had dropped dangerously, the dragon always riding me too hard.

“Besides”—I turned back to our conversation—“I’m sure the edict said nothing at all about them starting families. Igniculus has made it clear he’s fine with them reproducing. That means more property.” I rubbed at a pang in my sternum.

“True,” agreed Trajan. “As long as those children aren’t begotten by a Roman patrician.”

It was my turn to heave a sigh. “Of course not. He’s made that law clear enough.” I rubbed my chin, realizing I needed a shave.

“Caesar forgets,” added Trajan. “There are some Romans who have familial ties to slaves.”

My mother’s face flashed to mind, her kind smile, her kinder eyes.

“No. He doesn’t forget. He’s simply missing that part of himself that would remind him of that.”

“What part do you mean?” he asked.

“A heart.” I clenched my jaw. “He’s a demon, Trajan. Never forget that.”

He stared back at me grimly. “What I wonder is—” He broke off, a sharp female voice interrupting our conversation.

“Get off me!”

I didn’t even think. One glance at the man touching Malina and I was across the small square with my hands around his throat.

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked the man I’d lifted off the ground.

His face reddened as he fought to remove my hands and gasped for air. He was a soldier by his uniform, a human. Not one of mine. But the fear on his face told me he recognized who I was.

“Sorry… Legatus,” he managed to whisper hoarsely, his face almost purple now.

“Did you not see her collar?”

His eyes darted to Malina, which only enraged me more. My muscles bunched and swelled, my dragon urging me to shift into half-skin so he could take the head off this fucking fool.

The soldier only managed to shake his head since he was now gasping for air. He couldn’t speak if he tried.

“Or perhaps you don’t believe the laws of ownership and property apply to you.”

He shook his head again, his eyes rolling.

“Julian,” said Trajan, right behind me now, speaking in that ever calm voice. “Let him go.”

Always the voice of reason. If I killed this bastard, I’d have to explain why. It would draw attention to my overreaction and my obsession with my new slave. It would also force Trajan to speak on my behalf and would alert the emperor that we were meeting in the forum, far from any battlefield.

I dropped the offender at my feet and waited while he sucked in gulps of air, until he’d mostly recovered. I wanted to be sure there was oxygen getting to his brain before I gave him my last word on this subject.

“Know this, soldier,” I said, noting the dark rumble of the dragon in my voice. “If she isn’t yours, don’t touch her.” I squatted down and spoke low, “And if you ever touch mine again, I’ll rip your spine from your body where you stand.”

He panted and stared, wide-eyed and terrified. As he should be. “Yes, Legatus,” he rasped, dropping his gaze in submission.

Dragons were a violently territorial and possessive species. The laws on property were strictly enforced and almost always followed. Othe rwise, the city would fall into complete chaos. This soldier was lucky my beast hadn’t leaped from my body and killed him.

Even now, I felt the burn deep in my gut, my beast wanting to taste the soldier’s blood for his offense.

When I finally stood and turned, it was to find Malina staring at me with a touch of fear shining in her eyes. She had her arms wrapped around the obviously unwell Enid, who drooped against her.

Trajan had crept back into the shadowy alley, giving me a quick nod before he disappeared.

Not wanting to linger any longer, I scooped the sickly Enid into my arms. “Come.” Then I led us back toward home.

Thankfully, Malina didn’t comment on my overzealous behavior. I wasn’t simply angry or defensive that another man had been near her, harassing her. I’d been so overcome with rage that I’d nearly murdered the man.

Not that I had to explain anything to Malina. The burning in my belly reminded me that eventually I would. There was no escaping that dreadful fact.

Of all the people to enter my life at this moment in time, when my focus must be razor-sharp, when any distraction might stray me from my cause and would definitely endanger my life, the firebird appeared. I’d thought to never see her again, even knowing what she was to me then, all those years ago, as we stood in the woods beneath the moon and the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains. I’d walked away, knowing it was the only safe path to take. For the both of us.

She had not merely entertained me with a whirling dance, she’d captured me entirely. The dragon too. And though I’d had a fleeting thought of a life where a Dacian girl fit into mine, I dismissed it at once. My uncle had already taken power then and his ruthlessness had been stamped across Rome. I’d seen it as a centurion far from the city. Now, I knew it was far worse than I ever feared.

So I’d dismissed any fantasies of returning to the Carpathian Mountains and finding the girl who haunted my dreams these past years. Now, here she was, thrust into my life through violence and blood. I feared that was the only future the two of us could possibly have. For my destiny, my sole purpose, could only end in violence and blood.

She shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t want her to be, and yet, I homed in on her light footfalls two paces behind me, on her every breath, on her scent of lavender oil mingled with sweat.

It didn’t matter what I wanted. The gods have their own designs, and Lady Fortuna will not be ignored.