Page 8 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)

VII

MALINA

My pulse thrummed in my throat as I walked through the corridors toward his domain of the house, carrying his morning meal on a tray. It wasn’t fear that beat wildly in my chest—as it should be—but a twisted sort of excitement combined with anger.

Enid was awake this morning when I entered her room before dawn. I assured her she was safe and that I would take care of her. But she barely seemed to hear me, her face contorted in pain.

She simply closed her eyes and turned her head away when I reassured her again. I wanted to stay longer, but I could couldn’t as Kara called me to the kitchen moments later with the master’s meal.

As I drew closer to his bedchamber, the same heaviness of the air that surrounded the master of this house began to press against my chest before it slipped over my skin and enveloped me entirely. It should’ve sparked terror, an innate instinct to claw out of his hold—the deadly predator’s strong embrace. It did not. It only increased the anticipation of seeing him again.

It was the same sensation I felt beneath the moonlight so many years ago, a sort of wonder and awe and interest that my inner witch would not let me walk or run away from. And now, the feeling was stronger, the pull was greater, and it only made me angrier—at fate and him and myself—as I finally stepped through the doorway into his vast bedchamber.

He stood beneath one of the arches leading to his terrace facing the city, hands clasped at his back, the same posture I found him in last evening.

Still, his figure was arresting. Even wearing a simple white tunic without his formal red robes or his general’s armor, he exuded electric power. He was an intimidating force. I tilted my chin up and stepped forward with all the confidence I could muster.

I made no noise, and yet, he knew I was there. There was a subtle stiffening of his shoulders, and he curled one hand at his back into a fist.

I remained still and quiet, waiting to serve him as was my duty. A mixture of anger and, yes, excitement again, flared in my breast. It was obscene to have such feelings. There should be absolutely nothing living inside me but disgust and hatred for this man. This Roman.

“Where would you like your morning meal, dominus?”

He turned with only a flickering glance my way and gestured toward a side table, not out to the terrace. I set the tray down.

Without looking at me, he quickly ate a piece of bread and cheese, then washed it down with the cup of milk, leaving the rest untouched. His manners were abrupt and hurried, unlike his usual cool demeanor. He then strode toward a screened area. “Follow me.”

I followed, slowing when I rounded the screen to find this was his bathing chamber. There was a large bath set into the floor, surrounded by decorative tiles. Bathing oils shimmered along the surface. There was a small window to one side where he’d have a view down Palatine Hill.

Rather than disrobe and horrify me further, he sat at a table in front of the window in a chair with a high back that was thickly cushioned. He patted the stool next to him. “Sit.” He watched me.

Confused, I moved at his command, perching stiffly on the stool.

“I need a shave.” He gestured to the bowl of steaming water. “Kara just brought this and it won’t stay hot long. Do you know how to shave a man?”

I shook my head. Where would I possibly have occasion to learn such a thing?

“It’s easy. Apply the olive oil to my chin and neck area, then use the novacila to scrape the bristles off.” He gestured to an instrument lying on a bit of toweling.

I picked up the shaving tool. The top was a bronze, flattened dragon in flight with three finger holes beneath it, the dragon’s claws clasped around the sharp copper blade extending at the bottom. I slipped my three middle fingers through the holes and pressed it into my palm.

“That’s correct. Scrape upward along the bristles. That’s the most efficient way as Ruskus does it.”

Still clutching the blade in my hand, I asked, “Why don’t you have Ruskus do this since he knows how to do it properly?”

“It’s your job now as my body slave. The light from the window will help you see.”

He seemed almost amiable as he tilted his head backward and rested it on the top of the cushioned high-back. I realized the chair must’ve been made for this exact purpose .

“Don’t forget to put the oil on first.” Then he closed his eyes and waited.

For a moment, I did nothing. Slowly, I set the shaving tool back on the toweling atop the table. Standing, I then poured the scented olive oil into my palms before I gently rubbed it along his abrasive chin and jaw, the roughness sending prickles over my skin. He let out a small grunt of pleasure, not opening his eyes while I used my fingertips to smooth the oil up to his ears and down his neck where the dark bristles grew.

My pulse raced as I wiped my hands clean on the rag, then slipped the instrument back on my fingers, using my free hand to tip his chin up. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed, his throat exposed. He was completely vulnerable and unaware of the sudden thought beating its way to the forefront of my mind. This was a sharp blade. I could escape right now.

I stared at the strong column of his throat, the cords of lean muscle, and the vulnerable dip at the base. Then I raised the razor toward his neck, my hand trembling and frozen midair.

“What will you do after?” His deep, silken voice made me flinch.

“After what?” I whispered.

“After you slit my throat.”

His eyes remained closed, his neck curved as if daring me to do it. I was frozen in place, my breaths coming quicker.

“You can’t escape over my terrace. The cliff is too steep on the other side of the wall. You have no money, though I suppose you could rob me of what I have in my private coffer beside my bed. Then you’d have to get past Ruskus and Ivo, who keep watch of the back gate. They’d turn you in to the emperor’s praetorians for killing their master, the emperor’s nephew.”

The emperor’s nephew? My stomach rolled with nausea, while my hand trembled, with the blade still aloft. He opened his eyes and turned his head on the cushion, so calm and cool .

“Then there’s your friend. She’d be killed for her association with you. And you wouldn’t make it far, even with my coin. The emperor’s soldiers march the streets at night. The moment my death was reported, deathriders would be sent out in search of you. And they wouldn’t be kind in their capture of a murderess.”

My heart beat so hard, I was sure it would hammer right out of my rib cage. He gently gripped my wrist and steadied my quivering hand.

“It’s a foolish thought, Malina. Killing me won’t help you escape. It’ll only end in your torturous death.”

I stared, completely bewildered. “Did you know I would try?”

Not that I actually had tried. I wasn’t sure that I could do it, but I was certainly considering it with the sharp blade in my hand and his bare throat mere inches away.

“I know you’re thinking of ways to escape,” he said in that even, steady way of his, his thumb brushing along the pulse point in my wrist, which somehow calmed my trembling. “I would be if I were you.”

A strangled laugh came out of my throat. “But you’d never be in my position.”

“You never know,” he added so easily, with a pensive expression creasing his brow. It was strange for him to say something like that. A powerful dragon and Roman such as himself would never find himself held captive as I was.

“I want you to see that there is no way free of here that doesn’t end in death,” he added. “This isn’t some woodland clan you can slip away from into the night. You’re at the heart of Rome, surrounded by your enemy.” His grip firmed and his voice deepened. “You must trust that I will keep you safer than any other.”

“Trust you?” I huffed another laugh. “My slave master?”

“Yes.” He softened his tone, his thumb sliding sweetly over the thin skin of my wrist before he let me go. “Now that your hand is steadier, let’s try again.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as if he hadn’t nearly caught me about to murder him in his own bedchamber. The level of trust he had that I wouldn’t cut his throat anyway was astonishing. I refused to believe that he knew me so well, because the fact was that he was right. And though I might be reckless, I wasn’t a fool.

Inhaling a deep breath, I blew it out slowly, then pressed the blade to his skin and scraped the bristles up the side of his neck to his jaw, wiping the excess on the rag. Then I repeated the movement over and over until I’d shaved his throat and jaw clean, having only nicked him slightly at one sharp curve. After dabbing his face with the rag, he sat up and felt his face.

With a grunt, he stood. “You won’t have to serve my dinner tonight, but I’ll expect you in the morning as usual.”

A pang of disappointment had me frowning, but I kept my gaze averted as I cleaned up the vanity table holding the shaving instruments. “Where will you be tonight?”

He seemed to pause behind me before he moved again, the shush of fabric brushing fabric. I wiped the table clean of spilled oil and turned to face him.

He’d draped a simple sash of red across his tunic, the fabric hanging in loose folds at his hip.

“I have a feast to attend at the emperor’s palace.”

“To celebrate your recent victory over the Celts?”

He scoffed as he refolded the red sash at his waist, though it already looked perfect. I was surprised he hadn’t made me dress him as well, but he seemed in a hurry. He likely didn’t want to teach me yet another duty that might make him late for whatever work he had to attend to in the city.

“Yes, Malina.” He seemed perturbed. “The emperor likes his victory parties.”

“Emperor Igniculus. Your uncle .” I couldn’t hide my distaste.

He lifted his gaze to mine and stared a moment. I thought he might say something more but he simply clenched his jaw and walked past me, then out of the bedchamber into the corridor, his heavy footsteps fading away.

“Reckless,” I whispered to myself, knowing my sister Lela would chastise me for it if she were here.

I never could hold my tongue when I ought to. What was he supposed to say, that he might be the emperor’s nephew but he wasn’t a cruel dictator like his kin? That would be a foolish hope. He might not have abused me, but he was still a part of this frightful, monstrous machine of Rome, the one that kept burning and killing and taking more lives for their own pleasure.

It was appalling.

“I should’ve cut him when I had the chance,” I muttered as I set about to make his bed.

Even if I died for it, at least there would be one less tyrant in this world.