The Roman

by Sylvain Reynard

  The captain gestured to the courier, who held out two lengths of red silk.

  The Prince nodded at Borek, who retrieved the silk and quickly blindfolded Cara and Raven.

  Raven shifted her blindfold discreetly, hoping to catch a glimpse of their destination.

  “Careful,” Borek growled in her ear. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

  She dropped her hand. Still, if she positioned her head at a particular angle and looked straight down, she could see what lay beneath her.

  “Forward, march!” The captain led the party down the Via Sacra and through the Roman Forum.

  The vampyres, as always, moved at an inhuman pace, even over uneven ground. The ride on Borek’s shoulder was incredibly bumpy. Raven clutched at his shirt, terrified he would drop her.

  Shortly, they halted at the base of the Palatine Hill.

  The captain led them into a dark passage that had been carved into the hill itself. The scent of damp earth filled Raven’s nostrils.

  A loud scraping noise, like the sound of iron against iron, echoed and reverberated. Raven heard the groan of what sounded like metal hinges and the low whistle of something moving through air.

  The detachment moved forward, marching and turning through a labyrinth of passageways only dimly lit with torches.

  Raven held her breath as the palpable feeling of danger pressed in from all sides.

  Chapter Twenty

  RAVEN HAD FELT FEAR BEFORE. She’d been afraid of her stepfather when she was young, she’d been afraid of the dark when she lived in foster care, and she’d been afraid when she first entered the Prince’s world. She disliked being in the underground of Florence. She disliked being blindfolded.

  But in the underworld of Rome, something even more sinister hung in the air. Icy tentacles of fear crept over her skin, despite being suspended on Borek’s shoulder, surrounded by the rest of the detachment.

  Music reverberated, as if from a distant dance club, the bass line shaking Raven’s body. She found herself clinging to Borek’s shirt amid the punishing, relentless rhythm.

  The music grew fainter as they marched. Screams and harsh laughter exploded from places unknown, along with orgiastic cries. Sobbing and moaning could be heard—now near, now far—throwing Raven’s senses into confusion.

  If there were a hell, it would sound like this, she thought.

  She pressed an ear against Borek’s body and covered the other with her hand, trying to block out the cacophony.

  “Calm yourself,” he hissed. “Everyone can smell your fear.”

  “Where’s my sister?” She tried to catch a glimpse of the soldier who held Cara.

  Borek’s large hand flexed over the back of her legs, a move calculated to silence her.

  “She’s in front of me,” he whispered.

  Raven stopped struggling, but her heart beat a furious pace. What if they were separated from the group? What if one of the Romans decided to take Cara?

  She couldn’t breathe. Panic ensued as she gasped for air.

  Something cool touched her hand.

  Raven jerked her hand away, but the coolness followed; a hand gently covered hers. A thumb stroked her palm.

  William.

  She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him. A measure of calm washed over her. William would stand between her and the darkness. Always.

  She moved her hand, questing for his fingers. She wished she could speak to him. She wished she could beg him to get her out of this terrible place. But he was on a mission, and the protection of the Roman must be worth the risk of descending into what seemed like perdition.

  William traced a pattern on her palm and withdrew. Raven focused on the memory of his fingers and drew a very deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow.

  The detachment of Florentines ascended a staircase that seemed to spiral in a never-ending circle. The music dulled to a low thud, as if it were far below them.

  Eventually, they halted.

  Raven moved her head and was able to discern that they were gathered in a narrow passage, lit by torches.

  Captain Gaius announced that they were to wait inside the rooms provided until Lieutenant Cato sent for the Prince. The captain gave no indication of how long that might be.

  The Prince had a short exchange with the captain, which was studiously formal. Raven knew from William’s tone that he was angry at being delayed. But he eventually acquiesced to the captain’s instructions.

  The Florentines were ushered through a door, and the Roman escort withdrew. She heard the sound of a door closing.

  William undid Raven’s blindfold, pointing her and her sister toward a lavishly decorated sitting room. He remained with the soldiers, who cloistered themselves in the adjoining space.

  “You are confined to these quarters until I order otherwise. Commander Borek, I leave you in charge. I will see to it that bottles of blood are delivered to you for feeding.”

  The Prince crossed over to the sitting room and closed the door between the two spaces, closeting himself with the women.

  “Release her.” Raven’s arm was around her sister’s shoulder, while Cara stared unseeingly into space.

  “No.”

  “William.” Raven’s voice edged past reproachful into angry.

  “Remember how you felt walking through the palace halls?” William’s gray eyes were knowing. “You were right to be afraid. Even though the Roman is my ally, like all vampyres, he is capricious and not to be trusted. We are surrounded by potential enemies. The smallest unguarded word from your sister’s lips could mean the death of all of us.”

  Raven’s green eyes grew round. “But—but the Roman would never kill you.”

  “Even I have executed allies.”

  Before Raven could respond, he gestured to the twin couches that stood in the center of the room.

  “Rest. I shall arrange for food and drink to be sent down. But don’t leave this room.” He paused, his eyes moving over her face. “We may be here for some time.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE PRINCE WAS ON A MISSION.

  Even now, the Curia could be storming his city. Ibarra and Aoibhe were likely colluding against him. Indeed, they could have usurped his throne in the hours he’d been absent.

  He did not have time to wait until the lieutenant tired of his current pursuits and decided to grant him an audience.

  The Prince arranged for his soldiers to be fed and for human food to be delivered to Raven and her sister. He insisted he be allowed to wait outside Lieutenant Cato’s audience room until the lieutenant agreed to see him.

  Captain Gaius had ordered the Prince to return to his quarters, but William simply used a mild form of mind control on the captain, and he’d relented.

  The Prince was surprised that a captain in the Roman guard would be so susceptible to an old one’s influence. He made sure to keep his mind control subtle, so as not to attract attention.

  Now he waited on Cato, his body and mind restless.

  He’d forgotten what life was like in the Roman’s palace, but was reminded by the citizens who used the antechamber as their pleasure den. Vampyres drifted in and out of the room, fornicating and feeding on human beings and each other.

  William’s sensitive ears pounded with music that emanated from the large central hall on the ground floor of the palace.

  From time to time, a citizen’s eyes would stray to William’s, and he or she would beckon him. William merely shook his head, too disgusted to exchange words.

  Eventually, Gaius drove the revelers away, ordering them to pursue their orgy elsewhere.

  The Prince closed his eyes in relief.

  Much ink had been spilled on the decadence of ancient Rome. But the decadence of vampyric Rome was surely a rival. How he longed for the order and dignity of Florence. How he
longed to retreat to his villa and hold Raven in his arms, blotting out the stark depravity of his brethren.

  These thoughts plagued him as the lieutenant kept him waiting, minute after minute and hour after hour.

  The slight was intentional. However, the Prince was shrewd enough to hide his ire. When he was finally escorted into the audience room, just before sunset, he forced himself to greet the lieutenant with deferential respect.

  Cato was an Italian and at least two centuries away from becoming an old one. Nevertheless, he dressed as the Roman himself, in the purple imperial toga of ancient Rome.

  The Prince was surprised. Only the Roman himself wore purple, while his lieutenant was usually restricted to wearing white.

  William’s eyes narrowed as he took Cato’s measure.

  “Welcome, your highness.” The lieutenant inclined his head from his position on the throne. “I apologize for the delay. If we had had advance notice of your arrival, I would have arranged a more suitable welcome.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant.” The Prince bowed his head perfunctorily. “Rome’s hospitality is always suitable. Florence is at grave risk, which is why I arrived unannounced.”

  “I heard of the attempted coup.” The lieutenant gazed at the Prince appraisingly. “You appear to have survived it.”

  The Prince stood tall. “I’ve come to see the Roman.”

  “I’m afraid the king is not receiving visitors.”

  The Prince frowned. “It is a matter of some importance.”

  The lieutenant offered him an indulgent smile. “The Roman has delegated affairs of state to me. I perceive that you know this since I was visited by your own lieutenant some time ago. Perhaps if you were to communicate your concerns to me, I may be of assistance.”

  “There is an issue with the Curia.”

  The lieutenant’s gaze sharpened. “What issue?”

  “An issue so great I have come to solicit the Roman’s guidance.”

  “As I said, the Roman has delegated affairs of state to me. If you need guidance, I shall offer it. In consultation with the king, of course.”

  The Prince paused, struggling to keep his temper. “Your wisdom is not in question, lieutenant. But the Roman and I know one another personally. I come not only as a subject but as a friend.”

  Cato fingered the gold-embroidered edge of his toga. “The Roman has no friends.”

  “It appears you don’t know me, Cato, but I know you. I know you came from Pisa in the sixteenth century. I know you have been a loyal subject to the Roman, and in return, you were elevated to lieutenant.

  “But you are not an old one. Thus, you can be excused for not knowing that my friendship with the Roman began centuries before you were born.”

  The lieutenant gave the Prince a long look, his eyes beady, his face pinched.

  The Prince gestured to the door. “Perhaps if you were to consult one of the old ones of Rome, he or she could corroborate my connection?”

  The lieutenant smothered a smile. “Come, let me offer refreshment.” He beckoned the Prince to sit in a nearby chair and began pouring blood into two ornate silver chalices that rested on a side table.

  The vampyres saluted one another and drank.

  “I know more about you than you might think, Florentine.” Cato’s expression grew accusatory. “You claim to be a friend of the Roman, but you haven’t visited the city within my memory.”

  The Prince held the chalice loosely. “That is true, but our connection is of a unique nature.”

  Cato leaned forward, his voice taking on a salacious tone. “I did not realize your acquaintance with the Roman was intimate.”

  William pressed his lips together. He had mere seconds to decide if he was going to correct Cato’s characterization. But on reflection, he realized it might offer an advantage. “It could be described thusly.”

  “Interesting,” the lieutenant murmured, sitting back on his throne. He seemed to peer over at the Prince with new eyes.

  “I repeat, perhaps one of Rome’s old ones might corroborate my connection?”

  “I am the oldest, next to our king.” The lieutenant preened.

  The Prince hid his surprise. There should have been at least three old ones still in residence in the principality of Rome, in addition to the king. He had not heard news of their departure or of any foul play having befallen them.

  Something very strange was going on.

  He schooled his features carefully. “It’s clear the Kingdom of Italy is in capable hands. But my issue with the Curia is urgent. I must seek the Roman’s counsel.”

  “Since you are an old one, you know that the Roman has had no dealings with the Curia since the treaty was signed. They pursue their goals, and we pursue ours.”

  “As it should be. But Florence is being threatened. It would be folly for me to enter into a new treaty without the Roman’s counsel.”

  Cato lifted his head. “Florence entering into its own treaty with the Curia? That would be unwise.”

  The Prince replaced the chalice on the table. “Which is why I need the Roman’s counsel.”

  “Rest assured, I will convey your concerns to the Roman personally. Now if you’ll excuse me.” The lieutenant continued drinking from his chalice.

  The Prince stood. “The matter with the Curia is of some urgency. I must speak with the Roman today.”

  “And as I said,” the lieutenant dropped his voice, “I will convey your concerns. That is all.”

  The Prince’s arms moved to his sides, and his hands curled into fists.

  He was more powerful than the lieutenant and could kill him easily, but only at great peril to his mission and to the women who rested obliviously in the guest chambers.

  The Prince closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring like a dragon’s.

  He opened his eyes. “You are wasting precious time.”

  “I believe I should be the one making that claim, since I have offered my assistance repeatedly, only to be rebuffed.”

  “Given my most recent correspondence with the king, I believe he would welcome my presence.”

  “Correspondence?” The lieutenant laughed. “The Roman has engaged in no recent correspondence.”

  Now the Prince smiled. He did so slowly and with a dangerous, knowing glint in his eye. A glint the lieutenant could not overlook.

  “Perhaps you did not see the king’s addendum to the message I received from you recently. Do you remember that message, Lieutenant Cato?”

  The Prince waited for an acknowledgement, toying with his enemy before lowering the noose.

  “What of it?” The lieutenant eyed him grumpily.

  “The message was hand delivered by Lorenzo, my lieutenant, after conflict ensued between Florence and Venice.” The Prince retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

  He held it out, the way a child dangles a bone in front of a dog.

  Cato placed the chalice on the table. “The king doesn’t engage in correspondence. That letter is a forgery.”

  “Ah, but it isn’t a letter from the king. The letter is from you, in your own hand. You can scarcely deny it.” The Prince prodded. “It’s the addendum at the bottom you should be concerned about.”

  Cato lifted from his throne and snatched the paper from the Prince’s hand. He unfolded it quickly. As his gaze alighted on the short message at the bottom of the page, his eyes widened.

  He returned the letter to the Prince with a scowl. “I was not aware the Roman had seen that letter.”

  The Prince folded the paper carefully and placed it back in his pocket.

  Cato began drumming his fingers against the armrest of his throne. “I did not know you were his son.”

  “I am the Roman’s son, and as you have read, I am beloved of my father. I want to see him.”

  The
lieutenant’s hands went to his knees. His knuckles whitened. “I cannot promise an audience. The decision rests with the king.”

  “Just send word to the king that his son is here. I shall return to the rooms you’ve generously provided and await his response.”

  Cato scowled, adjusting his purple toga once again. “It’s possible the king will refuse your request.”

  “No, he won’t,” the Prince’s voice rumbled. “And Cato, if he is truly wise, will see that I have my audience.”

  “And if for some reason the king refuses?”

  The Prince angled his head, his eyes threatening. “The king won’t refuse me. I know this. You, Lieutenant Cato, are a different matter. But you must know now that it would be folly to oppose me.

  “Someone intercepted your missive and delivered it to the Roman before handing it to my lieutenant. You were unaware of this fact until you read his words. Perhaps the Roman doesn’t have as much confidence in you as you believe.”

  Cato sputtered something in protest.

  The Prince interrupted him. “I have no quarrel with you, at least not yet. My concern is for Florence. Once my audience is concluded, I shall return to my city, and you shall have to deal with a palace full of the Roman’s spies. But if I don’t have my audience today, you and I will be having a very different conversation.”

  The Prince gave the lieutenant a hard look before withdrawing, leaving Cato seated uneasily on his purloined throne.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  PERHAPS IT WAS CATO. Perhaps it was the Roman. The Prince was kept waiting by someone until after sunset. Only then did Gaius appear, announcing that the king, in his infinite beneficence, had granted the Prince a private audience.

  The Prince followed the captain to the throne room occupied by the lieutenant, who had changed out of his imperial robes into a white toga. Cato joined Gaius and the Prince as they ventured through a series of passages until they came to an immense metal door, which was flanked by two sets of Praetorian guards, wielding spears.