Without Love: Love and Warfare series book 4

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  At least Libya remained safely at the Paterculi villa.

  The curtain shrouded Libya in the dimness beyond the candlelight. A Viri man shoved his sword tighter against Gwen’s throat.

  Marcellus moved toward the Emperor’s bed, his blade raised.

  A bronze candlestick sat on the table behind her. Libya clenched the metal. She struck her foot against the tile as she stepped into the light, toward the man immobilizing Gwen. “Pardon me. Was it you who sent for a dancing girl?”

  The Viri’s knife arm shifted as he jerked his head up. Libya flung the candlestick at him. The metal side-swiped the man’s shoulder.

  Gwen wrenched free and ran toward Marcellus.

  With a groan, the Emperor rolled over. He sprang up, now wide awake. His feet hit the floor as he grabbed for a sword. Soranus lunged toward him.

  An archer nocked his bow outside the window. Wryn had said the archer would kill the Emperor if Marcellus didn’t.

  “Get on the floor.” Libya ran toward them. She shoved Gwen down, and Marcellus threw himself forward, knocking the Emperor beneath him. An arrow whistled through the air.

  It sank into Soranus’s heart. Blood spilled across the tile as he fell.

  Scrambling to a stand, the Emperor held up his sword.

  “Come men. Kill all four of them.” Consul Julius’ flesh sagged as he waved a blade. The Viri men advanced.

  “Guards,” the Emperor yelled. No Praetorian guards appeared.

  Consul Julius laughed. “Those who aren’t on our side are incapacitated, thanks to Marcellus. How do you think we gained entrance?”

  Libya glanced out the open window. Three stories high, that window offered no escape. The Viri circled, blocking their exit. They raised their swords, dozens of blades against the four of them.

  Who would take care of Horus with her dead? Who would save Wryn?

  The curtain shook behind them. Wryn burst through followed by red-plumed legionaries. Libya’s breath caught. He wore no shackles, and he led the soldiers. Had the legate freed him?

  The Viri spun. Steel clashed against steel as the legionaries disarmed them. Soon Wryn had the men bound.

  The Emperor lowered his sword. “You saved my life.” He clapped Marcellus on the back. “Never fear. I’ll not believe the word of that traitor, Consul Julius, who blamed this assassination attempt on you.”

  Libya stared at the Emperor. Marcellus had incapacitated the guards and opened the south gate for the Viri. She hadn’t lied when she told the Praetorian Guard that emperors were capricious.

  “No, Libya saved your life.” Jerking away from the Emperor’s touch, Marcellus pointed to her.

  The Emperor traced his gaze down her loose hair. “A prostitute?” He shook his head. “Thank you…?” His eyebrows rose in question.

  “Caius Marcellus, but you should thank Tribune Paterculi.” Marcellus spun around. “He discovered the plot yesterday afternoon and brought legionaries to save you. We’d all have died without him.”

  The Emperor fanned his wide nose. His gray hair cropped closely to his large ears. “You knew of this plot for hours, Felix Paterculi, and thought it not worth your time to come rescue me until now?”

  Wryn opened his mouth to protest, though how could he possibly explain his late arrival without incriminating Marcellus? The penalty for Marcellus’ treason was death, by crucifixion, no less, if the Emperor discovered his slave birth.

  “He tried, things happened.” Marcellus scraped his hand against his knife hilt.

  Yes, things like Marcellus agreeing to kill the Emperor in exchange for his mother’s life, and almost getting Gwen and his children blacklisted in the process. Without Marcellus, the Viri never would have breached the palace gates.

  Emperor Trajan clapped Marcellus on the shoulder. “For your sake, I will not punish your brother-by-marriage for his dereliction of duty. You saved my life. What political post would you like as your reward? Name it, and it’s yours.”

  Marcellus squirmed. “That’s not necessary. You should give it to him.”

  Emperor Trajan narrowed his gaze, his stance austere despite the unbelted tunic flapping around his legs. “No. But you may come to the banquet I will hold in Marcellus’ honor.”

  Marcellus, far from looking enthused, appeared as if the Emperor had just invited him to a torture chamber.

  “Prefect of Rome, that’s what I’ll make you.” Emperor Trajan beamed. Even in his old age, he still had the bearing of a soldier.

  Marcellus shifted his sandals. “I don’t think I’m at all the right person. Now him, my brother-by-marriage, he’s exactly the right person. A tribune —”

  The Emperor straightened to a haughty height. “I’ll hear no more of giving any favors to Tribune Paterculi. Now do you or do you not wish to be Prefect of Rome?”

  Wryn’s cuirass scraped his neck. He worked his entire life for the glory of Rome and Emperor Trajan. Now the Emperor offered this freed slave a prefect position, and he didn’t even want it?

  Wryn grabbed Marcellus’ shoulder and pulled him a pace aside. “Take the position. Gwen will make up for your incompetence by doing most of the actual work. She’s much too skilled at and enamored of such things for her own good.” Case in point, the time Gwen planned to petition the Emperor to allow women in the army.

  “I hate all that Rome stands for.”

  A pace from the Emperor? Marcellus felt it necessary to announce this, granted in a whisper, a pace from the Emperor? Wryn shoved Marcellus behind a curtain, now at least six paces and one length of wool away from the man who ruled the known world. Wryn dropped his voice to a whisper. “Gwen’s wanted such a position her entire life. The closest she’ll ever get to it as a woman is if her husband holds such a position. After what you’ve put her through, you owe her that.”

  Marcellus, the man who’d just ruined his chance for all glory from this venture, met his gaze. “Are you going to tell Emperor Trajan the truth?”

  “Yes, and claim my rightful spot as the man who saved his life instead of losing all credit for my last seven years of work to the man who let the Viri in this palace?”

  Marcellus tensed.

  “Marcellus, you really do trust no one. For certain, I hate you at present, and after this, I doubt I’ll ever stop hating you. But I’ll not get you crucified to earn myself a political post.”

  “Gratias.” Marcellus looked into his eyes. “I’ll keep pressuring Emperor Trajan to give you the prefect post.”

  Reduced to asking political favors from the freed slave who tried to assassinate the Emperor? Wryn groaned. “Yea, that’s not going to work. Emperor Trajan is capricious in who he smiles upon. Just take the post.”

  The curtain parted. Libya stood there, her black hair falling around her bare shoulders. “Are you safe now?” She touched his hand.

  Wryn nodded.

  “I’m so glad. No evidence then?”

  “Victor had one of my scripture scrolls. It was wrapped in the Ocelli one.”

  Her eyes widened. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Looking at her, he couldn’t believe she’d try to murder him. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

  Libya dug her teeth into her lip, the loveliest lips ever to grace human form. She cringed back from him as if he hurt her. “But I almost got you killed.”

  Did freed slaves just trust no one? Wryn shrugged. “I’m still alive. I sent men to invade Victor’s villa and bring us Horus.”

  Libya’s dark eyes glimmered by candlelight, even the shadow her body cast on the tiles was beautiful. What he’d give to pull her into his arms and never let go, only she was infamia and he a patrician.

  “Sir.” A decurion pushed through the curtain and saluted. “The boy’s not at Victor’s villa.”

  A cold chill ran through Wryn. Then where was Horus?

  Horus! Libya grabbed Wryn’s arm. “Where’s Victor?”

  “Legate Aemilli held him for questioning by the palace entrance, but Victor
had nothing on him when captured and he wasn’t with the Viri when we found him. Until Consul Julius gives testimony against him, we have nothing to convict Victor.”

  Libya pounded down the palace stairs. Her heart beat in her throat as she hurtled into the gardens beyond the palace entrance. Victor sat just inside the gardens on a dark bench surrounded by legionaries.

  “Where is he, Victor?” Libya shook his shoulder

  Victor turned his gaze to Legate Aemilli. The first glimmers of dawn illuminated his haughty face. “You have no evidence to hold me. Let me go.”

  “I know you were part of this plot.” Legate Aemilli clenched his gladius hilt.

  “Scarcely legal to hold a patrician without evidence.” Victor stood.

  With a glare, Legate Aemilli motioned the legionaries to part.

  Victor brushed the dust off his wrist. “Have a pleasant morn.” Turning, he strode away.

  She sprinted after him. His linen tunic sleeve slipped up as she dug her nails into his arm. “Victor, where is my son?”

  He shook off her hand. “At my villa, where he shall stay.”

  “No, he’s not. Wryn just searched it.”

  “That —” Victor swore. “I suppose Consul Julius still has him then. He’s the one that took Horus, not me. You should have brought Horus to me, but —”

  Turning, she dashed through the gardens into the palace. She pounded through a jumbled mass of soldiers. Her breath came in gasps as she took the marble stairs two at a time. The Emperor’s chambers opened in front of her.

  She threw herself at Wryn. “Where’s Consul Julius?”

  Wryn turned away from the soldiers. “In house arrest at his domus. I directed soldiers there.”

  “He has Horus.”

  “I’m going now.” Wryn strode through the door.

  Libya clenched the ornate tapestry in Consul Julius’ tablinum. The man reclined in a chair, his feet propped up on a stool.

  Wryn grabbed Consul Julius by the tunic. “Where’s Horus?”

  Consul Julius held up his wrists. Blood flowed from the slits he’d made. His weak voice rose, his face as pale as marble. “The honorable death of suicide. So much preferable to trials and exile or execution.”

  “Where is he?” Wryn shook the man as blood spilled across his tunic.

  “My men —” Consul Julius’ thin voice trembled, “have orders — to kill him at dawn’s — light.” The man lolled forward.

  Libya’s heart stopped.

  “Tell me.” Wryn hauled the man’s heavy body up, and the rolls around the consul’s thick neck and arms jostled.

  Consul Julius’ eyes went empty in death.

  Outside, dawn lit the eastern sky. Wryn dropped the man’s body.

  “Wryn.” Libya clenched his hand, her fingers digging into his.

  He circled his arm around her as he pulled her against his chest. Her tears flowed down his tunic, staining the linen as she clung to him.

  Even now those villains were plunging a knife into Horus. He’d scream. He’d be so scared. He needed her.

  And she wasn’t there.

  Wryn pressed his other hand tightly against her back. “Perhaps Victor’s men took Horus from Consul Julius.”

  “No. Victor doesn’t know where he is.”

  “Victor’s a liar.” Wryn spat out the word.

  “He was telling me the truth.”

  Wryn’s face paled.

  “This is my fault, mine. I never should have contacted Victor. I caused Horus’ death.” She wrung her hands.

  “Consul Julius kidnapped Horus, not Victor. He’d have done that no matter what you did.”

  “Even now they’re murdering him.”

  “You don’t know that.” Wryn met her gaze.

  Yet she did.

  “You’ve stayed awake all night. Go home. I’ll enlist the other tribunes to help track down Victor and find Horus.”

  A noble offer. Only it was too late.

  Chapter 33

  Terror streaked through Libya as she walked toward the Paterculi villa. Marble and sunshine blurred before her. Horus. Her breath came in uneven gasps. Her little boy. She hadn’t even embraced him yesterday afternoon.

  The sun moved past the horizon, an hour past sunrise now.

  A woman dashed in front of her. Her brown hair tucked around her head, a palla pulled tightly over her face. “I’m Edna. I have your son.”

  Libya’s heart stopped. Was it a trap?

  The woman beckoned right down a dark alley then darted into it.

  No knife. Libya clenched a rock and ran after her. “Why are you helping me? You’re Victor’s mistress.”

  “And his wife cannot bear children. If I give this boy back to you, perhaps a child from my womb will inherit the Ocelli estates.” Edna stepped into a brick alcove. A dirty, bruised, and gloriously alive Horus stood behind her. “Besides, I’m a mother too.”

  A cry escaped Libya’s lips. She ran to him.

  Tears streamed down Horus’ dirty cheeks. His entire body shook as he stood there, his dark eyes huge. She fell to her knees by her son.

  “There, there, dry your tears. You have your mother now.” Edna pressed a sweet cake into Horus’ hand. She looked at Libya. “You must promise me you’ll never tell how you came to be reunited with the child lest the rumor spread and Victor discover it.”

  In the woman’s eyes, Libya saw the desperation that had haunted her own many times. The woman could have killed Horus, but instead, she chose to give her son back. Still kneeling, Horus in her arms, Libya looked up. “I’ll not tell.”

  “In return, you’ll tell me what evidence your man has against Victor.”

  Her man? Libya swallowed. “Wryn would not like if I discussed his case against Victor.” Wryn wasn’t hers. Though when he almost died, her heart had stopped. She ran her hand down Horus’ shaking back. She dared the Praetorian Guard in a futile attempt to earn the Emperor’s favor for Wryn. Is that what love was? The willingness to do anything to save another’s life?

  Edna shoved her palla back from her hair, irritation in her voice as she gestured upward. “I brought you your son. Do you think my man would like that? We are the same, you and I. Too poor to care for the fate of emperors and the downfall of cities. We fight for our children and the men we love.”

  Libya crossed her arms over Horus. “The man I love is a good man. Nothing like Victor.”

  “Then that is your good fortune.” Pain burned in Edna’s eyes. “But my children will starve without Victor’s benevolence. I won’t see him executed.”

  The woman only wished to see her children survive, same as thousands of other women across the Empire. Libya hugged Horus tighter. “With Consul Julius’ suicide, Wryn has no evidence to condemn Victor.”

  Edna nodded and walked away. Pausing, she twisted back for one moment more. “Tell Cara I now consider us even for the help she gave my familia these past six years.”

  How did Victor’s mistress know Wryn’s brother’s wife? Libya’s eyes widened.

  With a huff, Edna marched on.

  Victor stood in the apartment building he paid for. A mural covered the modest walls. No Edna in sight. Three girls and Edna’s new baby looked cross-eyed at him. He already sent the woman from

  the adjoining apartment who’d stayed with the children away. She had said that Edna had Horus in this very building not an hour ago.

  A footstep sounded in the doorway. Edna.

  “Where is my son?” Victor’s voice clashed against the brick walls.

  Edna tossed the palla in her hands on the ground and grasped an earthenware cup. “You tell me. When I received that missive you sent from Consul Julius’ villa last afternoon, I sent the guards as you ordered and waited for the boy. He never came.”

  Victor glared at the woman. “I know he was here.”

  The cup fell from Edna’s hand. It shattered on the floor, shards scattering. “You can’t know that.”

  “Can’t I?” In one pa
ce, he stood in front of her. “Now tell me, where is my son?”

  “At least he’s not dead. He would have been if I hadn’t gone with the guards last night. When they discovered Horus wasn’t at Consul Julius’ villa, they returned to your domus. I was the one who searched the hills until I found him. Consul Julius’ drunk men had orders to kill the boy. I could have left him there to die, but I risked getting a knife stabbed through my ribs to sneak him away by moonlight.”

  “Excellent. Now, where is my not-dead son?”

  Edna traced a crack in the floor as she clenched and unclenched her hand.

  “I’m going to find out anyway.” He sank his fingers into her chin, forcing her gaze up. “Then you’ll wish you told me the truth.”

  “Quidquid.” Bringing both hands up, Edna shoved him in the chest. “I left the boy at Wryn Paterculi’s villa.”

  “He’s my son. How dare you.” Grabbing her by the arm, Victor yanked her in front of him.

  She struck him against the shoulder as she fought against his grasp. “At least I determined you’ll not end up executed. Wryn has no evidence to convict you.”

  Relief flooded Victor. No exile to Crete, no execution. Of course, with Soranus dead and Wryn Paterculi even now in the process of rounding up the rest of the Viri, he’d have to abandon smuggling for some years to avoid suspicion. Still, he had his life and the most insolent mistress.

  Victor grabbed both her wrists and jerked her in front of him. He glared down at her. “You will never cross me again.”

  “I’m not your wife. I have every legal right to take my children and leave you whenever I wish.” Yanking against his grip, Edna struggled to strike her hand against his cheekbone.

  Victor shoved her away from him with a groan. When Edna flamed into this kind of passion, confronting her only spiraled her more out of control. She’d calm soon enough and apologize. “Ha. As if you could support yourself with four children.”

  “Perhaps I’d find another man. One who actually wishes to marry me.” Face red, she slammed her fist against the table. The only times she got this way with him were after a child’s birth. Another reason, he truly hoped some time elapsed before Edna conceived again.