The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath)

by Nadia Aidan

  Or at least that was Claudius’ plan.

  Aurora had her own—and since she was on foot, she would have to move quickly if she had any hope of seeing it through.

  Chapter Ten

  Aurora ran the entire way into the center of Capena. Still laboring under her weak condition she was winded upon her arrival, but was relieved that even in poor form, her quick gate had eaten up the distance faster than the slow horse trot of Claudius’ party.

  Once in town, she lost herself within the bustling forum where she traded one brass scalpel for a threadbare cloak with a hood. The other she exchanged for a crude iron chakram. It was not as fine, nor as well crafted as the one she’d received from The Order upon taking her oath, but it would serve its purpose.

  It had taken her longer than she’d anticipated to find a metal worker who dealt in Kushan weaponry for the chakram, so when she caught sight of Claudius’ party on the horizon, she moved quickly into position.

  As she’d expected, there were only two guards with them, for only two could be spared with so few of them well. One guard sat to Claudius’ right, while Cyrus rode on his left. The four recruits trailed behind them on horseback, with the second guard bringing up the rear.

  They trotted along the crowded road, making their way through the raucous forum where craftsmen and merchants peddled their wares.

  Aurora disappeared into the crowd of people, moving to a place where there was a slope in the ground. She stood atop it, her eyes never once leaving the group of approaching men. She hovered several paces away, partially obscured by one of the merchant’s stalls. Aurora did not need to be close to strike, her weapon had been carefully chosen for its accuracy and speed from a distance, and unlike the bow and arrow, it was not cumbersome and obvious.

  Blood surged hotter in her veins as she observed Claudius’ party. Aurora remained patient and still, watching as they drew closer, waiting for them to pass her by. Drowning out all other sounds around her, she listened only to the steady beat of hooves striking the ground with a lazy, meandering rhythm.

  Aurora saw nothing but Claudius, she heard nothing but his horse trotting closer to her position, closer to where she lingered in the shadows.

  Aurora readied herself, her heart pumping, her breaths even.

  Her fingers curled then uncurled around the disk and she held her breath as she prepared to release her weapon.

  Someone bumped against her, a laughing child racing through the market. Her heart quickened then quieted. The chakram remained tight in her grip, but the slight jostling caused the weapon to catch a ray of sunlight and it flickered bright.

  Before they passed her, before she could falter, she released the sharp disk, hurling it through the air.

  But the sunlight upon the iron flickered even brighter, drawing attention.

  Cyrus turned, Claudius with him.

  Aurora ceased to breathe when Claudius’ eyes widened in fear as the chakram raced toward him, but Claudius was not the reason the air stole out of her chest.

  Cyrus.

  She mouthed for him to stop, but no words came out and she watched in horror as he inserted himself between Claudius and the chakram barreling toward him.

  At the very last moment, he lifted his sword, deflecting the spinning disk, but it did not miss him entirely. The chakram sliced across his arm, before returning to her.

  Without taking her gaze from him, she caught it with one hand raised in the air.

  In that instant, their eyes met, and recognition clouded in the depths of his—recognition and astonishment. Aurora’s heart stuttered when she glimpsed the naked pain in his blue eyes, the embittered pain of her betrayal.

  She ripped her gaze from his, disappearing into the crowded market, before the guards could see her, before they could chase after her.

  Aurora raced back to Claudius’ villa, before she could be missed—before she could be caught.

  * * * *

  If Cyrus had been able to hear Aurora’s thoughts, he would have told her that she had been caught—by him.

  Only him.

  He’d not told Claudius, not yet, and Cyrus did not know why.

  That was not true.

  He knew why, he just didn’t understand why he did it—why he still protected a woman who would lie to him and then betray him.

  I would never harm you, she’d whispered.

  He stared down at his wounded arm. The gash was deep, which was why they’d been forced to return to the villa instead of continuing on to Falerii. Cyrus was steadily losing blood and required stitching from Lycurgus.

  I would never harm you.

  But she had, and the wound she’d inflicted cut him far deeper than any gash along his arm.

  Cyrus noted that the sting of her betrayal was much worse, far worse than another’s.

  Cyrus had not forgiven the one who’d betrayed him, the one who’d had a hand in his enslavement, but that pain was not as sharp, nor as deep as what Aurora had done.

  Maybe it was because three years had passed. The sting of such treachery had dulled.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe Aurora’s betrayal was worse because his feelings for her ran much deeper than even he’d realized until now.

  Cyrus was barely aware of being ushered into the infirmary by one of the guards. He barely noticed the pain, or the rank smell of vinegar and turpentine being poured into his wound to cleanse it. As Lycurgus stitched him up, then dressed his wound, Cyrus was aware of none of it.

  Aurora.

  His senses were full of her, overflowing with her.

  She lay atop the stone slab of the infirmary, as he’d left her only hours ago—her eyes closed, blissfully and peacefully asleep.

  When Lycurgus was done, he left Cyrus there alone with Aurora, taking the guard with him.

  Lycurgus was desperately needed in the barracks to attend to the dying soldiers— seemingly one every hour. The guard was needed elsewhere as well, taking up a post that was likely vacant.

  Cyrus could leave the infirmary whenever he felt ready to. Anticipating, she’d be awake by then, Lycurgus would likely return to check on Aurora at dusk and send her back to her quarters by nightfall.

  As he stood over her, his features etched into a scowl, Cyrus saw no reason to wait until dusk when he knew already she was of perfect health.

  “Wake up,” he growled, his uninjured hand already reaching out to seize her by her tunica.

  Her eyes snapped open, just as he dragged her into a sitting position.

  “Who are you? Truly. And do not lie,” he rasped, his voice low and dangerous.

  Her eyes rounded then narrowed as she wrenched free of his hold and hopped down from the stone slab.

  “What is wrong with you handling me in such a way? I am a sick woman.”

  Every part of him vibrated with fury. “I told you Aurora, do not lie to me. Tell me the truth or I will—”

  “What? You shall tell Claudius?” Her expression hardened. “You shall tell him what exactly? That I was sick in the infirmary when you were injured? That you saw me somewhere when all others would swear I was here. Tell me, Cyrus, what will you tell Claudius?”

  Later, Cyrus would not know what drove him, what made him speak so cruelly when he knew every word to be a lie. Or maybe he would. He would ponder that maybe it was the smugness in her voice, the mocking expression upon her face. That she would betray him and then physically wound him in the process, without showing a measure of remorse, infuriated him, but more than that, more than the anger, it pained him to the core of himself.

  “You are right. I have nothing to tell him, so I shall say nothing at all. But be forewarned Aurora, from this day on, there is nothing between us, and you mean nothing to me. You threaten Claudius’ life again, and I shall kill you myself.”

  Cyrus turned from her before the pain in her eyes threatened to crumble his resolve. Before he caved and took every cruel word spoken back, and then took her into his arms to soothe the anguish
he’d just caused.

  “You do not have to tell me I mean nothing to you, because I saw you earlier,” she spat. “I saw you with Artemisia. I saw you kiss her—”

  Cyrus froze at the same time she abruptly stopped.

  He turned to face her, his eyes raking her deep. “Yes, Aurora, please continue. You saw me with Artemisia when you were supposed to be sick in this very infirmary.”

  Her mouth, which had been open, all of a sudden snapped shut.

  “I do not know what you saw, but you did not see me kiss her—”

  “You touched her, you grabbed her and took her into your arms and then leaned in as though you would.”

  Aurora’s eyes widened as if she could not believe she’d blurted out more.

  He almost pitied her. Her misplaced jealousy was making her careless.

  For some reason, which Cyrus could not seem to fathom, he felt the need to defend himself, though she truly did not deserve to have her mind eased, not after everything she’d done.

  “You’re a fool, Aurora, and I am one right along with you. I hugged Artemisia after she agreed to watch over you while I was gone.” Her gaze dipped to the floor, filled with embarrassment and shame.

  “Yes, Aurora, while you were plotting to kill. While you were skulking about, devising a plan that so carelessly put my life in danger, a man you claim to care for, I was thinking of you and your well-being.”

  She called his name, her eyes entreating him to listen to whatever fabrication she was determined to contrive, but he shook his head.

  “I do not wish to hear it, Aurora. I do not wish to hear any more lies from your lips. It is obvious I mean nothing to you, and I find it impossible to feel anything for a woman who cares so little for me.”

  Cyrus turned to leave, to flee the naked pain within her watery eyes that would haunt him for most of his days, and all of his nights. Cyrus did not get far when the door to the infirmary swung open and in walked Claudius.

  Claudius was a man so full of his own self-importance that he either did not notice or he did not care that he’d entered a room shrouded in a thick fog of tense silence.

  “It is good to see you up and alert,” Claudius said to Aurora. “You as well,” he directed to Cyrus, as if it was a fleeting thought, as if Cyrus had not just risked his life for him only hours before.

  Cyrus did well in hiding his ire, while Aurora could not be credited as such. The scowl on her face, the dark glare in her eyes went unnoticed to Claudius, but not to Cyrus, who thought it ironic that she would be affronted on his behalf for an injury she’d caused.

  “Ludi Victoriae Caesaris approaches quickly,” said Claudius, glancing between the both of them, before his gaze settled on Aurora. “I do not have to tell you these games draw an immense crowd. People come from across The Empire to witness the best gladiators from each of the ludi that participate in these games. Have no doubt, Cyrus is our champion, but with his sword arm injured, he shall not be ready in time.”

  Cyrus stilled because he knew what was to come next, and he did not think such a decision was wise. She was not ready, certainly not for one of the most celebrated games of all the year.

  “You, Aurora shall fight and honor this house.” Claudius looked crossly at her, with a sharp stare that was unmistakable. “And you shall be ready.” Or she would die within the arena—a fate to be delivered either by her opponent or by the roar of the crowd.

  It did not matter which. If she failed this time, there would be no one and nothing to save her.

  * * * *

  For a gladiator, the ludi Victoriae Caesaris was the greatest stage upon which one could fight. The three-day festival came only once a year, and gladiators from rival ludi would face one another. Only the best fighters were sent, only the fiercest, the bravest.

  Each city held their own festival, their own celebration. The most opulent could be found in Rome’s great Circus Maximus, but the ones in lesser cities were also quite extravagant. Capena was well known for its elaborate games, drawing crowds by the thousands.

  Aurora decided the revelry and drunkenness of such an event would provide the perfect opportunity for her finally to dispatch of Claudius. Though she knew she would have to fight in these games in order to gain such an opportunity to get to Claudius once more.

  Other fighters from the House of Norbanus would be featured, but Aurora was the honored gladiator, the one to fight in the principalia—the last fight upon the opening day of the games.

  Without the test of the games in Falerii, she did not truly know if she was ready, and neither did Claudius, which was why her days of training had grown longer, more arduous, more intense.

  Aurora could have told Claudius physically she was more prepared than any other within his ludus, it was her mental state that was in question, as it had always been when it came to entering the arena once again.

  With the games just days away, Aurora was weary. Physically, mentally...Emotionally she was beyond weary, she was raw. Cyrus had done his best not to speak to her in the days since their quarrel in the infirmary. If it did not have to do with his instructions to her as doctoris, he did not speak to her at all. He barely even looked at her, while she could not seem to stop gazing upon him.

  His words had hurt. They’d wounded deeply. To know she meant nothing to him, that what they’d shared meant nothing.

  Even now, though days had passed, the pain slicing through her was fresh, and it was agonizing, merciless in the anguish it caused.

  Aurora had no experience dealing with such things. She had no experience in dealing with such a man. Cyrus had felt betrayed by her attack on Claudius. Cyrus had felt betrayed, and so he’d struck out in the cruelest way possible.

  Had any other man but Cyrus spoken to her in such a manner, his words would have rolled off of her. She would have ignored them, she would have felt nothing.

  Yet, with Cyrus, she felt it all—the pain of her betrayal, the pain of his every word cutting deep. It was as if she could not seem to stop feeling, and she hated it. She hated that he made her feel, that he made her care. Aurora had no experience when it came to matters of the heart, and she hated that as well.

  When dusk finally fell upon the arena, Aurora was relieved, and she dropped her weapons where she stood. She trailed behind the other gladiators until she heard her name.

  Aurora spun around to face Cyrus.

  This was the first time he’d spoken her name since their fight.

  Hope flared inside her. She’d tried to speak to him, to broach this matter with him, but he’d ignored her every attempt.

  Maybe. Maybe he was finally ready to hear her out.

  “Claudius wishes for you to train through supper.” He gestured for her to retrieve her wooden blade. “And he has asked me to spar with you.”

  The tiny ember of hope that had sparked to life died within an instant, only to be replaced by the hot flash of her temper.

  “To what purpose? You could not best me when you were well. You shall provide no challenge at all with your injured arm.” She whipped around, already walking off. “Do not bother.”

  Aurora was aware that she spoke to him with disrespect. He was her doctoris. He could easily have her whipped for such defiance. But Cyrus was not her doctoris, he was but a man in her eyes. A man she cared for deeply, a man who’d wronged her, and she him.

  He roared out her name so loudly that she had no other choice but to stop. She was certain he’d been heard all the way to the depths of Pluto.

  She twisted around to face him, too angry to heed the warning in his eyes.

  “You do not have to pretend as if you care anything about preparing me for the games. I know you do not, so let me be. Let me die within the arena at the ludi Victoriae Caesaris, that way you shall not be forced to kill me yourself,” she snapped, hurling the cruel words he’d spoken in the infirmary back at him. Cruel words that still haunted her every day, and every night.

  Aurora felt the moisture sting her ey
es. She would not cry before this man, not this time. She turned to leave, but before she could take a single step, Cyrus was upon her, quick as lightning. And before she could take her next breath, her back was pressed against one of the arched columns along the arena. Where they stood, no one could see them, and Cyrus towered over her, his eyes flashing dangerously.

  “How dare you hurl your anger at me, when it is I who has been betrayed?”

  His words cut her to the core, deflating her within an instant, and her eyes softened. She had hurt him—deeply. But more than the pain she’d caused, she had intentionally deceived him, and the shame of her actions was like a crushing weight upon her heart.

  She had betrayed him, though she’d had no choice.

  I would never harm you, she’d whispered to him.

  But she had.

  Cyrus had protected her, kept her secrets—he still did, and yet, she’d struck without warning, wounding him in the process.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered, her fingers lightly brushing his jaw, trembling with the force of her feelings for this man, feelings she could no longer seem to get a hold of. “There are days when I wish you had never met me,” she forced out from a throat raw with emotion. “Truly, I wish you’d never met me because before this is done I fear I shall hurt you again, and that is the last thing I would ever wish.”

  Cyrus stilled at the agony in Aurora’s eyes. He had not been prepared for her to reveal herself to him so openly, so honestly.

  “If anything had happened to you—” Her voice broke and she fell silent. She did not admit she’d been there that day in the market. Cyrus knew she never would, just as he knew she’d been there, shrouded in a dark cloak, her burnished amber gaze shimmering with determination, then fear as she’d stood there helplessly, watching him deflect the weapon she’d hurled in his direction.

  In his anger, his deep-seated sense of betrayal, he’d forgotten the fear and horror he’d glimpsed in her eyes that day in the forum. But gazing upon her now, he was flooded with the memories. The rage he’d wanted to hold on to began to ease from his body like the tide creeping back out to sea.