The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath)

by Nadia Aidan

  She’d not set out to harm him. He knew this. Her target had been Claudius, not him.

  Cyrus’ wound was minor, but it tortured her to know it could have been far worse, because had she faltered, had he faltered, she would have done more than harm him, she would have killed him.

  “I have spent so much of my life alone that I do not know how to care for another,” she said quietly.

  Cyrus felt the change in her voice, the change in her. The words she spoke were probably as much as she would ever reveal of her true purpose for being there, and he knew it cost her to do so now. “In all the years I have done this I have never faced such indecision, I have never faced such an insurmountable obstacle.” She sighed, and the sound was as harsh as gravel against his ears. “Cyrus, I beg of you not to stand in my way. I could never hurt you, but neither can I fail.”

  He closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers, and he imagined when he sighed, the sound of it was as tormented as hers had been.

  “You know that if it is within my power I will try to stop you.”

  “He is not a good man, Cyrus.” She spoke vehemently. “He cares nothing for anyone, least of all you. He has not earned such loyalty, and he certainly does not deserve your life.”

  Every word she said, he knew to be true. Claudius was not a cruel dominus, but he was greedy, selfish. His greatest concern had always been that of earning a profit, shadowed only by his lust for women. And then there were the rumors Cyrus had heard of what he did to his enemies, to their children…

  No matter what was whispered of Claudius and what he did, Cyrus had never known him not to keep his word, and Cyrus had made him a promise. He’d lost so much these years, he refused to lose his honor as well. He was plagued by guilt that he still had not told Aurora of his past with Sorina. The right moment had yet to present itself, but that did not excuse his cowardice. He was a man of honor. While that honor was already tarnished, he would not see it further tainted, because he was not a man of his word.

  If he could no longer keep his word, then he was not the man he once was. And if he was not the man he once was, then he did not wish to live the life of the man he’d become—one whose word could not be trusted.

  “I know,” he said finally. “But I made a promise, and I shall remain true to it.”

  He opened his eyes, only to close them again as he brushed his lips to hers.

  The myriad of emotions, of feelings he felt for Aurora, whose heartbeat now joined his, he could not even begin to put into words.

  It killed him to know they were destined to destroy one another. They were at cross purposes, and neither was prepared to give.

  He kissed her more deeply, his tongue twining with hers, as if by doing so he could lock her to him forever. She moaned against his lips, yielding beneath the pressure of his mouth, the strength of his body.

  He knew she felt it too, this desperation to tattoo himself upon her, so that whoever survived this battle between them, they would take a piece of the other with them.

  Cyrus could not find the strength to separate their lips until they were forced to take in air. Panting against one another, he trailed his fingers along her cheek.

  “There is not one day that I regret having met you,” he remarked in response to her earlier words. “Not one,” he said his voice firm. No matter that she’d injured him, that this would end in one of their deaths, maybe even both, he did not regret having met her because he would never have known what it was like to love another in the most intimate way possible had he not.

  She smiled, though it was bittersweet. “There is not one day that I regret having met you either,” she whispered.

  She’d barely spoken the words before he joined their lips again in a kiss that went on longer than before. They remained there in the small alcove within each arms long after supper had passed.

  Cyrus knew this would be one of their last moments together, and he savored it knowing it would have to sustain him for a lifetime, or for however long he had left to live.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ludi Victoriae Caesaris.

  The annual gladiatorial games to honor the esteemed goddess of victory—the goddess of the arena—alongside the first emperor of Rome, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus.

  The games had begun with a festive parade that boasted the melodious sounds of drummers and trumpeters, and the alluring sensual dances of young women whose hips swayed to the pulsing rhythm. Exotic beasts from across The Empire followed the dancers, and they were fawned over by the adoring crowds, who stared at them from the other side of elaborate, gilded cages. The gladiators were presented last, their oiled skin gleaming beneath the sun.

  Soon after the parade ended, the games began before a crowd of several thousand. The arena was packed with people draped in wreaths of red roses and yellow hyacinths, the colors of the games.

  The thundering roar of the mob was almost deafening as they cheered wildly according to the whims of their favor. As Aurora waited below the arena, she silenced the brutal, bloodthirsty sounds that accompanied such an event.

  The sun had already begun slipping from the sky, the horizon flickering golden, then bronze. It was nearing dusk, and she was soon escorted by the guards to the metal gate leading into the arena.

  Aurora’s name was announced first, followed by the harsh blare of trumpets. Soon the gate opened and she stepped into the arena, her sandaled feet kicking up sand, sinking into puddles of blood.

  She stood within the center of the open space, the din of the throng of people around her, bursting in her ears.

  Aurora heard all those who cheered, who chanted her name.

  She heard all those who didn’t, for they’d not forgotten her last time in this very arena.

  The gate on the other side opened, and Aurora held her breath, then released it.

  Her heart quickened, then quieted.

  As she awaited her opponent, she experienced a moment’s fear, but it soon disappeared. As quickly as it had stolen over her, it vanished.

  She wished she could have said she’d taken hold of her inner demons and mastered them, but Aurora doubted she would ever completely bury them, nor did she truly want to.

  Her demons had driven her to this moment, to this place, and she could not change any of the past that had brought her there, just as she would never regret finding herself within this space, because it was another moment within her life.

  That one word rang out in her mind.

  Regret.

  Her gaze found Cyrus in the midst of the crowd, standing along the edge, where the trainers could often be found.

  She would never regret having met him, and when his eyes flashed with confidence, with reassurance, she believed his words that he did not regret having met her either.

  He’d forgiven her, despite what she’d done, despite her betrayal. He’d forgiven her, and then he’d healed her. She had never known a man such as Cyrus, and she knew that she never would again.

  It was Cyrus, the strength in his eyes, the faith shimmering in his gaze. It was Cyrus who helped her quiet her demons, as only he seemed to have the power to do.

  When her opponent stepped into the arena—another gladiatrix from the kingdom of Dacia—Aurora was as she had once been.

  She was the mistress of the arena, the champion of Capena. Just as the sun disappeared completely from the sky, Aurora raised her hand and was as she’d once been.

  Triumphant.

  * * * *

  On this day, the House of Norbanus had been victorious. And so they celebrated as they’d fought—wildly, fiercely—and well into the night.

  Aurora enjoyed the praise of the other gladiators, the praise of Claudius who indulged in wine and revelry until he could barely hold himself up. Two guards eventually led him from the triclinieum. Even Cornelia seemed to be in good spirits, as she flirted shamelessly with the fighters and celebrated with them until she passed out on one of the couches. Aurora was grateful Corneli
a did not return to her chambers because she did not wish to take more lives than were necessary—more lives than she’d already taken.

  Aurora left the dining hall then.

  It was still quite early. Many guards still roamed about, although most stumbled and swayed from all the wine. Only when the entire house was quiet, the guards passed out and slumbering, would Aurora make her way to Claudius’ chambers. But there was still one last thing she needed to do first.

  Holding two goblets of wine, she sauntered down stone steps into the quarters beneath the villa, strolling through the shadowed corridors, until she stood before a single door.

  Thrice, she struck the door with the toe of her sandal until it opened.

  “Since you refuse to partake of the festivities, I thought I would bring the festivities to you.”

  She stepped inside Cyrus’ room, and he closed the door behind her. When he faced her, she held out one goblet of wine, but he would not take it as he shook his head.

  “You know I do not imbibe spirits.”

  “Not even on this night to celebrate what you made possible?”

  She sighed when he still refused, setting his cup down beside his pallet.

  Aurora shrugged. “Well I shall celebrate for the both of us then,” she said taking a deep gulp from her cup before placing it beside his on the ground.

  Upon entering his chambers, she’d noticed his face was drawn, his eyes shadowed, so she was happy to see that a small smile now tugged at the corners of his mouth, even if it was fleeting.

  Her smile fell from her lips when she looked into his troubled eyes, and with a sigh she sat down on Cyrus’ pallet, her gaze roaming his face.

  “I once unburdened my soul to you, in this very room. I am here, if you wish to do the same.”

  Somehow Aurora’s words found their way past his defenses. The woman herself had seemingly torn down every single wall he’d erected around himself—his heart—his soul. “It is selfish of me to burden you with my troubles on the very day this entire house celebrates a victory you have well earned.”

  “A victory that was made so by you. A victory that if you cannot share with me, is truly no victory at all.

  “Come,” she whispered, her arms outstretched, beckoning him to her.

  Cyrus could not resist her, nor did he wish to, and he found himself beside her with his arms around her and her head resting atop his chest.

  For a long while no words were spoken as they held one another in silence. When he thought he’d gathered up enough courage to speak, he tensed, the words lodging inside him.

  “What is it, Cyrus?” she asked quietly, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

  A weary sigh tore out of him, and he closed his eyes, resting the back of his head against the wall.

  “I hesitate because it is not fair to you that I would speak of another woman on a day that belongs to you, and while I hold you in my arms.”

  She stilled against him, but the disquiet he felt coursing through her body was absent from her gentle voice when she said, “This other woman, does she fill your thoughts often?”

  “Not as often as you, but she is there, too.”

  He tightened his arms around her when she started to pull away, and he opened his eyes then, to lose himself within hers.

  “You mistake my meaning, because I did not do well in choosing my words.” He almost lost his fortitude until he remembered Aurora had bravely bared her soul to him. He considered himself a man of honor, and such a man would also possess courage, but he still reached for the cup of wine she’d brought with her, and drained it in a single gulp.

  “I wed Sorina so there would be peace between our two tribes,” he said finally, as the wine pooled warmly in his belly. “I was the second son to my father, and by custom, my brother, Orthon, should have wed Sorina.”

  “So why did he not?” Aurora asked when he fell silent.

  “Because he was camped along the banks of the Mesta River fighting the Romans.” Cyrus frowned, remembering the argument he’d had with his brother before Orthon had departed to battle. “Had he done his duty before going off to war none of this would have happened. All of this could have been avoided.

  “Sorina was with child when he left, but she did not know this until Orthon was long gone, and had her father discovered her condition, the matter would have incited a war between our two tribes in defense of her honor.”

  “So she was wed to you, instead, to protect her honor and to secure peace.”

  He nodded. “But when Orthon returned a year later, he was furious. He refused to see reason, he refused to accept that wedding Sorina had not been my choice, but my duty. For two years he was inconsolable and when our father died, there was no longer a reason for him to restrain himself.”

  Cyrus did not realize he’d tensed beneath her, nor that embittered anger now poured off of him as he remembered what his brother had done on the heels of their father’s death. Cyrus was unaware that his eyes now glittered with black rage until Aurora caressed his cheek with gentle fingers, instantly quieting the restless storm in his gaze.

  “Within days of our father’s death, Orthon challenged me for Sorina. I tried to talk him out of it, but he would not listen, because he felt he had no other choice. Unlike the Romans, my people do not take wives and husbands and then discard them later. To wed Sorina, only to divorce her, would have been an insult to her, it would have shamed her. The only way for Orthon to have her justly was to challenge me and win. But he did not win. I defeated him before our entire tribe, and refused to kill him when he begged for an honorable death.

  “Orthon lost everything—Sorina, his position as our sovereign, his honor. He felt he had nothing left to lose, so he became desperate.”

  “It was your brother who betrayed you, who sold you to the Romans.” she said quietly, and Cyrus almost did not finish when he heard the tears within her voice. “I know he wished me dead,” Cyrus managed to get out, though his throat burned just to say the words, to know his beloved brother had longed for his death. “But he did not believe his soul would ever find peace in the afterlife if he murdered his own brother. So yes, he sold me, and on this very day now four years ago is when I arrived here within Claudius’ home.”

  The expression on her face told him she understood. That while others celebrated their victories in the arena, on this day he was reminded of his brother’s betrayal, the brother he’d loved dearly, the brother he’d worshipped since he’d been a boy. While others celebrated, Cyrus was reminded of the life he’d once had, the life he’d lost. Cyrus did not celebrate on this day, he never did. Instead, he mourned this day.

  “You loved him very much, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” But no longer. Such betrayal killed one’s love.

  “And Sorina? Did you love her as well?”

  Sorina’s face flickered before his eyes, then vanished as quickly as it had come.

  “No.” Not at all, and that was why he felt such guilt. “Sorina was a sweet woman, a kind woman. She loved my brother, but she also hated him for leaving her. She tried to be a good wife, but I would not let her.” Cyrus closed his eyes, blowing out a deep breath. “I wronged her terribly. I never touched her. I treated her as one would a friend, and not a wife.”

  “Because you did not love her. You did what was asked of you, but that did not mean your feelings would ever change. You cannot fault yourself for that.”

  But he did, because she’d never deserved his coldness. She’d been as much a victim as he.

  “What of the child she carried? What happened to her child?”

  Cyrus’ gut knotted with Aurora’s question. That was the worst of it all, that was why his guilt remained his steady companion.

  “She lost the babe soon after we were wed, but she longed for another. Yet, she was the only one who wished for a child.” He dragged his hand across his face and would have closed his eyes, but Aurora would not let him shut her out. She refused to let him retreat a
s she twined her fingers with his and held them tight. “When I said I never touched her that was not a lie. Many nights it would torture me to listen to her cries as she pretended to sleep, and I pretended as well. It pained her to know I did not desire her, that I did not wish to give her a child. But I could not bring myself to do it. Sorina was my brother’s lover, not mine, and I could not seem to forget that she belonged to another whenever I looked at her.

  “What I did was selfish. Sorina was blameless, but I treated her with coldness.”

  Aurora must have noticed the change in his voice because her hand clenched tighter within his.

  “When you have your freedom, will you return to her?”

  Cyrus longed to lie to her, to tell her what she wished to hear, but he would not do that to her. Aurora deserved the truth, even if it hurt her, even if it killed him to say the words.

  “My honor demands that I see to the obligations I left behind.”

  Aurora had never known love so she was not certain if this searing pain inside her chest was her heart breaking, but she imagined that it was. She had always suspected there was more to Cyrus’ story of the life he’d left behind, but she’d not wished to pry, for she still harbored many secrets of her past life as well.

  “A man does not abandon his duty, Aurora, nor the promises he once made,” he said, his eyes begging for her to understand. “What would you think of me if I did not at least return to see how she fared? I imagine she has moved on to another given our arrangement and all the time which has passed, but what if I am wrong? What if she is now poor and starving? What man would I be to go about my life as if I’d never made a promise to see to her welfare?”

  Aurora could not answer him, because she could not speak. Her mind told her a man did not do such a thing—he did not abandon his duties.

  Her heart, however, told another story entirely. It did not matter that after this night she would never see him again. The heart was a curious thing. It was foolish and fickle, and wholly irrational.