The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath)

by Nadia Aidan

  “Swear to me, on your life.”

  “I thought that belonged to your sister,” Aurora uttered numbly.

  Artemisia’s smile was slight. “She has her own.”

  Aurora was still reeling from the revelation that Artemisia wore the talisman, not as a trinket from her sister, but in her own right. It was an amulet, a winged serpent forged out of bronze, to be worn until an acolyte became a Keeper. It was to be worn until she was deemed worthy of the mark upon her body, the mark of The Order.

  Aurora stared at Artemisia who gazed back at her expectantly. She did not have to swear anything to Artemisia who was bound by her service to The Order to help Aurora. Regardless of what Aurora said, and Artemisia’s wishes, the girl was honor bound to help her as an acolyte within The Order.

  Yet, Artemisia would help Aurora escape, not only because Aurora was a Keeper of the Oath, but because she was also her friend.

  Aurora’s own honor, her compassion for this girl, demanded she do the same.

  Aurora nodded. “I swear on my life, we shall find Maia—together.”

  * * * *

  As promised, Claudius had Cyrus lashed for his defiance. Not since his early days of coming to the ludus had Cyrus felt the sting of the whip against his back.

  Every strike had been agony, every bite of the leather hide against his skin caused a searing, burning fire to scorch across his flesh.

  Claudius had stood there, seemingly delighted by Cyrus’ humiliation. “You failed me, Cyrus,” Claudius had said. “And this is your punishment for failing me. You had but one task—to kill Aurora. And you could not even do that.”

  Claudius had spat out the words, as if he’d forgotten the many other times Cyrus had risked his life for him. Claudius had stared at him with such disdain, as if he could not recall Cyrus’ years of service to his master and this house.

  Claudius did not deserve his loyalty, but he would have it—though not to honor this house or its master. Claudius still had his loyalty only because it honored Cyrus. He’d promised Claudius he’d rout out the assassin and kill him, but Cyrus had not. Instead he’d let her live. His freedom had hinged on the fulfillment of his word, and Cyrus had not lived up to it. Whatever his fate, he accepted it, and he would face it with honor for not doing what he’d promised.

  But none of what he’d seemingly lost mattered to Cyrus.

  Not the pain, not the humiliation of being stripped of his title as doctoris, not the fate he now suffered—consigned to die within the arena, whether by outright execution, or the endless matches Claudius would force him to fight. Cyrus did not mourn the loss of his freedom, and that he would die a slave.

  None of it mattered because he did not mourn Aurora’s death on this day.

  When Claudius had demanded he enter the arena to dispatch of her, he’d been furious, although he’d been careful to keep his expression blank.

  His plan to sway the crowd had been a sound one. The mob reveled in the display of skill—one champion pitted against the other in a battle for the ages. Bloodthirsty, they were, but they longed more to see their favorite champions yet again, than to see their deaths.

  Together, with Aurora, they’d swayed the crowd, and at least for one more day she would live. The peace of that knowledge eased the pain of his body, and he closed his eyes already drifting into unconsciousness, but Cyrus found he could not sleep, not with the commotion ringing in his ears.

  Lycurgus had been kind to fill him with herbs to ease the pain of his raw and bloody back, but as Cyrus listened closely, he would swear he was not dreaming, that he was not imagining the sound of a battle raging from the other side of the door to the infirmary.

  The door burst open.

  His eyes snapped open, not knowing what he’d find, but he had certainly not expected to see Artemisia standing in the entryway.

  Artemisia?

  Her hazelnut eyes flashed with determination.

  A blade was clasped tight in her hand and given the blood, which poured in rivulets from the edge, he was of the impression she knew well how to use it.

  Artemisia?

  Sweet, good-natured Artemisia? In that moment, he could have mistaken her for Aurora. Especially when she took her sword to the chains that bound him, whacking at them violently until the links split apart, and he was free of the stone slab.

  “Come,” she said when she was done. “We must go quickly.”

  Cyrus rolled to his feet. “Go quickly, where?”

  “To free, Aurora,” she said impatiently, as if she wondered why else would he think her there with a bloody sword.

  He hesitated, not because he did not wish to help Aurora escape, but because he worried his accomplice was not quite up for the task.

  When she tossed him a sword which she’d taken from one of the soldiers, he relaxed, somewhat.

  In the time he’d known Artemisia, she’d proven herself to be honest and trustworthy, possessed of a kind and compassionate heart. He did not believe her capable of the savagery and violence one would need to get past the many soldiers who guarded Aurora, who guarded this villa.

  Cyrus was of that mind until he stepped from the infirmary and found the bodies of two guards crumpled at the door, their eyes wide with surprise.

  Maybe she was not as sweet and good-natured as he’d once thought. With her help, he dragged the bodies of the dead soldiers into the infirmary so they could not be so easily discovered.

  Despite his dismal day, Claudius had still been determined to take to wine and revelry, if only to dull his dark mood, and with his assassin securely imprisoned in the bowels of his home he felt safe in doing so. As it was, now that dusk had fallen on the house, many of its occupants had begun indulging in the wine, including several of the guards.

  Sounds of music floated around them as they weaved their way through the deserted villa, toward the steps that would lead into the quarters of the slaves, and with it into the prison.

  Just as Cyrus was about to set foot upon the stairway, Artemisia stopped. “The soldiers within these quarters have been kind to me, as I am certain many of them have been to you. I would not wish to end their lives if it is not necessary.”

  Cyrus nodded and turned to take up the lead once again, but he heard what she did not say. There was one who’d been especially kind to her—Petricles. And she did not wish to kill him, and she would not have Cyrus do so either.

  Cyrus would honor her wish—it was the least he could do for the one who’d risked her life to free him, who now risked her life to save Aurora.

  * * * *

  Upon her sworn oath that Aurora would help her find Maia, Artemisia had not revealed much before departing.

  She’d simply vowed to return shortly and then disappeared.

  Aurora had no idea when that would be, or even how Artemisia would make it so. Although, she had certainly not expected to see a soldier tumbling down the steps, his body rolling as if curled into a ball before coming to a stop at the bottom, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

  Several cries of pain rose up around her, followed by three loud thumps—the sound bodies made when they crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

  Aurora looked in the direction of the entryway as heavy, urgent footsteps struck each stone step. She’d expected Artemisia, so her eyes rounded when Cyrus’ large frame filled the archway, and he burst into the room.

  “Cyrus? What are y—”

  The jangling of keys stopped Aurora as she glanced over her shoulder at Artemisia.

  “There is not much time,” Artemisia stated, brandishing the key to unlock her cell door. “We have only knocked these guards out and at any moment they shall wake, or someone will discover the dead soldiers in the infirmary.”

  “Dead soldiers?” Aurora looked between Artemisia and Cyrus until he jerked his head at the young woman she’d come to know over the past months. Pride joined surprise in her eyes, followed by a wave of shame.

  Aurora had once underestimated this girl
, thought it impossible for Artemisia to be one among The Order, that she simply held on to the talisman of her sister, when it belonged to her in her own right.

  With the twist of the key in the lock, Aurora stepped from her cell and into Cyrus’ arms. A shudder raced through her at the warmth of his body seeping into her, the strength of his arms winding around her. He pulled her close, her name a whisper on his lips before he dipped his head in a kiss that was gentle, even as it overflowed with passion, though it was all too brief.

  They did not have much time and they were reminded of this by the conspicuous throat clearing of Artemisia from beside them. With reluctant, hesitant steps, she pulled herself free of Cyrus’s embrace and turned with Artemisia to leave.

  She soon froze, however, when she realized it was Artemisia who now walked with her toward the entryway, and only Artemisia.

  “Cyrus?”

  “I cannot leave, Aurora.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. “What do you mean you cannot leave? This is all you have ever wanted—to escape this life.”

  Cyrus shook his head, his expression pained. “I will not steal out of here like some thief in the night. You have your purpose, Aurora. You have a duty to whoever has called you to it, and I have mine. I will face the punishment deemed for me as I was always prepared to do.”

  “Damn you Cyrus and your foolish honor. You must come with us—”

  Aurora was interrupted by a barrage of noises coming from the narrow tunnel of the step way. She knew well the sounds of violence and death, of men being struck down by the sword.

  “We must go now, Aurora, we cannot wait for him if he wishes to stay.”

  Aurora was torn as she looked between them both.

  “Go, Aurora,” he urged, but she shook her head.

  “I—I cannot leave him,” she said to Artemisia. “You risked your life for me,” she said to him. “I cannot leave you to die here—”

  “Aurora!”

  Both Artemisia and Cyrus called her name, their voices panicked.

  She could not leave him.

  But neither could she stay.

  Aurora wavered, uncertain. She had but seconds to decide.

  She couldn’t.

  And when a flash of gold caught her eye—her gaze slamming into the last person she’d expected to see, the one person she should have feared, but had forgotten—Aurora knew she’d hesitated for too long.

  Aurora glimpsed the blood on the intruder’s blade and froze.

  She had no blade, but it was the three of them against one.

  Aurora’s eyes widened when Artemisia left her side, to stand by the intruder.

  “Artemisia, what are you doing—”

  “I told her to hurry, domina, but she would not listen. I am sorry.”

  Cornelia’s smile was disarming. “You did well. I assure you I know how stubborn she can be.”

  Cornelia turned slightly, her backless stola of shimmering gold slipping lower along her hip. A red-winged serpent stood out against the silken cream of alabaster skin. Aurora stood rigid as she stared at the mark, then stared at Cornelia, before her gaze finally touched on Artemisia.

  The both of them? All this time? And she had not known?

  Of course, she would not have. Such was the way of The Order. If they’d been instructed to aid her without revealing themselves, then they would see to it their duty was fulfilled in secrecy.

  So what had changed?

  “I can see you have many questions,” Cornelia said to her. “But we have little time.” She turned to Artemisia, her face stern. “I know you have affections for this Petricles, but I told you to kill these guards—all of them. If our plan is to succeed, none of them can be left alive—”

  Artemisia’s eyes rounded with fear. “But—”

  “I shall spare your Petricles,” Cornelia snapped. “But not many more. The both of you, with these tender feelings toward these men,” she chided as she glanced in Cyrus’ direction. “What has become of The Order? When I took the oath, men were for but one thing.”

  Aurora scowled. Cornelia was not so much older than Aurora that the year she’d taken the oath was much earlier than her own, but Aurora well understood Cornelia’s dismay.

  Permanent attachments to men were frowned upon and severely discouraged within The Order. Until recent times, they’d been forbidden altogether. The more who knew of The Order, the more dangerous it was for them all. A scorned lover, a divorced husband could so easily become a threat.

  As if giving voice to her thoughts, Cyrus shifted beside her, reminding her that at this very moment, it was he who posed the greatest threat to this mission.

  “Cyrus you must abandon this foolishness. You cannot remain behind—”

  As Aurora spoke, Cornelia closed the space between them. “You are wrong, Aurora. Cyrus shall remain behind, as he should.”

  “What?” Aurora’s eyes grew round.

  What foolishness was this—Cyrus remaining behind? He would surely die if he did so, and he had no cause to be a martyr. Aurora was about to say as much to Cornelia, but before she could, the woman brandished a knife within the palm of her hand. And before Aurora could stop her, she buried the blade into Cyrus’ side.

  “No!”

  Aurora lunged for Cornelia, but the woman still held the sword of one of the guards and she now pressed it to Aurora’s neck.

  “You know I will not kill you, but neither shall you stop me. If you love him then you will let me do this. If you wish for us all to survive this then you will trust me—one Keeper to another.”

  Aurora’s eyes flashed murderously, but Cornelia’s words pierced through the burning scarlet haze of rage coursing through her.

  From one Keeper to another.

  Cornelia was her sister in blood and oath—an oath born out of pain and sacrifice.

  Aurora wrenched her furious gaze from Cornelia to stoop down beside Cyrus who now clutched his side, his eyes darting between the both of them in confusion.

  Aurora’s face could not reassure him, nor could it provide the answers he sought, so she simply touched her palm to his cheek watching helplessly as Cornelia pulled out a vial and forced the contents down his throat.

  When he closed his eyes and slumped against her, she could no longer remain silent.

  “What did you give him?” she demanded.

  Cornelia was not cowed. “You know the ingredients well because you gave them to him on the eve before. I added a bit of nightshade and opium, however. It will help with the pain and clot his wound.” Cornelia’s eyes hardened then. “You have wasted enough time over him as it is. Go with Artemisia and do your duty, and I shall do mine.”

  “And what of him?” Aurora asked, standing to her feet. Before she left, she needed to know he would be safe, that he would be well.

  “Besides aiding you, my duty is also to see him safely from this house, and I shall do my duty.” A measure of compassion softened her features, which was so at odds to the steely determination in her eyes. “You can rest easy knowing he shall live, but it shall be up to him if you will ever see him again.”

  Aurora did not wish to be reminded of the truth, that Cyrus had obligations to another.

  She ignored the sympathy in Cornelia’s eyes.

  Aurora gave Cyrus’ still and lifeless form one last look as she turned away. She nodded to Cornelia. “Thank you.”

  The woman who’d she thought her enemy, who’d revealed herself so much more than a friend, smiled warmly.

  “Be well, Aurora and may the gods continue to smile upon you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aurora’s hand curled tighter around the hilt of the sword she’d taken from one of the fallen guards. She crept through the twisting corridors beneath the villa, making her way to the bathing chambers.

  Artemisia stood at her back.

  Turning the corner, Aurora was relieved to find the vestibule empty of soldiers, until she heard the distinct sound of footsteps drawin
g near.

  She froze—Artemisia with her.

  Aurora listened, her breathing shallow, trying to determine the direction from which the footsteps came.

  “Behind you,” she rasped to Artemisia at the same time two soldiers sauntered around the corner toward them.

  Recognition dawned on the guard’s faces and they barreled toward the two women, reaching for their weapons. The armor made their efforts slow, the tight space of the narrowed tunnels hampering the movements of the guards, while Aurora and Artemisia fought with ease as their smaller, unencumbered forms moved freely through the cramped quarters.

  Aurora plunged her sword deep into the belly of her attacker, the life within his eyes fading as the warmth of his blood coated her fist. She pulled her sword from his body, and he fell at her feet.

  She heard a thud from behind her. Artemisia stood over a soldier curled onto his side, her chest heaving.

  They exchanged a brief look then headed for the baths once more, but a lone figure stepping from the shadows into the flickering light of the lamps, brought them to an immediate halt.

  Petricles.

  Aurora pitied him.

  Unlike Cyrus, who’d suspected her of dual purposes early on, poor Petricles had no such ideas about Artemisia.

  Aurora noticed Artemisia stood frozen in place, her eyes brimming with alarm, along with a measure of guilt and regret.

  Petricles drew closer, his hand resting atop the hilt of his sword, but Aurora inserted herself between them and shook her head.

  “She will not kill you, and I have been instructed not to.” As she spoke, she crept toward him. “But do you want to wager your life on the chance I shall change my mind.”

  She stood close enough to Petricles that her last words came out as little more than a whisper, for his ears only.

  His eyes, wide and filled with surprise, danced between both women.

  Aurora knew the moment he’d made up his mind, because his hand curled around the butt of his sword.

  With a sigh, she lifted her own and struck him down with a single blow.