Appius knew that I’d dined at Valerius’s home two nights ago. Along with the others, they’d been waiting for any information that might help our cause.
“A little,” I replied in a low voice.
His lips thinned and he nodded, turning to greet the next guests who entered.
I took a goblet of wine from a passing servant and ambled into the triclinium, where his feasting hall had been turned into a magnificent display of finery. He’d brought in more chaise lounges and cushions surrounding silver platters of delicacies.
Some were already seated and enjoying the provisions, but many senators stood around in smaller groups, certainly engaging in politics as usual. Publius, one of the quaestors in charge of the treasury, wandered from group to group introducing his daughter, who was wearing a silky violet stola. Likely looking for a good match among the politicians. These parties served many purposes. For me, it was all about information.
My grandfather, Gaius Sapphirus Tiberius, stood by himself in acorner surveying the party, his midnight blue toga perfectly draped over his tall, stately frame. I caught his gaze then sauntered toward him.
I passed and nodded greetings to one group of senators.
“But how can so many runaway slaves be kept hidden in the city?” asked one whose name I forgot.
“Perhaps they’re not in the city. Someone could be smuggling them out,” answered another who I’d never formally met.
I’d only attended meetings in the senate house a few times since I’d become tribune. The only regulations we debated were about tax increases to the outer provinces or property ownership to install new aqueducts for the plebs.
So far, I hadn’t been required to veto any new laws. Whenever it came time, senators would petition me for certain. They all knew I had my grandfather’s ear. And he had the ears and loyalty of everyone else.
For an elder, Grandfather was still formidable, his dragon a giant, ferocious beast. When it came time to fight, he would kill many. There would be no way for our coup to be successful without all of us getting bloody.
“Salve, Grandfather.”
“Good to see you, Trajan.”
The tightness around his eyes softened.
“Were you concerned for me?”
“Always.”
He continued watching the room, his own goblet of wine untouched. He only held it to appear social. Grandfather was a serious man, always watching and calculating. He would’ve made a grand emperor. He was just, fair, and highly intelligent. But he was also of the Sapphirus line, and there had only ever been a red or black dragon in the highest power of Rome—direct descendants of Romulus and Remus themselves.
The Media Nocte and Ignis—black and red—houses of dragon held the most power in the hierarchy of patricians. Our house, the Sapphirus dragons, were third when it came to power, influence, and prestige. The Amethystus and Chrysocolla—purple and green dragons—were beneath Sapphirus, but not as low as Griseo—the gray dragons. The other houses all had lineage to the gods, direct descendants of the divine. But the Griseo had no known connection or direct ancestry. Though still noble, they were considered the lowest caste.
Then we had the Vicus—the white dragon—an anomaly no one could explain. They were always female, certainly attributes to goddesses of the heavens, and served in the temples as priestesses.
History told us there was once the line of Chrysos—the golden dragons—descended from the king of gods, Jupiter himself. They had extraordinary firepower, and were feared by the Houses of Ignis and Media Nocte, who wanted to knock the Chrysos from the top of the hierarchy where they’d climbed. So they hunted and killed them to extinction.
“Did you think I would try to murder Valerius at his small house party?” I asked Grandfather, taking a sip of my wine.
“I would’ve heard if you had by now,” he said. “But there are other whispers about.”
“Oh?” I surveyed the room, noting that Fausta had just entered the gathering.
“Caesar is employing his own spies to determine who else was in league with Marcus and Phillius.”
These two senators had been our allies and were caught returning to the city after our last covert meeting at Grandfather’s house in Vulsinii. Their brutal and public execution was Caesar’s warning of what he’d do to any other traitors he discovered. It was a stake to the heart every time I saw their decaying heads on the Wall of Traitors, as I did every time I stepped into the forum.
“Who has he employed?” I snapped, keeping my voice low.
The only nobles close to us were an elderly trio of senators who only bothered coming to parties for the wine and food. They weren’t listening to us.
“They wouldn’t be very good spies if I knew, now would they?” he answered.
“You know everything, Grandfather.”
