No one moved, too shocked to do anything, as Euryale ordered, “Now kill all of the guards.”
While he marched down the steps, the other guardsmen drew their swords to fight him.
Euryale then sliced the shoulder of the villager, who was still on his knees. He flinched but looked up at her with awe and fear. She licked his blood from her finger, ensnaring him instantly.
“You no longer fear them. Now you must kill those who enslaved and used you and your women. Kill them now.”
The brawny villager picked up the whip, walked down the dais, and strangled one of the guards.
A short battle ensued where the villagers rose up with their fellow man, and alongside the head guard, they killed all of those who’d kept them shackled and enslaved.
When all was done and there was nothing more than a pile of dead enemies, Euryale ordered the final guard to kill himself. He did instantly, slitting his own throat, while the village women watched. Euryale then walked to the edge of the stone dais.
“You.” She pointed to the elder with kind but weary eyes. “You will be the new leader of this village. But if you or any man here forgets the pain you’ve endured and decides to become a mighty king like him”—she pointed to the glass-eyed dead man—“then I will return. And I will punish you like I’ve punished him.”
In silence, she descended the steps and walked through the sea of villagers, the men bowing their heads in reverence and the women kneeling at her feet as she passed.
Then one young girl with a brutal scar across her face—one done by a whip—tugged on Euryale’s gown. “Please don’t go. Please stay with us.”
She cupped the girl’s sweet, scarred face and said, “I cannot, dear one. I must continue on my quest.”
“What is your quest?” she asked.
“To stop those who do evil and punish them.” She patted the girl’s cheek, cherishing her adoring expression. “So that girls like you have a chance at happiness and a life of their own.”
Then she walked on into the forest, seeking the next village.
As the power of Minerva diminished, hiding away inside her until she needed it again, Euryale exhaled a heavy breath, justice and joy filling her up inside. And she smiled.
ILELA
Masculine laughter rumbled up to the domed ceiling of the great hall. The lilting flute music grated my nerves, but I remained still and silent as always in the corner, waiting to be summoned by my master, Consul Valerius.
Sometimes I thought—hoped—he might forget about my quiet presence at these revelries. But he never did. He liked to flaunt all of his pretty possessions.
For the moment, the new slave girl Roza danced and twirled, her sheer green skirt lifting to reveal her naked body beneath. Her breasts were bare, painted with green and gold paint in the pattern of dragon scales.
Valerius’s three guests—senators of Rome—were enraptured by Roza’s display. All but one whose gaze moved about the room with a slow, calculating sweep.
I’d never seen him before. He was younger than the other senators Valerius usually invited into his home and far more attractive. His black, wavy hair was short as most Roman nobles. He wore a close-cropped beard that didn’t hide the sharp-cut edges of his jaw and chin. His blue toga denoted him of the Sapphirus house—one of the higher-ranking dragon houses. Higher than Valerius. No wonder he’d hired the more expensive musicians and had prepared such an extravagant feast.
I’d spent several minutes observing my master’s new guest, who didn’t seem to quite fit in with the others. Distracted by his unusual demeanor, I hadn’t noticed him noticing me, his arresting blue eyes fixed and intense.
I immediately averted my gaze to the floor, disliking the skitter of my pulse. Rarely did anything make my heart race anymore. I’d managed to become numb to everything—easily able to let my mind drift to a safer place when my body was being used.
“Valerius,” called the stranger. “I did not know you took a wife.”
Quintus laughed, chilling my blood to ice. The first time I heard that laugh was when I screamed and cried for mercy the night he and other Romans in half-skin form attacked our village—my wedding night. That laugh had burned into my bones and my very soul as he killed my beloved Jardani. Quintus was the one who’d sold me to Valerius. Not for money, but for a high seat in the senate.
“I don’t have a wife. Lela is my favored slave,” Valerius answered the stranger before calling louder, “Lela! Come forward.”
I stepped toward the lounging, feasting demons in human form, ready to play my part as his muzzled pet. Valerius waved his hand for Roza to move to the side. She sauntered to the left and continued dancing, her concerned gaze catching mine as she swept past me.
Valerius lounged on his side on the highest cushioned chaise. His settee faced the center of the atrium that opened up to the dome’s oculus, which gave his guests a view of the starry night. Corinthian columns encircled the intimate salon. Green velvet chaise sofas and golden silk cushions filled the intimate space. It was a pile of luxury for Valerius’s most important guests.
Leto, his closest ally in the senate, stretched out on his side to Valerius’s left, filling his gullet as usual. Quintus lounged on the floor of cushions to his right. And the new, handsome stranger sat up on the rug beneath, his back propped against one of the pillars that enclosed the atrium. He sat with them, but also somehow seemed apart.
“What is that thing on her neck and mouth?” asked the dark-haired stranger, his expression grim and tight.
