“Now.”
My dragon stirred. But rather than growl and hiss as he wakened, he spread a calm through my body and mind. My dragon was a hunter, and he knew when we were being hunted. He also kept me cool and poised when danger was near.
“Let us go then,” I said, walking ahead of them in the direction of the emperor’s palace.
Ignoring the stares of those we passed, I kept my chin up, my expression blank. It wasn’t always bad news when the emperor summoned you. Julian was summoned all of the time on important business. Though, he was Caesar’s nephew. I wasn’t.
Wishing I had some idea of what I was walking into, I pretended I wasn’t guilty of anything at all. Even so, fear tried to snake its way in, flashing images of my grandfather beheaded on the emperor’s palace floor… or Lela. The thought of her dead in a pool of her own blood at Caesar’s feet spiked a cold chill through my veins.
No. It couldn’t be.
I let my dragon senses take hold, needing the advantage to guide me in this encounter. But I kept my claws and fangs back. Too much of the dragon showing as I entered the emperor’s palace would be seen as aggression toward Caesar. I steeled myself for whatever I’d been summoned for and whatever I would find as we walked onto the white cobblestone drive closer to his home.
The praetorians followed behind me as I marched up the marble steps and past two other guards at the door. From here, I could hear a cry of someone in pain then the sharp crack of a whip. Another cry.
I didn’t have to ask or wait for the praetorians to lead me toward Caesar. The sounds were coming from his open courtyard, where he held his grand feasts and debauched orgies.
There were male voices conversing casually in between the sounds of the whip hitting its target. Whoever it was. Preparing for the worst,I stepped out into the courtyard. Noting there were several praetorians stationed in each corner—Caesar was paranoid and well guarded at all times since Julian’s betrayal and escape—I walked toward the two men standing at the center in front of the giant statue where their victim was chained. I couldn’t see who it was from this angle.
The statue was grotesque—a giant sculpture of a dragon in half-skin and the likeness of Caesar with two dragon females in half-skin at his feet, looking up adoringly as he curled both hands around one of their horns, forcing them to worship him. It was a flagrant message to all of those who came here. That Emperor Igniculus was all-powerful, worthy of godlike worship.
The man himself stood not far from it, a goblet of wine in one hand and the whip in the other. His chest bare and spattered with blood, he wore only a leather skirt, displaying his formidable size and muscular frame.
Next to him, General Drussus was saying something in his deep, gravelly voice, arms crossed. He was still wearing his armor for battle. He must’ve recently arrived from Thrace.
They noticed me as I stalked directly toward them, trying not to be overly interested in who the emperor was torturing for entertainment. I glanced at the naked man with his back to the sculpture of Igniculus, his arms spread out and bound to the female dragon horns.
I didn’t recognize him, thank the gods. There was so much blood covering his body, sliced open from dozens of cuts of the whip. One of his eye sockets was empty and bleeding.
Turning my attention to the emperor, I stopped and saluted, my hand to my heart, and bowed my head. “Caesar.” I stood at attention. “You requested to see me.”
His yellow eyes were slit like a serpent’s, his broad physique similar to that of Drussus at his side. I was built leaner than both of them,but just as tall. And just as deadly when it came to combat. I hoped I wasn’t about to be tested, but I was ready all the same.
“Ever the soldier, aren’t you, Trajan?” Caesar’s smile seemed genuine. “That’s good to see. I don’t want those sycophants in the senate house making you a weakling.”
Returning his smile, I said amiably, “Never, Caesar. Once a soldier, always a soldier.”
“Hear, hear,” he crooned, taking a sip of his goblet, the whip dangling in his other hand.
“Welcome back, Legatus,” I greeted Drussus, knowing he was recently returned from Thrace. “I hear congratulations are in order on your triumph in Thrace.”
“Thank you, Tribune Tiberius.” General Drussus was a no-nonsense, formal specimen. “They are. Though there are still more of these barbarians out there to kill.”
His gaze flicked toward the statue. Or rather, to the man near death dangling from it. So did mine, finally noticing the pile of mutilated bodies behind the statue—other men who’d been whipped to death and apparently slit open as well. A bloody gladius dripped on the serving table next to the tray of wine and sliced peaches.
“I wouldn’t be concerned,” Caesar told him. “Without their king, they’ll scurry to the hills and dung holes they came from.”
So they already killed the Visigoth king. My gut clenched. He was probably at the bottom of that pile. I suppose Julian and I had been wrong about him after all, and what we thought he was. For a dragon wouldn’t allow himself to be killed without a terrific fight.
I waited patiently for the emperor to tell me why I was here, willing my mind to rest, for my pulse to remain slow and steady. Like slipping through the deep waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea as my dragon, I let my current environment wash over me and not touch my psyche.
“I heard something about you,” Caesar finally said, watching meas he took another sip from his goblet then set it on the tray and stepped in front of the statue.
“What was that, Caesar?” I asked casually.
Crack.
His whip sliced hard and fast, his victim stiffening with a shout. His one eye—brown and wide—rolled toward the heavens.
