I charged out onto the balcony of my bedchamber. She wasn’t at the banister where I’d found her so many times before, gazing out at the city.
“Fuck,” I hissed, turning back toward the room.
“I’m here.”
Her voice was soft and sad. She sat in the far corner of my balcony, looking out through the decorative pillars of the banister.
At first, I worried that she was in the state I’d found her in that first night I met her in the temple in Valerius’s home—distraught andhurting herself. There was no sign of her magic or a blade. No smell of her blood. But there was evidence of tears on her cheeks.
There was no oil lamp or torch on the balcony, but the moonlight illuminated the silvery trail of tears. My heart ached at the sight. I should probably go away and give her privacy, leave her alone, but I couldn’t help but walk closer. I couldn’t leave her in her sorrow if I tried.
Slowly, I lowered myself and sat with my back against the banister, facing her. She sat with her legs outstretched, ankles crossed, her hands cupped in her lap, her back against the wall, head tilted as she gazed up at the half-moon.
I didn’t say anything or ask her if she was all right. It was obvious that she wasn’t. I simply wanted to be near her, in case there was something I could do or say to give her comfort. I understood that she wouldn’t welcome any kind of physical affection, even though I longed to wrap her in my arms and assure her it would be all right. That she was going to survive this hell she’d been imprisoned in, that she would live a better life soon outside of these walls.
But I simply sat in silence and absorbed the grief radiating from her. After some time, she sniffed and said, “I was thinking of my sisters.”
I waited, but she didn’t go on. So I nudged gently, “How many sisters do you have?”
“Ihadthree. The night our village was attacked by Roman soldiers in half-skin, two were also captured and one ran away. I have no idea if they’re dead or alive.”
I didn’t question this attack. Under Igniculus’s rule, there were many soldiers who gave in to what we called dragon madness. It was a sort of frenzy of the beast when they were in half-skin. Being in that halfway state between man and beast was dangerous. It was a confusing frame of mind, both vying for rule, and oftentimes, dragonsin half-skin would revel in their beastly nature—desiring flesh and blood, sex and battle. So they’d find the nearest village and take their aggression out on innocent people.
“Did you know”—Lela swiped at the tears with a hand as if annoyed she’d cried—“the night I was attacked was my wedding night?”
My entire being froze at her words, at the horror she endured on a night meant for complete joy and celebration. A new beginning. Nausea curdled in my belly.
“Your groom?” I asked, though I already knew.
“Killed right in front of me. By Quintus.” She hissed his name in disgust. “Before he dragged me from my village back to Rome and sold me to Valerius in exchange for his seat in the senate.”
“I’d always wondered how he’d gotten into the senate.”
“You were a soldier then.” She finally turned her emotion-filled gaze to me. “Why would you wonder about Quintus?”
“My grandfather, Gaius Tiberius, is one of the elder senators. I’ve always been in tune with what’s happening here in the capital city, even while at war. Our family is descended from those who formed the republic of Rome. I suppose that was why the people thought to rally behind me as tribune.”
“Republic?” Disdain dripped from her voice. “This is not a republic. Your emperor rules as a dictator. You can stop fooling yourself.”
“You’re right,” I agreed easily. “It was once a republic. The senate is all the people have now. But we could make it a republic again. That is why we plan to kill Caesar.”
She stared at me intently. “You’ll likely die in your efforts to do so.”
“I know.”
She paused, staring at me, seeming to consider my easy acceptance of death. It wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to die, nor could I live with myself in this Rome ruled by Igniculus.
“Why do you want to kill him?” she asked.
“You’ve asked me this before.”
“Tell me again.”
“He is immoral and corrupt. He is a tyrant who thinks only of his own gain and ruling with brutality. He isn’t fit to rule Rome. He isn’t fit to rule anyone.”
Her gaze remained fixed, the sorrow fading to an expression of determination.
“That’s not the reason you joined your friend Julian. It’s always personal that sparks this kind of fire. What did he do to you?”
