Page 27 of Firebird
“Three years.”
“Dominus bought him from the auction?” I stopped in front of him.
Ruskus arched a brow. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Am I not supposed to?”
“It depends why you’re asking. What are you after?”
He stared at me with a touch of accusation, and it finally hit me. His wariness of me, as well as Kara’s, wasn’t because they simply didn’t like me or that they were annoyed with another mouth to feed in their home. They were protecting their master.
“Because this is my home now,” I answered. “I’d like to know about those who live in it.”
He continued to stare; the scar that bisected his top lip grew tight as he pressed his lips together. When I remained still under his scrutiny, he finally answered.
“Ivo was the slave of another Roman, one of the consuls.”
“The consul of the Roman senate?”
A stiff nod. “Valerius is his name.” He paused, narrowing his eyes before continuing. “Ivo stepped between his master and another slave. A woman. He was trying to… protect her from Valerius.”
I swallowed hard. No need to explain what horror of a scene that must have been.
“What happened then?”
“Valerius had Ivo beaten near to death for interfering. But servants talk.” He shrugged a shoulder, seeming uncomfortable. “Word came to our house what had happened. Dominus stepped in and paid a handsome sum. He needed a big stableman anyway, to handle his horses, he’d told Valerius.”
I stared, wide-eyed, trying to absorb what he’d just told me: essentially that Julian had saved a condemned slave from death.
“Enough talk. Get to your work. Dominus is waiting on his supper.”
I walked swiftly past him into the kitchen where Kara was alreadysetting food onto a tray. There was a large portion of everything—cuts of spiced pork, fresh bread, slices of fig and pear drizzled with honey, and a half round of sliced cheese. There was also a decanter of red wine set on the tray.
“He prefers to eat on his bedroom terrace. Take it quick before it gets cold.”
I didn’t hesitate since I’d already been scolded that morning for being late. Making my way through the center atrium and beside the fountain, I found my way back to his bedchamber with little difficulty this time.
He stood on his terrace, his hands clasped behind him as he gazed out at the city of Rome, torches and oil lamps beginning to burn bright in the homes as the sun set in a flourish of pink and gold.
“Your dinner, dominus,” I stated evenly, wanting to choke on the title I was forced to use with him.
He turned and walked toward the low chaise and pillows strewn on a carpet beneath an awning that jutted out on his terrace. I noted that it was on a dais so that he could still see the view of the city from a lounging position. Somehow, he gracefully lowered his large frame onto the chaise, half reclining and facing out.
I set the tray on the low table at the center of the cushions. A goblet half-full of wine already sat there. As I stood to leave, he said, “Sit.”
When I didn’t obey right away, he arched a brow with superiority. “Have you forgotten your bargain so soon?”
“My mind was preoccupied for most of the day,” I managed to reply evenly and without the irritation I felt.
I lowered myself and sat sideways on a pillow close to the low table opposite him. He’d already taken a slice of bread and folded it around a piece of pork, eating with unhurried but large bites.
“How is she?” he asked casually.
“Not well,” was my curt reply.
He showed no emotion whatsoever, and I had no interest in tethering to him with my gift to find out what he felt. Or to discover that he had no feelings at all.
“Have you eaten?” he asked as he reached for more meat.
