Page 41 of Firebird
I thought about how easily I’d connected with him. “I can, yes.”
His expression showed a glint of excitement. “Could you tether to someone powerful like the emperor?”
I couldn’t suppress my surprise. “Are you asking me to?”
He said nothing, firming his lips together, his jaw clenching.
“Why would you want me to use my gift on the emperor?”
He stared, a taut silence stretching heavily between us. This seemed to be one question he wasn’t going to answer.
“What kind of work keeps you away every day?” I asked, curious where he went and what he was doing.
“I’ve had to meet with my military tribunes. Among others.”
“For your next war campaign?” I asked, not disguising my disgust.
“I’m a legatus in the emperor’s armies. That is my job.”
I snorted indignantly. “And when will Rome have enough?”
He clamped his jaw again, not answering. Somehow, that made me braver.
“Will Rome never stop until the entire world bows at her feet? Enslaved and groveling before the mighty dragons?”
His eyes flared with golden fire, his dragon watching me. That reminded me of Stefanos. Was he hiding a dragon bastard because the boy was his? My stomach curdled at the thought. If Stefanos was hisson, where was the mother? What did he do with her? And why did he let the boy live?
That law enacted by Caesar when he took power rang around the world, all the way to Gaul and beyond. The law that demanded any dragon born of a lowborn must be executed at birth. That the Romans could be so callous wasn’t a surprise. It was Caesar’s way of keeping control, not allowing slaves or lowborn freed men or women to have the strength of the dragon. It kept him in power.
Not only that, but it was said that all lowborn dragons begotten before this law was enacted were sentenced to fight in the gladiator pits, a punishment for their birth. Apparently, the emperor had been smart enough to know that the people wouldn’t applaud and clap their hands in watching the deaths of some of their own, of women and children, but they would applaud them becoming warriors in the pit.
“I thought all surviving dragons were to be put to death or were sent to the gladiator pits in the far provinces. Even children.” Julian was defying his own uncle’s law. “Why are you hiding Stefanos in your household?”
He angled his head, arching a superior brow, seeming unsurprised that I’d figured out Stefanos was dragon-born. “Because he will be killed otherwise.”
“You could be executed for hiding a bastard dragon, couldn’t you?”
“I could,” he acknowledged coolly, sipping his wine as if he hadn’t just discovered that one of his slaves now knew his deadly secret.
A smart woman would’ve kept her mouth shut or made promises that I’d never tell for survival and self-preservation. But as I was always told by my grandmother, my mother, and my sisters, I was reckless. I’d rather walk into the fire than have it chase and burn me as I ran away. I blamed the witch who lived inside me.
“Why risk so much for Stefanos? Why him?” I asked.
He observed me for a moment, that cold, unreadable expressionhiding his emotions. I could tap into the tether, but right now I liked wondering as he watched me in that calculating way. Was he considering how to dispose of me once this conversation was over? And why wasn’t I afraid?
“Because it is not his fault he was born a bastard,” he finally answered evenly.
Such a simple, honest answer. One that contradicted the almighty ambition of the true Roman.
“When I held that small boy in my hands,” he continued, holding out his hand, palm upward, staring down as if he saw the newborn babe in his own arms, “he was so innocent. So pure.” He dropped his hand, meeting my gaze again. “I realize you see me as a monster, Malina. But I am not.” He glanced away, raising his goblet. “Not entirely anyway.”
Rather than want to run away, I wanted to hear more. I wanted him to keep talking and to listen to his low, rich baritone telling me words he should never utter if he were a true, loyal patrician to Emperor Igniculus.
I still couldn’t ask him whether Stefanos was his, because I was afraid of his answer. Of how it would make me feel if he only saved Stefanos because he was his own blood or if he actually had enough of a heart to save him regardless.
A trembling had taken root deep inside my core. I wasn’t sure what caused it. Whether it was his honesty about Stefanos, that he wasn’t a Roman who followed the orders of his emperor, or that this thread of humanity strengthened the tether between us.
“That man in the forum.” I changed the subject. “He is one of your tribunes?”
