Page 52 of Firebird
“Keep going, Malina.” His words vibrated against my skin. “Tell me what the demons cannot see.”
The demons were Romans. The demons were him.
I listened to the Dacian singer until she’d repeated the lines again. I leaned back, pressing more fully to his chest. He stiffened and kept still as I continued on.
“For we have hearts greater than they know, that fire cannot burn, that spilled blood cannot show.”The Dacian’s voice rose with heavy emotion, and I translated the last.“No chains or pain will ever hold us here. If we ever hold the sword, it is us they will fear.”
The crowd erupted into a roar of applause, even the freeborn. That should’ve been a warning to him, that not all Romans felt truly free under his emperor’s reign. But Julian didn’t rage or seem angry. The tether between us remained calm and still. He simply squeezed my waist, then nudged me away from the tavern.
“Come on.”
I didn’t resist, walking at his side along the more deserted road to his home. Ivo was waiting not far ahead. He loped toward us, then followed behind.
The cheers grew more distant but her words were stamped on my very soul, burrowing into my bones like a charm. Then I suddenly worried for them.
“You aren’t going to punish them, are you? Turn them in?”
I felt his sharp gaze on me as we walked. “For singing? No.”
“For singing about rebellion.” She likely sang in Dacian knowing very few Romans would even understand her words.
“Malina, if they didn’t sing about a day when they’d be free, they’d be nothing but lifeless shells.”
“Wouldn’t your emperor be upset if he knew slaves were openly singing about such things? Threatening violence to your kind?”
He paused and drew me to a stop, both his hands wrapping around my shoulders. There was no one on the road but us and Ivo, who suddenly stepped to my side as if to protect me.
Julian sighed and looked at him. “It’s all right, Ivo. We are only talking.”
Ivo stepped away and pretended to be enamored with a bush on the shoulder of the road.
I gritted my teeth, preparing for a lecture. But that wasn’t at all what he’d intended.
“The emperor won’t ever know,” he said gently, sliding his palms to my throat, one thumb brushing softly at the base where my pulse beat. “Do you know why? Because they sing in a foreign tongue he doesn’t know nor does he care to learn. And no one in that tavern would tell any of his men. No one there cares about coin or allegiance to their masters.”
There was a stinging behind my eyes. “I did,” I admitted, shame engulfing me. “I told my master.” The tears slipped free now. “I told you without any hesitation.”
“Oh, Malina.” He cupped my face now, wiping the wet trail from my face. “I won’t ever betray them.” His thumb stroked the crest of my cheek. “Or you.”
I wanted to laugh, because his declaration was so absurd. “Youownme. That in itself is a betrayal. We are notequal. Not in the eyes of Rome.” I stepped back and pushed his hands away, the heat of anger and shame climbing into my cheeks, because I longed for his hands on me. I wanted them back the second I shoved them away. “I thank you for not betraying them”—I pointed down the road where we’d come—“but there is no bond or trust between you and me that can be broken.”
Trembling with anger—at myself more than him—I stormed toward home. No, not my home. His home. My prison. I had to keep that in mind and stop imagining some connection between us. Even if there was, what did that mean? That I would live a quiet life at his heels, at his beck and call, and be happy with that?
The words of the tavern singer wafted around me as I marched up the hill. It was nonsense. A dream she conjured so they didn’t wallow in the despair of their circumstances.
Julian was right, which only incensed me more. If they had no hope at all, they’d simply wither and die like a flower.
Flowers. Kizzy.
A sob wracked my entire body, a tangible grief for all I’d lost hitting me hard. My clan, my parents, my sisters, Enid. I stumbled and fell onto my hands and knees, relishing the pain in one palm where I hit a rock too hard.
Strong arms were around me, lifting me. I struggled, knowing that familiar drugging scent, yearning for it. For him.
“No!” I kicked uselessly. “Don’t. Notyou.” I cried harder.
“Ivo,”he snapped, then he was handing me over.
I stopped struggling as I was cradled in Ivo’s arms, burying my face and my grief-addled shame into his chest.
