Page 32 of Firebird
I dismounted from my black stallion, Volkan, closer to the stable entrance, noting that many of the patricians were exiting their extravagant litters at the palace doorstep. Torchlight spilled onto the steps leading into Caesar’s home, illuminating the senators, generals, and their wives in elegant dress as they ascended.
“I’ll take care of him, Legatus.” The young stableman who I tipped to handle Volkan for me on my visits to the palace held his reins.
“Thank you, Jovan.”
I slid a small silver piece into his palm, then removed my formalred toga from the satchel on the saddle. Jovan stepped up to help me arrange it properly over my short white tunic, the thick folds draping over one shoulder, the hem nearly brushing the cobblestone. I held the silky fabric up to keep it from dragging in the dirt and walked toward the palace steps, my gut tightening as it always did when I entered my uncle’s home.
The dragon’s lair, indeed. But I was costumed perfectly to please my uncle. There was nothing that gave him more pride than his nephew, the Coldhearted Conqueror, wearing the red of our house.
I followed behind Senator Otho, frowning to see a young woman with long, silky brown hair on his arm. He wasn’t married. Or he hadn’t been when I left on my campaign to Gaul.
The servants at the entrance holding platters of goblets bowed as we entered. I took a chalice of wine right as Otho took one from the same tray.
“Salve, Julianus. How wonderful to see you.” He smiled genially, gesturing to the young woman at his side. “May I introduce to you my new bride. This is Sabina Amethystus Candida. Darling, this is the famous Legatus Julianus Ignis Dakkia.”
“Such a pleasure to meet you, Legatus.” She leaned forward, batting her kohl-lined eyes, her plump breasts spilling out of her low-cut purple stola. “Is it true you are called the Coldhearted Conqueror because you’ve single-handedly killed more barbarians than any general in history? And that you drink the blood of your enemies?”
Gods, the rumors of this city.
“Sabina,”Otho chastised her with a laugh. “Don’t be rude.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Legatus.” She placed her jeweled hand on my wrist as I poised to take a drink of my goblet. “I meant no insult.”
I glanced at her hand, then switched my goblet to my other hand, releasing her hold. “I’m afraid those tales are exaggerated.”
Otho wasn’t usually invited to the palace. In fact, I could only remember him being here once, many years ago, before he began opposingCaesar in the senate house. His ignorance of his precarious situation was only exacerbated by the fact that he hadn’t heard or listened to the tales of the emperor’s infamous parties.
We followed the other line of guests down the marble hallway to the grand hall where my uncle held his large feasts. My gut tightened the closer I grew to my uncle’s inner sanctum.
“Well, the other rumors aren’t exaggerated,” she said when Otho stopped to greet another senator. Her gaze roamed my body with obvious interest. “You’re the finest general in all of Rome.”
“Sabina!” a woman yelled from inside the throng of guests.
She hurried over to the other woman dressed in a green stola, one of the Chrysocolla line. They’d socialize in the same circles, of course.
There were few of the middle-ranked dragons present—the Amethystus, Chrysocolla, and Sapphirus houses. And none of the Griseo. Uncle would never allow the lowest caste to attend his feast. There were mostly black and red robes milling about the room, dotted with blue, purple, and green.
“She’s a beauty, is she not?” Otho stood next to me.
“You shouldn’t have brought her,” I told him honestly, wishing this man, one of the few dragons who still voted his conscience in the senate house, was smarter than I’d thought. “You should take her and leave.Now.”
“What do you mean?” He frowned, finding his young wife giggling with the girl in green.
“I know you haven’t been to the palace much, but you are aware of my uncle’s tendencies at his feasts, are you not?”
Otho turned his frown toward me. “My voice holds power in the senate,” he said haughtily. “Caesar knows this. He would not disparage me in such a way.”
“You are a fool if you believe that,” I told him with pity.
“Caesar invited me,” he protested, becoming more agitated. “I couldn’t reject his invitation. It would be tantamount to treason.”
“You’re right, but you could’ve left her at home.”
“The invitation was for both of us,” he added nervously, then looked over at his wife. “Besides, my bride loves parties. I couldn’t disappoint her. It didn’t seem fair to keep her at home.”
“Not even to protect her.”
Otho scowled at me. “You can’t be implying what I think you are.”
