Page 86 of Firebird
It was a sign to other dragons that she was yielding, flirting. Her stola in black silk was draped in flattering folds over her slim body, pinned at one shoulder with a dragon-head brooch, the eyes glittering rubies. She bared one shoulder, the fabric of her silky gown a perfect complement to her fair skin. Her honey-brown hair was coifed in intricate braids on top of her head, with loose curls falling to her shoulder. She was the epitome of Roman beauty.
I nodded in greeting but didn’t take her bait to walk over and talk. My uncle had undoubtedly invited her. He’d made mention more than once that she would make a good wife. Instead of engaging with Fausta, I remained fixed on the outer edge of the party, using my role as host as a reason to stand apart and make sure all was satisfactory for my guests.
As if on cue, Ruskus appeared at my side. “Dominus, the skull bearer and his attendants have arrived.”
Gut tightening that I’d have one of these foul rituals take place in my house, I said, “Have them set up on the terrace. I’ll let the emperor know.”
My gaze found Malina circulating through the room and filling wine glasses. I’d had all of the servants wear formal attire—white tunics with red sashes—to represent my house. But it only accentuatedMalina’s beauty more. Her sun-bronzed skin and glossy black locks contrasted against the clean white of the more fitted tunic. Her figure was on fine display as well, which had me even edgier.
If I could’ve gotten away with it, I’d have put her in a dowdy sack. But Uncle Igniculus would be insulted. Like all dragons, he desired to be surrounded by pretty, shiny things. And me trying to hide her would’ve only emphasized how important she was to me.
“Julianus!” my uncle called across the room and waved me over. My gut clenched.
Ciprian was now standing beside him, looking as smug as ever. I strode slowly across the room, stopping to greet a guest here and there. Most of them were from the Media Nocte dragon line, as expected. Ciprian would’ve ensured more of his own kin was present to witness his rite.
“Salve, Ciprian. I didn’t see you come in.”
“Salve,” he replied. “Thank you for hosting my Rite of Skulls, Julian.”
The way he casually used my name grated along my spine. “Of course. I am happy to host the newest legatus on this prestigious occasion.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” said Igniculus, grasping me by the shoulder affectionately. “The two rising stars of Rome coming together.”
I didn’t miss the menacing glance from Ciprian before he widened his smile agreeably. “Indeed, Caesar.”
“The skull bearer has arrived,” I added quickly. “If you’d like to get started.”
I wanted it done and over with as soon as possible.
“Yes. Let us begin,” proclaimed my uncle.
I waved a hand to the musicians. They all stopped immediately. The musician with the large drum between his knees, the hide pulled tight on a wide brim, stood and carried his instrument quietly toward the terrace. He would serve as the only player during the ritual.
“Friends and guests,” I called to the room, “please make your way to the terrace. We will begin the sacred Rite of Skulls momentarily.”
A buzz of excitement rippled through the room. There were no priests or priestesses. This rite wasn’t held in a temple or in the forum, but in the house of a general of the emperor’s choosing. That’s because this rite wasn’t sacred. It was created by Igniculus to celebrate his might and that of his elite generals of the greatest power on earth—Rome. And anyone who witnessed it was considered the most privileged of dragonkind.
Igniculus grinned and grasped Ciprian’s shoulder. “Ready to join the highest ranks?”
“I am, Caesar.”
“Who will be yoursanguis auctor?” he asked.
The role of blood giver was considered an honored position and was always chosen by the one receiving the rite.
“I think she will do.” Ciprian nodded toward Trajan where Malina was refilling his goblet.
“No,” I automatically snapped, fire licking through my veins and locking my muscles tight.
Ciprian chuckled. “It’s my choice, is it not?”
“But she’s a slave,” I argued, trying to ignore my uncle’s keen observation. “You didn’t bring a highborn female to serve as yoursanguis auctor? I assumed that’s why Fausta was here.” They were cousins, after all.
“Fausta would rather gut me than serve me her blood. Our families have never gotten along.” He turned to my uncle. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but thesanguis auctordoesn’t need to be a dragon, do they? I was told that General Antonios chose his own favored slave in his Rite of Skulls.”
“That is true,” agreed Igniculus, staring at Malina with new interest, sending a prickle of unease along my skin. “But why her?”
“That’s the slave girl, the witch they say helped the Celts overcomeBastius and his men somehow. The one Julian snatched from the battlefield.”
