Page 85 of Firebird
“You are mine and you are his, and we’ll both die protecting you.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “If we ever see the man who bruised your arm, the dragon will rip from my body and eat him alive.”
“I’d think you were exaggerating but I’ve seen him do it before.”
“That’s right,” he murmured. “No one hurts my woman.”
A sharp foreboding pierced my chest. “Be careful, Julian.”
“I always am.”
“I’m serious. This Ciprian is trying to provoke you.”
“I’m aware of it.”
“Then don’t fall into his trap. Don’t allow it. It’s like you said, he’s trying to cause trouble between you and your uncle.”
He straightened to his full height, one hand still cradling my nape. “I won’t.”
“Your mission is important,” I said with emphasis. “We’ll be all right if we keep our heads.”
He tightened his hold on my nape. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.”
But as we both walked back into the house, the sun dipping lower, an ominous tendril wove into my spirit. A whisper of warning bade me be alert and ready. For what, I wasn’t sure, but it weighed heavily like a coming storm. The eerie part was, when I looked up, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
XXIV
JULIAN
The lilting of flutes drifted across the grand hall beside the atrium, where the musicians played from a corner. Guests mingled and laughed, drinking wine and picking at the platters of food now being set out for them. The night had barely begun and I was ready for it to end.
I had hired extra servants for the night from a neighbor who kept more slaves than he needed. I watched them working the room, Malina with them now, setting out one of many of Kara’s impressive platters—a tiered display of honey-drizzled figs, pears, and pomegranates. Malinakept her head down and returned to the kitchen. I blew out a breath of relief and turned to survey the room.
I’d managed to acquire the musicians from that tavern where I’d followed Malina to. But I’d requested they play lighter, celebratory music rather than the melancholy tune they’d played in the tavern. So far, they were doing their job well.
I’d also hired dancers from one of the brothels in town, promising the madame extra denarii if any of my guests wanted more than to watch them dance. This was my job. Procuring prostitutes for my uncle and Ciprian’s guests.
There were a few ladies of noble houses here as well. That should’ve alleviated my fears of my own party turning into an orgy, but I knew Ciprian. And I knew my uncle. I dreaded the moment this feast descended into debauchery. Not only because their hedonistic practices disgusted me, but because Malina might witness it.
“Nice guest list.” Trajan had sidled up next to me, wine in hand.
“Isn’t it?” I remarked dryly.
“There’s that fucking Valerius. Snake in the grass if I ever saw one.”
I loved the way Trajan had a talent for saying heinous things with a jovial smile on his face. Valerius, one of the consuls—the one most devoted to Caesar—stood next to Igniculus, chattering on about something that made my uncle smile. He was lithe and lean-muscled for an older dragon. Though his hair was more gray than black and he didn’t spend his days on the battlefield, he wouldn’t be easy in a physical fight.
Only six months ago, Valerius had been attacked in the street late at night by a group of thugs trying to rob him of his purse. Likely because it was dark and he was unescorted, they thought him a human, not dragonkind. He managed to break one robber’s arm and stab the other in the eye with the knife he was trying to use against Valerius. Then he shifted into half-skin and killed the other three.
“We’ll have to plan well to take out that one,” I said under my breath.
“No worries. Grandfather and I have our plan almost perfect.”
“Let’s meet on it tomorrow.” Trajan looked at me in surprise, but I kept my gaze on the guests. “We need to act soon.”
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing yet. But Ciprian is going to be a problem. He seems to have targeted me as his chief rival and wants to stir trouble between myself and my uncle. We need to put the plan into motion before Ciprian’s machinations get in the way.”
“Tomorrow, then.” He stepped away and greeted Fausta of the Media Nocte line, a recent widow who may be looking for a new husband. Her glass-blue gaze caught mine over his shoulder, then she gave me her scintillating smile and angled her neck in a submissive pose.
