Page 89 of Firebird
Ciprian gripped my wrist harder and dipped his head down. Hislong, black forked tongue licked out and across my palm. I made a small sound of distress that caused movement where Julian stood, but then he froze. I dared not even look.
Ciprian’s red eyes bored into mine. I felt true evil looking back at me. Then he grinned and let me go. Instantly, I gripped the skull with both hands and knelt at his feet, presenting the bowl high above my head as Julian had instructed.
Almost over, almost over,I repeated in my head.
Staring at Ciprian’s bare feet, I heard the cracking of bones and his guttural moan as his wings and horns emerged, his body growing even taller. All I could see were his feet, which elongated and formed sharp, black claws that curled from his toes.
Then I felt his heavy hand on my head. I flinched again, terrified he was going to rip it off. But his crooning growl was one of pleasure, his voice low when he said in garbled speech, “I like.”
Whether he meant me or the fact that I was kneeling submissively before him, I had no idea. He patted my head like I was his dog, only briefly, then his hand was gone and the bowl was lifted from my hands.
But it wasn’t Ciprian who’d lifted the bowl. I hadn’t even noticed that the emperor had slid from his throne and now stood beside him. The emperor’s rough, booming voice jolted me where I still knelt, my gaze on the ground.
“Romans! Children of the gods! Hear me now.” The growling hum and the drums stopped at once. “I lift this golden chalice, made by our might and our power, which yet again proves our right to rule this world.”
A chorus of applause and a few cheers of approval lifted from the audience as if they were merely at the theater. Then they fell silent. The wind ghosted across the terrace, a few stray leaves scraping on the marble. My heart remained in my throat, the oppressive energy in the air threateningto strangle me where I trembled on my knees. I wrapped my hand around my other where the cut still dripped to the white stone, squeezing to stop the bleeding, but also because it kept me sane in this horrifying, surreal moment.
“We gather tonight to celebrate Ciprian Media Nocte Seneca. He has earned his first king’s skull and his right to stand among the generals of Rome. We salute him.”
Another round of applause mingled with growling dragons this time. I glanced up to see Igniculus holding the golden skull above his head, a gruesome trophy with my own blood mixed in the swill.
“We welcome him. Legatus Ciprian Seneca.”
Ciprian walked past me toward the emperor, brushing his tail along my thighs, the tip curling slightly in a possessive motion before he was out of reach. The audience erupted in more applause as the drum began to beat again. I glanced up to see Ciprian draining the mixture of blood and wine from the golden skull, but then my gaze found Julian.
Bona dea.
He was the only one not applauding or cheering or smiling or even watching Ciprian. His golden gaze was hot and furious and on me. I finally reached out through our tether, flinching at the rage filling his entire being. Swallowing hard against the fury threatening to engulf him, I poured my affection as well as serenity through the thread.
At first, it had no impact at all. Julian remained rigid and fuming while the rest of the nobles stepped forward to congratulate Ciprian. He slowly shrank back into human form, clutching the linen at his waist, which had come loose.
The whole ceremony was an odd juxtaposition of monstrous and civil. The patricians applauded him like he was receiving a garland around his head at a triumph. In reality, he stood there half-naked, holding a man’s skull that had been dipped in gold, his new prized goblet.
Trajan sidled past Julian, whispering something before maneuvering closer to me, still applauding and keeping his gaze on Ciprian, pretending to celebrate. When Trajan was close enough for me to hear, he whispered, “You may rise and go back to the kitchen. Best you stay out of sight for the night.”
Without wasting a second, I was on my feet and hurrying past the drummer and the skull bearer and away from this nightmare as fast as my legs would take me.
XXVI
JULIAN
Ciprian had never been on our list of those to execute for our coup. Now, he was at the top of mine. Most of those on our list were present right now. Too bad Legatus Drussus was leading his campaign in Bthynia. He was practically my uncle’s twin in cruelty and brutality. Trajan’s grandfather insisted he must be in Rome before we put our plan into action.
As I watched Ciprian, holding his golden trophy and laughing with my uncle, I realized I wouldn’t be able to wait much longer. I needed Ciprian’s head severed from his body. Especially now that my unclehad given me a week to get rid of Malina. I couldn’t send her away without going with her. Perhaps Trajan could hide her in his home or somewhere else for me. He and his family had homes in provinces near and far.
Ciprian tipped his head back and laughed at something my uncle said. I was also well aware that his performance with Malina—licking her hand and caressing her with his tail—was specifically done to draw my anger out. In that, he had been entirely successful. The only reason I hadn’t shifted into half-skin and gone for his throat was because of her.
Yet again, she’d opened her gift to me, to keep me from going mad with rage. And it had worked. I was no longer wrestling my beast back into his cave. I was now calm enough to lead our guests back into my home, where there would be a grand feast and dancers for entertainment.
“Caesar and guests,” I called loudly from the arched entrance where light spilled onto the terrace, “come and feast in celebration.”
I ignored Ciprian’s smug glare and led the others back inside.
Kara and the servants had created a beautiful bounty of roasted pheasant, boar, and venison, along with decorative platters of seasoned fish with whole roasted cloves of garlic. Platters of garlic-seasoned endives, asparagus, leeks, and legumes were stacked in silver bowls around the feasting area. There were even more dishes of cheese, olives, and marinated artichokes, as well as baskets of honey cakes, berry tarts, and fresh-baked bread set out with decanters of oil and honey.
Some of the guests audibly gasped at the sight of the bounty spread out among the low tables and pillows, the many oil lamps lighting the room in a welcoming glow. While the musicians played a lively tune, I saw no dancers.
The guests made their way to the lounging area and reclined among the pillows and chaises to serve themselves. All I wanted to do was sneak off to the kitchen to see how Malina was feeling.
