Page 91 of Firebird
“Keep talking, and I’ll kill you right here.”
“Julianus!”
I froze and turned to see my uncle, standing close with the scarred General Sabinus beside him. The murmur of guests talking died, all eyes on us.
“Let him go, Julian.” The emperor scowled, his disapproval apparent in the tone of his voice.
Dropping Ciprian, I stood. “My apologies, Caesar.”
His frown remained tight, but his voice relaxed as he said, “It seems you two need to draw a little blood before this rivalry will settle. I can understand that.”
It had nothing to do with our rivalry. It was the fact that he continued to insult and threaten my mate. But no one knew that, except Trajan. No one could know or I’d instantly be charged a traitor to Rome. A dragonfated and mated to a common-born citizen was considered a curse by the gods. To be mated to a foreign enemy would be considered worse. My uncle wouldn’t stand for that shame. I’d be publicly executed alongside Malina.
“No need,” I said, fisting my hands at my sides.
“I wouldn’t mind drawing a little of his blood,” added Ciprian, now plucking a roasted wing from a pheasant off the platter beside him.
Igniculus chuckled. “It is necessary. When dragons target one another, there will be no peace until they’ve battled it out. Therefore, you two will meet tomorrow in half-skin. In the Colosseum.”
A murmur of excitement drifted over the guests. A public fight always pleased the people of Rome, especially when it was between two dragons. But rarely did they meet on the Colosseum floor.
“I accept,” said Ciprian frankly, chewing his pheasant and smiling up to where I towered over him.
I simply nodded in agreement.
“Good,” said Igniculus, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. “So where is our entertainment, Julian?”
I was about to reply with my apologies—my mind still reeling with the fact that I’d be fighting Ciprian in the arena tomorrow—when the music stopped, only the tympanum drumming a steady beat.
“My, my,” crooned Ciprian. “You decided to bring her out of hiding after all.”
Snapping my head toward the atrium where everyone else was staring, I nearly groaned in pain.
Malina was stepping dramatically, gracefully to the beat of the drum from around the fountain. She was no longer dressed in her slave tunic. She wore very little at all. A bandeau top of red silk bound her breasts and tied behind her neck. Her stomach was entirely bare down to her hips, where a gossamer material of white draped to her knees, slits open at the sides for ease of movement. Because she obviously was preparing to dance.
I moved away from Ciprian and off to the side of the guests to lean against a column.
She clapped her hands over her head and swayed her hips to the easy tempo of the drum, her gaze to the side and down, her waves of hair hiding her face and draped to her hips. Then the flute players joined in, playing a tune that seemed familiar. My pulse tripped when memory reminded me where and when I’d heard a similar song—beneath the Carpathian Mountains by moonlight.
Malina snapped her head up and began to shine like the jewel that she was. Her eyes were smeared with black kohl, giving her a mysterious visage, making her green eyes glitter brighter by the lamplight. She spun and leaped, the panels of her skirt flaring wide, revealing her bronzed, toned legs. And there I was, entranced yet again, just like the first time I’d seen her on that stage.
Only now, she was a full-grown woman, her body so beautiful and graceful as she spun in circles across the atrium, silhouetted against the white fountain behind her. Some of the guests gasped in awe as she arched her back until her hair draped the floor, then braced her hands on the marble and flipped her legs entirely over, spinning away again.
“Oh, how lovely!” one of the wives gushed and clapped somewhere to my right.
Several others did as well, all enamored with my dancer for the night, the entertainment I hadn’t procured at all.
“Not bad,” grunted Consul Valerius. “I’ve got a prettier one at home.”
But I barely heard his insult or the applause, my gut tightening that she would come out in full display for them.
What is she thinking?
That’s when I realized that Ciprian wasn’t heckling her or yelling obscenities as I’d expected, nor was he fondling himself while he watched her. Rather, he was nearly asleep. His eyes were half-lidded, his head resting on his shoulder as he leaned on his side.
I glanced toward the kitchen, wanting to catch Ruskus to see if perhaps they’d put something in his wine. They wouldn’t poison him as he was an honored guest in my home. I’d be blamed for sure if he was poisoned.
Then I noticed that Igniculus had taken a seat on a chaise as well, his own eyes blinking heavily. When I searched the faces of the other guests, there were no signs of drowsiness. I didn’t understand.
