Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(11)

“Hated me. But he’s softened his heart toward me again.”

Sethre reached for his lover’s hand. “My grief blinded me. Father acted dishonorably when he shut the gates. But I was angry and confused after seeing him murdered. And I was wrong to shun Tarchon merely because of the enmity between our Houses. I can’t forget how Father threatened to throw him over the wall during the battle.” Sethre turned back to her. “You showed your love for Veii today, my lady. I’m sorry I doubted your allegiance. I’m also sorry my father treated you unfairly.”

His words surprised her. As did his deference. She was used to his disdain. She uncrossed her arms. “Then I thank you. But I counsel both of you not to meet again if you wish the chance to act as lover and beloved.” She gestured toward the passageway. “I think you should return to the banquet, Sethre. Before someone else finds us.”

He bowed, then cast a look toward Tarchon, holding out his palm. Tarchon smoothed his own across it, until all but their fingertips were touching. And then the tall youth slipped into the darkness.

Caecilia studied the prince in the torchlight as he bid his silent farewell. She’d seen how the pampered daughters of the court giggled and simpered in his presence. For a moment she wished he could enjoy both men and women. It would be easier for him to gain credibility if he could sire children. “Do you actually want to go through with this? Even if Karcuna agrees, your time with Sethre will be short. There’s no way two freeborn nobles can remain as lovers. You’ll both be declared as soft if you continue after Sethre has grown a beard. Do you want that for him? The boy is warrior born. You would condemn him to shame. You escaped such a fate when you spurned Artile. Withdraw your suit and spare yourselves heartache.”

“Don’t lecture me! My love for Artile was flawed. He was obsessive and sick. I know now it was wrong. I was only eleven when he took me to his bed. It’s different with Sethre. I want him to ride into battle with me as much as lie beside me.”

Frustrated, she crossed her arms again. “Then prove to your father and Karcuna you’re worthy to act as a mentor. Stop drinking so much. And gambling. And chewing Catha! And stick to slaves and freedmen in the meantime.”

He snorted. “Next you’ll have me married. Only there’ll be no children. Would that be fair? Don’t you think that would sour relations with my wife’s family?”

Caecilia sighed. “I only want what’s best for you. I don’t want to see you hurt. You know I love you.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “You were the first to make me see the Veientanes as my people. To teach me their language, philosophy, and customs.”

“When I taught you the differences between Rome and Veii, I never thought you would see your birthplace destroyed. You frighten me, Caecilia.”

“You criticize me for seeing the Romans as they truly are? I thought you’d approve.”

“I see your stubbornness emerging. Your black-and-white vision.”

His words reminded her of Vel’s annoyance. She was too tired to discuss it. “I want to go to bed. Show me how to get back to my quarters. These hallways are confusing.”

Tarchon placed his hand over hers. “And what about you and your secrets, Caecilia? You chide me for my indiscretion tonight, but have you told your husband how Artile was slowly poisoning you?”

“Not yet,” she murmured, not prepared to look him in the eye.

“There’s no reason not to speak out now. Artile is gone. Mastarna can’t be punished for killing someone he can’t lay his hands on.”

A sharp pulse throbbed in her temple, the golden tiara now a burden, her head aching. “He has much on his mind. I can never seem to find the right time.”

Tarchon frowned. “Confide in him, Caecilia. Otherwise he may not forgive you for keeping such a secret from him.”

She nodded. “I will, I will.” But her heart was telling her—not yet, not yet.





FIVE





Caecilia closed her eyes, enjoying the long sweep of the comb from the crown of her head to her waist as Cytheris combed her thick brown hair.

Mastarna’s deep voice startled her. “You may go now, Cytheris.”

Caecilia’s eyes flew open. He was leaning against the doorjamb to their bedchamber. His chin was shadowed with stubble, dark circles under his eyes. Even at a distance, she could smell the wine on him.

She murmured to the Greek woman to leave. The handmaid frowned as she edged past the king.

Caecilia stood and extended her hand to him. “Come, my love. You need to rest.”

He ignored her, trying to shrug off his tebenna, wincing in pain. She helped him to remove the heavy cloak. Then she eased the sling from his neck, revealing the heavy bandage around his upper arm and elbow. He remained silent, mouth clamped into a tight line. She could see how it galled him not to be able to undress himself even though he welcomed such ministrations when they were both eager.

As she hung the tebenna on a wall hook, the golden dice tumbled from its folds to the floor. She stooped and picked them up, but Mastarna reached across and took them from her without thanks and then dumped them on the table beside the bed.

She started to unpin the amethyst brooch at one shoulder, but he edged back. “What were you thinking, Bellatrix? Exhorting Veii to march on Rome.”