Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(28)

“How old are you, Pinna?”

“Twenty.”

“The same age as my sister,” he murmured. “And tell me, how old were you when you became a night moth?”

She stopped inspecting the wound, unsure as to why he would suddenly seek to know her history. “Eleven.”

He winced. She knew it was not from pain.

“How could that be? Where were your parents?”

She sat back on her haunches. “My father was a soldier forced into bondage. My mother and I became whores because we were destitute.” She made to rise. “I don’t want to talk about it. I need to fetch some tweezers.”

Drusus placed his hand on her shoulder. “Wait.”

She settled back on her heels. “What is it you want from me? Why do you ask these things now?”

He took her hands. His were large and bony, the knuckles pronounced. This time they were gentle. “I’ve been thinking. You saved my life as much as Marcus did. Many a warrior dies from infection once the battle has ended. I need to make matters right between us, Pinna. Can you forgive me for what I did to you?”

She stared at him. The hesitancy in his voice revealed his sincerity. “You changed my life, my lord. That night in the graveyard, you gave me bronze enough to allow me to register as a brothel whore. I never planned to expose you. You did not need to fear me.” She lowered her voice. “You did not need to rape me.”

“I’m sorry, Pinna. Believe me.”

She eased her hands from his, aware her Wolf would not want another man touching her.

He must have realized he’d also trespassed. His stutter deepened. “It was because she haunts me.”

“I understand, my lord. You were punishing her by punishing me.”

Her answer started him coughing. She waited for him to regain his breath.

“When I had that fever, I heard Caecilia saying she loved me. Was that you?”

“Yes.”

“You showed kindness. Why so?”

“I thought you were dying.”

He frowned at her bluntness. “You have to understand, it’s not entirely Caecilia’s fault. If my prick of a father had died sooner, I could have married her. Instead, consumed with choler, he ensured I was denied happiness. She was plebeian by birth. Not good enough to marry his patrician son.” He paused, then went on. “I liked the laughter in her. But she was too inquisitive about the world of men. More interested in politics than a woman should be.”

Pinna was shocked he would attempt to excuse a traitoress. He did not wait for her to respond, though, still dwelling within his memories.

“When Caecilia escaped to Fidenae, I thought it was because she wanted to come back to me. But it was Mastarna she loved.” He pounded one fist against his palm, startling her. “She plunged a blade into my heart—stab, stab, stab. Do you know how impotent I feel? Reduced to writing spells to curse him and bewitch Caecilia to love me? And all the time I know that he is holding her in his arms, taking her to his bed.”

Pinna frowned. “You should have cursed her instead that night. Don’t you realize she will never love you? That you need to forget her?”

“Yes, but at least I can kill him. I will not fail next time. I plan for my curse to come true—‘I consecrate Vel Mastarna to damnation. May his mind and soul be tormented, his body twisted and shattered, his tongue cut out, and his ears and eyes pierced by hot pokers. And if he has, or shall have, any money or inheritance, may they be lost, and his entire house be stricken with disaster and destruction.’”

She shivered just as when she’d first heard the words read aloud in the tomb. “You condemn her also, you know.”

He nodded, eyes pained. “That’s my torment.”

She rose, uncomfortable with his despair. “I’ll get those pincers. And some mint for your cough. You’ll need to keep still while I’m unpicking the knots.”

Drusus grasped her skirt. “Wait. You comforted me when you thought I was dying. Why are you good to me?”

“I’ve seen another side of you, my lord.”

“So you’ll tell no one—about my love spell for Caecilia?”

She eased her hem from his fingers. She understood. If she ever lost her Wolf, the pain would be like a cut no poultice could ever heal. “All I want is to be with the general. To be respected. I was once the daughter of a soldier. That’s how he sees me.”

Drusus lay back on the pallet. The conversation had exhausted him. “Then we are at peace, Pinna?”

She nodded. “Yes, my lord. We are at peace.”





TWELVE





Pinna hesitated at the entrance to Drusus’s tent on her return with her supplies. Marcus was crouching beside his friend, his hand on the invalid’s shoulder. “How goes it?”

“Pinna will remove the last stitches today. They should have gone weeks ago.” Noticing the concubine, Drusus beckoned to her.

Marcus rose and stepped back so she could reach her patient. She acknowledged him without meeting his eyes. Then she knelt next to the pallet, placing her basket and a bowl of warm water beside her.

“I want to get back to duty,” Drusus said to Marcus, removing the tunic from his lap so Pinna could reach the stitches. The wounded man showed no embarrassment in the company of the other soldier.