The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(25)

“Well, that’s gone and done it,” Elka sighed after Kronos finished reading us the details of the invitation.

Summons was more like it. The Julii women were renowned hostesses, and to receive a much sought-after invitation to one of their parties meant that Roman society had taken an interest in you. For good or ill. At any rate, I couldn’t say no. Not and have Sorcha forgive me anytime that century.



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“You do remember what happened last time you and I went to one of these things, ja?” Elka asked later, as we were getting ready to go.

“Vaguely,” I muttered, grimacing, as I fiddled with the fastening on the silver belt around my waist. Even trying to remember the details of that night—the night at the Domus Corvinus—gave me the stirrings of a headache.

“Maybe stick to goat’s milk tonight for drink,” she said dryly. “And try to stay inconspicuous . . .”

I turned to blink at Elka, who’d brushed out her long blonde hair—usually tied back in braids—and stood swathed in pale blue. She looked like a goddess who’d decided to descend from Olympus to dally with the mortals for an evening. And she’d admonished me to blend in?

You first, I thought as we hurried down to the townhouse courtyard where a carriage waited to take us to one of the wealthiest districts in the city. Once we’d arrived and made our way inside the opulent confines of the Julii-owned domus, I realized that neither of us was going to accomplish anything even close to blending in.

For the first little while, I stood around, nervous and out of place and trying not to be. There was a trio of Aegyptian musicians performing in one corner, and I found myself mesmerized by both the look and sound of them. The women were dressed identically—which was to say that they were hardly dressed at all—and wore perfumed wax cones on their heads that slowly melted with the heat and dripped down over their lithe bodies, covering them in a fragrant, glistening sheen. They played strange and wonderful instruments—a lyre, a sistrum, and a handheld drum that was played with a short stick and reminded me of the war drums my father’s warriors would carry to battle. I concentrated on the music and tried to ignore how utterly out of my element I felt.

Elka was better at hiding her apprehension than me, largely because there was a lavish abundance of food laid out on tables all the way around the circumference of the atrium. She simply kept busy by moving from dish to dish to fill her little plate with one delicacy after the other until we’d made it halfway around the room.

For my part, I’d taken her advice and stuck with a goblet of goat’s milk flavored with lavender and honey. It was sweet and delicious, but I suddenly wished for something stronger when I saw a familiar head of dark curls moving through the crowd in my direction. Marc Antony broke away from the milling crowd and reached for my free hand.

“Victrix!” he exclaimed as if we were old friends, bending his head so he could brush my knuckles with his lips. “So glad you got my invitation.”

“Your invitation?” I gaped at him. “I thought it came from—”

“Octavia?” He grinned. “Oh, well, it’s her party, certainly. I merely offered my services when it came to the matter of procuring entertainment.”

“Oh. Well . . .” I looked around the room. “The musicians are excellent. But that doesn’t explain why you sent us an invitation.” I nodded to Elka, who stood at my side, chewing on a honey-glazed fig and openly staring at Antony curiously.

“Music without dancing is so boring, don’t you think?” His grin widened, but there was a glint in his eye that spoke of cold calculation. Then he stepped aside, gesturing to a table in an alcove beside the musicians, where an assortment of weapons had been laid out. “Would you and your lovely friend . . . dance for our guests, Lady Victrix?”

Dance. Cai had once asked me to “dance” with him. Of course I’d said yes then, but here? At a banquet? I was suddenly, uncomfortably, reminded of Pontius Aquila’s twisted munera. Of Ajax and Aeddan fighting to the death in front of a crowd of glittering socialites. Of what happened after . . .

Antony must have seen my sudden apprehension—even if he couldn’t guess where it sprang from—and his grin softened to a winsome smile. “For fun, my dear,” he said. “Nothing serious. Nothing . . . dangerous. Just a display of your talents. I’m supremely confident you and your companion can provide a demonstration without actually causing any bodily harm to each other?” He lowered his voice. “I quite frankly don’t care if you cut up a spectator or two in the process. These people are all so tedious . . .”

I looked at Elka. “Well?”

She shrugged. “I could use the exercise. The food’s all a bit rich . . .”

Then she tossed the plate of figs and cheeses she’d been sampling to Antony. He fumbled to catch it and managed not to drop any of the delicacies to the floor. I followed her over to the display, where the two of us went about the business of assessing the weapons arrayed there with detached professionalism. They were all of a decent quality, if a bit showy for my tastes, but I picked a pair of swords half a hand shorter than the ones I was used to, and with broader blades, but well-balanced. Elka, of course, was drawn immediately to a slender spear that bore a blade on each end.