“Fine, then. Show us to our rooms and let’s forget this unpleasant discussion ever happened. I wish to see Octavia. Where have you placed her?”
He seemed to relax, but his hand shook as he combed back his thinning hair. “In the garden just as she asked. You know how she loved to waste time on her flowers.”
Adiona swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Yes, too bad she was surrounded by so many weeds.”
The household steward showed Adiona to her room on the second floor. Quintus was given the room next door, while the other four men were installed in two separate rooms across the hall.
The warmth of the large chamber’s deep red walls welcomed her. A comfortable-looking sleeping couch dominated one corner. To her left, against the wall, a beautifully carved chest waited for her clothes. Pleased to let in more light, she had the steward place her satchel on the marble-topped desk and open the double doors that overlooked the house’s back garden.
A short time later, a maid, Caelina, arrived with a selection of Octavia’s jewelry, cosmetics and floral perfumes to help her bathe and dress.
After her bath, Adiona wrapped herself in a length of soft linen and waited while Caelina curled and arranged her hair in an upswept style pinned with gold clips.
As Adiona reached for the jars of cosmetics, she caught her reflection in the looking glass and stilled, confused by the sensation that she’d never seen herself clearly. The black hair and curved brows were the same. The amber, slightly up-slanted eyes, straight nose and full lips were familiar, as well. But, as if a miracle had happened somewhere along the Ostian Way, gone was the need to hide behind a thick mask of face paint and kohl. With a light hand, she applied a soft gloss to her lips and just enough cosmetics to disguise the trace of bruises on her cheeks.
She reached for her satchel. She’d brought two tunics and pallas with her from Rome. One, a cheerful yellow in hopes she arrived to find a healthy Octavia, the other in mournful black.
Her chest swelled with grief as she donned the flowing black silk. The maid opened the alabaster jewelry box. Adiona blinked back tears, recognizing several pieces she’d sent as gifts to Octavia over the years. Normally, she would have worn most of the baubles as befit her wealth, station and the expectations of everyone around her. Instead, she chose a simple pair of long gold earrings, a delicate bracelet and an obsidian ring she slid onto her right index finger.
“Is that all, domina?” the maid asked, obviously confused by a woman who ignored a feast in favor of a morsel.
A knock sounded on the door. Caelina set down the box and rushed to answer it. “It’s your bodyguard, domina.”
“Let him—”
“What were you thinking?” Quintus interrupted as he stalked across the threshold. He froze when he saw her. The lines of irritation faded from his face. He seemed to catch his breath.
“When?” she asked, pleased by his reaction more than she could say.
He shook his head and rallied. “Downstairs when you confronted that piece of slime you call an heir. Did you expect him to admit he’d tried to kill you?”
Aware there was a good chance Caelina was her slimy heir’s spy, she offered Quintus a calm smile and entwined her arm with his. “Walk me to the garden, will you?”
His frustration unconcealed, he led her into the hall. She patted his hand in an effort to soothe him. “What you don’t understand about Drusus,” she said once they were alone, “is that for all his bluster, he’s much too slow of mind to form a believable lie when asked a direct question.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not,” she assured him as they descended the stairs. “I know Drusus.”
“I don’t trust him,” he said.
Soft music drifted to them from the inner peristyle surrounding the central garden. She forced a grin in an effort to ease his discontent. “I never said I trusted him, either. I promise you I’ll be careful.”
He sighed and tugged his hand through his hair. “I just don’t want you harmed.”
Her confidence bloomed, fed and watered by his blatant concern for her. She feigned an air of haughty grace and winked at him. “I’m Adiona Leonia, Lioness of Rome. No one can touch me.”
He ran a fingertip along the smooth curve of her jaw and leaned closer to brush a curl behind her ear. He frowned. “What scent are you wearing, lioness?”
The question startled her. “Do I smell?” She pressed her nose to her shoulder and drew in a delicate sniff, certain by his expression she must reek. “Mmm…like flowers.”
Relieved, she laughed. “You had me worried. Caelina put rose oil in my bath.”
“I’m used to you smelling of cinnamon.”
“And you prefer that?” she asked, thinking she’d order a vat of the potion once she returned to Rome.
He nodded. “It suits you better.”
“How so?” She leaned into him. “It’s sweet—”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sweet.”
“—with a healthy dose of spice.”
She rolled her eyes.
He cupped her cheek with his palm, his voice turned kind. “I’m truly sorry about your friend.”
Mesmerized by the tenderness in his eyes, she whispered, “Thank you. Now I must go to her.”
He reluctantly let her go and stepped back. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Lifting the hem of her black tunic and billowy palla, Adiona entered the villa’s inner courtyard. In life, Octavia had loved the rectangular space and filled it with a wealth of flowers that bloomed in every season.
The haunting melody of a panpipe mingled with the gentle splash of the central fountain and the conversation of a small group of visitors. Her eyes misted with tears of sadness and burned from the sweet cloud of incense as she crossed the verdant garden to the slim linen-covered body laid out in wake.
Already the sixth and final day of mourning, she’d nearly missed the chance to pay her respects. Guests were already arriving for Octavia’s procession outside the city where she would be cremated.
She rested a hand on Octavia’s shrouded arm. Remembering how the gentle woman had always been quick to give a hug or lend a hand in need, she bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing. She would always regret not arriving in time to care for her friend during her sickness or to offer a final goodbye.
Through the thick haze of incense smoke, she saw Drusus immersed in conversation with an elegant older woman.
Drusus left his guest and weaved his way toward Adiona. In the hour since their confrontation in the entryway, he’d changed his light tunic to one of black. Carrying a gold chalice in his hand, he came to a stop on the other side of his wife’s corpse.
“See, Adiona, I followed all the cus…customs just like I knew you’d expect.”
“Really? Moments after Octavia died, you closed her eyes and called out her name?”
He nodded, smug.
“Then you had her body washed and—”
“Yes, of course!”
“You placed a coin in her mouth for the ferryman?”
“I need to speak with you about that…”
“As I expected.”
“I did everything,” he defended hotly. “I even wasted more spices to…to keep the stench down.”
Drusus snapped his fingers at a passing slave to pour him more wine. Noting the slight slur in his words, she frowned, disturbed as much by his glassy gaze as the rancor in his voice.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk, Drusus?”
“I? At my own wife’s funeral?” He smirked, lifting the chalice to his lips to drink deeply. “I assure you, if I’m drunk it’s s…solely from grief.”
Liar.
She bit her tongue. Everyone knew the importance of following the proper rituals if a departed soul was to cross into the afterlife unhindered. To her surprise, Drusus seemed to have followed those customs. At least most of them. She didn’t want to start an argument at the wake when it mi
ght cause Octavia problems in the underworld.
“Octavia was a special woman, Drusus. You didn’t deserve her.”
He shrugged, unoffended. “I treated her well enough.”
She gritted her teeth. “I pray her journey across the River Styx is smooth and the Judges honor her with a favored place in the Elysian Fields.”
“I doubt she earned a favored place,” he said, taking another drink. “She was an adequate wife, but failed in her ultimate duty to give me sons.”
She gasped. “She gave you three beautiful daughters.”
“What are daughters but mouths to feed and eventual dowries to empty my purse?”
Adiona bristled. He sounded so male and unforgivably ignorant. Exactly like her father and her toad of a husband. “Be wise, Drusus, and hold your tongue before you vex me beyond endurance. Your daughters are the reason you are heir to a fortune.”
“Excuse me.” The elegant woman who she’d seen speaking with Drusus joined them beside Octavia’s body. “I apologize for the interruption but it’s time.”
Adiona paled. Mortified by her loss of temper in the circumstances, she dragged in a calming breath before offering a silent apology to Octavia. She squeezed her friend’s stiff fingers through the shroud as her body was carried away by four members of the funerary collegia.
The procession to the outskirts of the city was long. Hours of mournful wailing, the heat of the pyre and the sad trek back to the house left Adiona drained of all but her grief. Thankfully, her bodyguards had been beside her, but it was Quintus’s stalwart presence that gave her the strength to endure.
Slaves had set up a feast for the returning mourners. Drusus wasted no time refilling his glass, not that he’d been overlong without wine. If anything, he was more inebriated now than when she’d last spoken with him.
Too upset to eat, Adiona had the slaves carry food to her guards. Just as he had earlier in the day, Quintus waited in the hall within easy striking distance in case she needed him.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the elegant older woman she’d seen with Drusus approached her. An affable smile lit the woman’s dark brown eyes. “I’m Gaia. A friend of Drusus…and, of course, dear Octavia.”
“I’m Adiona Leonia.”
“Yes, I know. Octavia spoke of you often. She admired you greatly and praised your strength of will. She proclaimed you the most beautiful woman in the Empire. I see she didn’t exaggerate.”
“As always, Octavia was too kind.”
Dressed in fine black silk edged with silver fringe that matched the silver hair at her temples, Gaia motioned toward the garden’s exit. “Drusus asked me to have you meet him in his office. Apparently, the two of you have much to discuss. I’ll stay here and see to his other guests.”
Thinking the woman was a bit presumptuous, Adiona was too unhappy to be offended. She left the garden and found Drusus already in his office, sitting behind his desk. Tall floor candelabras were placed in each of the room’s corners. A seamless, brightly painted mural of Diana leading a hunt dominated all four walls, but instead of the goddess being the focal point of the piece, a large golden serpent coiled in a tree behind Drusus. Rubies had been imbedded in the wall to give the painted reptile the look of glowing red eyes. Used to her heir’s eccentricities, she shrugged off the eerie feeling that slithered down her spine.
Aware that Drusus meant to claim a position of power by placing himself behind the desk, Adiona took control of the conversation and spoke first. “Who is Gaia and what is she to you?”
He blinked several times as though trying to clear his head. “She’s a…a neighbor. A friend of Octavia. She helped me with the children during Octavia’s sickness and then with the funeral arrangements.”
For that she owed Gaia a favor. “Why don’t you allow the girls to live with me in Rome?” Eager to give Octavia’s daughters a home filled with appreciation and love, she expected Drusus to give them to her for the right price. “With no family of my own I’d enjoy the company. You know I’d hire the best tutors for them when they’re old enough. They’ll want for nothing.”
He leaned forward in his chair, lacing his fingers atop the desk. “No, I couldn’t allow them to go with you.”
“Why ever not?” He had no appreciation for his off-spring. After an hour or two, she doubted he’d remember their names.
“No offense, my dear cous…cousin, but they’ll end up poisoned against men and marriage the same as you are. I’ll never get them wed and they’ll be stones around my neck for all eternity.”
Incensed, she arched a brow at his wine-induced bluntness. How was she not to take offense at being told she’d poison his children?
She lifted her chin and looked at him as though he were a bug she’d like to smash beneath her sandal. “I don’t hate good men, Drusus. Unfortunately, they’re just more difficult to come by than gold coins in a pauper’s hovel.”
His cheeks flushed, he glanced away, suitably chastised. He cleared his throat after a long, uncomfortable pause. “Speaking of gold coins. I’m wondering if you might pay me back for the one Octavia took to the pyre.”
“You’re a worm, Drusus.”
“Don’t be unkind, Adiona. You keep me on a tight leash.”
She gave a derisive snort. For the children’s sake, she paid him an allowance twice what he deserved. Although comfortable in his own right, her cousin was a spendthrift who was rumored to make his slaves go hungry if it meant having a few extra sestertii to spend on himself.
“Not tight enough if I go by the rings you’re sporting.”
His glassy eyes grew wide. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not complaining.”
“Of course not,” she scoffed. She stood and aimed for the door. “Let’s finish this tomorrow, shall we? I suspect we’ll accomplish more than running in circles once you’re sober.”
Her temper boiling just beneath the surface of her skin, she marched back to the garden. Music and a hearty dose of wine had erased all sadness from the guests. They danced and laughed as if they’d attended a wedding instead of a funeral.
Disgusted by the lack of respect for Octavia, she left the garden the way she’d come. Quintus was waiting for her.
“Are you well?” he asked. “You look exhausted.”
“Exhausted? No, I’m madder than a barbarian horde. I’d so hoped to arrive to a recovered Octavia. Instead, I’m cursed to deal with Drusus, that maggot. I wish he’d died instead!”
“What did he say to upset you?”
“I need a few moments. As of yet, I’m too angry to speak of it.” His steady presence had a soothing effect on her temper as they ascended the steps to the second floor. Servants had lit oil lamps to banish the night’s darkness. A chill swept through the stairwell.
“He said,” she began once they reached the threshold, “that I’m not fit to raise his daughters. That allowing them to live with me would ruin them. That I’d poison them against men.”
“And?” Quintus prompted when she offered no more.
Furious, she demanded, “What do you mean, and? Isn’t that bad enough? Do you agree with him?”
“I have no opinion whatsoever.” He opened the chamber door for her. Slaves had been there to close the balcony doors and light candles. “From what I’ve seen, he’s a mockery of a man, but I don’t know how he is with his children or how he wants to raise them.”
“Then let me enlighten you.” She stormed into her room. “He thinks girls are worthless. Just like my own father did!”
Silence fell. She whirled around to find Quintus in the doorway. Arms crossed over his muscular chest, he leaned against the jamb. His intense green eyes appraised her as though the final piece of a complicated puzzle had just been snapped into place.
“I see,” he said, his expression intent and filled with understanding. “You do know both of them are wrong, don’t you?”
“Of course!”
“Then why have you let their ignorance distress you?
”
“Because it’s hurtful and unfair.” She began to pace a circle around the desk. “It’s a horrible lie!”
“Yes, and look who’s perpetuating the falsehood. Drusus, a slug of no account who needs to feel important, and your father. I didn’t know him, but if he treated you as less than the treasure you are, then he is of no account, as well.”
She gaped at him.
“I hope you know your own worth by now, but if you need a man’s opinion, ask a real one.”
Fascinated, she walked toward him, her gaze locked with his. “All right, Quintus. What do you think of me?”
Chapter Thirteen
Quintus groaned inwardly. He’d known better than to throw Adiona a challenge if he didn’t want her to take him up on it. His fingers slashed through his hair. “I think you’re…exceptional.”
Her eyes brightened. She started to smile, then her lush mouth drooped into a frown. “Exceptional in what way? Spoiled? Difficult? Sharp-tongued? Unlovable?”
Unlovable? Was she mad? “My, what a high opinion you have of yourself.”
“I know I’m those things. Everyone says so.”
“That doesn’t make them true. In fact, I—”
A shadow moved on the wall above the sleeping couch behind Adiona. Not the flicker of a candle’s flame, but an odd undulation. A warning crept up the back of his neck. The pelts covering the couch moved.
He pulled her behind him, shoving her through the open doorway and out into the hall. “Quintus, what—?”
“Be still.” The covers rustled. Something was in her bed.
He didn’t want to frighten her. Getting her to sleep in unfamiliar surroundings was difficult enough as it was. “Don’t ask why, just trust me. Go fetch one of my men. Then go sit with David and Seth.”
“But—”
“No,” he said, firmly. “Do as I say.”
He expected an argument, but as usual, she surprised him and did as he asked. Her knock sounded on the door across the hall.