Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (138 page)

Syra jerked her arm away from the old woman. Rage gave her limbs strength again. Jumping to her feet, she pointed an accusing finger at the woman who had urged her along this disastrous path.

“
You told me to stay in Rome. You said my destiny lay ahead!”

“
And it still does, child.”

“
Do not call me that, hag. Your daughter was right. The gods have touched you.”

The old woman chuckled as she rose from the bench. “Nay, but they have you.”

“
The gods have used me as a plaything and now have cast me aside.” Syra’s voice threatened to crack under the strain. “I will listen to no more of your lies.”

The old woman blocked her path. “So you run? A deserter?”

“
Do not dare challenge my courage, woman.” Rage coursed through her veins. She had yet to intentionally strike another woman, but Syra was more than ready to make an exception.

Snorting, the hag spat at her feet. “You know nothing of courage. To stay would be brave, to run is like a child.”

“
You are a fool. There is nothing to stay for.”

“
Brutus’ life still hangs in the balance.”

This Syra could stand for no longer. “He could stand before me with his guts spilling from his toga, and I would give him no aid.”

“
Blast it, girl! Are you still that blinded?”

Syra pushed her way past the woman, making the old hag stumble to the side. She cared not. She cared for very little anymore. Destiny be damned, she wished only to see the world past Rome’s gate. That was her only desire.

The hag scrambled to intercept her. “Do you not care why any of this happened?”

“
No,” Syra would waste no more breath on this woman. She would need it to scale the city’s wall and melt into the black night.

But the old woman would not be denied. “Tell me that this city does not ache in your bones. Tell me that, and I will let you pass.”

As much as Syra wanted to rebel against the hag, she could not speak those words. The old woman must have noticed her lack of response, for she gave a cracked-tooth grin.

“
Aye. The soil beneath your feet speaks to you, does it not? It holds secrets that whisper in your ear.”

Despite the urgency in her heart to run from the cursed city, Syra found that her feet would not move. The hag had cast her spell yet again.

“
You must listen, child. You must.”

Syra found her voice, but her statement felt strained even to her own ears. “I do not want to.”

“
This goes far beyond your want, girl. It speaks to need.”

Syra turned away from the old woman. She would not be drawn in again. What had this hag’s advice gotten her so far? Nothing but a bellyful of grief, and a heart beating against its will. Syra had enough of this city, and the pain it gave away freely. If need be, she would crawl out the city gates on her knees.

“
Do not think to block me, witch.”

The old woman stepped aside and let her pass. Only the hag’s voice trailed after her. “If you are not brave enough to enter the Mundus, then all is lost.”

Syra swung back around to give the old woman an earful of disdain, but she was gone. Vanished into still air. Letting out a hiss, she turned on her heel and strode forward. She would not listen to the hag. What did the old woman know of destiny? The Fates worked without accomplices.

“
Wait,” the old woman called out, but Syra did not listen. Strength now flowed through her limbs. This night she would taste freedom.

* * *

Brutus could not hear the lively conversation around him. His ears rang, and his neck was red with shame. What had he just done? Brutus had thought to protect Syra, yet in her eyes he that knew he had hurt her worse than Cassius ever could. No ends could ever justify the means he had used.

Worse, Antony had not been angered with Syra, but with Lylith and Brutus. Antony. Antony, the man who broke hearts and tossed women aside as if they were used saddles. Antony had scolded
him
. Chastised Brutus for his cruel treatment of the Northerner. The brash lieutenant had strode from Lylith and sought out Syra. The man who Brutus had held the least regard for in the entire Empire had shown more consideration than he.

Brutus was so very angry with Lylith. So very angry with Antony. But most of all, Brutus was angry with himself. He had sought to ensure that no man bent him to his will, yet he had allowed Lylith to forge him into the very type of man that he despised.

For so many right reasons he had done all the wrong things.

The burden weighed heavily on his shoulders. For once, he knew how Caesar might feel. When does one draw the line and say, “enough”? When does one know that the cost is too great?

Brutus did not realize he had risen until he felt Lylith’s hand upon his arm. “Where do you think you are going?”

“
To find her.”

Lylith’s eyes sparked in the torchlight. Her lips tightened down to a thin line. “I think not.”

Brutus did not bother answering her. He simply threw down his napkin and turned away. Brutus barely made it behind the curtains when his wife was upon her feet with her fingers dug into his arm.

“
You will not embarrass me so.”

Leaning in, Brutus lowered his voice but filled his tone with threat. “I will do far worse than that if you do not unhand me.”

“
Do not think I will hold my tongue here.”

Brutus’ anger could be contained no longer. His words were reckless, but he cared not. “Tell them, Lylith. Tell them all.”

His wife’s nails dug in deep enough to bring blood onto his skin, but Brutus did not stop. “I will tell them that you knew from the beginning. That it is you who prompts me to assassinate Caesar.”

Lylith’s hand released his arm and flew to her mouth. “Never.”

“
You are Cato’s daughter, Lylith. His views on monarchy were quite clear.” Brutus watched his wife squirm in a noose that she had braided herself. “Like father, like daughter.”

Lylith regained some composure. “They will never believe you.”

Brutus had held his tongue for so long that he had forgotten how much he knew that his wife was ignorant of. “When I reveal that your brother is a conspirator, they will believe.”

Lylith was clearly scandalized by such a notion. Her brother had stood fast in his support of Caesar through the civil war. “Then you spread lies that—”

It was Brutus’ turn to grab his wife’s arm. “Look into my eyes, Lylith. I do not lie. Your brother plots against Caesar, and I will scream it from this table if you do not sit down and make my apologies.”

Lylith’s eyes flickered as she tried to read him. Finally her face sagged, and the light evaporated from her eyes. “Do not expect me to stand by while you ruin my family.”

“
I expect you to see my mother safely to the south.”

“
I will not—”

Brutus tightened his grip, until Lylith gave a squeak of pain. “You will leave Rome this night. From this very party. Do not ever return to my home.”

Tears glistened in his wife’s eyes, but Brutus was immune to sympathy. There was nothing left that mattered to him besides finding Syra and moving his household to safer ground.

“
Betray me, and I will see you both arrested for treason.” Brutus released his wife’s wrist and turned without waiting for her response.

He was out the gate in a few heartbeats, but he stopped. Where would Syra have gone? Would she try to leave Rome? Had she sought refuge with Antony? He would not blame the Northerner if she had, but he needed to know. Without pride, he would grovel and ask her forgiveness.

* * *

With only the thin dress upon her back, Syra stood at the deserted section of the wall that had held her interest just this very day. Her hand wavered an inch from the wood. One good shove and she was free of Rome and all the pain that it had brought her. Why then was she not running full tilt into the night? Why did she linger here, her arms heavy and unmoving? She wished she could blame her feeling of responsibility toward Navia, but Syra knew that would be nothing but a flimsy excuse.

No matter how blistered her heart, she could not deny the old woman’s words. Rome’s song did thrum in her bones. Tears sprang to her already reddened eyes. But this time it was not the pain of humiliation that caused the moisture. It was an ache that begged her to stay. A sense of loss held her trapped so very close to her escape. But what was here to hold her? A busy, smelly city that cared not for her. Worse than that, really. Rome seemed to be aiming its hostility directly at her heart.

“
At the least, take me with you,” a winded voice spoke from behind. Syra swung around to find the old woman hobbling up, leaning heavily on her cane. “You should not have followed.”

“
You go to Scotland, do you not?”

Until the hag spoke it, Syra had not really known her destination. But the old woman’s words had a sense of rightness to them. “Aye.”

“
Take me.”

Even if Syra did not have a heated animosity for this hag, how could she consider the old woman’s request? “I must travel light and fast. I will be a wanted woman by the morn.”

The hag did not seem surprised to hear Syra’s words. Instead, she seemed resigned. The old woman held out a pack.

“
Then take this. You will need it.”

Syra’s back stiffened at the old woman’s boldness. She needed nothing. “Keep it for your own travels.” Spitting, Syra refused to take the satchel.

The old woman’s face flushed with anger. “So you mean to flee in a party dress. Will you eat the frills, then? Hunt with the pins in your hair?”

“
Do not goad me further, woman.”

“
Or what? Will you whip me with the thin straps of your sandal?”

Syra could feel the rage coming back in to her stomach. Did the woman not realize she could snap her in half? It would take no weapon to shut this hag’s mouth forever.

The old woman tossed the bag at Syra’s feet. “Take it or not.”

Syra looked down at the stuffed pack. When she lifted her eyes, the hag was gone. For someone so crippled, the old woman was surprisingly spry.

Tentatively, she reached a hand out. On top of the bag lay a set of man’s clothes. Thick breeches and a rough cloak. Just the disguise she needed to slip from Rome’s clingy embrace. Still, it nagged at Syra. Why had the old woman offered such a thing? Why help her escape when just a few moments ago, the hag had nearly beaten her over the head to stay?

Swallowing down her concern, Syra grabbed the clothes and hurriedly dressed before her limbs betrayed her. Even now, her eyes sought the multitude of torches marking the Forum. How could she have so sorely misjudged Brutus? Was she so used to a feather bed that she could not fathom living on the hard earth again? Steeling herself against such doubts, Syra tossed her dress aside and boldly opened the wooden door.

Within seconds, she was at the top of the wall. Amassed in front of her was Caesar’s great army. But that was not her destination. She did not wish to go east. North was her direction. North to home.

* * *

Brutus found himself at another dead end. Slamming his hand against the wall, he cursed his luck. It had been long since he had roamed the streets of the city. He had been searching for Syra for hours, yet was still empty-handed. Brutus had checked at home first, but of course, her bed was vacant. The city gates were closed this night for the celebration, not that he did not think her capable of scrambling up and over an unguarded section of wall, but Brutus did not think she had left Rome. Would his heart not ache ever worse if she were gone? Perhaps it was arrogance on his part, but Brutus did not think the Northerner could just leave like that.

There was one other place she might have gone. Down at the wharf with Tiberius. Brutus could not believe the Northerner would leave Rome without visiting the boy one last time.

Backtracking, Brutus angled toward the east. He would make his apologies to Tiberius, and if Syra were not there, he would travel to Antony’s. If his search was still unfruitful, Brutus would have to admit that his quest was futile. How that thought weighed heavy upon his heart! There was so much he regretted doing in so short a time. He never should have bent to Lylith’s will. He should have been stronger. For Rome, for himself, for Syra. Would he ever have the chance to tell her such things?

A motion caught Brutus’ attention. It was the third time on this search that he had felt someone was just beyond the periphery of his vision. He swung around swiftly, but once again, there was no one. Sounds echoed off the empty streets from the Forum, making it hard to discern if anyone followed. The threat from Cassius still hung over his head like a cloud from a brewing storm.

Shrugging off his sense of unease, Brutus quickened his pace. The docks were not far. As he approached the wharf, his mind filled with trepidation. Brutus had painstakingly avoided coming face to face with his abject failure. Now the pain was doublefold. For his inaction, the boy was dead, and Syra was gone.