Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (142 page)

Brutus immediately regretted his outburst. Horat did not deserve such hot words. The only person deserving retribution was himself.

The old man seemed taken aback by Brutus’ confession. His old fingers worried over one another as his frown deepened.

“
You must find her,” Horat stated.

Surprised by his servant’s boldness, Brutus shook his head vigorously. “Nay. She has made her choice, as I must now.” Brutus waved his servant away. “As I said, it is late.”

“
Do you not…” Horat’s jaw muscles tensed as if he were biting off words before they could be uttered. “Do you not fear that she will end up like Tiberius?”

“
She is not a child. She fought in the Spanish campaign. She would be no safer here.”

“
But surely—”

Brutus kept his tone civil. “Enough. What is done is in fact done.”

Horat looked like he wished to argue, but rose from his chair.

Brutus stood as well. “Tomorrow bodes no better. We both had best get some sleep.”

The two men walked out of the study together, but Horat paused before he entered the hallway. “Would you be angered if she returned?”

Angered? Brutus would kill a hundred Caesars if he could just look upon her face once again.

* * *

The pain in her stomach had waned after Mirta fed her the bread and pear, but this nausea seemed to have nothing to do with hunger.

The Fated?

Syra could feel the rightness of this title in her marrow. Brutus and she were bound through time to find one another. But all else was still a blur. Each time the urge to lose her stomach came, another memory would surface. Just enough to blind her sight, but not enough to enlighten her. How greatly she wished Brutus were here.

“
Are you fully Awakened?” the hag asked with hesitation.

“
Nay.”

Again, Syra recognized the term but could not truly understand its meaning. But whatever the event, Syra was certain it was not complete. She clutched her midriff as her stomach churned. She could not live the rest of her life in this haze between reality and memory.

Mirta stroked her back in a soothing manner. “Is it always this difficult?”

Amongst all of the memories, Syra could tell this was not a normal Awakening. “Nay. But it is always harder alone.”

Strong emotions always heralded the Awakening. Many times, so many in fact that Syra could not count them, it was upon her first kiss with Brutus. Sexual energy was a powerful catalyst. There were snatches in her memory of Awakenings within a battle or during a heated argument. But the smoothest, most fulfilling Awakenings were always together, locked in an embrace. The more heated the passion, the richer the Awakening.

Recognition dawned on Syra. It had been the bone-handled knife that had stirred this Awakening. But how had it gotten there? Anger replaced Syra’s confusion.

“
You placed the dagger within my pack!” Syra spat out.

Mirta’s eyes dilated, then she cast her gaze down.

“
How could you?” Syra asked, not expecting that answer. “You forced my Awakening, did you not?”

Still, the old woman would not answer. Mirta’s wrinkled lips trembled as Syra continued. “The Order. Is that not what your people are called?”

The old woman only nodded.

Syra’s disbelief was clear in her voice. “You broke the Order’s edict. What would make you do such a thing?” Shame was clear on Mirta’s face, but she would not answer. Syra grabbed the old woman’s wrist. “Speak, or I will invoke the penalty of death now.”

With her emotions heightened, Syra could feel more memories pour into her. This was the most sacred of the Order’s laws. The Scholars who made up this Order were some of the finest minds in the world, but these men and women were mortal. They were not The Fated.

Despite their great uses, Syra and Brutus would not have allowed the Order to exist if they dared tamper with their Awakening. That was between them and their Fates.

“
Speak, woman,” Syra demanded.

Mirta’s words were forced. “I had thought at the Forum you were Awakening. But then you left. What was I to do? The Crux—”

“
Crux?” Syra interrupted. The term stirred something deep inside her. The only reason that she and Brutus Awakened through the ages was to guide the Crux. They were to shepherd civilization through its awkward youth.

Much flooded into Syra’s mind as pieces of the puzzle began working themselves together, stitching a more complete tapestry. In a rush, she realized this age’s Crux.

“
Caesar. He is the Crux, is he not?”

“
That is what the Order believes, and his assassination draws upon the sun’s rise.”

Panic gripped her heart. The next morning?

“
I have Awakened too late,” Syra groaned. Over the ages, she came into herself much earlier in the flow of events. Weeks, months, sometimes even years before the Crux reached its apex. In this life, it was but a handful of hours.

“
Nay, there is still time,” Mirta said. “The Scholars have flocked to Rome and are assembled and ready to assist.”

Syra nodded. It did not take the Order, filled with men and women who studied through the centuries, to discern that this Roman general was the vanguard of a struggle for civilization to move forward. Caesar was central to the world’s culture. But none of this would do any good unless she could reach Brutus and Awaken him in time.

“
You see my sorry condition. I cannot travel to Rome by sunrise.”

Mirta pointed over the hill. “I brought two horses. I have been searching the banks all day.”

Of course. How else could the old woman have caught up with her? Syra felt the anger drain from her chest as they walked to the glen. Without Mirta, she might not have Awakened in time. To think that she might have sailed out into the Mediterranean before learning her heritage doused her burning anger.

Syra shuddered at the notion of leaving Brutus not yet Awakened to face the Crux. That Fate was even more unthinkable than breaking the Edict. The old woman did not deserve Syra’s scorn. There was great reasoning behind the hag’s actions.

The old woman still looked distraught as Syra laid a hand upon the hag’s shoulder. “The dagger will be our secret, Mirta. The Order need never know.”

The hag shook her head. “At the least I should be exiled. My line thrown from the Order.”

“
Nay. Times change,” Syra said.

This forced Awakening had taken its toll, but she would not let Mirta take the full blame. Other forces felt at work. Something had blocked their natural Awakening. The Order needed one such as Mirta.

“
Perhaps the Order needs to respond to change as well.”

Syra stood alongside the horses. The hag had chosen well. Syra’s horse was long-legged, with thick muscles rippling along its hindquarters. Putting a foot in the stirrup, Syra pulled herself into the saddle. As she adjusted the reins, she felt the swimming nausea crash over her again. Until she Awakened Brutus and felt his hand in hers, this nightmare would not end.

Beside her, the old woman tried to mount her steed as well, but her old bones were not quite up to the challenge. The trip down the river must have taxed Mirta deeply.

“
Nay, Mirta. Stay and rest.”

“
I must accompany you.”

Syra shook her head. “I ride alone.”

“
But you will need me. The Crux is at hand.”

Once again, Syra shook her head. “Your duty was discharged when I Awakened.”

“
It may not be my duty, but it is my desire.”

Syra urged her horse over to the old woman. “I have great need of you. This Awakening has been most strange. You must go back to the Order. You must assemble the Scholars long after Brutus and I have departed to determine why this Awakening has been so tardy.”

“
All the more reason for me to stay near. I know nothing of this life.”

“
Your knowledge even thus far is invaluable. I will not have you at risk.”

The old woman once again tried to gain her saddle, but failed. Her eyes begged Syra to reconsider. “There is so much still to learn.”

Syra did not wish to shame the old woman, but she would never reach Rome in time if she had Mirta in tow. But the hag did have a sound argument. If the Order was to divine their tumultuous Awakening, then they would need to know more about their lives.

“
Find a girl named Navia. She is with child. Take her into the Order. We traveled together from Spain. There is no one in this world who knows me better.”

“
But. But…” the old woman sputtered. “But she is not born to the Order.”

Syra’s face softened. It had been long since The Fated walked this earth. The Order had forgotten whence they came. “And neither was your line until I took them in. Find the girl. Brutus’ servant, Horat, will know of whom I speak.”

“
Of course. Brutus’ Guardian will know of her.”

Syra swung back around. “Guardian? Horat is a Guardian?”

The old woman looked surprised. “Yes. I thought you had recognized him.”

“
Harn,” Syra said with relish.

Horat might have shaved his head, but the similarities to Romulus’ lieutenant were many. So much now made sense to Syra. The old man always had a softness toward her. Brutus would be greatly pleased to know that his loyal servant was indeed his Guardian as well.

In many lives, the greatest burden The Fated felt was that, once Awakened, they had to leave many they cared for behind without explanation. Those of the Order became your family. But in this life, Brutus would have an easy transition.

Syra leaned down and embraced the old woman. Mirta squeezed her tight, then released her.

“
You will be gone from Rome by the time I return?” the hag asked.

Eyeing the moon rising in the night sky, Syra nodded. “If all goes well, Brutus and I will be away.”

She could see the pain and doubt in Mirta’s eyes. Syra softened her tone and stroked the old woman’s cheek. “The next time I Awaken, I want it spoken that you were the best of Guardians, Mirta. Do not forget that in your telling.”

Without looking back, Syra spurred her horse. Snorting, the stallion leapt forward and charged into a gallop. Head still spinning, Syra grabbed handfuls of mane and hung on for dear life.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 16

Brutus smoothed his toga and straightened his purple sash. With great care, he laced his red sandals. It was with great trepidation he clothed himself in the official garb of the Senate. This day might well be the last he ever donned the elegant uniform.

The conspirators thought that they could kill Caesar, then debate it upon the Curia floor afterward. Brutus had no such illusions. Chaos would descend, and Antony would call for their blood to mingle with Caesar’s. If he truly went through with this dark deed, Brutus might not come home this day or any other. Death was thick in the air on this Ides of March.

Without rousing anyone in the household, Brutus left through the garden gate. He eschewed The Sacred Way, opting for the less-conspicuous side roads. Brutus had no desire to meet anyone along the way. The sun was barely up, casting a waning light on the steep road as he made his way to the Forum. Despite the early hour, many senators were already assembled as Brutus passed through the bronze gates into the Curia.

Most of these senators were rabid supporters of Caesar—here to secure prime seats to see the general voted into kingship. There was a carnival-like atmosphere in the Senate chambers.

Did these neophytes not understand? At the least, the Republic was handing itself over to a man sick with power. At the worst, they would witness their idol’s death.

Avoiding the clot of senators near the floor, Brutus climbed the stairs and crossed to the back of the Curia. As he climbed down to his station, Brutus watched Cicero enter. The older man’s face was clearly painted with relief when he saw Brutus.

Cicero raised a hand in greeting, but Brutus did not respond in kind. Brutus’ presence did not necessarily mean his acceptance into the conspiracy. His heart was still torn. Brutus feared he would not know which way to lean until he set eyes upon the general for himself. Sitting down upon his rightful chair, Brutus settled in for the long wait until Caesar arrived for his coronation.

* * *

Syra’s horse was winded as they approached Rome’s west gate. She had ridden without rest the entire night and into the dawn. Looking at the long line of travelers, Syra urged her horse to the west. Even in daylight, she could scale the wall and be inside before the guards could catch her. Her head still spun with pain and confusion, but her heart had no such quarrel. She must reach Brutus before the assassination. Syra cared not about Caesar or even the impact of the assassination on Rome.

It was Brutus she was concerned for. The Fates could not be so cruel as to Awaken her, only to see Brutus be killed before they could consummate their bond. It seemed as the ages passed that she and her Fated had less and less time together before death stole them back into its cold embrace. This she would not let happen in this lifetime.