Shadows . . .
“What is?” My patience would allow him two more words out of his mouth. Maybe three. It turned out that was all Aeddan needed to make me listen. And they weren’t what I was expecting. Not at all.
He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Cai’s father.”
“Senator Varro?” I frowned. “What of him? Has something happened—”
“He’s one of them, Fallon!”
I stared at Aeddan, not understanding.
He shook his head in frustration. “One of the Sons of Dis.”
I burst out laughing, just like Cai had with Kass in the prison courtyard.
The very idea was laughable. Senator Varro—elegant and eloquent, kind and caring Senator Varro, a decorated hero of the legions and a respected statesman of the Republic—could not conceivably be one of those monsters. Preposterous.
“It’s true,” Aeddan said.
I stared at him hard, struggling to find the joke. Aeddan’s expression remained humorless.
“Senator Varro is a war hero,” I said. “An honorable man. He served in the legions under Pompey the Great—”
“And that makes him honorable?” Aeddan gaped at me. “The Fallon I used to know would never have said such a thing. Would he have been honorable if he’d served in the legions when they came to conquer our land?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head and turned a withering glare on me. “Here’s something I know about the esteemed Senator Varro from the time I spent with Pontius Aquila, Fallon. Since Pompey’s death, Varro has been vocal in his support of Caesar, but it’s a lie, Fallon. He hates Caesar, just like so many of his fellow snakes in the senate do. Hates him and fears him. Varro is secretly on the side of the Optimates—the very faction of Romans that Caesar is off fighting now in Hispania.”
“So he doesn’t agree with Caesar’s politics,” I argued, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “That doesn’t mean he’s part of that sick, subversive cult.”
“That sick, subversive political cult, Fallon. Don’t be na?ve,” he scoffed. “The Sons of Dis think the gladiatorial sacrifices grant them power. The kind of power they can channel into bringing down the mighty Julius Caesar. Whether someone like Varro buys into their beliefs or not, he still might very well see them as a useful means to an end. Caesar’s end. Add to that, the delicious irony that it would be a downfall set in motion by Caesar’s own treasured Spirit of Victory. You.”
I looked down to see that I was clutching my arm where Aquila had carved his mark into my skin. I unclenched my fingers like they’d touched something hot and hid my arm behind my back.
“I followed the girl back to the brothel, Fallon,” he said. “That night. She told me everything she knew.”
“Liar. She wouldn’t tell me—”
“I’m not you. I’m not as polite.”
I glared at him, wanting to turn on my heel and walk away from his nonsense, but needing to know what he’d learned in spite of myself. “And what did she tell you, then?” I snapped. “What proof did she have? Is Varro, himself, one of her . . . her patrons?”
“No.” Aeddan shook his head. “There is a junior senator named Fabius. A frequent visitor at the brothel. A fool, yes, and usually addled with poppy wine. But according to the wh—” He stopped himself when he saw the look in my eyes and amended what he’d been about to say. “—according to Kassandra, he’s never said anything while in his cups that hasn’t borne out as truth. That day, he was running off his mouth about secret gatherings, about ‘blood sacrifices’ and how he was going to be a force to be reckoned with soon . . . How the ‘great dark god’ would grant his ‘sons’ the strength to take on a tyrant. How ‘his master’ would soon be one of the most powerful men in Rome—”
“Listen to yourself!” I shook my head. “You’re actually giving credence to the third-hand boasting of a drink-addled brothel hound, Aeddan!”
So that was it, I thought, finally understanding Cai’s reluctance to even mention his conversation with Kass and realizing all along that I’d had nothing to worry about. It was ridiculous and embarrassing—nothing more than the delusional proclamations of a drunken degenerate—and I was sure he hadn’t wanted to tell me for fear that I might think less of a man I’d come to admire. His father. Senator Varro had been kind to me. Accepted me. Me. A gladiatrix, infamia, darling of the unwashed mob and wholly unsuited to even be seen talking with the likes of a senator’s son. Kassandra—and Aeddan—had it all wrong. And I couldn’t help but question Aeddan’s motives, at least.
“Did Kassandra tell you whether this fool, as you yourself call him, ever even mentioned Varro by name?” I asked.
Aeddan’s surety faltered. “No,” he admitted. “But if this Fabius is a protégé of Senator Varro—”
I put up a hand to forestall any more of his nonsense. “I’ve heard enough. You can rest assured I’ll be the first one to sound the war horns if I see even the shadow of one of those twisted bastards, believe me . . . But you’re striking at shadows that aren’t even there.”
“Am I?” He looked at me bleakly. “Tell me something, Fallon. Did you see any of the faces of the men that night in the catacombs of Domus Corvinus?” His eyes burned into me. “Do you think they were commoners? That party was attended by Rome’s powerful elite. How do you know Senator Varro wasn’t one of them?”
“How do you know he was?”
“I don’t. You’re right. And I don’t want to find myself in a situation where I can be certain. All I’m saying is . . . you’d better be careful. Keep hold of your wits—and your heart.”
“What could possibly have made you say such a thing?” I asked, growing angry again. How dare he even pretend to have a care for my heart. After everything he’d done . . . “Is this some sort of twisted jealousy, Aeddan? Because I know—I know—Cai would never betray me. Not for anything—”
“Not even for his father, Fallon?” Aeddan shook his head. “Lugh’s teeth! And you want to take us into the man’s very house. It’s folly. Dangerous folly.”
“Even if I believed you—which I don’t—what, exactly, is it that you think Senator Varro can do to us from the other side of the Ionian Sea, Aeddan?”
“He doesn’t need to be there to exert a powerful influence on his son, Fallon. Think about it—once we’re there, Cai will be surrounded by all the things that will remind him of the man who raised him, provided for him—”
“You’re wrong—”
“I know the way the Romans think!” he snapped. “Their parents are more like gods to them than family. They worship their ancestors! And if—if—it comes down to it . . . who do you think your handsome decurion will choose, Fallon?”
I was silent for a moment. Then I said, “Me.”
“Over blood?”
He stared at me, and I thought I saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes. It made me even angrier. How dare he pity me? “Stop it, Aeddan. I already know you tried to convice Cai to send me home—”