the hill, entirely subterranean, and the thought of going in there made her suddenly claustrophobic. But she had no choice. It was in there, a room testament to the Empire’s wealth, where she knew she would find him.
The heavy doors swung easily on greased hinges, and a great cloud of steam rushed over Lydia as she stepped inside, causing her robe to cling to her skin and her spectacles to fog. Pulling them off, she walked several paces before her nearsighted eyes adjusted to the dim light, leaving the doors open though she knew she wasn’t supposed to let out the heat.
The room was vast and circular, the tiles beneath her feet like polished onyx and the walls made of the same. In the center was a rectangular pool formed of tiny golden tiles that reflected the flames of the oil burning in the dozens of dragon sconces on the walls, making the water appear molten.
The pool itself was fed by a natural hot spring. It flowed from the mouth of an enormous golden dragon at one end of the room, running like a river through the pool to drain out the large tunnel at the opposite end. The tunnel was usually covered by metal mesh to prevent anyone from inadvertently exploring where the underground stream went, yet it was currently unbarred.
Next to the pool was a small table, on which was set a tray of gold holding two glasses and a dripping decanter of yellow wine.
Every instinct told her to run. To retreat from this situation. To hide back in her library.
But her carelessness was what had gotten Teriana and the rest of the Maarin into this situation, and Lydia refused to allow her cowardice to be the reason they remained imprisoned.
Crossing the room, she filled both glasses. She took one, though she didn’t drink from it, only set her spectacles next to the decanter, suspecting her poor eyesight might be an advantage when Lucius arrived.
The doors thudded shut behind her. Taking a large mouthful of wine, Lydia steeled herself and turned.
“Good morning, Lydia. Enjoying the wine? It’s a bottle of the vintage I purchased to celebrate my victory.” It was Lucius who spoke, but it wasn’t to him her eyes went. It was to the young man standing at his right. He wore the garments of a bathhouse servant, but even without her glasses, Lydia recognized him.
Legatus Marcus of the Thirty-Seventh Legion.
His face was emotionless, eyes fixed on the tiles between them. He wore no weapons that she could see, but then again, a man trained at Lescendor was a weapon himself.
Hugging the flimsy robe tighter around her body, Lydia asked, “What’s going on, Lucius?”
An unnecessary question. There was only one reason Lucius would bring one of the Empire’s killers here with him, and it wasn’t one she would walk away from. Lydia’s heart thundered against her chest wall, her hands turning to ice despite the intense heat.
Lucius chuckled. “Oh, I suspect you know very well what’s going on, darling. You have many, many failings, but stupidity isn’t one of them.”
“You give me too much credit.” It was a struggle to keep the tremble from her voice. “I was foolish enough to believe you had the honor to at least follow through on your agreement with my father.”
“Interestingly enough, I had intended to. Even after your father succumbs to the poison his nephew is slowly dosing him with, it would be good for appearances’ sake to keep you on as a wife for a time. Unfortunately, your behavior of late has rendered that an impossibility.” Lucius’s expression darkened. “You would have been better served to stay hidden in that library of yours.”
The legatus lifted his face at the last, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. Then he shook his head and returned to gazing at the tile.
“Then don’t marry me at all,” Lydia whispered, searching for a way out. But beyond the doors behind them, there was none. “You’ve won the consulship—you don’t need my father anymore. Let me go. I won’t say anything.”
Lucius tilted his head from side to side as though considering her words. “An interesting idea, but as my friend here knows”—he gestured to the legatus—“secrets have a way of coming out. Better that you disappear, leaving me to comfort your father in his grief with all my heartfelt sympathies.”
“My father’s no fool. He’ll suspect you. He knows I was supposed to meet you here.”