Shell-shocked, Octavia recoiled, pulling her hands away from her father’s. He spoke quickly, trying to placate her. “Now, listen, I know we talked about you finding your own partner, but your mother thinks it’s best. .” He faltered at her expression.
Octavia fought to contain her anger at this betrayal of her opinions. She had told her family that she was going to do something with her life before finding a husband. Her father had smiled and nodded. She had assumed he would support her.
And now this.
Tears in her eyes, she lifted her head. Part of her screamed that she should just run away; the other half that she should listen and obey, like a good daughter would.
“Is there any way you can talk Mother out of this?” she begged, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
Other people in the garden were beginning to look at them, whispering about what they perceived to be happening. She stood, hands smoothing the front of her dress as she gathered her wits. “I’ll be in my room.” she stated curtly, her eyes daring her father to argue.
“You can’t hide here forever, Tavi. It had to happen at some point. Your family loves you. I love you. The world isn’t ready for you to decide yet.”
She faced him, hands at her side, balled into fists. “And when, Father, will the world be ready?” she asked. “It will never be ready, until someone makes it ready. Someone with the courage to make it happen.” She stomped away, tears trickling down her cheeks.
She fled through the party, sticking to side corridors and narrow paths to avoid most of the guests. The servants she ignored, lost in her own sadness and shattered dreams. She wiped her nose and eyes with the back of her hand. Her mother would be furious at such unladylike behavior. Good; that evil woman deserves it.
Her anger cooling, Octavia found a bench and plopped down upon it. You are a lady of good breeding, you must act like it! She could practically hear her mother’s voice in her head, berating her to smooth her skirts and not damage such a costly dress.
The clatter of hooves distracted her from her sulking. She looked up as a messenger in full legion armor rode into the courtyard. He pulled the reins up sharply as the horse reared. Octavia could tell by the sheen of sweat on the horse that the messenger must have galloped at full speed all the way from Treviri. A servant was racing out to take the horse’s reins.
The soldier looked down at her. “I’ve an urgent message for General Pelia. I must see him at once!”
Mutely, Octavia assigned another servant to take the messenger to her father. She still had no desire to see him tonight. Dress swishing, she marched off to her room, leaving the now crowded courtyard behind her.
Once safe in the sanctuary of her bedchamber, Octavia allowed the tears to come full blow. Her maid found her half an hour later, lying on the bed in tears, just wishing she could have had this night to enjoy her birthday, and not dread the future. Her maid helped her undress, cutting the stitches with scissors when they wouldn’t open fast enough. Octavia crawled into bed, dismissed her maid, and pulled the covers up over her head to cry herself to sleep.
What felt like just a moment, but was probably several hours later, her door creaked open. “Tavi? Are you awake?” He always came when she was angry. He couldn’t stand seeing his little girl upset.
It was always a tough decision. Should I be asleep or should I be awake?
“Tavi, there’s been an invasion. I have to go. The Empire needs me.”
Octavia sat up at this news. “I need you, here,” she said plaintively. She saw her father smile in the darkness, felt the weight of his body as he sat on the bed next to her.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her a kiss on her forehead. “I’m always here with you, beautiful, and you are always with me.” He stood and kissed her once more. She could feel the warmth of his breath. The tenderness in his voice soothed her feelings. “We’ll talk about this marriage thing after I get back.”
He strode to the door, blocking the light from the hallway as he turned in the doorway. “I love you, daughter. Be safe.” He shut the door behind him.
It was the last time Octavia saw her father alive.
Blackness welled up and claimed her once more.
Chapter 22
Julius
Julius slid his spatha out of the Nortland militiaman. Blood welled gurgling from the man’s mouth and he collapsed against the wall. Gripping his sword with both hands, Julius turned in time to parry another blow by a Nortlander wearing servant livery. Deflecting the blow to his left, he punched the older man in the face. The man crumpled to the floor, his weapon clattering against the flagstones.
Julius turned to survey the melee in the hallway. It was nearly impossible to tell friend from foe. Nortlander fought Nortlander, servant fought militiaman. Julius spotted Halder and Scipio fighting back to back in the intersection. “For Rome!” he screamed as he fought his way over to them, his spatha weaving a deadly dance through the chaos.
Halder looked approvingly at him. “We make you Nortlander soon,” he said gruffly as the trio backed into an alcove.
“Thanks, but then I’d have to lose my desire to live,” Julius quipped. Halder laughed. “What do we do now?” He lashed out, disarming a man wielding a shovel with the flat of his blade. The man cried out and turned to flee. Halder hacked him down mercilessly.
“We move that way.” He gestured with his bloodied axe toward a larger tunnel. “We must get to. . lord homes?” The man looked frustrated at his lack of Latin.
“Lord’s homes? Chambers? Like, royalty?”
Halder nodded, the movement shaking sweat from his beard.
“Very well, lead on. We’ll watch your back,” Julius said.
Scipio bent and liberated a buckler from a downed soldier. He handed it to Julius. “You’ll need it. He moves as fast as one of those mecha-wolves.”
Julius strapped it on and the two Romans formed up behind the larger Nortlander. Halder flicked a switch on his chain-axe and the machine hummed to life, increasing in volume until the whir flattened out into a loud purr of death. “For Nortland!” challenged Halder in Norse. The Romans echoed him with battle cries of “Rome!”
The trio raced through the general melee, only striking out when combat directly impacted their advancement. In only a few short minutes they reach the far end of the corridor. Halder slammed into an iron door. “We must. . go up,” he panted. “Stairway through here.”
Scipio leapt to assist Halder in turning the massive wheel that would open the door. The rusted metal squealed, resisting the efforts of the two straining men. Julius turned to survey the hallway. Their run through the fighting had turned the tide in favor of the rebels. . or was it the loyalists? Either way, the faction that backed them appeared to have gained the upper hand. Cheering and chants of “For Nortland and the Duke!” rolled down the hallway as their enemy fled-all but a cluster of rebels who spotted Julius and his friends, and sprinted down the hallway toward them.
Julius hefted his sword. “Hurry up, we’ve got company.”
Scipio paused in helping Halder, drew his repeater from its holster on his back, and aimed it down the hallway. Snick-snick. The repeater launched its black quarrels into the charging Nortlanders. Two, three, four Nortlanders went down as quickly as Scipio could pull back the lever to load another quarrel. “This is my last clip,” he shouted as the screaming Nortlanders closed the distance.
The clip ran dry just as the last Nortlander leapt at Julius. Julius swept his spatha up and across the man’s exposed chest, using his buckler to hit the man in the face and take his weight. The Nortlander crashed into Julius, scrabbling and punching at the Roman. He had one hand around Julius’s neck when he suddenly went limp.