I love you.
The words formed in his mind, and he froze, shocked at the strength of the impulse that urged him to speak them aloud. It was only the color that was so new to him and the residual effects of last night's wine making him feel these foreign emotions. It had to be. After all, this was Michaela. Michaela, whom he hadn't been capable of loving for all the previous months he'd known her. It made no sense that he would suddenly love her now. Yet, he hadn't forgotten the vision he'd had of red-gold hair last night. Had it been caused by the wine? Or by the color he perceived only when she was near? Or was it something else entirely? Until he puzzled her out, he wanted to keep her close. Disengaging from her, he sat up to retrieve his trousers.
I love you.
The words formed in Silvia's mouth as she watched him dress, but they refused to leave her tongue. For once she spoke them, Michaela's Deathwish would be completely fulfilled. Then there would be no more excuse to stay. And this morning, she sensed that Michaela wanted to remain with him, to enjoy him for as many days to come as she could. So the words could wait a whileâat least until after he unwittingly led her to the firestones.
“I want you to move from here entirely,” Bastian told her as he tugged a boot on under the leg of his trousers. “To come and live with me on Esquiline. Let Sevin have these quarters for another's use.”
Her heart leaped. Their eyes met, so much left unspoken between them. She'd performed in the opera, turned out barrels as a cooper, cleaned herring, picked locks. All talents she'd absorbed from other, previous hosts. And now it seemed she was about to add another profession to her growing repertoire. That of lover. And not the lover of just any man, but that of Lord Bastian Satyr. And she could not be sorry for it.
“Yes,” she told him. “Yes.”
Three weeks later, Bastian's carriage groaned and lurched its way downward from Esquiline Hill, its leather seats creaking expensively as its three occupants headed to the Forum.
“We're late. Can't Luc go any faster?” Bastian demanded.
Sevin sent Silvia an amused glance, then replied to him. “You're the one who delayed us, brother.” Silvia returned his smile easily, for her relationship with Bastian's brothers had returned to the friendship it had been prior to last Moonful, and no mention had been made of what had transpired between them during that decadent night. It seemed to be understood among all the siblings that she belonged to Bastian, and they would not encroach without invitation.
She and Bastian had spent this morning in bed, as Sevin had no doubt sensed. It had been a lazy coupling at dawn, then conversation, a light breakfast, more coupling. She'd been greedy and had made them late, but she'd desperately wanted those hands on her one last time. For by the end of today, she would be gone from his life.
They were now on their way to the celebratory, official opening of the Vestal Temple complex Bastian had unearthed. Dignitaries would be there, and crowds. She would find a time to slip away and examine the statue of Vesta. And retrieve the stones.
Surreptitiously, she studied her love, memorizing him. He was dressed in sartorial splendor today, the darkness of his fine tailored coat accentuating his broad shoulders. His closecropped ebony hair had been neatly styled to perfectly frame his strong, handsome features. Love for him welled up in her breast, twisting her heart. She looked away to stare out of the window at the passing scenery.
Three weeks had seemed such an endless length of time three weeks ago. But the hours had flown too swiftly, and now the awful day had come when she must leave him. Oh, she would return at some point for the firestone he possessed. She'd searched high and low for it in his house, to no avail. But when next she came again, he would not know. He hadn't actually been able to see her in her Ephemeral form that night in Monti. So it followed that, while in that form, she might safely return to observe him until he eventually led her to the stone.
Gently, she squeezed her fingers over the handbag in her lap, comforted to feel the solid bulk of Aemilia's firestone within. As she'd suspected, it had been among Michaela's belongings, hidden in her jewel box. One down, five to go.
Drawn by her obsession, she peeked at Bastian again, starting with his boots, intending to leisurely work her way upward. She'd chosen his clothing today, for this was a service Michaela had apparently provided for him. It was odd that he allowed it, but he almost seemed uncertain when it came to matching one fabric with another. Only this morning, he'd grabbed socks that did not match and hadn't seemed to notice when she'd selected a different, matching pair for him instead.
She'd become quite domesticated in such small ways over the last few weeks. Had found herself taking pleasure in tasks such as the folding of his trousers. In smoothing his collar, straightening his tie. The actions of a woman who knew what he liked and wanted to please him. The actions of a wife. She'd been playing a dangerous game, one that would end in heartbreak.
For she was not a wife. And yet not quite a whore either. No, he thought her to be what Michaela wasâa Companion. It was a profession that lay somewhere in between the former two occupations.
When they reached their destination and departed the carriage, Bastian's hand came at the back of her jacket-bodice. She leaned back into his touch ever so slightly. That hand made her feel cherished, protected. As Michaela had said, he knew how to touch a woman. In bed and out of it. She loved the simple act of walking beside him. He and his brothers were giants, and he was built like a brute, but he was an admirable man. Intelligent and interesting, with a wry sense of humor. He found her an interesting companion as well, she knew, for she amused, intrigued, and challenged him. And they shared a passion for the excavations. But he thought she was Michaela. If he only knew what an imposter she was, he would not treat her so kindly.
Ever courteous, he guided her toward the festivities. Tables had been set under flagged awnings on the Forum grounds. They were laden with culinary delights designed by Rome's most famous
cuoco-unico,
and her stomach rumbled delicately at the delicious smells. Bastian heard and smiled down at her. “Hungry,
cara?
” How he loved teasing her about fascination with food! She studied his smile, wondering if it might be the last she ever received from him.
His expression hardened and he stepped closer, hands on her waist. “What's wrong?”
“Bastian! Sevin! . . . Michaela.” The feminine voice that hailed them went infinitesimally cooler on the last name, her own at the moment. This was Dane's wife, Eva. Although her manner had been friendly on the few occasions they'd met, she was a matchmaker by trade, and it was clear that she did not consider a Companion to be a suitable life partner for Bastian. They'd never spoken of that last Moonful night when the lines between them had become so sensually blurred, and Silvia wondered if she was even aware of who Bastian's partner had been. Eva had a kind and accepting heart, and had no quibble with Michaela as a person, so Silvia excused her from malice. Nevertheless, she would no doubt be pleased when Michaela disappeared from her brother-in-law's life.
Silvia waited as long as she could, listening to Bastian's brief speech and circulating with him among the guests at his insistence. But she was only prolonging the inevitable.
A man joined them, the young minister she remembered from that first morning at the tent. She excused herself on the pretext of visiting one of the dessert tables, and Bastian didn't demur. However, she felt his speculative gaze on her. She'd noticed the way he watched her now and then as if something about her confounded him. He'd noticed differences between her and the woman he'd known as Michaela. After three weeks, Michaela's essence was fading and her own personality was showing through more and more. He'd grown suspicious. Yet another reason she must depart, before he found her out and foiled her plans to steal from him.
Casually, she glanced his way, and saw him involved in a rather heated discussion with the minister. Now was her chance, while his attention was elsewhere. She made her way to the Atrium House, her eyes on its main featureâthe newly unveiled statue of Vesta.
“Tell me, do you think this ascot coordinates well with my coat?” Minister Tuchi asked Bastian.
His eyes on Michaela, who was wandering toward the food tables, Bastian was only half-listening to his banal conversation. “Ask your tailor.”
“I'm asking you.”
“Why?”
“So that I may dispel a rumor about you.”
That drew Bastian's attention and he stared down at the young minister, a man who was steadily gaining power within Rome's Department of Culture. “What rumor? You'll have to be more specific, for so many circulate about my family. We're an intriguing lot.”
“A rumor that you are color-blind.” Tuchi smiled at him, reveling in his jab.
Bastian tilted his crystal goblet and took a small drink of its water, his mind racing. He'd long anticipated that someone might discover this fault in him and had wondered how he'd react. But now he only shrugged. “I assume this particular rumor was begun by the foreman you sent as spy? Tell Ilari he's out of a job. As of now.”
Tuchi's gaze swept him. “So stern. But why don't we discuss the matter at more length before acting in haste? Perhaps at my gentlemen's club for a drink?”
“I don't drink.”
He raised his brows at this, looking to Bastian's glass, but only said, “Very well, for a smoke, then.”
“I don't smoke either.”
“What a paragon you are, Lord Satyr. Tell me, what sort of vices
do
you have, so that I may better indulge them?” The man's tone bore an edge of flirtation. Had Rico been right about him? The boy had been found two weeks ago in the aqueduct, deceasedâthe victim of an infection. Although Bastian had seen him buried, he still privately mourned his loss.
“I assure you I have far too many vices to enumerate.” Bastian thumped his glass on a passing tray, then stepped close to the man. “Are you coming on to me?”
The minister drew a sharp breath, then said carefully, “And if I were?”
“You like men?”
Tuchi eyed him, twirling his glass by its stem. “On occasion. Some more than others. You. What do you say to that?”
Bastian shrugged. “Your constituents and your wife might have a quarrel with your preferences, but I have none. However, if you breathe a word of your false accusation about me, I'll have the news of your peccadillos on the front page of the papers. So instead of fucking me, I suggest you fuck yourself, Minister. Good day.” He tipped his hat.
Tuchi's smile died instantly, his cheeks flushing. “You'll regret that when we vote in Ilari as your successor next autumn,” he railed to Bastian's back.
Silvia gazed at the temple as she bypassed it. Fifteen hundred years ago, it had stood glorious and had housed the eternal fire, but all that survived of it now were eight columns and a pediment. Venturing to its south side, she moved aside the barricade meant to keep crowds away and entered the Atrium House. She was unprepared for the poignant nostalgia that swamped her.
She'd lived here in this house from ages six to twenty-three. Seventeen years. Back then, its courtyard had been tiled with white marble and surrounded by a stately two-story portico. But now, only foundation walls and several broken statues were left. An awning had been temporarily placed over the area for the celebration, and various indicators had been laid to show how things had once been arranged. She went to the place where her sleeping alcove had been, then turned away quickly, unable to deal with the emotions that surfaced.
All was gone. No, not
all.
She moved toward the center of the courtyard. The statue of her goddess reigned there now as she'd always done, an expression of benevolence in her eyes. So many years had passed since their last meeting.
Vesta's arms were at her sides, slightly thrust outward from her body. In her left hand, she held the sacred crest of Chastity, and in her right, that of Fire. Silvia knelt before her and murmured the benediction. Then she slipped her trembling hands into those of the statue. Vesta's palms were smooth, cold. But within seconds, she felt the reassuring warmth rekindle between them. She pushed her fingers under one of the crests to locate the slight imperfection she knew would be there. Yesâthere it was. She pressed it just so, finding the hollow. And the stone hidden within it. Her firestone. How good it felt to be reunited with it after centuries. Then she reached under the other crest, where Michaela's stone was secreted, and she felt Michaela's gladness when she held it as well.
Quickly, she pulled Aemilia's stone from her pocket. She would need the strength of all three if she were to attempt a firegate without ousting herself from this mortal form. She gazed at the stones filling her palms, felt their warm fire.
“Michaela?”
Clasping the stones to her breast, Silvia leaped to her feet and whipped around to see Bastian. He took a step closer, his silver gaze suspicious. “What are you hiding?”