"Sir. Sir! Centurion Aurelian!" A familiar voice, rough, overly serious: Cassius in front of high rank. I blink, the sun's relentless rays all but blinding me. My surroundings slowly materialize. The deafening trot of dozens of iron horseshoes against paving stone, a myriad of conversations in Latin. A pair of dockworkers on break, discussing the best place for drinks. A noblewoman haggling with a fisherman for the day's catch. A biting bark followed closely thereafter by the slicing crack of a whip, then the muffled and wet impact of rope against bare flesh, a cry of pain. I remember where I am: Thessalonica, that great port on the cerulean shores of the Aegean, that enormous city hewn from stone and marble and slaves, that ever-vibrant bloodstained diamond in the crown of the Grecian provinces of Rome.
And, standing before me, is the master of this magnificent jewel, the magistrate of Thessalonica: Antonius Tetricus Bellator. "My deepest apologies, magistrate. I'm afraid I was simply overwhelmed by the glory of your city." The platitudes slide off my tongue effortlessly. I didn't grow up the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the empire and not learn anything. I suppose that's one thing I should thank my bastard of a father for.
Antonius laughs heartily, won over by my comment, "Haha, Thessalonica often has that effect on visitors." The magistrate begins to ramble on about the city's magnificent bathes, hippodromes, and Neptunian temples. His daughter, the breathtaking Valeria Bellator, rolls her eyes. It is an expression completely unbecoming of a well-mannered and purebred noblewoman such as her, a lady of the gens Bellatorii no less. I would know for I had to endure many years under the harsh tutelage and inescapable gaze of tutors Valeria has undoubtedly been subjected to. But, that expression is oh so becoming of her, the girl Valeria.
"Father," Valeria speaks, her voice so smooth, so beautiful as to surpass the Sirens. "I imagine centurion Aurelian has other duties he must fulfill." This interruption earns her a sharp glare from her father, and as Antonius opens his mouth to chastise her, Valeria simply smiles. In an instant, Antonius's expression changes from dour and disapproving to sweet and slavish. It is not a father's weakness for his daughter's smile, it is something far greater, far more...reverent. For Valeria's smile is no mere smile. It is a smile that bewitches gods, collapses kingdoms, and tears empires asunder. Yet it is also a smile that could bring the most hardened of murderers to their knees in repentance, a smile that could bring light to even the darkest corners of man's mind and man's world, a smile to bring about a new era.
That smile suddenly twists, stretching inhumanly wide. The cracks of whips multiply, the cacophony of suffering assailing my senses as men might storm a city wall, completely overwhelming me. Before me, Valeria approaches, that ungodly smile still plastered on her otherwise perfect face. As she steps closer, a new sound enters the fray. Laughing. A splat of blood lands near my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cassius fall, a dozen black-feathered shafts protruding gruesomely from his chest.
YOU ARE READING
The Foreign Empress
Historical FictionA cold and potentially fatal marriage, an imperial court embroiled in assassination and conflict, a hidden conspiracy that could shatter not just a four-century-long peace but the empire itself. In the midst of it all, a girl whose struggle to survi...
