The carriage ride was as smooth as could be expected, and she'd not touched an ounce of food since her husband had condemned her to this trip. Her stomach, however, could not be settled. She felt Gaius' eyes upon her and she attempted to compose herself. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the extent his punishment was affecting her.
Her eyes drifted to her husband's hand upon her knee, Gaius would never understand the depths of his cruelty in asking her to accompany him. He would never know that for her returning to Capua was as if returning to the fucking underworld. To set foot upon those dingy streets, walking amongst those who once chanted the name Spartacus and hailed him Champion. How did Gaius expect her to do it? The memories of dreaded heat during the drought when the smell of sweat was constant and every breath was as if swallowing dry sand. Capua was cursed, Ilithyia was being dragged back to the city's arms and she wasn't sure if she had the will to claw her way out a second time.
Death by his hands that night in the blood drenched villa may have proved easier. To count her corpse among those lost, mourned but no longer suffering this world. Ilithyia could remember every detail of Spartacus from that fateful night; could see his hands then, not delicately painted, gold but messy with dirt and a lust for Roman blood. She knew what those hands were capable of when set to purpose and she'd never been more afraid for her life. Swept up by a herd of nobles running for their lives she'd stumbled into the villa in a trance. The acrid smell of blood overwhelmed her and brought memories of Licinia. It wasn't until reminded by Lucretia of her husband's men that she returned to her senses. Lucretia and Licinia were the reason she was trapped in Capua, the reason she wasn't in Rome with her husband and instead playing errand girl for the wife of a Lanista. She'd had the soldiers bar the door and trap all of her problems inside. With the deed done and soldiers by her side she had been startled with how much fear she still carried. So she ran, not back to her father's villa in Capua, but all the way back to Rome.
Safely tucked away in Rome she'd been able to identify why. She did not believe the door, nor the distance, would hold back any measure of Spartacus' rage. The way he'd flown toward her, as if on wings of death. There was intent in his eyes so fierce it threatened to shake the foundations of the empire. Hatred surged around him so forcefully the air itself appeared to ripple like heat over burning coals.
Time had done little to ease her nerves in face of those memories.
It was a worse fate, hers, to return now with the knowledge she may yet see him again. She was not sure in what state she would find herself when it came time to watch them nail the father of her unborn child to a cross. To have him stare at her with those hate filled eyes, green eyes that would one day stare into her own and call her mother.
She had tried every gift she was in possession of to convince Gaius to let her stay behind. She'd tried to comfort him and herself, whispering to him that all who knew of the deed speak no more. Her mind set to one deed and his to another but the words rang true in both regards.
Yet, Gaius was heavy as a stone and would not be moved.
Ilithyia realised her eyes were still resting upon the hands of her husband. They were smaller than Spartacus' hands. Impotent things lacking the strength and power to see her satisfied; they had failed to illicit any pleasure since the night she'd lain with the Bringer of Rain. A thought that struck shame through her but did not quell the flame of desire she still harbored for his touch. She turned her body away from Gaius and closed her eyes, trying again in vain to settle her stomach.
Ilithyia hadn't had a moment to stop and gather her thoughts since Gaius informed her they would be making the former house of Batiatus their temporary home. She'd surveyed almost every inch and was losing hope. The walls, the furniture, every piece of sculpture and every carefully laid stone was awash in blood, in every corner lived an impossible tangle of memories.
Stopping to catch her breath, she felt her anger rise to meet her ever mounting uncertainty. She snapped orders to the slaves closest and wished for a moment outside the scrutiny of position and title, to be truly alone for just a handful of seconds. This was her nightmare; living inside of a cursed house in a forsaken city. No longer could she awake to comforting surroundings; her soft bed, the smell of fresh blooming flowers in the garden below her balcony and the soothing sound of water flowing through the fountains. She looked around the small room she'd stopped was too much blood, once bright red but dulled with time, they would never be rid of the stains.
The mask was discarded on a small seat across from where she stood. Her breath disappeared as her hands fled to guard her stomach. Trembling, she moved closer and closer until she could reach out and touch the ornate golden mask. Such a small but heinous thing, she thought again of the night she'd first seen it. Of the blood she'd spilled across these same marble floors. It was the second time today she'd thought of the act. Her hands covered in blood, matted with hair, her cheeks still warm with embarrassed tears. The crack of Licinia's skull as it gave way to the hard tile had reverberated through her. The golden mask she'd carried was thrown from sight and blood sprayed the floor as her head met the ground again and again. Licinia's shrill laugh forever silenced.
The thought of conceiving a child should warm the heart of any mother, but not for her. Grief and remorse clouded the memory for she had baptized the conception of her child in blood and hatred.
A quiet noise brought her away from her morbid thoughts. She turned toward the sound, and the scream that came forth from her lips summoned every soldier in the villa. Ilithyia had seen a ghost.
