Author's note: New character appearing in this chapter: Docilus = Dakota Stanley
We're nearing the end of the story, kids. This here is the penultimate chapter.
As always, many thanks to poetzproblem for being an amazing beta. And also thank you for unintentionally inspiring the very end of this chapter. ^_^
So Falls the World - Chapter 21
Caged is the only word to describe how Rachel feels now that she's married. It's only been a week, and the thought of having to live like this for the rest of her life is incredibly daunting. She supposes she'll get used to it—after all, countless other couples do—but she doubts her fear and resentment of Sejanus will ever go away.
Sejanus is thankfully at the curia this afternoon, busy with meetings and whatever political squabbling seems to keep popping up. She's grateful for that, at least. The less time she has to spend with him the better. But staying in the palace isn't appealing to her in the slightest. Everything about this place reminds her of him and that she now belongs to him.
Granted, leaving the palace also reminds her that she is now his, as Rachel is required to have an escort. Still, it's better than being here.
She informs Bromidus, the lictor who's been assigned to her, that she's going out. Of course, walking around in plain sight is no longer an option.
"Where to, my lady?" he asks as he helps her into the litter that's been prepared for her.
She considers for a moment. While Hostia did extend an open invitation to drop by her home anytime, there's someone else Rachel needs to see. She just hopes that he's home. "Take me to Lieutenant Brutus's house."
Bromidus bows slightly before turning to the four slaves waiting to carry her litter and letting go of the curtain, hiding her from view. "You heard the lady," he commands.
Rachel lets out a sigh she didn't even realize she was holding and momentarily closes her eyes as she's lifted off the ground. She lets her mind wander as she's carried through the streets of Rome, wondering what Curtius meant when he said her marriage is a blessing in disguise. She scowls slightly at the very thought. Ever since her betrothal, it's felt more like a curse.
It doesn't take long to get to her destination, and Bromidus is immediately at her side, leading her inside her best friend's home. His presence isn't exactly suffocating, but she'd still prefer to be left alone.
Curtius's father, Brutus, is the first person to spot Rachel as she enters the atrium. "Rachel," he greets her with a warm smile. "It's good to see you. Congratulations again on your marriage."
"Thank you," she replies with a practiced, fake smile, having gotten used to similar sentiments from countless others. "Is Curtius in?"
"I think so," he replies. "I just got in myself, but he should be here. You're welcome to go look for him."
"Thanks, Brutus," she says, this time much more genuinely.
"I'll wait here for you, my lady," Bromidus says.
Rachel turns toward him briefly, offering him a curt nod, before making her way out of the atrium and down the short hallway leading to the peristyle. She half expects to see Curtius sitting in the shade along the edge of the garden since it's such a nice day, but he's nowhere to be found.
She continues her walk along the peristyle when she hears muffled voices coming from one of the small rooms up ahead. Realizing that Curtius is likely in said room, she hastens her steps, while her curiosity grows over who those other voices belong to.
"He's well-liked by the people, and he's the perfect puppet," she catches an unfamiliar voice say as she reaches the doorway, and it gives her pause. Coming to a halt, Rachel peers into the room, careful to avoid being seen.
Duvianus shakes his head. "That may be true, but we're tired of waiting," he replies, looking pointedly across the small table he's sitting at with Curtius and Aurelian.
"You won't be waiting much longer," Curtius insists. "Gossip spreads like wildfire, and the timing is finally right to let the truth be known about Rachel's affair with the Gaul, among other things. I know exactly how to spin this in our favor, and in doing so, it will tear at Sejanus's pride. Given his ego, he'll respond."
His words take Rachel by surprise, but they also fill her with a sense of unease. She shifts away from the doorway, not wanting to be caught, and instead opts to press her back against the wall of the peristyle as she continues to eavesdrop.
"There's no guarantee this will work. He could just as easily have that Gaul killed instead and be done with it," Duvianus argues, sending a jolt of fear up Rachel's spine.
"He could. But it's worth a shot, and it's no risk to us," Aurelian replies, making Rachel's heart plummet while she simultaneously bristles.
"Exactly," Curtius jumps in. "If this works, it's the same result as an assassination, except our hands are clean and there's no civil war. If it doesn't work, there's no risk of us being implicated in anything. Then we go with your plan, which is far messier and will undoubtedly lead to a lot of bloodshed."
Rachel's fists clench at her side, and after what she's heard, she can no longer stand idly by. Pushing herself off the wall, she enters the room with no sense of pretense. "What's going on?" she demands, the sound of her voice causing all three men to jump at the unexpected interruption.
"Rachel?" Curtius exclaims nervously. "What are you doing here?"
"I came here to see you," she bites back.
"Is there anyone with you?" Duvianus asks before Rachel can keep pushing for answers.
"Just one of Sejanus's lictors," she replies tightly. "Don't worry, he's waiting for me in the atrium, so he wouldn't have heard anything." She fixes her gaze on all three of them. "Tell me what's going on."
"It's really not your concern," Aurelian starts.
"Not my concern?" Rachel interrupts testily. "I heard enough of your conversation to know that it very much concerns me."
Duvianus's jaw noticeably tightens as his eyes narrow, causing Curtius to put his hand up in a placating manner.
"I'll handle this," he says to his colleagues, before coming to stand and gazing at Rachel with absolute sincerity. "Rachel, I can't tell you what's going on, but I promise you that I am looking out for your happiness."
"How?" she retorts incredulously. "From the sound of things, you're going to use Quinn as a pawn in one of your political schemes. How is that looking out for my happiness?"
Curtius sighs. "I am trying to keep Rome safe, but I am also trying to keep you safe," he explains. "Tensions are running high, and if things don't change, Rome could very well end up in a civil war. If that happens, you have the potential to become a target. So I'm trying to prevent a war from breaking out."
Rachel swallows thickly at his words. She knows the political environment hasn't always been the most diplomatic, especially lately, but this is news, and it does nothing to settle her. "Even if what you say is true," she replies after a moment, "involving Quinn… I can't let you do that. I have done all that I can to keep her safe. I have abided by my husband's orders and wishes entirely for this reason."
"I know you have," he says gently. "Just trust me, okay, Rachel? I was serious when I told you your marriage is a blessing in disguise, and your affair with Quinn has created the perfect storm." He pauses then, gnawing on his lower lip before finally relenting and divulging a small, yet potentially dangerous piece of information. "If everything plays out the way we're planning, then you'll be a widow very soon. And as a widow…"
Understanding dawns on her then. "I'm free to choose the life I want."
"Exactly."
"But Quinn…" she trails off, nervously wringing her hands together.
"There's still a chance for her to be a part of that life," he insists. "She doesn't know what we're planning, but she's assured me that she'll do anything to protect you and ensure your happiness."
Rachel's brow furrows a little, feeling a touch of jealousy. "You've been meeting with her?"
"Only once, and it was months ago—right after you asked me to relay your message," he clarifies, before lightly placing his hands on her shoulders and gazing at her imploringly. "Rachel, you have to swear that you won't utter a word of what you've heard to anyone."
"I won't," she promises, feeling a spark of hope—something she hasn't experienced in what feels like forever. "I promise, I won't say a word." After all, it goes both ways. She'll do anything to protect Quinn.
Frustrated is the best way to sum up what Sejanus is feeling right now. Rumors have been flying for weeks now—what really happened to the spoils of the Gallic war and the torrid affair the emperor's wife had with the warrior princess of Arverni, now a popular gladiator, resulting in a star-crossed romance. The mob is eating it up—some even going so far as to sympathize with that filthy Gaul—but more troubling is how it's starting to sway their opinion of him.
Oh, certainly, Rachel's reputation has actually taken a much bigger hit than his own, especially in the upper-class circles. Falling in love with a slave is beyond taboo, and while Sejanus has done his best to shield his wife—insisting that they are simply crazy rumors with no basis in reality—he knows the truth.
And the truth is that all the gossip is very much based in reality and that the woman he loves more than anything would rather be with her.
Sejanus scowls at the thought as he fists his hands into the cushion beneath him—the gentle, rocking movement of his litter doing nothing to soothe him. All he wants is to capture Rachel's heart—like he captured all those foreign lands in the name of Rome—but it's proving to be more difficult than winning a war.
I should have nailed that Gaul to the cross when I had the chance, he laments, privately admitting that failing to do so was his only mistake in the Battle of Arverni. He simply never could have imagined things would have ended up like this.
What's worse is how much this is distracting him. There are much bigger things he should be concerning himself with—the praetor urbanus's agenda in particular. Despite Sejanus having the majority of the Senate in his corner, Duvianus has been proving to be quite the nuisance. And yet, his mind keeps coming back to this.
Sejanus thought he had been so lucky to find Rachel. Love is never a consideration when it comes to most marriages, but it's something he craved. In addition to a union that would lead to a stronger standing in the political arena, he wanted a woman who would warm his bed, offer him companionship, and keep his heart safe. And while he was content to forego love if it meant more power, when he met Rachel, he was overjoyed—thinking that he could have it all. As he should. After all, an emperor should never have to settle.
Except a slave—one that he himself conquered—got to his wife's heart first. And that makes it all the more infuriating.
"We have arrived, your highness," one of his lictors states as his litter comes to a halt outside the palace.
He lets out a long breath and briefly closes his eyes. This will pass, he tells himself, as he has so many times before. Rachel will soon forget all about her, he adds, but that thought is one that's becoming increasingly difficult to believe. She is mine.
Sejanus exits his litter and makes his way inside his home, and it immediately brings him a small measure of relief. There's no place like home. Still, he needs to relax and unwind after the day he's had. Wine is definitely in order. Perhaps an extra glass or two for Rachel would be prudent.
"Highness," his advisor, Docilus, greets him with a small bow, as he seemingly pops out of nowhere.
Sejanus rolls his eyes. Can he never get a break? "What is it, Docilus?" he asks, not bothering to hide his irritation.
Docilus flinches slightly. "As you requested, I am to keep you abreast of all the gossip related to your wife."
At this, Sejanus keys in on his advisor, his lips curving down into a frown.
"There's a new rumor swirling," Docilus elaborates. "Well, not so much a rumor as it is a challenge and one that the mob is very much in favor of, even if I-"
He practically growls in frustration. "Spit it out," he commands harshly.
"Word on the street is that the Gaul is challenging you to a fight in the arena," he explains, immediately causing Sejanus's hackles to rise. "And the mob is clamoring for it. As you know-"
"Enough," Sejanus cuts him off, holding up his palm to emphasize his point, not wanting to hear anymore of this. He turns to his nearest slave. "Bring me my dinner and the finest wine available. I'll be with my wife."
He doesn't bother waiting for a response, knowing that his orders will be met to the letter, and instead opts to go in search of Rachel—the object of all his desires, both pure and carnal, and yet, at the same time, the source of all of his current unease.
After being tipped off by another household slave, he finds her sitting in the smallest garden of the palace, a cithara in hand, but she's not playing. Instead, she seems to be lost in thought, staring at the flowers that are about to bloom—the white petals of the gladiolus just starting to peak out.
Just the sight of her fills him with bittersweetness. She's everything he's ever wanted in a woman, but the swirling gossip has made doubt creep in—doubt that he'll be able to make her forget about that Gaul for good. But defeat isn't something Sejanus is used to. Nor is it something he is willing to accept. He reminds himself to continue to be patient with Rachel, to wait her out, not unlike when he laid siege to Arverni.
"Dinarii for your thoughts?" he asks as he steps closer to her, even though his stomach twists a little, a part of him knowing he wouldn't like the real answer to his question so much.
Rachel closes her eyes, and her lips twitch up into a sad smile. "Writer's block," is all she offers.
"Maybe I can help," he says, placing his hands on her shoulders and trailing them down her arms, before intertwining his fingers with hers over the strings of the cithara. He feels her tense under his touch—something he's felt every time he's touched her since their wedding night.
"Maybe," she replies, her voice lacking any kind of emotion that Sejanus can discern.
He bumps his forehead lightly against Rachel's then, before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers in a soft, yet insistent kiss, hoping he elicits some kind of impassioned response. Instead, he's met with her usual, practiced detachment.
It's infuriating, especially in light of what Docilus just shared with him. His advisor's words have taken root in the back of Sejanus's mind, refusing to let go, and, unbidden, thoughts of that Gaul ravishing his wife rise up—bringing her genuine joy in their mutual pleasure—and he finds his patience slipping.
Sejanus breaks their kiss and draws back, staring down at Rachel, who gazes up at him warily, as if sensing his sudden shift in mood.
"You still love her, don't you?" he asks accusingly.
"I made a promise to you, Sejanus," she refutes with a shake of her head, but her eyes give her away. "I made a promise to be faithful to you, and I have been."
He scoffs. "Faithful in body, yes, but not in heart or mind."
Rachel averts her gaze then, as she so often does in his presence, and it seems to sting more every time she does it.
"You're never going to love me, are you?" he asks unbidden, and he hates how vulnerable it feels to even ask such a thing.
It's a rhetorical question, of course. He knows the answer. And it kills him that she will never look at him the way he does her.
And it makes him angrier than ever that he didn't have that Gaul executed. It certainly wasn't mercy that made him declare her ad ludum instead of joining her family on the cross. She was to be the symbol of the barbarian tribe who threatened Rome's freedom—a reminder to the people of Rome of what he achieved in Gaul.
And somehow, it's starting to flip on its head, and the mob is growing divisive. He'll give the people what they want, and in doing so, remind them of his own greatness.
If it was any other gladiator issuing such a ridiculous challenge, he would ignore it. But this? This cannot be ignored. It's a matter of pride now.
And, the more he thinks about it, it's the perfect way to finally be rid of her, especially in light of his promise to Rachel not to kill the Gaul so long as she remained faithful. But Rachel can't possibly hold it against him if he kills that Gaul in a fight that she herself issued a challenge for.
"I'm sure you've heard the latest gossip," he says, his voice taking on the measured confidence it normally has.
Rachel visibly swallows and nods as she finally looks at him again.
"It seems your former lover has a death wish," he continues, causing those beautiful, brown eyes to widen in fear. "And I feel like I should oblige."
"Sejanus, please," she starts.
"No, Rachel," he cuts her off sharply. "You don't get to ask anything more of me when it comes to that slave."
"But I-"
"Highness, your dinner is ready," one of his slaves interrupts.
Sejanus turns his attention away from his wife and toward his slave. "I've decided that I won't be staying for dinner after all," he informs him. "My attention is needed elsewhere." His eyes cut back to Rachel, who is gazing at him with a mixture of trepidation and barely-veiled anger. "But I'm sure my wife would like something to eat. Make sure to wait up for me, Rachel."
And with that, he exits the garden, brushing past his slave, and prepares to head back out into the city.
It's time to settle this once and for all.
Restless has become the overriding state of being for Quinn, especially the last few months.
The time apart from Rachel has only made her miss her lover more, and knowing that it's hurting Rachel just as much to be apart makes it all the worse. She hates that Rachel is just as much a victim as she is to Sejanus.
Quinn has been trying to stay focused though—focused on healing and getting stronger every day so that she'll be ready. Ready to protect Rachel in whatever way she can. But how she's going to do that exactly, she still doesn't know. And it's that uncertainty that has Quinn on edge.
Even here in the ludus, Quinn has managed to catch wind of the gossip that's been spreading recently. All it's done is add fuel to the fire that is an underlying sense of worry over Rachel. But the latest bit of news to reach them has Quinn more than a little anxious and definitely perplexed.
"Challenging the emperor to a fight in the arena?" Saoirse asks, shaking a set of knucklebones in her closed fist. "Can't say that's the smartest thing you've ever done."
"I didn't challenge him," Quinn refutes, watching her friend toss the pieces to the ground. "Not that I wouldn't love to face him in the arena, but it didn't come from me."
She suspects Curtius has something to do with this, but what she doesn't understand is why. What does this have to do with protecting Rachel? Then again, Curtius implied that he and his colleagues want Sejanus out of power, and this is one way of making that happen.
"It doesn't matter though," she says, scooping up the knucklebones, her fist unconsciously tightening around them harder than necessary. "I doubt Sejanus will even pay any attention to it." If anything, he'll probably send one of his lictors to punish me again, she adds privately. The thought alone has her seething. Coward, she thinks, throwing the bones to the ground.
"I don't know about that," Sukie says worriedly, looking over Quinn's shoulder, and the look on her face along with Makelesi and Harmonia's makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Following their line of sight, Quinn turns her head to the side and gazes over her left shoulder, catching sight of Silvanus, Bestia, and two of Sejanus's lictors.
"You've got to be kidding me," Britt says, causing Quinn's lips to curve up into a bitter smile—her friend stating her own thoughts exactly. It's like the gods are toying with her at this point.
"Quinn," Silvanus states, seemingly resigned as Bestia steps into the room with those damned shackles Quinn has come to loathe.
Quinn has to fight against the urge to lash out—to not be the obedient slave and take whatever is coming for her—but she manages to keep her emotions under control as the cold metal is locked in place around her wrists, purposefully ignoring Bestia's sad eyes. She's learned the hard way that fighting in these kinds of situations only makes things worse.
Still, she's not exactly eager to face what she has determined is an inevitable punishment. What's worse is that, for once, she hasn't done anything to earn it. Not that she deserved it before, but at least those beatings came as a result of her own actions. But this? This is entirely rumor.
She's jerked to her feet by one of Sejanus's lictors, and she grimaces at the uncomfortable pull on her left shoulder. She wonders if it will ever heal completely.
She's led out of the barracks and through the training grounds, until finally she's brought into a small room next to the ludus's makeshift smithy. The shackles on her wrists are briefly removed, but only so the lictors can shackle her again with her arms behind her back. Another set is then fastened to her ankles.
"On your knees, slave," one of the lictors orders.
Quinn sneers but does as she's told, wondering what they're going to do to her this time as her wrists and ankles are chained to the floor, sending another wave of anxiousness through her. She hates being so confined.
Then, to her confusion, Silvanus and Bestia leave the room along with one of the lictors, her owner shaking her head slightly as she goes.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me what's going on," she says bitterly to the lictor who remains.
"He won't, but I will," a familiar voice replies, followed by its owner stepping into the room.
The sight of the emperor makes Quinn's eyes widen in surprise, but that surprise is short-lived—immediately replaced by a swirling anger in her gut. "You're a coward, chaining me up like this," she says, glaring up at Sejanus, hating how often she's been in this position with him. "Afraid I'll take you down?"
"Hardly," he scoffs, clasping his hands behind his back as he stares down at her. "I'm simply reminding you of your place, since you continue to be so forgetful. I'm your emperor. And you? You are only what I say you are. And I say you're nothing."
"You know that's not true," she says with a shake of her head, lips curving up smugly. "If I was nothing, you wouldn't be here. You're threatened by me, because I'm not nothing to Rachel, no matter what you say or do."
His eyes narrow, and Quinn feels her confidence grow, knowing that she's hit a sore spot. "She's forgotten all about you," he says, but Quinn doesn't believe him for a second. "I give her everything she deserves and more. What kind of life could you have even given her, slave?"
Quinn clenches her jaw in frustration, unable to adequately respond, because he's right. She can't give Rachel what she deserves, and it's all because of the man standing before her. "Why are you here?"
"Like I said before, to remind you of your place," he replies. "Make no mistake, slave. I am not here because of anything you've asked," he continues, and Quinn doesn't bother to correct him. "I've decided to indulge my people and give them the entertainment they're craving."
Quinn stares at him warily, almost unable to believe that he would actually do this. "You're going to fight me in the arena?"
He hums slightly in what she assumes is affirmation. "You see, my people have seen the reenactments and heard the stories of Rome's victorious battles, but they haven't actually seen what I can do in person," he explains. "And you? You are one of the best gladiators in the Games right now. And every time you've fought and won, it has served me well, because my people are reminded that it was I who conquered you and your tribe," he states, causing Quinn to scowl. "But you've served your purpose of being a symbol of my greatness long enough," he continues, his gaze hardening. "I have defeated you before, and I will do so again."
"You didn't defeat me," she argues. "Twenty of your centurions did. In a one-on-one fight, I would easily beat you."
He looks amused by that. "Are you so sure about that, Gaul?"
"I would bet my life on it," she declares without hesitation.
"Seeing as that's all you have left, it's the only thing you could wager," he says smugly. "I suppose I should put you out of your misery. After all, what else do you have to live for? You have no home, no family, no lover," he continues, each reminder of what he's taken from her making Quinn's blood boil. "You certainly have no freedom, and I have no intention of giving it back to you. You will die in the arena one day. It would be fitting if it was at the end of my sword."
His words pick at her pride, but her confidence in her own abilities is enough to keep her anger from clouding her mind. And there's a surreal quality to this entire encounter—the fact that the emperor has paid her a personal visit speaks volumes. She is not nothing, no matter how much he may claim otherwise.
She raises an eyebrow as her lips quirk up into a smirk. "Too bad I'm going to embarrass you in front of your precious mob," she retorts. "When will I have the pleasure of finally taking you down?"
"In two weeks time, my people will witness your death at my hands," Sejanus replies, his lips curving up into a cruel smile. Blue eyes then cut to the lictor at his right, followed by a sharp nod of Sejanus's head.
The lictor pulls out a dagger and steps forward, grasping Quinn by the collar of her tunic. She bares her teeth as a bolt of adrenaline surges through her at the sudden, unexpected aggression. Quinn struggles against his grip, but her binds don't allow her to move, making her powerless to stop him from slicing away the worn fabric of her tunic and exposing her torso.
She glares at Sejanus, anger and anxiousness coursing through her body, as the emperor fixes her with a spiteful expression.
"Until then…" Sejanus continues darkly, holding his hand out. Quinn sees another lictor enter the room with a hot iron, causing her heart rate to spike as she realizes what he intends to do. Sejanus takes hold of the iron, and vengeful eyes hone in on Quinn. "Here's something to remember me by," he finishes, thrusting his arm forward.
Quinn screams as the hot iron is pressed into her chest, scalding her skin with a mark that makes her want to vomit. Tears stream from her eyes against her will, and she clenches her teeth, swallowing down the rest of her screams.
Finally, he pulls his hand back, and her chest heaves heavily—each breath making her body clench and draw into itself.
She cracks her eyes open, only to see him turn his back on her. "Enjoy the next two weeks," she manages to grit out as he goes to leave. "They'll be your last."
He pauses in his steps, and an amused chuckle reaches her ears. "I certainly intend to enjoy myself in the time leading up to our match and for many years after. In fact, I plan on enjoying myself as soon as I get home tonight with my wife," he finishes before finally walking out.
The thought of Sejanus with Rachel, combined with the blistering pain radiating from Quinn's chest and the smell of her burned flesh, makes her stomach roil so severely that she can't stop herself from throwing up.
Bestia is there a moment later, working to unlock her shackles, while Silvanus curses lowly as she assesses the damage done.
But through the haze of discomfort, Quinn manages a wan smile. Curtius may have played her, but he's also masterfully played Sejanus. Regardless of Curtius's motives, it's given Quinn an opportunity she has been praying for since the day her tribe fell to the emperor.
She can hardly believe it, but she will have her revenge. And she is going to make Sejanus pay for all he has done.