Curse of the Celts by Clara O'Connor (most romantic novels .TXT) 📕

he pushed the syringe into my upper arm. I winced at the stinging sensation caused by the liquid as it made its way under my skin. My fears were quickly confirmed; it was indeed the inhibitor. I had started to recognise the difference in myself when it was in my bloodstream; the world felt a little less raw, my senses were just a little duller than they had been moments earlier. Perhaps, given the next hour or so, that was no bad thing.

Alvar nodded at the guards holding Devyn on the ground and they let go of him before hauling him to his feet. His eyes met mine, asking if I was all right. I nodded slightly, sending a reassuring pulse through our bond which seemed unaffected by the drug. Job completed, they untied our hands and started to march us to the door.

“No masks?” I asked Alvar, surprised.

“No,” he replied shortly.

This was a considerable change in protocol. Nobody was ever brought into the arena unmasked; it was the way it had been for centuries. Calchas must not want a repeat of yesterday; Marcus’s friends identifying him before the vote had caused uproar yesterday. It wouldn’t take a genius watching my reel to figure out that the girl whose identity was obscured, the one standing beside Marcus Courtenay on the sands and accused of crimes not dissimilar to his, was his bride.

Making our way out to the arena for the second time was no less intimidating. If anything, the thunderous pounding was louder tonight. I felt weighed down by the thousands of eyes that stared down at us as we entered the arena. Behind my mask, I had known they were there, but it had made me focus on myself and on the hands that held mine. Now, my head bared, my face revealed, I felt the accusing stares, the appalled gasps, the whispering of the crowd as they conveyed their shock at my identity and speculated on my offences. Thousands in the arena, hundreds more in the balconies above, and in homes throughout Londinium, the entire city watched as I made my way across the sands. I looked around me,. Rows upon rows of faceless, nameless citizens salivated at the prospect of seeing my offences. My eyes flicked to the area at the side of the arena reserved for relatives and witnesses of the accused. Empty. No sign of my parents. Had they so easily washed their hands of me? I thought of Anna who served our family faithfully for years. Had they turned up when she was brought here to be judged and executed? Or had she meant as little to them as the girl they raised as a daughter? Had they turned their backs and publicly refused to support her by not turning up? Had no one turned up for me? I felt a wave of emotion from Devyn. I closed my eyes to savour it. The bond between us was vibrant with his strength, his belief in my ability to survive, and his admiration for who I was. I didn’t need anyone else. I had Devyn. I would always have Devyn. Even when he had believed me dead, he had been there for me, risking everything to come and find me; against all evidence he believed in me. I could do this.

We stood in the late autumn sunshine, awaiting the council, which was another change in protocol. Typically, the council arrived first, events began, and the accused were the last to be brought in. The warm, soft light streamed down, turning everything golden. I looked at the proud, defiant profiles of the men standing each side of me. Devyn’s dark curls waved in the breeze which swirled around the arena and his dark eyes stared straight ahead while his high cheekbones were accented by the play of the sunlight on his face. Marcus’s chestnut hair was as impeccable as ever, and his green eyes caught mine, warmed, and told me to be strong. I smiled in return, looking around to see the last of the council taking their places as the praetor and the governor arrived and stood at the front of the balcony.

The governor and the praetor stepped forwards together.

“Friends, Romans, citizens,” the Governor greeted as usual. “For two thousand years we have convened here to mete out the justice of the city. We are the first and last defence of the Empire. The walls keep us safe but the Code keeps us strong. Yesterday saw the trial of a young man who should have been the best of us. He has failed. We, in turn, showed him mercy he did not deserve. He failed us. He failed the Code.”

A ripple ran through the arena. What was happening?

“We cannot let this stand. He used magic within the walls. He undermined everything we are and everything the Empire is. We thereby have decided to adjust his sentence to that meted out in all such cases. Death by fire.”

I gripped Marcus’s hand tightly. Matthias had been right. The crowd was silent, stunned by the unprecedented move. The governor had ignored the city’s vote for clemency and overruled the sentence of the praetor.

“In the Code we are one.”

The crowd returned, “We are one in the Code.”

Today, nobody objected. The pandemonium, the division of the night before, had been quieted by the age-old response, the reminder that our unity as a province, as a city, was stronger if we were united as one under the law and customs of our Code. Their Code. Not mine; I was no longer protected or bound by the Code.

Calchas stepped forwards and raised his hands to quiet the cheering of the crowd.

“Citizens, welcome. Today you are returned to this special Mete to bear judgement on the last of these accused. We have dispensed with anonymity here today as it is our belief that you have a right to know when a fellow citizen has grievously and repeatedly broken the laws of our city.