Celtic Fire(36)

Without pausing to think, Rhiannon left her stool and knelt at Marcus’s side, pulling him into her arms and ruffling his hair as she had done with Owein so many times. “And your father?” she heard herself ask. “Was he distraught?”

“Father wasn’t there. He was in Assyria with the emperor. Magister Demetrius wrote to him when Mama got sick, but he didn’t get home until a month after her burial.”

“How awful!”

Marcus sniffed. “Father was so angry when he arrived home that I wished he had stayed in Assyria. He’d been there a year and a half already—why bother to come at all?”

Rhiannon drew back. “Your father had been in the East for a year?”

“Longer. He’d been gone for two turns of the New Year.”

“And your mother went to visit him during that time?”

Marcus gave her an odd look. “Mama? No. She would never have gone to the frontier. She didn’t even like the countryside. She preferred Rome.”

Rhiannon rose from her stool and paced a few steps away, not wanting Marcus to see the surprise she knew must show on her face. Dear Briga. Lucius’s wife had died birthing another man’s child. No wonder he’d been angry.

Marcus picked up a smooth stick with a metal nib and made some random marks on his tablet. “But then Father said he’d had word that Uncle Aulus was dead. He was to leave for Britannia and I didn’t want him to go. At least not without me. He didn’t want to bring me, but I begged until he gave in.” He sighed. “I thought I could make him proud of me.”

Rhiannon came up behind Marcus and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure that he is.”

“No.” Marcus studied the tip of his stylus with exaggerated care. “He’s not. I’m a disappointment.”

“Surely he didn’t tell you such a thing.”

“He doesn’t have to. I can tell.”

Rhiannon took hold of his shoulders and turned him toward her. “You’re mistaken.”

“No, I’m not. I can ride a horse, but I hate history and logic and I’m terrible with a sword. I’ll make a poor soldier.”

“It matters not. You’ll be a fine man.”

Marcus dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and blinked up at her. “Do you think so?”

“I know it,” Rhiannon said firmly, rising. “You have a great curiosity. That’s the mark of the wise.”

He gave her a small smile, though the expression in his eyes told her he was unconvinced. Turning back to the table, he picked up his stylus and tablet. Rhiannon scrutinized Aristotle’s indecipherable writings. When she raised her head, she found Marcus watching her, the mischievous light restored to his eyes.

He broke into a wide grin, complete with Lucius’s dimple. Rhiannon’s breath caught.

“Here,” he said, turning his tablet around. “Look.”

He’d smoothed out the Roman runes and replaced them with the image of a woman’s face. Though the rendition was only a few quick strokes, his hand had been so skillful that the drawing seemed almost to breathe. Rhiannon stared at it in amazement. Such skill was powerful magick indeed.

“Do you like it?”

“Very much.” Then, hesitantly, “Is it your mother?”

Marcus’s face fell. “No. It’s you. Can you not tell?”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened. She had never seen an image of her own face, save in a wavering pool of water. Was this truly her likeness?

Marcus turned the tablet around and regarded it with a critical air. Then he made a sound of exasperation and passed the flat edge of his stylus over the wax, obliterating his work. “You’re right. I did the eyes all wrong.”

“I didn’t mean—” Rhiannon began.

“But it’s hardly my fault.” Marcus tilted his head to one side and gave her a shy smile. “You’re far too beautiful to draw.”

The innocent compliment made Rhiannon blush. “Thank you, Marcus.”

“My father thinks so too, you know.” He affected a nonchalant tone, but his gaze wandered the room as if afraid to rest. “I saw the way he looked at you in the courtyard yesterday. As if you were Venus herself.”

“Venus?”

“A goddess,” Marcus clarified. “Of love.”

Rhiannon’s face flamed even hotter. She turned back to the scroll. “Aristotle grows weary with waiting.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “Aristotle is dead.” He dropped his tablet and stylus onto the table. “Though I suspect he’s not buried deeply enough.”

Rhiannon chuckled. “Then what will you do, if not study?”