Let's Kill Caesar

31: Inevitable Winter

Drip,

         drip,

                   drip.

Fat droplets of scarlet sizzled in the brazier. Endymion watched with an uncomfortable vacancy as blood ran over his skin and dropped in a jagged stream of resolve. Two strong hands fell on his shoulders. Cicero to his left, Cato to the right. His cousin shit him a wicked grin. "Oh Brutus, I know that look."

Iovita chuckled, eyes staring into the flames. "You're going to ruin them."

Endymion didn't reply. Just focused on the raw pain throbbing from his hand. It was the most he could imagine facing. Already his thoughts were turning to the reception he expected at home. His father would have heard the news by now, his brother too if his internet was more than two bars. Endymion could already hear that cold, gruff voice. I always knew you were a waste. I should have left you on the mountain side. You'd serve the Brutus name better as wolf dinner.

"Ow!"

Endymion tore his hand back as it slipped too low and bath in the tongues of the fire. 

"What'd you do that for?" Cato flicked his ear and grabbed Endymion's wrist. For once his cousin's icy hands were a relief. 

Iovita winced as he glimpsed the sizzled flesh. Endymion bit his lip and wrapped the hand in the soft fabric of his shirt. He was the first to avoid flame and skin but this time it came as a jolt of relief. A fucking horrible relief. 

Before Cato could hurl more pointless questions, Cicero put an arm around Endymion's shoulders. She had a way of silencing Iovita with a mere glance. This time she spoke for Endymion's sake. 

"I'm sure the goddess is satisfied with your charred hand, Brutus. We should move on."

Cato nodded, pushing back waves of cool blonde hair. "I've sorted something out." He offered his cousin a smile that made him look like a human only just sewn together. "They'll take care of you."

***

Endymion's hand felt like it was crumbling as it brushed against his shirt. I hope it falls off.

"Stop making those constipated faces." Cicero arched a brow as she craned her neck behind; Endymion had been demoted to the backseat. Probably because Alma couldn't kick the back of Cato's chair hemmed in front. Endymion wrinkled his nose, trying to wear a brave face like his brother would. Aelius would laugh, flew the pastry-thin skin like a hero from the histories. There would be a charismatic joke, a glance that would make everyone in the fifty kilometre radius feel instantly envious. You wouldn't see the pinky blood trickling onto the car seat. You wouldn't see the undeniable pain.

The younger Brutus didn't carry that gift. So he tried to laugh lightly as he answered, "I have no clue what you mean."

"Narcissus will have a slave trained in medicine, you'll get tended to as soon as we arrive."

Endymion's head shot up. "Huh?"

Cicero frowned, tilting her head. "Where the fuck did you think we were going?"

"Your place!" His voice croaked. Endymion's jaw fell limp. Alma didn't waste a care, just shrugged in her special dismissive way and rolled her shoulders back into the car seat. 

"Oh. Well I suppose you're not on the ball as much as we thought."

"How was I supposed to know that!" Endymion gasped with flustered anger, un-cooked hand trailing over the scars of his ears. "Why the fuck are we going to Pompey?"

"Atticus suggested it, Narcissus happily obliged." Cato's eyes flashed in the rearview mirror with amusement. Oh fucking Hades, drag me down with you. Endymion grit his teeth. 

His toes scrunched tight as he burst out, "Please tell me Scipio won't be there. I can't face that dickhead." 

"Okay. Scipio won't be there," Cato replied cheerfully.

"Really?"

"Of course not, stupid."

Endymion slumped, insides mixing around like a cyclone tearing through his abdomen. He could hardly imagine those unfeeling sky-blue eyes without gagging. It had been a day of turbulent agony, why did Endymion have to face another obstacle? His lips stuck together as he ground out, "It's going to be bad, isn't it?"

There was a long silence. Cato cleared his throat, wriggling in his seat. Alma just reached back and pat his knee. Yes. Worse than you thought. Endymion sighed and closed his eyes.

It hurt to think his phone was filling up with texts, emails, comments and tags in the Assembly. At least Cicero had taken care of that with grace. But even with the absence, Endymion wondered. Hoped. Waited. Hated. Broke. Because he knew Bastian would either be trying to talk or cutting him off entirely. All their history...well it didn't matter anymore, did it?

That wretched breathless ache was spreading through his chest again. Endymion's eyes stung even as they were closed tight. He sucked in shallow breaths, those brown eyes staring. Unfeeling. They had to be.

"Keep them open."

Cicero's voice sliced neatly through Endymion's tumbling thoughts. He didn't oblige, just said coldly, "Why?"

"You don't do yourself any favours thinking about hi- them." Alma's tone was gentle. "Open them."

Endymion sighed and hesitantly met her eyes. He stared like a corpse, face empty and shoulders hunched. Endymion didn't return her practiced smile. His blue eyes moved past her out into the dismal view of the Capitoline hill. 

No usual comfort followed after most sacrifices. There wasn't that warmth of something, not even the chilling thrill of celestial eyes pinned to one's back. Maybe Endymion just hadn't been good enough, like most things in his life.

But he did have one thing. Cold. 

His arms and neck were covered with goosebumps. His eyes were frozen in a state of grey hurt. The aircon was chugging out bone-chilling spurts of air instead of heat. Endymion's seared hand's skin felt stiff with phantom frost. Everything was icy with the inevitable winter of crisis. Endymion could only pray it was strong enough to kill him.

The temples looked sad now; remnants of grandeur that proved thorns in the sides of the cutthroat. The marble was grey in this light, the braziers dim. They were packed full of what Endymion could only see as hopeless souls like himself or the snakes that had bitten them. Is Bast inside?

He imagined Bastian kneeling before Venus, begging for forgiveness for burning the man he loved. He would confess some sappy longing for Endymion, burst out crying as he realised what he'd done. Venus would visit because she knew Bast and his Brutus were destiny. She would take Octavius to Endymion's door and...

And you'd wake up and see it was a dream. Remember? Endymion swallowed, single icy tear rolling down his cheek. His voice lilted as he said, "When we get to Pompey's don't give me my phone."

Understanding that turned his stomach flashed in Cicero's gaze as she nodded. "Of course."