Except that with a nod of his head, Radulf had his guards raise their swords to block my path. I stopped short of them but refused to look his way. Speaking to my back, he said, "I admire your courage to leave -- truly, you are your father's son. But you must know that I can't allow it. If you try to leave, ever, there will be consequences for those you love." Radulf's hand went onto Livia's shoulder.
Livia's eyes widened when she understood Radulf's threat. And only then, too late, did she understand that our family ties weren't nearly as strong as his desire to control an empire. And to control me.
"I will win the Praetor War," Radulf said. "At any price."
He drew his own sword, but it was still in the air before I raised a hand and yelled, "Stop!" Radulf locked eyes with me, and I hated the glint of triumph in his. But there was nothing more I could do. I would not test Radulf against my sister.
"We will join your house," I muttered.
"We will join your house ..." He raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish the phrase.
My hands curled into fists. "We will join your house, Grandfather."
"And you will become part of the Praetor War, as you always were meant to do."
With that, he thrust Livia toward me and replaced his sword. I wrapped my arms around her as she cried on my shoulder.
"We had better leave before Valerius arrives with his victory celebration," Radulf told his men. "I must gather a few things, and by then, you will have my grandchildren in the wagon ready to travel back to my home."
As soon as he left, Livia whispered, "That threat -- he couldn't have meant it."
"He did mean it, Livia. You have to accept what kind of a person he really is. That's the only way we'll ever escape him."
"How? We have nothing. Without him, we are nothing."
I shook my head. "That's not true."
The soldier who had spoken before motioned us to walk forward. "You two follow me. Any tricks and I'll poke the person walking beside you."
Livia took my arm where I had received the burn in the arena. "What happened to you?"
I looked at the wound. It had started to heal, but not entirely. And the pain was so minimal that I had almost forgotten about it. It was still healing, despite Radulf having pulled so much magic from my shoulder. Despite Radulf having taken the bulla. It was healing anyway.
"I know about the bulla," Livia said. "Radulf told me the jewels in it come from the gods."
I couldn't suppress a grin. "There are jewels in it, yes. But not from the gods." The ones with the glow were sitting inside Aurelia's crepundia. While still on the lift to enter the arena, I had switched them. There was nothing in the bulla but Aurelia's cheap imitation stones and a fading scent of magic.
"Radulf is making a mistake by bringing us into his home," I told her. "Before I leave, I will know exactly how to defeat both him and Valerius. And I will get that bulla back."
With that thought, my smile widened. The bulla was only part of my magic. The rest was in the Divine Star. And even now, as my strength began to recover, I felt a prickle in my shoulder. Caesar's power had awoken within me once again.
My battle had only just begun.
Readers often ask about the inspiration for a book or character. Mark of the Thief began when I happened upon a random fact: Emperor Julius Caesar used to claim he was a literal descendent of the goddess Venus. Historians believe he created this part of his image to make himself seem more powerful, but I began to wonder, what if he had been telling the truth? What if he really did have special powers, if he was a sort of demigod?
That led to other questions, with answers that took my imagination into exciting possibilities. Slowly, ancient Rome came alive in my mind -- but now in a time filled with magic, competing forces between good and evil, and a journey where the least likely of all -- a young mining slave -- rises to save an empire. My stories often begin this way, by asking questions that I can't wait to answer.
But though my stories begin in this simple way, bringing them into readers' hands is a much bigger process, one I could never do alone. So for that, I am forever grateful to Jeff Nielsen, my husband, best friend, and true companion, and to our three children, for their support, encouragement, and willingness to split the last square of dark chocolate. Few things are a truer act of
love. Thanks also to my amazing agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette, whose wisdom and knowledge greatly outdistance her years. Heaps of gratitude to everyone at Scholastic -- it is a privilege to work with each of you in your various areas of expertise. Finally, warmest thanks to my editor, Lisa Sandell, who does far more than help me shape a story for publication. You are mentor, advisor, teacher, therapist, guidance counselor, and above all, a true friend. You are gold.
One final word -- to all those who were my teachers, even in the subjects where I clearly wasn't paying attention -- if you've ever wondered whether you made a difference to any of your students, here's at least one answer: For me, you made all the difference in the world.