Steel and Storm

Alexandria POV

Screams split the air.

Not the shrill squeals of children at play or merchants haggling in the marketplace, but raw, primal cries that clawed at the soul. Doors slammed. Pottery shattered against stone. Somewhere nearby, a horse reared, its terrified whinny drowned beneath the blare of war horns.

The sound was unlike anything I had ever heard.

It was long, shrill, and haunting—more beast than instrument. It was as if it was made of the screams from Hades.  It rolled across Rome like thunder, making the very stones beneath my feet seem to tremble.

We had heard the stories.

The northern barbarians.

Celtic tribes—ferocious, bloodthirsty, impossible to reason with. They swept through villages like wildfires, leaving blackened ruins and broken bodies behind. Mothers frightened unruly children with tales of painted warriors who carried off anyone foolish enough to wander too far from home.

I had always dismissed those stories.

We were taught that Rome was unconquerable.

Rome was eternal.

Rome did not fear barbarians.

Yet now…

They were here.

Just outside our gates.

A chorus of savage voices rose beyond the city walls, followed by the rhythmic pounding of swords against shields. The cadence was deliberate, relentless—a heartbeat of war itself meant to terrify everyone who heard it.

And it was succeeding.

The streets erupted into chaos when they saw our troops and government officials fleeing to the center square.

Citizens flooded from every alley and courtyard, abandoning baskets of bread, overturned carts, and half-finished meals. Wealthy matrons who normally floated through the streets with practiced elegance now stumbled over their expensive robes. Senators shoved common laborers aside without a second thought. Children cried for parents already swallowed by the crowd.

Fear made everyone equal.

For one brief moment, Rome forgot rank.

Everyone simply wanted to survive.

I hurried inside, dropped to my knees, and lifted the thin mattress from my bed.

Hidden beneath it lay my brother Marcus’ sword.

The leather grip was worn smooth from years of practice. I traced my thumb over it for the briefest moment before fastening the belt around my waist.

“I hope you’re not angry I’m borrowing it,” I murmured.

Marcus had always teased me that the sword was too heavy for me.

“You’ll trip over it before you ever stab anyone.”

“I’ve grown stronger,” I whisper with a faint smile.

My smile disappeared almost instantly.

My father was already gone.

Of course he was.

He hadn’t shouted my name.

Hadn’t knocked on my door.

Hadn’t even checked to see whether I still lived.

If there had been a race between saving Rome and saving himself…

…my father would have won it.

I shook my head.

Now was not the time to dwell on old recurring disappointments.

There were people who actually needed help.

Outside, an elderly fruit vendor struggled to lift his overturned cart. Apples rolled in every direction as frightened feet crushed them into the cobblestones.

A young man barreled past him without slowing.

Then another.

No one even looked.

I hurried over and grabbed one side of the cart.

“Lift!”

The old man blinked at me in surprise before scrambling to grab hold. Together we righted it.

“My coins…” he gasped.

Several bronze coins had scattered across the street.

I knelt despite the river of people rushing around us, scooping up as many as I could before another pair of sandals trampled them into the dust.

“Here.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“You should save yourself.”

“So should you.”

I shoved the little pouch into his hands.

“Now run.”

He hesitated only a moment before disappearing into the crowd.

A sharp cry drew my attention.

A widow from our neighborhood struggled a couple of streets away, one infant balanced awkwardly on her hip while three children clung to her tunic, each crying louder than the last.

Without thinking, I ran.

“Let me help.”

Before she could protest, I gently lifted the baby into my own arms and reached for one little girl’s hand.

The child stared at the sword on my belt.

“Are you going to fight them?”

I looked down at the frightened little face.

“I hope I won’t have to.”

The girl nodded solemnly, apparently satisfied by the answer.

Together we pushed through the crush of people toward the inner gates.

Guards shouted themselves hoarse trying to keep order.

“Move!”

“Keep walking!”

“No pushing!”

Someone fell.

Several others stumbled over him before nearby soldiers dragged the man upright again.

By some miracle, the gates had not yet been sealed.

Once we reached the relative safety beyond them, the widow threw her arms around me.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Alexandria.”

She blinked.

“The Praetor’s daughter?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Despite everything, she laughed.

A real laugh.

It lasted only a heartbeat, but somehow it reminded me that the world had not ended yet.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I squeezed her shoulder.

“Take care of them.”

She nodded and disappeared into the sea of frightened citizens.

Only then did I allow myself to breathe.

Now…

I needed to find my father.

“Alexandria!”

I barely had time to turn before Lucius wrapped me in a fierce embrace.

His heart hammered against my shoulder.

“Thank the gods.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, relief flooding every feature.

“I’ve been searching everywhere.”

“You should search smaller areas,” I said.

His eyebrows lifted.

“What?”

“You’ll find people faster.”

For one astonished second he simply stared.

Then, despite the panic surrounding us, he laughed.

“There you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone else is screaming, and somehow you’re still making jokes.”

“If I stop joking, then I might start screaming too” I retort.

His smile faded into something softer.

“I was worried.”

“I know.”

I gently stepped back.

“Have you seen my father?”

“Yes. He’s with the Praetors.”

He frowned.

“Why weren’t you with him?”

The lie came easily.

“He was already heading toward the forum when everyone started panicking.”

Lucius looked at me for a long moment.

He knew.

Perhaps not the details.

But enough.

Enough to recognize that fathers who loved their daughters did not accidentally leave them behind.

Still, he simply nodded.

“I’ll take you.”

As we walked through the crowded forum, I couldn’t help studying him.

Lucius had always looked as though someone had sculpted him specifically to become a respectable Roman statesman. Neatly trimmed beard. Carefully pressed tunic. Honest eyes.

Too honest, perhaps.

He still believed good arguments and facts won political debates.

Poor man.

My father undoubtedly viewed him as the perfect husband for me.

Well-born.

Educated.

Easy to manipulate.

It wouldn’t have been the worst marriage in Rome.

Lucius was thoughtful.

Patient.

Entirely too decent for the company my father kept.

He deserved someone who looked at him the way poets described love.

And that someone wasn’t me.

We finally reached the cluster of Praetors and magistrates gathered outside one of the marble council halls.

The moment my father spotted me, his expression transformed with almost theatrical precision.

“My darling!”

He swept forward, embracing me dramatically.

“Thank the gods you’re safe!”

His perfume reached me before his concern did.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“I was terribly worried.”

No, you weren’t.

“I didn’t know where you were!”

No, you didn’t care.

Instead I smiled sweetly.

“I’m unharmed.”

Several officials nodded approvingly.

“We’re all relieved Lady Alexandria is safe,” Magistrate Blandus said.

“Indeed,” added Magistrate Flavius, his smile lingering far longer than courtesy required. “Rome would be poorer without such beauty.”

His eyes raked over me in a way that made my skin crawl.

I had learned years ago that there were two kinds of smiles.

The kind that reached a person’s eyes.

And the kind that never did.

Flavius’s smile belonged to the second.

“You’re very gracious, Magistrate.”

“I merely speak the truth.”

How unfortunate.

“It is such a pity your dear mother passed so young.”

My father’s face became the portrait of sorrow.

“Not a day passes that I do not mourn her.  I think of her always.”

Liar.

“My only prayer is that Alexandria grows to become half the woman her mother was.”

I nearly laughed aloud.

If Mother could hear him now, she would likely haunt him herself.

She had once called him a peacock dressed as an eagle.  Not to his face of course.

I had been only ten years old when she whispered it to me after one of his speeches.

“Never confuse loudness with strength,” she’d said.

It remained some of the best advice anyone had ever given me.

A messenger hurried toward the gathering.

“The council is assembling.”

Immediately, the officials began filing toward the marble hall.

My father turned to Lucius.

“Come. We’ll need your counsel.”

Lucius hesitated.

“Sir…perhaps Lady Alexandria shouldn’t remain alone.”

“Nonsense.”

My father’s tone allowed no argument.

“There is no safer place in Rome.  We need a strategic quick mind like yours!”

Lucius’ eyes lit up and then he looked apologetically toward me.

“I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“I know.”

I offered him an encouraging smile.

“Go help save the Republic.”

He smiled faintly.

“I’ll do my best.”

After the council doors closed behind them, the bustling forum suddenly felt strangely quiet despite the thousands still gathered there.

I released a slow breath.  Freed the fake smile from my face.

Only then did my hand drift automatically toward my throat.

My fingers found nothing.

I froze.

No.

My necklace.

Cold realization swept over me.

Last night.

Father’s “business meeting.”

I had hidden Mother’s necklace beneath the loose stone beside my bed, afraid one of his clients might notice it and take it as a souvenir.

In all the panic…

I’d forgotten to put it back on.

My stomach twisted.

It wasn’t valuable because of the gold.

Or the emerald.

It was valuable because it had been hers.

The last thing she had ever placed around my neck.

“Promise me you’ll keep it safe.”

“I promise.”

The words echoed painfully through my memory.

If the Celts reached the lower streets…

If our house was looted…

If that necklace disappeared…

It would be like losing my mother all over again.

I lifted my eyes toward the outer gate.

Smoke curled into the afternoon sky.

The war horns sounded again.

Every sensible thought told me to stay exactly where I was.

Every Roman soldier would call the journey suicide.

Mother would probably call me stubborn.

Marcus would call me reckless.

Father…

Father likely wouldn’t notice I’d left.

I squared my shoulders.

“I’ll be quick,” I muttered to myself.

Then, before reason could change my mind, I turned and slipped back toward the city gates.

Toward the danger.

Toward my prison disguised as a home.