Xanthus sighed and went for the wolf closest to him at the same moment that the second wolf launched itself at Attia’s throat.
The animal snapped at Xanthus’s legs as he circled, looking for a weak spot. Xanthus stabbed one of his swords at the wolf’s rear. It twisted away to defend itself, exposing its neck. Xanthus’s sword sliced clean through it. The animal was dead before it hit the ground.
Someone in the crowd shouted, pointing to the other side of the arena. Attia lay completely still with the last wolf stretched on top of her.
Xanthus ran to her side and slashed at the animal’s back. Its body shuddered for a moment before toppling over, Attia’s gladius protruding from its belly.
“Crassus,” she said breathlessly before pulling her sword free. Blood drenched the front of her clothes, lending a shine to the dark material. Attia got to her feet and clasped Xanthus’s hand.
And the Ardeans cheered.
“Xanthus!” Lucius called from the edge of the arena. Fido stood beside him.
Lucius shook Xanthus’s hand, dirty and bloody as it was. His face was carefully neutral. “Well done,” he said simply, with no small amount of relief in his voice.
Fido glowered. “The horses will be ready for your master on the road. I must admit that I have never seen such an exhibition. I didn’t believe you would live past dusk, let alone dawn. What are you? Some gods from legend? Spawns of Mars himself?”
Xanthus glanced down at Attia. Her face was still covered by cloth and grime and blood, her eyes red with exhaustion. “Not gods. Just … men.”
Behind Fido, Ennius smiled.
Lucius turned to Attia. “Spartacus, the Shadow of Death,” he said. “For whom do you fight?”
Attia glanced at Xanthus, then at Ennius, before finally shrugging.
“No one? No lanista or master?” Lucius asked. “What, are you just a freeman looking for thrills?”
Attia nodded.
“Are you mute?”
She nodded again.
“Were you born that way?” Lucius asked.
She shook her head and tried not to glare at Ennius’s amused smile.
“Well, anyway, consider yourself our honored guest,” Lucius said.
Attia shook her head again.
“I insist,” Lucius said. “You fought honorably beside our champion, after all. No doubt my uncle will convince you to make your oath with us before the day is through.” He motioned to Ennius. “Will you find him a place?”
“He can share my quarters,” Xanthus said.
“It’s settled then.” Lucius turned to Fido. “The House of Timeus will not soon forget the … hospitality you have shown us.”
“And Ardea will not forget the House of Timeus,” Fido said, turning his eyes to Attia.
The crowd parted to let them pass. Everyone bowed their heads in deference to Lucius and Fido. But the names on their lips did not belong to noblemen or even freemen, but to a slight figure in black and the gladiator behind her.
“Xanthus!” they cried. Then, a chant.
“Spartacus! Spartacus! Spartacus!”
CHAPTER 14
The room smelled like mold. The air was heavy and damp. A lantern flared to life, and Attia could see rock walls glistening with moisture. She wondered if the door to this room would be locked or if even in this strange place, Xanthus had his privileges.
Now that they were finally alone, Attia pulled away the linen that covered her face and took a deep breath. It had been a long, long night, and all she wanted was warm, dreamless sleep. A bath wouldn’t hurt either.
Xanthus crouched beside a bucket of water, washing his hands of some of the blood and grime. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the arena.
“Are you injured?” Attia asked softly, breaking the silence.
Xanthus stood but couldn’t lift his eyes to meet hers. “You were incredible out there.”
Attia frowned. “We’re alive. That’s the important thing.”
“We’re alive, yes. But we killed men tonight, Attia.” His voice hardened. “Many, many men. They may have been good or they may have been bad, but they died for sport.”
“It’s not our sport,” Attia said. “And I’m not sorry for what I had to do to keep you safe.”
Xanthus closed his eyes, but not before Attia saw the deep pain there. “You shouldn’t have bothered. I’m damaged. Can’t you tell? I can’t be fixed. There is no forgiveness for what I’ve done.”
“What you’ve done,” she said. “Do you mean like when the camp was attacked? How many did you kill that night?”
Xanthus’s eyes snapped open. “That was different.”
“Was it? How? Tell me, Xanthus—tell me how you weigh each of those men against the other and determine their worth.”
“Those men in the camp attacked us first. I only wanted to protect you.”
Attia scoffed. “We both know that I can take care of myself. Try to protect me all you want, Xanthus, but you can’t change who I am. Fighting is what I know, and I will fight for what matters to me until the day the Romans hang me on their cross.”
“Stop!” Xanthus cried. The raw anguish in his voice was startling. “Don’t you understand? I can’t lose you!”
A sudden wave of guilt washed over Attia. She realized she was looking at a man who had never really been a boy, a man who knew death and bondage and little else. His bright green eyes had turned dark with a remorse she couldn’t feel. And she had almost disappeared on him without a word. She wished she knew how to comfort him now. But she’d never been taught how to soften her voice or ease hurts with a touch. She knew iron. She knew strength.
“Well, I fought for you, gladiator. I killed because I couldn’t lose you.”
His shoulders fell, but his arms were around her in seconds. The embrace felt like an apology, and not just to her. She felt him shake his head. “I see their faces, Attia. I see them in the shadows. I see them when I close my eyes.”
Attia rested her forehead against his. “Then keep your eyes on me, champion. And we’ll face the shadows together.”
They held each other in the dark. Their clothes were stiff with blood, and Xanthus’s short hair was even matted down with it. But Attia kept her eyes on his face. His brows were clenched in a scowl that a stranger might call fearsome, his lips flattened in a hard line.
Attia touched the crease between his eyes with the tip of her finger. “If only the fierce gladiator could smile.”
Xanthus tilted her chin up and kissed the corner of her mouth with a caress that was more breath than touch. The bond between them was still so new and fragile, and yet Attia found that she survived on that breath. She wondered if she’d ever really lived before.
“What would the Maedi warrior know about smiling?” he said against her lips as he pulled her closer.
“Not enough,” she murmured.
Gray-blue light filtered in through the tiny crack that opened high in the rock wall, mocking them with the time they didn’t have.