The others smiled before lifting up small packs that Xanthus hadn’t noticed before. Without an order, saddled horses came trotting out of the woods.
“That’s smart,” Kanut said. “You shouldn’t trust anyone.”
High above, a falcon wheeled and cried.
*
Attia didn’t expect it to be so difficult to sleep without him.
The night after Xanthus left, she bolted upright in their bed, her eyes open and her senses sharp even though it wasn’t yet dawn. When she couldn’t force herself back to sleep, she opened the door and looked out into the gladiators’ training yard.
A low mist hovered above the ground. The yard was empty except for Lucius. His hands were wrapped around a wooden sword, eyes focused on one of the training dummies in the farthest corner. He held the sword in front of him but didn’t move. He just stared at the training dummy, unblinking. It seemed Attia wasn’t the only who couldn’t sleep. She slipped back into Xanthus’s room before Lucius noticed her.
On the third day, Lucretia appeared while Attia was preparing Rory’s midday meal. Her bruises had started to fade, but she still wore a loose, long-sleeved dress. Her black hair was pulled back in a leather thong, exposing the cuts on her face and the swelling of her jaw. At least she was healing. She said nothing while Attia worked, and Attia found that she didn’t mind the quiet company.
In the evenings after the sun had set and Rory had fallen asleep, Attia and Lucretia secreted away to one of the gardens along the western wall. Attia always brought food for the two of them, and Lucretia would stretch out in the grass to stare up at the stars. The garden became their own little sanctuary where words weren’t necessary. But it was in the garden that Lucretia finally broke her silence.
“It’s quiet out here.” Her voice was raspy from disuse.
Attia wondered if these were the first words Lucretia had spoken to anyone since Ardea. The ring of bruises around her neck was still dark against her skin. Attia must have been looking at her with some concern because Lucretia smiled tightly and took her hand.
“Sabina’s tonics help.”
“I know.” Attia stretched out to lie beside Lucretia, their hands still clasped. “They helped me, too. Before.”
“I heard about the champion and the freemen.” Lucretia turned her head to look at Attia, and their hair tangled together in the grass. “I hope you’re not worried. Xanthus is strong. He’ll be safe. And … and he cares about you. He’ll come back.” She said the last part with a sad smile. Attia could see the sorrow in her eyes, and it made her cringe. “You’re lucky, Thracian.”
Again, Attia saw Lucretia on that dark morning in Ardea, covered in bruises and cuts and wounds, some too deep to heal. She turned her eyes back up to the stars, trying to purge the images from her head.
Lucretia was quiet for several long minutes. “How’s your mark?” she asked gently.
Attia shrugged. “Sabina used her salves to treat it in the beginning and make sure infection didn’t set in. Now I try not to look at it.” Attia knew the skin around the brand had healed well, all things considered. It was only slightly wrinkled and a bit shiny. The raised edges of the brand were still tinged with pink, but Attia doubted that would ever fade. Maybe one day, she’d just take a sharp knife and …
“It fulfills its purpose,” Lucretia said as though she could hear Attia’s thoughts. “It forces us to remember.”
“I think I would rather forget.” Attia bit her lip and frowned. “Were you always called Lucretia?”
Lucretia’s eyes focused on the velvet blackness of the sky above, and her pupils dilated just a little, making her look as though she was entranced by something Attia couldn’t see. “I can’t remember,” she finally said. “I know what you mean about wanting to forget, but I’ve forgotten so much already.”
“How do you stand it?”
“I just think of darkness—total nothingness. It’s warm and cool, tiny and infinite all at the same time. And you’re alone, but you realize that you’ve never truly been alone. The universe spins on around us and through us. What makes it unfathomable is what makes it so beautiful. Everything just … stops.”
When she said it like that, with her eyes looking into the distance and her voice drifting on an unseen breeze, it almost sounded beautiful. But Attia knew better. “You speak of death,” she said.
Lucretia turned her eyes back to her. “I speak of peace. For some of us, it’s the same thing.”
Attia remembered dreaming that way, too. But not anymore. She had Xanthus now. What did Lucretia have but her few moments of darkness and silence? Attia gently squeezed her hand, eyes still looking up at the starry sky as Lucretia fell asleep beside her.
Two nights later, Attia and Lucretia were talking quietly in their little garden when someone appeared in the doorway to the villa. The boy’s bald head and simple loincloth identified him as a eunuch before he even spoke.
“I’ve come to collect the dominus’s woman.” His high-pitched voice grated along every nerve in Attia’s body.
Lucretia’s face went blank, and she took Attia’s hand in hers as they stood.
No. Attia felt as though her blood were freezing in her veins, numbing the tips of her fingers and toes. The bruises were better. The cuts were healing. Lucretia had only just started talking again. How could he call for her now? He couldn’t do this. Attia couldn’t let him.
“No,” she said out loud. “She’s ill. Tell Timeus she’s not coming.”
The eunuch’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “But I can’t. The dominus … he gave orders…”
“I said to tell him no!” Attia shouted.
The boy flinched. Lucretia moved to stand between them, her hand gentle on Attia’s shoulder.
Attia gritted her teeth together, pain radiating along her cheek. She refused to let go of Lucretia’s hand. “I won’t let him,” she said. “I won’t let him take you.”
Lucretia put her arms around Attia and held her close. “Don’t worry about me,” she whispered. “I can always forget, remember?” She kissed her cheek before turning away, walking out of the garden and back into the villa with the eunuch close on her heels.
A second later, she was gone, and it was all Attia could do to stop the scream of outrage welling in her throat.
*
Xanthus had to admit—Kanut and his mercenaries were experienced.
For two days, they stayed a safe distance from the road. Scouts went on ahead or stayed behind. Never the same riders. They shifted their formation constantly and in random intervals. One minute, Number Two was riding beside Xanthus. The next, he had disappeared to scout through a copse of trees.