“I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s special. Oh, but I forgot the other parts.” She leaned forward, and all Attia could see was the end of the stylus wiggling back and forth. When Rory sat back again, there were new details around the bird—wavy lines at its feet and a small circle in its chest. “I think that’s water,” Rory said, pointing to the lines. “This circle is a stone.”
Attia felt like she’d forgotten how to breathe. “Where did you see that, Rory?” Her voice was tight and strained.
The child’s eyes lowered, and she nibbled on her lower lip. “It’s a secret,” she whispered. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“You can tell me,” Attia said. “I’m good at keeping secrets, remember?”
Rory’s sweet face crumpled in a frown, and she threw the stylus aside. “I didn’t like him.”
“Who?”
“The man who came to our house. I was supposed to stay in my room. But I was curious. He had so many men and horses. I thought he was someone important, so I snuck down and…”
“And?”
“He had this on his cloak. It was silver.”
Attia’s heart was threatening to burst from her chest. “When, Rory? When did you see the man?”
“Before we went to Uncle’s house in the big city. Mother said we needed to get away.”
“What else did you see, Rory? Who was the man?”
“I don’t know,” Rory said. “Someone. I can’t remember.” Her voice wavered between a whine and a sob.
Attia pulled her into her arms and placed a gentle kiss at her temple. “It’s all right, Rory. Don’t worry. Why don’t you draw me something else?”
“I don’t want to draw birds anymore.”
“You can draw whatever you want.”
“Horses?”
“Yes,” Attia said. “Draw me a horse.” She picked up the stylus and handed it to Rory.
While the little girl bent over the ash to start her new drawing, Attia tried to control her breathing. She knew what Rory had seen, of course—the pendant that rightfully belonged to her as the crown princess of Thrace. But who’d been wearing it? He couldn’t have been a Maedi. There was no way he could be Thracian. Or was there? What if Xanthus had been wrong?
What if—somewhere, somehow—there were other survivors from Thrace?
*
Fido’s men were armed as heavily as they had been in Ardea, though the fat bastard himself was noticeably absent.
Xanthus spat into the dirt for the third time in as many minutes. The ride had lasted nearly a day so far, and he felt like he was choking on sand. He couldn’t even wipe his mouth because his hands were bound behind his back. At least the Ardeans had let them keep their mounts.
“Again, fantastic plan, Kanut.”
The mercenary shrugged. “Thank you.”
“We could have fought them.”
Kanut glanced around. “All twelve? Do you think so?”
“Easily. If your men hadn’t run. I didn’t know you employed cowards.”
“Only the best,” Kanut said with a grin.
“I hope you haven’t paid them yet.”
Kanut leaned forward and squinted. “Oh, look. We’ve reached Capua.”
Xanthus saw the wall first—brown brick and stone nearly fifty feet high. Men in brown tunics patrolled along the top of it, and beyond the walls, brown insulas rose in uneven intervals. Even the road beyond the wall was brown.
“A whole city made of sand and dirt,” Kanut said.
“Enchanting,” Xanthus replied.
They dismounted, and the Ardeans smuggled them past the gate using an abandoned tunnel under the southern wall. The air was thick with the stench of sewage and standing water. The Ardeans put hoods over Xanthus’s and Kanut’s heads and pushed them roughly along. They were obviously trying to confuse them—leading them over rubble and through broken walls, into a maze of alleys and streets. But it was easy for Xanthus to keep up.
When Xanthus turned fourteen, Timeus had forced him to fight a match blindfolded. For weeks, Ennius had trained him, honing his hearing, teaching him to fight by sound and reflex. The ring of a swinging sword still resonated in Xanthus’s head. It was one of the reasons he’d been able to defeat the Taurus so easily.
Those same senses guided his path now. They were being led northeast, to the poor district by the sound of it. There would be few people to watch and even fewer to care when the Ardeans killed them.
Xanthus knew they’d finally reached their destination when a distinct smell wafted through the air—the smell of old cheese and dirty feet.
“Hello again, Fido,” Xanthus said.
The hoods came off, and there was the leader of Ardea in all his greasy glory.
Fido chuckled, the rounded protrusion of his belly bouncing up and down. “Hello, champion. Miss me?”
In answer, Xanthus spat again, this time aiming at Fido’s feet.
“Who’s your friend?” Fido asked.
“He’s not my friend, and you don’t care.”
Fido put a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “Why, champion—of course I care about your friends. Especially your old friend, Spartacus, whom I hear the two of you are searching for. It would be a mistake, I think, for you to continue on your little quest.”
Kanut quirked his dark brows. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m going to find him first,” Fido said. “You see, I was there. I know what Spartacus looks like.”
“So do we,” Kanut said. “It should be easy enough, finding a giant.”
Fido laughed loudly. “A giant? Someone has lied to you, freeman. Spartacus was half the size of the champion, small like a boy with short legs and—”
Xanthus sighed. “Since no one can seem to remember the same man, perhaps we should all save ourselves the trouble and simply stop looking.”
“We searched the entire city after you left,” Fido said. “Every alley, every house, every insula. Nothing. Spartacus was already gone. That could mean he left the city alone after the match, as you claim. Or it could mean that Spartacus left with you.”
“Intriguing,” Kanut said. “What else have you heard?”
Fido scowled.
“I only ask because I know the Ardeans still speak of Xanthus and Spartacus,” Kanut said. “With fear, too. And no small amount of disgust. But I can see that you are all rather fearful, disgusting men, so I am not at all surprised.”
Fido turned red in the face, and the Ardeans reached for their weapons.
Kanut wiggled his brows at Xanthus and grinned. “This is getting fun.”
“Gods, please strike me down now,” Xanthus muttered.
“Anyway, I think a household caravan would have noticed a stranger amongst them,” Kanut continued.
“Unless Spartacus is one of them!” Fido said. “A member of the auxilia, perhaps—a soldier turned gladiator.”
“A giant who is also a soldier but looks like a young boy? Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” Kanut said.
“It’s a miracle, Fido—you’ve discovered something that Kanut didn’t already know,” Xanthus said. “You ought to try your luck at walking on water.”
Kanut turned to Xanthus with a straight face. “You are very humorous, gladiator, I must say. Unexpectedly so.”
“Thank you,” Xanthus replied with an equally impassive expression. He turned back to Fido. “You’re wasting your time. If Spartacus was a member of the household, why would Timeus bother hiring mercenaries to look for him? I think you’re both wasting your time. You can’t hunt down a ghost, not with rumors.”