Since the day Antonia had decided she wasn’t going to let her injury keep her out of the arena, she’d been experimenting with different apparatuses—various kinds of rigging so that her truncated arm could function as a weapon. She’d gone through a series of modifications, each one honing the device to give her more control and mobility. And clearly Neferet had been paying careful attention to what had worked and what hadn’t.
Antonia slid her arm into the leather greave. It ended in a half-moon-shaped blade that looked like it could cut through the toughest boot leather with ease. Neferet adjusted the straps and stepped back, her face splitting into a wide smile as Antonia took a few tentative swipes through the air in front of her.
“Just be careful,” Heron said. “It’s sharp.” An understatement.
Antonia lifted an eyebrow at him, grinning dangerously. Then she whirled in a full circle, the curved blade dancing through the air in an intricate series of attack patterns that culminated in an overhead arc. The blade whistled as she swept her weapon arm high overhead and down, burying one wickedly honed point of the blade a thumb-length deep into the wooden surface of his workbench.
Panting a bit, she pushed the hair out of her eyes and yanked the blade free. She turned to Neferet, eyes shining, and said, “It’s perfect.”
Antonia held out her hand, and Neferet reached to take it. “Then it’s good enough for you.”
This, I thought. This is what we were about to start fighting for. Our lives, our happiness. Each other. Sorcha had dreamed of this for us—and now it was up to us to find a way to keep that dream alive.
“What time of night is it?” I asked Heron.
The physician checked the device he called a clepsydra—a Greek contraption that measured time with water—and said, “Sunrise is in four hours.”
I nodded. “Then I want us to be ready to go in two.”
Cai and Quint enlisted a handful of the girls and led them, with all possible stealth, to the outbuilding where the chariots and wagons were kept. There, they went to work malleting through the spokes of every wheel they could find. At the same time, Elka and I, along with Meriel and Damya, headed to the tack shed, where we sawed through all of the saddle girths, reins, and bridles hanging from hooks on the walls. Then once we were done, it was out to the yard, where we still had the cover of darkness to help hide our little insurrection.
The horses picketed out in the yard were restless, not used to spending nights outside of their stalls, but they calmed under Ajani’s gentle hands and soothing whispers, enough so that we could hitch the two fastest pairs to the carriages while Cai and Quint saddled their cavalry mounts. My fingers fumbled with the harness buckles, palms sweat-slick, and at every moment I expected we would be caught out. I kept glancing nervously over my shoulder to where Aeddan stood beneath the stone arch leading to the main house, watching for any movement.
There was none. And that made me even more nervous.
I reminded myself that Aquila was no military man. His guards, no soldiers. And his gladiatrices were more used to being guarded than guarding. They were fighters, not strategists. And with me safely—supposedly—locked away in Tartarus and with the only two “real” soldiers chained up in the infirmary, they clearly weren’t expecting escape attempts. An oppressive silence lay heavy on the ludus in those dark hours before the dawn.
It wouldn’t stay that way for long.
“The goddess keep you all,” I said when we were done and all the girls had gathered around, awaiting orders. “When this happens, it’s going to happen fast. It will be chaos, and that’s what we’ll need if any of us is to escape. Whoever gets out, gets out. Whoever gets left behind . . . Don’t give in. Don’t give up.”
Cai glanced skyward suddenly and said, “Rain.”
“Good,” said Quint. “The more impediments, the better for us.”
I desperately hoped so. The wide sand road that led to the main gate—and freedom—had gone from raked smooth to pockmarked as the raindrops began to fall. Clouds scudded over the face of the moon, and a gust of wind blew the wetness in under the eaves where I stood, cooling my fever-heated skin . . . and then making me shiver.
The driving purpose that had sustained me in the hours since Aeddan had freed me from Tartarus was beginning to wane. I could feel it. If we didn’t make our move soon, I didn’t know that I would be able to move at all. Slowly, with strips of Heron’s linen bandages wrapped around the horse bridles to muffle the noise, we moved out, pausing beneath the wide stone arch that opened into the main courtyard . . . our gateway to freedom.
I held my breath as the guard in the watchtower suddenly stuck his head out into the open. We all froze, staring up. Feeling the first drops of rain, the guard cursed—a small, faraway sound in the night—and stepped out onto the causeway to relieve himself over the side of the wall before the shower became a downpour. As he stepped up on a block of stone and hitched up his tunic, I signaled to Ajani. She didn’t have her bow, but when she’d raided Heron’s store of surgical knives, she’d picked the ones best balanced to throw.
Cruel to take a man’s life in a moment like that, but the opportunity presented itself, and I wasn’t about to let it escape our use. Neither was Ajani. The blade sliced through the rain, spinning end over end, and the man toppled soundlessly over the ludus wall. We all stood like statues for a long moment, waiting for the alarm to be raised.
Nothing.
Just rain and darkness.
“Let’s go,” Cai said, nodding to Quintus and waving me forward. I sprinted across the yard to where the massive sliding lock-bar was secured with a great heavy lock. There was only one key on the ring I carried that was large enough to fit, but my fingers fumbled with it, numb and unresponsive, slick with rain and sweat. My heart hammered in my ears. My knife wound was on fire and—I was almost certain—bleeding again. And the mark Aquila had carved on my arm seemed to hiss and tingle, sending sparks shooting up and down my limb.
“Come on, Fallon,” I muttered to myself. “Come on . . .”
And then, overhead, I heard the hammering of feet on the guard walk.
“Felix?” shouted a voice. “Where are you?”
There was silence, then a burst of cursing. When I looked up, it was to meet the gaze of a second Amazona guard who’d come to check on his fellow. He’d seen the body lying on the ground below, and now he was peering down directly at me.
We had no time left.
I tore my gaze away from his astonished face and went back to work on the gate lock. The key rattled in the hole, and it took all my strength to make it turn. But then the latch sprung open and the lock fell to the ground with a dull clank. Ajani threw another knife, but the second guard had already ducked back behind the parapet and was yelling for help at the top of his lungs. I shouted for Cai and Quint to come help with the slide bar, but Gratia got there first and shouldered me aside, straining as she hauled on the thing, and managed it single-handed.
Then, Cai and Quint were there to haul open the doors.