THE DAY OF our gladiatorial oath swearing approached with the swiftness of a late summer tempest and just as much foreboding. For weeks it had seemed nothing more than a distant threat, an occasional rumble like thunder on the horizon. But now, the very air of the ludus training grounds seemed to bristle with the furious, pent-up energy of a storm cloud ready to burst.
Thalestris and the other fight masters—two hard-bitten ex-legion soldiers named Kronos and Titus—had been observing our progress with eagle-keen eyes, and the tension among the girls was palpable. I know I felt like a walking bundle of flayed nerves, both on the pitch and off. Just because the ludus had bought us as slaves didn’t mean they couldn’t sell us again if we didn’t measure up as potential gladiatrices. As much as I loathed the idea of living under the yoke of the ludus, performing like a trained animal for the delight of bloodlusting crowds, the prospect of getting dragged back to the auction block to be sold as a failed fighter was far more odious—and, truthfully, terrifying.
At the same time, what Cai had told me that day by the stables had kindled in me a tiny spark of hope. If I could become a gladiatrix, there was a chance—a faint hope, maybe, but still—that I could one day earn my freedom with my sword. “Just be good enough,” he’d said.
So I fought with the Meriels and the Gratias of the academy, and I even sparred with Nyx—at Thalestris’s cruel behest—one miserable raining afternoon in a bout that lasted forever and saw us both end up covered in mud and bruises. I bit down on the urge to whimper every morning from the ache in my muscles, and I spent every spare second I had hacking away at the stable post with my two practice swords under the disinterested gaze of the donkey.
I worked on my presentation—on flourishes and salutes to the (as yet imaginary) crowds of onlookers—and on my style. Some of the girls who’d fought in the arenas already had patrons who sponsored them, wealthy patricians who flaunted their riches by equipping their favorite fighters in the games with better weapons and fancier armor.
Me, I spent the hours I wasn’t practicing or sleeping digging through the baskets of scrap leather in the weapons-makers’ shops, fashioning wrist bracers and a pair of shin guards for myself. I incised the spiral patterns of the Cantii on them with the point of my dagger. They weren’t anywhere near as fancy as some of the bronze ones the other girls wore, but they were something. A start. They’d have to suffice until I could attract a patron of my own.
By barely measurable increments, the days became less grueling. And through it all, Elka was there to lift my spirits with her blunt humor and fierce friendship. As much as I hoped that I would make it all the way to the oath ceremony, I hoped just as fervently that she would too.
“You’re getting good, little fox,” Elka said as she ambled over, wiping the sweat from her tall brow with the back of one arm. “You could almost pass for a Varini, the way you fight.”
I grinned at her. “And you could almost pass for a Cantii.” I nodded at the spear she held in one fist. She’d been practicing her throwing all morning, and she had a sharp eye. “Only we throw our spears from the decks of racing chariots.”
“Chariots are for girls.” She laughed and nodded toward the gate in the compound wall that opened out toward the shores of Lake Sabatinus. That day the gate stood wide, and we could see a pair of the swift, light war carts racing along the strand. Mounted ludus guards rode nearby, keeping the charioteers under watchful eyes, but I envied them even that illusion of freedom.
The drivers were Nyx and another girl whose name I didn’t know. Nyx lashed furiously at her ponies and pulled ahead of the other chariot with a triumphant shout. The wing of black hair flowing out behind her reminded me of the crow feather that had been left in my room.
I’d cleaned the dried blood off the thing and put it under my pillow. I slept with it there as a kind of secret act of defiance. Crows and ravens were sacred to the Morrigan, and I didn’t think she’d take kindly to one of her own being gutted for the purposes of a prank. Every now and then I wondered if I’d been foolish not to report the incident to Thalestris or one of the other masters, but I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t fight my own battles. Not before the oath swearing. And if the dead bird and bloody feather had been meant to frighten me, they’d failed to do so. If anything, they spurred me on. The goddess was on my side. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
I didn’t know who’d left the thing—or why. I might have suspected Nyx, but that’s all it was: a suspicion. And she hadn’t followed up with any similar threats. Still, I frowned as I watched her race down the lakeshore, urging her horses on with the crack of her whip. A shadow of unease crept across what had been my good mood.