It was the longest day I’d ever had at the ludus.
I was terrible. My routines were stiff and clumsy, and every blow I landed hurt me far more than my partners. And when I finally returned to my quarters that evening, bone-sore and heartsick, I was certain I would find my trunk packed and waiting outside the door of my cell. They would send me off, back to the auction block, and I would be sold off in disgrace. Or maybe I would be turned over to the kitchen steward, to spend my days scrubbing trenchers and making meals for the girls who fought in the arenas.
By the time I got back to my room, I had thoroughly envisioned every wretched scenario imaginable . . . only to find a new, neatly folded tunic lying on the lid of my trunk. Beside the tunic, there was a broad crimson leather belt that cinched tight with fine bronze buckles, and a pair of red-dyed leather sandals that laced all the way up to the knee. There was also a lamp—a fine new oil lamp to replace the dim little lump of tallow candle that sat in a clay dish on my windowsill.
I remembered the lamp the Lanista had lowered into the grave of the gladiatrix Ismene, and a shiver ran up my spine. I had been chosen to swear the oath. The lamp would light my cell until the day I won my freedom.
Or died.
I lit the wick, setting it carefully up in the window as the light from the setting sun faded. There was a burning tightness in my throat, but just then Elka burst through my door, and I swallowed my tears. She glanced from me to the lamp in my window to the tunic on the trunk.
“Ha!” she exclaimed. “I knew it! I knew we’d both be chosen to take the oath. That cow Nyx can choke on it! And so can her little gang of thugs.”
She’d brought her own lamp from her room and thrust it at me. “Look at this!”
It was made of polished, translucent stone that looked as though it had been carved from a block of winter ice. The flickering flame within glowed gently, blue and gold. Like Elka herself. I wondered if the lamps were chosen to suit each girl.
“Alabaster,” Elka murmured, mesmerized. “I’ve heard of this, but I never expected to own something made of such magic.”
Her blue eyes were wide with wonder, and maybe something a little like joy, as she cradled the delicate lamp in both hands. I felt a surge of happiness for her. Whatever else the Ludus Achillea was, it seemed that it might one day prove to be a place Elka could call home.
But I also felt a pang of envy hiding beneath my happiness for my friend. The lamp that had been chosen for me was shaped like a bird, with delicate glass pieces—bright greens and blues and yellows—set into the wings, and it reminded me of summer days spent running wild through the Forgotten Vale. It also reminded me of one of the many lamps that had hung from the rafters of my house—the one that had been my favorite when I was a little girl. For a moment, as I stared at the bright-shining flame within, I was back there, in that place, listening to Sorcha tell me stories about the spirits that lived in those lamps.
Home for me, it seemed, was still Durovernum.
I suspected, in my heart, it always would be.
“We are going to put the Ludus Achillea on the map, you and I,” Elka proclaimed with airy disregard for the academy’s already stellar reputation. “The arena crowds aren’t going to know what hit them!”
Then she hugged me and hurried off to get ready for the oath swearing, her breathless excitement carrying away some of my own anxiousness. As I stripped off my plain-spun tunic and shrugged the fine linen sheath over my head, I tried to speculate not on what was to come in the future but just on this one night. I’d been told that the male gladiators took their oaths in daylight. With the harsh eye of the sun looking down on them, the men stood in sand circles and said the words that would bind them to that life, until either death or their hard-earned winnings set them free.
But the women of the Ludus Achillea swore their oaths at night.
Under the light of the Huntress Moon.
When I got to the practice yard, I saw it had been decorated for the occasion. Garlands of green leaves and sheaves of lavender and lemon verbena hung between the pillars of the courtyard colonnades, perfuming the night air with heady scents that mingled with the smoke from the braziers. There were torches on poles set in a wide circle, and the sand of the yard had been raked smooth.