“You won’t send her away, will you?” I asked, fearing that Lion—whose true name I still didn’t even know—would be turned out of the ludus to wind up a beggar in Rome’s filthy back alleys.
“Weren’t you listening during the oath ritual?” she asked. “We don’t abandon our sisters.”
For a moment, I thought the irony would escape Sorcha. But then a faint flush crept up her face, and she glanced away from me. I decided to let the moment pass. Some things were more important.
“But she can’t ever make back the money you’ve lost in buying her slave contract,” I said. “She’s useless to the ludus now.”
“You have such a low opinion of this place. Of me.”
She looked at me, and I saw actual hurt in her eyes. Her gaze drifted down to the iron ring that was still around my neck. I had refused to go with Elka when she’d gone to have hers removed. She’d told me I was an idiot, and perhaps she was right.
Sorcha shook her head. “I suppose I’ve earned that. But I do wish you would at least give the ludus a chance before condemning it as a place as cruel and cold-hearted as its mistress. I have to go prepare Antonia’s hand for a proper burial. Thank you for bringing it to me. The Morrigan watch over you, Fallon.”
And then she was gone.
I watched her walk away like a queen or a priestess toward the tiny, elegant building that served as a kind of multifaith temple for all the girls of the ludus. I could no longer hear the screams of the handless Antonia with my ears.
But they echoed in my mind for a long time after.
? ? ?
Practice resumed the next day, under a dismal gray sky that threatened more rain but refused to pour. None of the girls talked about what had happened the day before, but all of them—even the veteran gladiatrices, I noticed—fought their bouts and drills with wooden blades. Within a few days, though, everything was more or less back to normal. With the exception of Neferet (the Aegyptian girl with the serpent shield), who vehemently refused to continue practice. Instead she spent most of her waking hours in the infirmary helping Heron tend Antonia in the struggle to keep her wound from succumbing to infection.
Six days after the oath swearing, Caius Varro returned to the Ludus Achillea with missives from Rome for the Lanista. But instead of leaving after his correspondence was delivered, he accompanied Thalestris out to the yard, where the girls were all hard at work. I had to stop myself from greeting him as he passed by. I knew he was on Caesar’s business, likely reporting back to him on our progress.
Who do you think you are now? I reminded myself bitterly. In the eyes of any Roman, Caius Varro is a legion officer, and you’re nothing more than a diversion for the howling plebs—a vulgar bit of sweaty, bloody entertainment.
As much as Sorcha proclaimed the honorable nature of my new occupation, I still didn’t believe her. I wanted to . . . I just couldn’t. Especially when Cai strode right past me, deep in conversation with Thalestris. He didn’t even so much as glance in my direction. I hated that I had been looking in his.
But then I heard whispering and giggling and realized I wasn’t the only one watching Cai. Thalestris shouted at us all to stop gawking and get back to practice. She pounded the butt of her staff on the arena sand, and her fight masters moved in, whips snapping through the air in case any of us needed extra motivation. I ducked my head and went back to my practice routine. In recent days, I had focused my concentration—ironically enough, just as Cai had suggested—on relaxing into the work. On letting the memories stored in my muscles and blood take over. On breathing all the way down into my swords. The less I thought about the next move, the easier it came, until it felt like I was dancing with a blade in each hand—
“Gladiatrix Fallon!” Thalestris’s voice rang out. I finished the sequence—my last two hits landing solidly on the practice post with loud cracks—and turned, wiping the sweat from my brow. I jogged across the sand to stand before her.
“Mistress?”
“The Decurion wishes to spar with you.”
I could feel the eyes of the other gladiatrices on me. I glanced back and forth between Cai and Thalestris. For a fleeting moment, I thought she was joking. But the look on Cai’s face was anything but amused.
“Do you have a problem with that, gladiatrix?” Thalestris asked.
“No.” I straightened to attention. “No, of course not.” I nodded a brief bow at him. “Decurion. As you wish.” The only man I’d spared with since arriving at the ludus was Kronos, the trainer. I felt an anxious flutter at the thought of facing off against a legion-trained soldier.
Don’t be ridiculous, I thought, steeling myself for the bout. When I trained as a warrior back in the Vale, I would have longed for a fight like this. An opponent like Caius Varro.