“Andyou’rea senator,” I point out.
“That isn’t so hard to achieve,” Marcus replies.“Youcould be a senator, easily enough.I'm sure there's a vacant district coming up, and the others would vote you onto the Senate.There, you might actually have a say in what happens in the city.I assumed Rowan would have already offered you that much."
"He hasn't," I admit.I don't know if it's because he doesn't want to try to force me onto the Senate, if he's trying to hold me aside from its politics so I can work in other ways, or if he simply doesn't think I would be suited to it.
“If he won’t, I will,” Marcus says.“I’ll propose you as a senate member.You’ll be able to make a difference there, Lyra.”
It’s a lot to offer on the spur of the moment.But then, maybe it isn’t just on the spur of the moment.
I hesitate.“Why do I get the feeling that you had that offer planned before I even showed up?”
Marcus spreads his hands again.“I had it at the back of my mind, if Rowan wasn’t going to propose you as a member.As I said, I don’t want to lie to you.I’m not going to force you to make a decision, but at least promise me you’ll think about it.”
I nod.I can do that much, at least.
“But I should be getting back,” I say.“It’s getting late.”
“Of course,” Marcus says.“Let me walk you back.”
“I think I’ll be safe enough,” I say.
“As you wish,” Marcus replies.He takes my hand, lowering his lips to it.“I hope we meet again soon, Lyra.And think about my offer.”
“I will,” I promise.I’ll be thinking about his offer, and I suspect, about him.
CHAPTER NINE: KAI
My fists thud into a training dummy carved from wood, sending splinters flying into the air.I dance around it, trying to imagine an opponent in front of me, making sure my defenses are still in place even as I throw my attacks.I stay light on my feet, lashing out with punches and kicks in the yard of an old, abandoned villa that some of the fighters use to train.
A couple more are working nearby, hitting the posts with padding wrapped around them to make sure they won't be hurt.I don't need to do that, with a layer of magic forming an invisible shield of force across my hands.Another couple work with weapons, sparring with wooden swords which click together rather than ringing out the way steel would.
Of course there are onlookers here; there are those who like to watch the practice sessions the way someone else might watch a racehorse run in the paddocks, trying to get a sense of what it will do on race day.A couple of fat, wealthy men sit beneath an awning, watching us while being attended by servants.There are hangers on looking from windows, the women who try to get the attention of some of the fighters, the men who say they can find us the best fights, occasionally the toughs from the gangs who offer us money to guard this merchant or beat up that rival.
It feels a long way from the honor of the games, a long way from the cheering crowds at the arena and the gleam of blood-smeared swords in the sunlight.I take up a trident next, working with it against the post, trying to copy moves I remember from the days when gladiators fought in earnest.I find myself thinking of Lyra, who fought with this as her weapon before she took up the spear during the Champions’ Trials.I saw her fight several times, and now I copy the smooth, evasive movements of her style.
“You're better off putting that down and focusing on your fists,” a fighter named Hansa says.He's kicking at one of the posts, trying to condition his shins to take the impact.He’s tall and whip lean, dun hair shorn close to his skull, with tattoos worked across his back from years at sea.He has the barest flicker of illusion magic, which means he can create a kind of blur around his body.It's a small thing, but in a fight, it can make him harder to read.
“I want to be skilled with all the weapons, as well as my fists,” I counter.
“There's no point.Oh, some of the older ones do it for old times’ sake, but the games are dead as they were.The republic put a stop to the killing, and we're never going to get those kinds of games back again.You're not going to fight in a match with a trident and net, so why waste time training with them, when you could be working to get better with your fists and feet?You could make actual money that way, Kai.”
I suspect we have different definitions of actual money.The pit fights I’ve been in have earned me enough to live on but I'm not going to fool myself into thinking I'm going to get rich doing them.I'll fight and earn a few coins but it's a long way from the prestige successful gladiators in the colosseum would receive once they completed their five seasons.They would have jobs waiting, or offers of marriage from noble houses determined to bring their magical talents into their blood, or chances to join the emperor's personal guard.Now, if I want to fight for the city I need to join the uninspiring ranks of the city guard.
“I'll keep training anyway,” I say.“Maybe one day there'll be a chance to fight again properly.”
Hansa laughs.“That's never going to happen.But sure, keep playing around with that trident.Every moment you spend training with it means I pull further ahead in case we ever have to fight.”
I ignore him and keep working, training until sweat pours down my chest.I finally step away from the practice posts, heading to the side to get some watered wine.One of the women there hands it to me, looking me up and down and leaning forward in a way that emphasizes the tightness of her simple dress.
“Hmm, you’re looking good out there,” she says.“Maybe we could meet up later, and you could buy me a couple of drinks.”
It seems I’m starting to get the kind of attention some of the other fighters take for granted.Even as I open my mouth to say yes to the offer, though, one of the noblemen beneath the awning walks up to me.
“Sadly, young Kai here won’t be available tonight,” he says.“He has better things to do.”
He jerks his head in a command for the young woman to leave and I must hold back from snapping at the noble.I have a lifetime of learning etiquette and deference to fall back on, and I know better than to upset the kind of man who could probably have me killed, even in the Republic.
“What do I have that’s better to do?”I ask him.I think about the receiving rooms of the colosseum, and the expectations of the nobles there.Is this man trying to become my patron, or does he want something else from me?
