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Theswordbitdeepinto Penthesilea’s upper arm. She stumbled back. Her eyes snapped to the blood already welling, a vivid red against her skin. She’d lost her shield earlier in the fight, so her arm had been vulnerable to her opponent’s weapon.
It didn’t hurt—yet. Lea had been wounded often enough that she knew the pain would follow. The pain would sneak up on her once the initial shock passed.
Her opponent, a tall woman Lea had fought before, darted forward for another attack. Lea blocked with the flat of her sword, and the impact radiated up her wounded arm. The sword trembled, her grip weakening.
The crowd roared, the sound so loud it nearly drowned out the harshness of her own breathing.
Her opponent’s eyes flashed to the bleeding wound, likely assessing how bad it was, trying to guess if Lea might yield.
That tiny moment of distraction was all Lea needed. She surged forward, batted aside the other woman’s sword, and pressed the tip of her own weapon to her opponent’s throat.
The other woman dropped her sword and raised her hands in surrender. “Well done,” she said, breathing heavily.
Lea muttered thanks. She was still struggling to catch up to the quick reversal, only moments between her wound and her victory.Often, her years of training and carefully honed instinct jolted her body to act before her mind realized what was happening.
The audience cheered. The announcer was shouting something mostly unintelligible amid the noise. Lea caught a few syllables of her own name—“Penthesilea the Amazon Queen”—and then her attention turned to the garlanded private seating area at the lowest level of the stands, which contained the new emperor, Gaius Caesar, and his entourage. These games, in their sixth week of eight, honored his recent accession, and the young ruler was an enthusiastic spectator. Now, he was on his feet, clapping and cheering along with the rest of the audience.
In moments like this, with twenty thousand people cheering for her, Lea knew she should feel elated. But while she felt satisfaction at a job well done, the victory brought her no joy. She hadn’t chosen this life, after all, and while in certain ways it was an improvement over her previous circumstances, she’d long wanted something different.
The emperor extended a closed fist, signaling reprieve for her opponent. Not a surprise; skilled female gladiators were rare enough that killing one would be seen as a terrible waste. Lea lowered her sword with a grateful sigh—the pain in her arm had started—and nodded to her opponent before trudging toward the arena’s exit.
Lucullus, her owner and manager, met her at the shadowy opening in the stands through which fighters entered and exited. He clapped a hand on the sweaty shoulder of her uninjured arm. “Well done, Penthesilea. I’ve been told the emperor wishes to see you.”
Lea stopped short. “What?”
Lucullus handed her a bundle of clean cloths. “Clean yourself up as best you can. Don’t keep him waiting.” With that, he disappeared down the corridor that led to the staging area, where gladiators awaited their matches.
Lea stared after him. It wasn’t unheard of for the host to congratulate a gladiator after a victory. But this was the first time it had happened to Lea.
An unlikely hope flared in her mind.Does he mean to present me with the rudis?It was the greatest prize a gladiator could earn, almost mythical in its rarity. The wooden sword conferred immediate freedom when bestowed on a gladiator.
Lea didn’t think she’d performed any feats worthy of it, butmaybe…
She pressed the wad of cloth to her wound and made her way through the back of the stands. As she walked, she worked to wrap the cloth around her arm as neatly as possible. The pain, now searing, made her head spin. But she put one foot in front of the other until she found herself facing a pair of red-cloaked Praetorian Guards.
They stepped aside, and Lea entered the emperor’s private box. It held a small crowd of people, all dressed in the finest clothes she’d ever seen and gleaming with gold and jewels.
They all stared at her.
Discomfort prickled over her skin. She didn’t like beingnoticed. Of course, twenty thousand people had just watched her fight, but that was a different matter. With a sword in her hand, she could shut out the nerves, focus on the fight. But here, with no sword, no shield, no opponent, facing a selection of the most powerful people in the empire…her stomach tied itself in knots. The bindings around her chest, meant to secure her breasts during the fight, now felt as constricting as iron.
Her gaze lit on the man at the center of the group—Gaius, the new emperor. She’d seen him from afar, but up close she became even more aware of how young he was. Likely in his mid-twenties, close to her own age. How strange, for someone no older than her to be in charge of an entire empire. She didn’t envy him the responsibility.
He had fair skin and light brown hair, with sharp hazel eyes that raked over her from head to toe, lingering on her wound. He wore a toga of deep imperial purple, trimmed with gold embroidery, and jeweled rings sparkled on his fingers.
Lea hurriedly directed her gaze to her feet, an old habit from her childhood as a household slave. Her mother’s teachings:never make eye contact. Always bow your head. Never let them notice you.
The emperor stepped toward her; she could just see the hem of his toga sweeping the stone tiles. “What a brilliant fight from our very own Amazon queen.”
Lea kept her eyes on her sandy, sweaty feet. “Thank you, sir.”
He was silent for a moment. Was she supposed to say something else? If so, what? Her mind whirled, trying and failing to summon something suitable. She was not particularly skilled at making conversation at the best of times, let alone with an emperor.
Thankfully, he spoke again. “My sister and I were just debating the subject of female gladiators. There are those who believe that women should be protected from displaying themselves in the arena. That the dignity of Rome can be no greater than the dignity of its women. But I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a femalegladiator’s opinion on the subject. What do you think, Penthesilea? Do you resent being forced to fight for our pleasure?”
“I—” Lea stammered. Her mind was wiped blank. All she could think of was the throbbing in her arm, the blood dampening the cloth, the way she really, really wanted a bath. “I don’t mind fighting,” she managed lamely. She couldn’t very well explain the complexity of her feelings on the topic to an emperor, could she?
