“I’d like to see her again,” Drusilla said as he set the steaming cup on the table beside the bed. “I want to ask her what it’s like to be a gladiator. Will you invite her to dinner the next time you see her?”
Kallias blinked. “Do you wish her to attend…as entertainment?” Dinner parties occasionally featured staged fights between gladiators. “She’ll need some more time to recover.”
Drusilla shook her head. “No, as a guest.”
Penthesilea, a dinner guest of the imperial family? He didn’t know her well, but he had a feeling she might not be pleased at the prospect. But this invitation was not one that could be refused. “Of course. I’ll extend the invitation on your behalf.”
“Good.” She reached behind her to plump her pillows. “Now, is my tea ready?”
Lea stared at Kallias, sure she’d misheard him. “What?”
He lifted an elegant brow. “Do you require a remedy for your hearing?” It had been two days since his last visit, and the physician had returned to give her a fresh jar of poultice for her wound.
She scowled at him. “Maybe I do. Because I think you just told me that the emperor’s sister has invited me to dinner.”
“Yes, that’s what I said,” he replied airily, as if there were nothing so strange in that sentence. “Next week, on Tuesday.”
“I don’t want to.” She could imagine nothing less appealing than attending a dinner party at the imperial palace. She’d been uncomfortable enough when facing the emperor and his sister for a few brief moments after her victory. How was she supposed to survive an entire meal?
And those meals probably tookhours.
“You don’t have a choice,” he informed her.
“Maybe I’m busy.”
“Cancel your plans.”
She huffed. “Are yousurethey don’t want me to fight for them? I can do that.” Even with her injury, that scenario would be vastly preferable. A quick fighting demonstration, then she could leave.
Besides, she understood fighting. She didn’t understand patrician dinner party etiquette or what they talked about. They probably discussed poetry and politics and theater—things she had precious little knowledge of.
He shook his head. “I made sure to clarify. Drusilla is intrigued by you. Humor her for one evening. Her curiosity will be satisfied, and that will be that.”
Her jaw tightened. “Will you be there?”
“Yes.”
That eased a bit of the tense reluctance in her chest. At least there would be one person she sort-of knew. She wanted to ask if he’d promise to sit next to her, but bit back the question. That would be too pathetic to voice. She was a gladiator, capable of facing death in the arena without flinching. She could survive one little dinner party with a bunch of patricians.
Lea let out a groan of defeat. “Fine.”
“Do you have…something to wear?” His gaze swept over her dubiously. The question implied that the loose, knee-length tunics she wore most of the time werenotacceptable attire for an event like this.
She leveled her chin at him. “I own clothes.”
“Niceclothes?”
“Yes,” she lied. She had one long dress, and it was nothing special—just a plain linen dress dyed a faded blue. But it would have to do.
He made an unconvinced noise but dropped the subject. “I’ll send someone to escort you Tuesday afternoon. Be ready.” He gave her a charming smile that only made her glower. “See you at the palace, Penthesilea.”
5
AsKalliasfinishedretyingFlaccus’s sling, he watched Sextus out of the corner of his eye. The youth was surreptitiously poking through Kallias’s satchel, pulling out one thing after another and examining it with evident interest. His mother was out on an errand, or else Kallias bet she would have chided her son for such an intrusion.
Kallias didn’t mind, as long as Sextus didn’t break anything, and the young man seemed to be handling the various items with enough care.
Besides, Sextus’s interest gave Kallias an idea, one he contemplated as he straightened the folds of the fabric around Flaccus’s shoulder.
