Then, he handed everything to Sextus, and they exchanged a subdued goodbye.
When Sextus was gone, Kallias stared dully at the neatly organized shelves that lined his office.
A burst of helpless anger overwhelmed him. He grabbed the nearest object—a ceramic jar of powdered frankincense—and hurled it at the wall. It shattered with a satisfying noise. A plume of powder rose from the wreckage like smoke.
He did it again, this time with a glass container of aniseed, and once more with a heavy pot of salt. That made a noise so loud it startled him, cutting through his haze of anger and frustration, and he stepped back, breathing hard.
He had to stop destroying his ingredients. It was wasteful, and the noise would only draw attention.
Wiping a hand across his forehead, he forced himself to sit, gazing at the destruction he’d wrought. Bitter disappointment still pulsed over him, like an itchy rash no salve could soothe.
The misery of his current situation was twofold. First, he had no idea when he’d be able to see Lea again. Second, though his plan with Sextus had been years from fruition, it was still a plan, a seed of hope that one day things would be better. One day, he’d be free of this place. But now, with Sextus gone, he had nothing.
He felt more trapped than ever. In the past, he could soothe himself with the knowledge that he had more than many—a roof over his head, a steady supply of food, even a generous wage, as of recently.
But now, that wasn’t enough.
He wanted Lea. He wanted the freedom to love her as she deserved. He wanted to give her whatever future she desired, whether it was a secluded seaside cottage with a cat or something else she hadn’t even thought of yet.
It was intolerable to want something so badly, something that felt as far away as Mount Olympus itself.
This was why he’d never allowed himself to want more—to wantanything, for that matter. Because when it was taken away, it felt like being slowly crushed by a boulder he’d never be able to lift.
28
WhenLeasteppedintothe arena, her gaze shot straight to the area where the emperor sat, flanked by Praetorians.
A bolt of anxiety shot through her when she couldn’t spot Kallias’s dark head among those that filled the emperor’s box.
He wasn’t there.
He’d promised.
There had been no word from him, no note or anything. Something had to be truly wrong.
She tore her gaze from the emperor’s box and faced her opponent, taking up the starting positions as directed by the official who oversaw each match. Her opponent was a stocky woman named Phoebe, whom Lea had fought before. Phoebe was strong, skilled, and moved with the light-footedness of a doe. She’d be a challenging opponent, especially as Lea felt far from her best today. After a night of little sleep, her body was sluggish, and her mind was overwhelmed with worries about where Kallias was and why he wasn’t here.
The fight began. Phoebe leaped forward with an energetic strike. Lea spun to the side, barely dodging the point of Phoebe’s sword. Before Lea could gather herself to attack, Phoebe struck again, forcing Lea to jerk her shield up to meet the blow.
As Phoebe’s sword thumped against Lea’s shield, Lea couldn’t help glancing over to the emperor, hoping desperately that Kallias would appear. Maybe he’d just been hidden behind someone on her first look. Or maybe he was simply late.
But he still wasn’t there.
Her distraction kept her on the defense, and she was driven further and further back every time she had to block one of Phoebe’s powerful strikes. Her arm ached worse every moment, and her feet felt heavy and clumsy.
After blocking one particularly brutal attack, Lea stumbled, nearly fell, but managed to right herself. Then a flicker of movement from near the emperor caught her eye. Her head swiveled reflexively to catch it—Kallias?—but it wasn’t him. By the time she returned her attention to Phoebe, it was too late to dodge the shield moving in an arc straight for her head. It crashed against her skull, and everything went black.
Lea woke to a sensation of movement and uncomfortable pulling, centered in her arms. She blinked, but the sun overhead was much too bright, so she closed her eyes. Sand scratched and shifted beneath her. Her head pounded, made a thousand times worse by the noise that seemed to crush her from all directions.
Someone was dragging her from the arena. It took her a moment to recall why they might be doing such a thing. Then she remembered—the blow from the shield must have knocked her out.
Somehow, she was still alive, and she registered mild surprise at that fact.
Shadows fell over her, and Lea realized they must have made it out of the arena, into the shaded gap between the stands where gladiators entered and exited.
Her body slumped to the ground as the person dragging her dropped her arms. She flailed, eyes still closed, struggling to find her feet. Her head felt like it was going to explode with pain, and nausea roiled in her stomach.
Before she could make any progress on the issue of standing, another pair of arms—gentler ones—slid beneath her shoulders and her knees, lifting her with practiced ease.
