“Oh!” Befuddlement made her stammer. “You—you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I mean, thank you,” she managed, flushing. She was woefully unpracticed at the niceties of accepting gifts.
He ducked his head in a nod of acknowledgment and turned to leave.
Velia held up a hand, fighting through the mental disarray his kind gesture had produced. “Wait—I have something for you too.” She slipped into her room, set the ointment container on a shelf, and retrieved Ferox’s half of the money from Oppius. “I booked another fight on Friday,” she informed him as she dropped the silver coins into his hand. “How was Achilles today?”
Ferox shrugged. “Irritating, but that’s nothing new. It’s good for a novice to lose early. Stops them from thinking they’re invincible.”
“Did you lose your first fight?”
He shook his head. “But I lost the second and drew the third. After that, I understood how hard I’d have to work.”
It was difficult to imagine Ferox losing. Maybe one day, someone would think of Achilles the same way. She could only hope.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” Ferox said, then turned toward his own room.
For a moment, she debated calling him back, inviting him to stay, but after Jason’s warning earlier, she wondered if a bit of distance might benefit them. She’d never had someone show so much care toward her. Her gaze lingered on the little container of ointment he’d brought.How sweet.
Jason’s warning had been delivered with Ferox in mind, but Velia now realized she might need to look out for herself as well. There was no future in this, after all. This dalliance could be a pleasant diversion for the next two months, but that was it. Ferox would leave, and she had to prepare herself to let him go.
14
FeroxstoodbesideVeliaas they watched Achilles’s second fight. Achilles was holding his own against his new opponent, and this fight had already lasted longer than the first one.
Ferox kept one eye on Achilles and the other on Velia. She anxiously ran her hands over and over the length of her braid, draped over her shoulder. With each pass, the leather tie at the bottom loosened.
When it finally fell, tumbling down her chest, Ferox’s hand snapped out to catch it. He held it out to her, but she paid him no attention, eyes locked on the fight. Ferox closed his fingers around the strip of leather. She’d eventually notice it was missing, and he could give it back to her then.
He had seen relatively little of her in the past few days. Both of them had been kept busy, Velia with her uncle’s business and Ferox with preparing Achilles for his next fight. In her free time, Velia supervised Achilles’s training sessions, but there was something hesitant in her manner toward him. It was strange, after how forward she’d been previously. In Velia, hesitation apparently looked likenotpropositioning him in the middle of a banquet or inviting herself into his room and doing wicked things to him with her mouth.
On Ferox’s part, his longing had only increased. The two nights he’d spent with her seemed to have altered something within him, knocking loose whatever had stoppered this deep well of craving. It was unaccountable, the way he wanted her. He’d never slept beside someone before, let alone two nights in a row. Helikedher—but it had to be more than that. After all, he liked Lea and Jason, but he’d never been driven to sleep with his body curled around either of them, had he?
There was also the fact that those two nights had been the best sleep he’d gotten since returning to the ludus, and perhaps even before. Velia must be some sort of talisman, keeping Hector’s shade at bay. Each of the nights since, by contrast, he’d woken with a pounding heart, visions of Hector’s death spiraling behind his eyelids.
But even if Velia didn’t protect him from the dreams, he’d still want her so badly it hurt.
She’d been so diffident lately, though, and he had no idea how to raise the matter. How did one go about asking a woman to lie with him?
Velia let out a shocked yelp, and Ferox hastily returned his attention to the fight.
“Yes!” Velia crowed. Achilles, taking advantage of his left-handedness, had managed to get his sword behind the other man’s shield and deal a deep cut to his upper chest. It was exactly the maneuver Ferox had taught him, and pride filled him.
The man stumbled back, a gleam of blood catching the sunlight. The crowd whooped and hooted at the successful strike.
Achilles paused for a moment, as if surprised he’d actually done it.
The other fighter glanced down at his chest, likely assessing whether it was worth surrendering or if he could fight on.
“Come on, give up,” Velia hissed.
But the opponent renewed his grip on his sword and launched himself forward with another attack, this time adjusting the position of his shield to block further incursions from the same angle.
They fought on. Achilles managed to keep himself in one piece, but couldn’t land another strike on the man’s body. Ferox could see both fighters tiring. Their movements slowed, their feet dragging through the sand. Sweat shone on their shoulders and backs.
The crowd, too, was losing energy. The cheers at each attack grew fainter. Ferox glanced at where the emperor sat and found the ruler turned away from the fight, in conversation with one of his entourage.
