“No.” His voice was gruff, the word final. “Too much hassle.”
Velia folded her arms across her chest. “Where are you even going, anyway?” This was the first time they’d discussed the future—or at least, his future.
“Hispania.” He tossed the pouch of coin lightly in his hand, looking at it, not her.
“Oh.” A pang went through her. She hadn’t realized he meant to go so far. She thought maybe he’d find a place in Rome, or somewhere close. Maybe they could still see each other, still…
Ferox took a step past her. “Excuse me,” he muttered. “I need to put this away.”
She watched him go, trying to pull her mind from such wistful thoughts as what might happen if he stayed in Rome. For a moment, she’d allowed herself to forget he’d be gone in a month, to fantasize about foolish things like redecorating his room.
She couldn’t make that mistake again.
Ferox watched Velia from across the training ground as he permitted Achilles a brief break. They’d spent the afternoon drilling in hand-to-hand combat. Often, a fight would end withgrappling in the sand until one man yielded, so it was important that Achilles develop his skills.
Velia was speaking with another man, someone Ferox didn’t recognize. Guilt pinched him as he looked at her. He’d been rude earlier, he knew that, but he hadn’t been able to stomach talking about the future with her.
He should find a way to apologize to her. Maybe he’d take her advice and buy a new pillow or two. It wouldn’t cost much, and if it pleased her, it would be worth it.
His gaze moved from Velia to the man she was speaking with. There was something about the stranger he didn’t like, though they were only talking. Velia was her usual smiling, chatty self. She gestured to the building behind her, which housed the kitchens and the dining space, as if giving directions.
The man was standing much too close to her, in Ferox’s opinion, and Ferox could see the covetous look in his eye even from here. The stranger had the build of a gladiator, with a burly middle and muscular arms and shoulders.
Ferox beckoned Achilles over. “Do you know that man?” Since Ferox had been absent from the ludus for so long, there were still unfamiliar faces here, and Achilles had more contact with the younger gladiators.
The novice, wiping sweat from his face, trudged over. He squinted where Ferox pointed. “Don’t think so. Visiting someone?”
Technically, the guard at the gate was supposed to keep out anyone who didn’t belong here, but the rule was loosely observed, and Ferox sensed the guard would look the other way with proper inducement.
Ferox grunted. “Maybe.”
Achilles raised his ginger eyebrows. “Are you going to go disembowel him for speaking to your girl?”
“She’s not my girl,” Ferox growled.
“Then what do you care?” Achilles shot back.
“I don’t.”
Achilles rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t know it from your face.”
Ferox glowered at him. “Three laps. Now.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Achilles ambled off, breaking into a shuffling jog when he reached the perimeter of the training ground.
“Faster!” Ferox barked, and the novice increased his pace to an unhurried but acceptable run.
Once he was sure Achilles would maintain the speed, Ferox glanced back at Velia.
Both she and the stranger had vanished.
Anxiety rippled through him. His head whipped around, scanning, but he didn’t catch sight of either. Instinct shouted that something was wrong. Perhaps Velia had gone to her room, or to Lucullus’s office—but where did that leave the man she’d been talking to?
Something was amiss for them both to disappear at the same time.
His instincts had kept him alive in the arena, and he’d long ago learned to trust them.
Leaving Achilles to his laps, Ferox crossed the expanse of the training ground to where Velia had been standing, near the wall of the kitchen building. Still no sign of her.
