Then again, Lea was one of the least delicate people he’d ever met.
The door was yanked open, revealing Velia’s blotchy face. “No,” she hissed. Her arm shot out, and she dragged him insideby the front of his tunic, slamming the door behind him. “Did anyone else see?” she demanded. “Besides you and Achilles?”
Ferox shook his head, slightly bewildered by her anger. He’d expected her to be distraught, scared—not furious.
The evidence of her fury lay in shards of pottery on the floor, the remnants of a green-glazed water jug.
“Swear you won’t speak of this to anyone.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Make Achilles swear too.”
“I’ll swear it, but don’t you think your uncle should know?” Ferox took a tentative step closer to her. “I would bet that—that man belonged to another ludus. Lucullus could see an appropriate punishment administered.”
Velia shook her head. Her hair cascaded around her face, the braid fully disintegrated. “No.” Her shoulders hunched, and she turned away from him. “No one can know.”
“But…why?”
“Because it shouldn’t have happened!” The dim light glimmered on a tear hovering at the corner of her eye.
His heart clenched at the sight of it. For a brief, powerful moment, he was gripped with regret at not ending that man’s life. He’d been so focused on getting him away from Velia and then out of the ludus, he hadn’t even stopped to consider if the man deserved to draw breath anymore.
“I know,” he murmured. “That bastard never should have lain a hand on you.”
“That’s not what I meant.” The tear spilled down her cheek, and she drew in an unsteady breath. “I-I didn’t fight. I just stood there. I didn’t even scream!”
The anguish in her voice cut him deep. “Velia, that man was a trained gladiator. There was no way you could have—”
“Lea taught me how to fight,” she interrupted. “She taught me what to do if someone—did that. But…I just couldn’t…” Her voice broke.
He reached for her, and she sagged into his arms, clutching at him. He drew her against his body, holding her as tight as he dared. The feel of her eased some of the tension inside him, reassuring him that she was still whole, and alive, and real. “There’s a reason gladiators train every day,” he murmured. “It doesn’t matter if you know how to do something. When you face it for real, that knowledge flies out of your head unless you’ve practiced so much it’s ingrained into your very soul.”
“I should have fought,” she mumbled against his chest. “I didn’t eventry.”
“If you fought, he would have hurt you.” Darkness unfurled in his chest at the thought of what violence might have befallen her.
“So I was just supposed to let it happen?” She pushed away from him, ripping herself from his embrace. “You know very well what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened at just that moment.”
He had been trying not to think about it, but her words brought the sickening prospect to the front of his mind. “I know.” There was no good answer, no rebuttal to what she said.
She hugged her arms around herself. “I shouldn’t even be upset,” she muttered. “I know far worse happens to women in this city every day, every night. I should be grateful.” She glanced up at him. “How did you find us, anyway?”
At least this was a question he could answer. “I was watching you,” he admitted. “I noticed when you disappeared.”
“You were watching me?” She seemed bemused by the concept.
“Velia, whenever you’re within sight of me, you’re all I can think about.”
“Oh,” she murmured.
Ferox wasn’t sure what to say next, so he turned his attention to the shattered jug. He gathered together the shards and piled them on the small table, bending to pluck the tiniest fragments from the floor. He didn’t want her to step on one and injure herself.
She would need a new jug. He could buy her one. That would be an excellent use of his money, though replacing the pitcher would not undo the harm that had been done. Even so, the practical goal soothed him. He’d ask Jason to accompany him tomorrow if they had time. Ferox had no taste for decorative objects, as his hideous selection of rugs proved, but Jason understood these things better.
“You don’t have to do that,” Velia said as he swept the last bits of clay pieces into his palm and deposited them on the table.
“I don’t mind.” He dusted his hands clean.
She surveyed him uncertainly. “I…I know you should get back to Achilles, but…” Her fingers twisted at a curl of hair. “Would you stay? For a little while?”
He hadn’t planned to leave her unless she demanded solitude, but her hesitant question made bittersweet warmth swell within him. “I’m not going anywhere. Achilles can take care of himself for an afternoon.”
