“Or I might have beaten the other fighter. We might both be alive today, if not for me backing out.” His arms curled around her, pressing her close. Guilt overwhelmed him, stealing his breath for a painful moment. He didn’t deserve her comfort, the warm pleasure of her in his arms. Hector had been robbed of all this, only because Ferox hadn’t wanted to fight with a sprained ankle.
She burrowed her face against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” She made no attempt to assuage his guilt, to tell him the fates had clearly ordained it this way and he should accept it. Instead, she just hugged him. “Will you tell me about him?”
The only thing that could induce him to speak of Hector was if it helped distract Velia. “He was from Germania. He spoke with a funny accent.”
“Worse than yours?” A teasing lilt entered her voice.
“Given that I don’t have an accent, yes, his was worse than mine.”
Velia snorted.
“He’d flatten anyone who called attention to it,” Ferox continued. “That was the only thing that could rile him, really.” Other memories, long buried, rose in his mind. “He was the luckiest person I’ve ever met at dice. People always accused him of cheating, but he never did. He loved globi. Always stuffed his face with them. He became an expert at sneaking them past Lucullus.” A smile twitched at his lips as he remembered Hector’s fondness for the fried cheesecake balls. “He even paid a baker to deliver them here at the crack of dawn, before anyone else was up.”
Velia made a noise of appreciation. “He had good taste.”
“Yes.” Ferox was silent for a moment, extending his awareness to see if he could sense Hector’s shade lingering, pulled close by their talk of him. But Ferox felt none of the dread, the crushing guilt that usually accompanied his thoughts of Hector. He only felt a bittersweet warmth at the memories of his friend’s distinctive accent, his talent for games of luck, and his fondness for globi.
Perhaps the ghost couldn’t find him in Velia’s room, he decided. Or maybe Velia really was a talisman against it. One more reason to keep her close…as if he needed another.
19
Inthenight,Velialay beside Ferox. He was asleep on his side behind her, his arm curled over her middle. He’d been so solicitous all afternoon—everything from cleaning up the vase she’d shattered to gently bullying her into eating something despite her lack of appetite.
He’d also confided in her about his lost friend. Her heart still ached at the pain and guilt that had been raw in his voice. Now she understood why he’d required such convincing to return to the ludus, and why he was so determined to leave. This place must hold many painful memories for him.
Tonight, Velia had her own shadows to deal with. Every time she dozed off, she’d jerk awake, haunted by a flash of memory from earlier. Her mind kept running over and over the interaction with that man, trying to identify any clues she’d missed, warnings she should have heeded.
The stranger had seemed nice enough at first. He was looking for someone, and she’d been happy to give him directions. She’d noticed him leering at her, but plenty of men leered without ever doing anything further.
“How much do you charge?” he’d asked. “You’re a lupa, aren’t you?”
She’d been only mildly offended that he mistook her for a prostitute. If a woman was seen inside the walls of the ludus, she must be a slave, prostitute, or gladiator. “I’m not, actually.”
She’d turned to leave, but his hand closed around her upper arm.
“Well, if it’s free…”
Before she could react, he’d dragged her around the corner of the nearest building, into the narrow alley behind.
She knew she should fight, scream, kick—but her body was frozen, pinned between the man and the wall behind her.
Then suddenly the man appeared at her feet, blood all over his face. Ferox was there, and moments later, Achilles.
Now, hours later, her body didn’t seem to understand that she’d been saved. She could still feel the rough brickwork scraping her back through her dress, and her heart was still pounding.
She knew this brief, interrupted incident was nothing compared to what plenty of other women endured. Women who happened to go down the wrong street, or stay out an hour too late, or catch the eye of the wrong man. Or even be married to the wrong one.
Yet again, her mind went back to the moment before Ferox had intervened. In her imaginings, the incident played out as if he’d never arrived. She could feel the man’s hands on her skin, grasping, bruising. A shudder went through her.
Velia extricated herself from beneath Ferox’s arm, which, though limp with sleep, still felt as heavy as if it were made of concrete. She rose from the bed and paced her tiny bedroom.
She couldn’t escape the horrible possibility of what would have happened if Ferox hadn’t come, if he hadn’t noticed her disappear,if he’d arrived a few moments later. The dark specter choked her, stoppering her breath. Her stomach turned, and she pressed a hand to the bare wall, hoping its cool solidity would steady her.
It didn’t help.
Her mind was like a runaway cart, tumbling and crashing. She imagined the stranger overpowering her, forcing himself inside her, the tearing pain of violation.
What would her parents say if they knew about this? She could hear them clear as the sound of her own ragged breath.Only what you deserve,her father would spit. Her mother would nod.Act like a whore, get treated like one.
