Ferox’s steps faltered. He’d been doing an excellent job of blocking out all thoughts of the future, of the goodbyes that loomed larger with every passing day. “No,” he grunted.
“If it’s not a goodbye present, does that mean you’re not leaving after the games are over?”
“I’m still leaving. The jug is just a present.”
Jason shot him a sidelong glance. “So you’re really going to go all the way to Hispania, all by yourself, leaving behind everyone who cares about you?”
“You’ll all survive without me.”
“Yes, but there’s more to life than surviving,” Jason argued.
“Even if I stayed, how long do I have left? Can’t fight forever. Better to take the money and enjoy the rest of my life in peace. You should start thinking along the same lines. Lea too.”
Jason shot Ferox a sidelong glance. “I don’t know about Lea, but as for me, well, I prefer not to think past the current week. Or day, sometimes.”
Ferox envied Jason’s unworried attitude toward the future. But Jason didn’t have to contend with the vengeful ghost of theirfriend. Ferox said nothing of Hector. Jason had clearly found some peace with the death, and this was Ferox’s burden to bear, alone.
Jason clapped him on the back and increased his pace. “No matter what the jug is for, I’m eager for the verdict. If she likes it, then I picked it out. If she doesn’t like it, then it was entirely your choice, understand?”
21
AknockcameatVelia’sdoor shortly after she entered her room, having just returned from the evening meal. When she answered it, she saw Ferox, and a pleased smile spread over her face. A crate was tucked under his arm, and he held it out to her as soon as she opened the door.
“For you,” he said.
“Me?” She eyed the box with surprise as she brought it into her room. She laid the crate on the table and beckoned him inside. “What is this?”
“Open it.”
She untied the cord binding the crate’s top. Inside, something was covered with tufts of wool. She brushed them aside to reveal the flared spout of a jug. “Oh!” She pulled the object out, handling it with careful fingers.
She blinked at it, hardly able to absorb the intricacy of the sculpted figures that emerged from the gleaming red pottery. “What—why?” she managed, overcome.
He shrugged. “Yours broke. You needed a new one.”
Her eyes stung as she beheld the stunning pitcher. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, let alone owned. If she wasn’t mistaken, the scene depicted a group of three maenads, fervent and fierce in their worship of the wine god.
Ferox frowned. “If it’s going to make you cry, I’m taking it back.”
She clutched the jug to her chest. “No! It’s—it’s beautiful. It’s just…no one’s ever given me something like this.” It must have cost a fortune. “It’s too fine. I feel as if I shouldn’t even be touching it.” Despite her words, she traced a finger over the delicate figures, feeling the ridges and curves of the sculpted pottery.
“If you won’t use it, then I’m also taking it back.”
He made as if to grab for it, and she batted his hand away, giggling. “All right, I promise to use it!”
“You should know, Jason helped select it,” Ferox said. “He made me promise to give him credit if you liked it.”
“You went shopping with Jason?” The image of the two gladiators going shopping together for a pitcher—forher—was delightfully incredible.
“He has an eye for these things.” Ferox waved a hand at the jug. “He was extremely picky. I’m assured it’s of very fine quality.”
“I can see that,” she murmured, her eyes running over the perfect, expressive forms.
“So you like it?” he pressed.
She nodded. “I love”—you—“it.”
I love you. The words she’d only barely stopped herself from saying reverberated around her mind. She stared unseeingly at the vessel.
