“He’s fine,” she interrupted. “Better, in fact. His fever has broken. I was just going to fetch a change of bandages.”
The graveness didn’t leave his face. “I would speak with you first.”
“Very well.” She followed Lucullus to his office, wondering what he could need at this early hour of the morning.
Lucullus closed the door behind them and turned to face her. A lamp had been left lit in the room, and its light flickered over her uncle’s lined face, intensifying the crags and shadows. There was a dark, reluctant look in his eyes.
Unease spiraled through Velia. Her heart beat faster.Something’s wrong.“What is it?”
“There was a messenger from the emperor,” Lucullus said.
Velia drew in a sharp breath. “So early?”
Lucullus shook his head. “It came days ago. With Ferox ill, I thought perhaps itwouldn’t matter.”
If Ferox died, he meant. She swallowed hard. “So, is he to leave? Has the emperor expelled him from the games?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Relief hovered, tempting her to give in to it, but her uncle still looked much too solemn. “Then…what was the message?”
“The emperor would like Ferox to fulfill his final match, and has dictated the terms of that match. And the opponent.”
Velia’s breathing was choppy. Her mind raced as Lucullus spoke, conjuring all sorts of horrible possibilities. What did that mean? Was the emperor going to set up some sort of match where Ferox was destined to lose? Put him in the arena with no weapons, no armor? Was this the emperor’s revenge for Ferox’s defiance?
Lucullus continued. “The match will be against Achilles, and it will be to the death.”
The room tilted. Black spots burst before her vision. Then, she was sitting, Lucullus having helped her into a chair. But she was still shaking, unable to draw breath, as her mind absorbed the awful implications of her uncle’s words.
Ferox. Fighting Achilles. To the death.
One of them would die. Either the gladiator she’d invested so much in, or the one she loved.
She blinked dumbly at the floor, her vision still blotchy. Ordinarily, this match could only have one outcome—Ferox’s victory. But with him so recently injured, weakened after an illness, and with Achilles having finally come into his own as a fighter…things were far less certain.
“Why?” she gasped.
Lucullus shrugged. “Everyone knows Ferox has been training Achilles. There is intrigue in pitting a student against a teacher. And everyone saw what Ferox did in his last match.”
She understood her uncle’s unspoken words. No matter what happened, this was a punishment for Ferox’s defiance. Either he died, or he’d have to kill his own student.
Nausea roiled in her stomach. If Achilles died, she’d lose all the time and money she’d invested in him. He had only just begun to turn a profit. She’d have to start from scratch with a new fighter. Besides, even though she didn’t particularlylikeAchilles, she felt a sense of responsibility for him. If he died, it would be her fault.
And—worst of all—she suspected Ferox would never forgive himself for killing Achilles. Two years later, Ferox still harbored guilt over his friend’s death. His self-reproach if he swung the sword that killed Achilles would be a thousand times stronger.
But the alternative was too dreadful to contemplate.
Velia took a deep breath, trying to calm her body’s trembling. “When?”
“Next week.”
Another shudder ran through her. Precious little time for Ferox to recover. “That’s not fair,” she protested. “He won’t even have his stitches out!”
Lucullus surveyed her. His gaze was cool, remote, as if they weren’t discussing the fate of two men each crucial to her in their own ways. “I believe this is the only way itisa fair fight,” he said. “You know Achilles can’t hope to hold his own against Ferox at full strength. The injured master against the up-and-coming student…it does have a certain balance.”
Velia curled her body forward, pressing her hands against her eyes as if by blinding herself she could block out all knowledge of this horrible situation. “You speak as if you don’t care about them.”
“Achilles is not my concern, and Ferox was never going to stay past this match, anyway.” His words were cold, but he laid a hand on her shoulder, and she felt a hesitant tenderness behind the gesture. “Velia, if you’re going to pursue this business, you must learn detachment. You’re going to spend your life watching people you see and speak to every day be injured. Sometimes killed. You’re going to see them suffer and struggle. You can’t afford to let it break you. If you can’t handle that, maybe this life isn’t for you.”
