“Twelve mourners,” Achilles called from behind her. “We agreed on it, remember?”
She gave him a short nod. He had indeed negotiated twelve mourners in the event of his death, but she’d hoped the promise wouldn’t become relevant for a while yet. “Twelve mourners,” she acknowledged in a low voice, then left the hall.
Velia went to the storeroom to complete her initial errand, fetching clean bandages for Ferox’s wound. She’d begun it less than an hour ago, but already it felt like another life. A life before this terrible decree, this impossible choice.
She knew the emperor intended to punish Ferox with this final match, but it felt like a punishment targeted specifically at Velia. Gaius Caesar, of course, didn’t even know she existed. He didn’t care about what these two men meant to her, didn’t care that losing either of them would destroy either her ambitions or her heart.
With the bandages in hand, she trudged back to Ferox’s room, feeling as if she were the one who would face death in a week.
He was sitting up in bed when she entered, occupied in carefully peeling off the bandages to examine the puckered wound beneath. He glanced up at her, and his brows drew together. “Velia, about earlier—”
She held up a hand. “Please don’t.” She couldn’t bear to revisit that conversation, couldn’t add yet another thing that would tear at her heart.
He fell silent. She approached the bed and set about removing the rest of his bandages, tossing them aside. Her hands trembled as she replaced them with clean ones, wrapping the strips of fabric tightly as the physician had shown her. She’d done this many times over the past week, when Ferox had been sweating and senseless with fever. She knew the motion, her hands well-trained.
But now, her shaking fingers fumbled with the fabric, and her vision grew blurry. A tear dropped onto the cloth. She bent her head lower, trying to hide her tears, but Ferox’s large hand found her face. His thumb slipped in the dampness on her cheek as he gently tilted her face up.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he murmured. “I never meant to upset you. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She closed her eyes, clasping his hand to her face. How many more times would she be able to feel his touch? “It’s not that,” she whispered, her voice raspy and unsteady.
“Then what is it?”
She returned her attention to his leg and finished securing the cloth in place with a tight knot, then perched on the edge of the bed. He moved over, making room for her, and she allowed herself to curl against his chest. Maybe this would be easier if she couldn’t see his face. “I just spoke with my uncle. Apparently, there was a message from the emperor a few days ago. He waited until your fever had broken to share it.”
Beneath her head, she felt the muscles of his chest and stomach stiffen. “The emperor is expelling me from the games.” The words were resigned, flat—absent of surprise or anger.
She shook her head, her braid brushing his skin. “Worse.” She closed her eyes and forced the words out. “He wants you to fight your last match. Next week. To the death. Against…Achilles.”
He was silent for several long moments, the only sound the thump of his heartbeat in Velia’s ear.
“I see,” he finally murmured.
She straightened. His face was blank of emotion. Between Ferox, Achilles, and Lucullus, why was she the only one so rattled, so nearly broken by what was happening around her?
“Does Achilles know?” Ferox asked.
She nodded. “I just told him. I tried to get him to agree to let you win. I thought I could convince you not to kill him, no matter what the emperor orders. You have nothing to lose. You’re leaving anyway. But he wouldn’t agree!” Desperation sharpened her voice.
“You shouldn’t have suggested that,” Ferox chided. “Asking a gladiator to throw a fight—it’s not honorable.”
“I don’t care about honor!” She launched herself off the bed. “I care about keeping you bothalive. Can’t you see what losing either of you would do to me? If Achilles dies, I lose everything I’ve put into him. He’s barely profitable. I’d have to start over. His death would be on my conscience forever. And if you die—” She shook her head wordlessly.
Ferox swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the floor, but didn’t rise. “If Achilles dies, you’ll take everything you’ve learned and acquire a new gladiator. Yes, it will be a setback, but nothing you can’t handle. If I die…” He spoke the words as coolly as if they were discussing the potential for rain that day. “You’ll mourn me for a time, perhaps, but then you’ll go on. You’ll find a better man. One who can love you the way you want to be loved.”
“I don’t want a better man,” she snapped. Words, hot and angry, rushed from her mouth in a torrent. “I wantyou. I want you to stay in Rome. I want you to train each and every one of my gladiators for the next ten, twenty, thirty years. I want you alive. I want you in my bed every night and by my side every day. I don’t want you to die in the arena fighting fuckingAchilles!”
He stared at her, his gaze dark and inscrutable. Then he glanced away, saying nothing.
Velia took an indignant step closer to the bed. “Why don’t youcareabout any of this? Achilles was the same. Why am I the only one who feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest?” She crossed her arms. “Tell me, how would you feel if the positionswere reversed? Say, if I were about to face Penthesilea in the arena at the emperor’s command?”
He gave her a sharp look. “That’s completely different.”
“Tell me,” she pressed. “Tell me how you’d feel. Tell me what you’d do.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. His brows lowered, casting a shadow over his face. “I’d take you away from here. We’d be out of the city before anyone even noticed we were gone. We’d go as far as possible. I’d take you to the wilds of bloody Britannia if that’s what it took to keep you safe.”
“So why not do the same for yourself?” she demanded. “You can leave. Run. You have nothing to lose.”
