Ferox shook his head. “Not about that. When I woke from my fever, I told her I wanted her to come with me to Hispania. I told her I would marry her. But she doesn’t wish to leave this place.”
Lea made a noise of scathing mirth. “Normal women want marriage and children and things like that. Velia is not a normal woman, Ferox. If that’s what you want, you need to look elsewhere.”
“That’s not what I want,” he snapped. “I don’t care about marriage. I don’t give a fig about children. I wanther. I only offered because I thought—I thought it would help her say yes.” But he’d been a fool. He’d known from his first sight of her that Velia was no ordinary woman. Ordinary women didn’t choose to live in a ludus or work to acquire their very own gladiators.
So when he’d offered her an ordinary life, her refusal shouldn’t have surprised him. “She asked if I might consider staying nearby. So she couldvisit.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice.
Lea was silent for a moment. “What’s left for you in Hispania? I doubt you’ll even recognize the place. Your family is gone. What do you expect to find?”
That was a question he somehow hadn’t considered. Lea’s words forced him to admit to himself that he hadn’t been thinking particularly far ahead. His entire plan comprised leaving the ludus and returning to Hispania because it was the only place other than Rome he knew.
Velia had finished talking with the merchant, who departed, so Ferox allowed his gaze to return to Lea. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just want to…not be here.”
“Because of Hector?”
The sound of the name made him flinch. “You of all people should understand.”
Lea raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ferox hesitated, but he might be dead in a day’s time. He could afford to finally confirm his suspicions about Lea and Hector. “You and Hector…you were lovers.”
Her gaze slid away from his. She shifted on the bench, drawing one ankle up to rest on her opposite knee. “Yes, we were sleeping together. But we weren’t…lovers.” She grimaced at the word.
Ferox’s incomprehension must have shown on his face, for she sighed. “We were friends who enjoyed bedding each other,” she elaborated, which hardly helped. “We didn’tloveeach other. Not in that way. Not like…” Her gaze shifted to Velia, now talking to Achilles.
Ferox still didn’t understand—he had only ever had three friends in his life and had never been tempted to sleep with any of them—but he set it aside. “Even so. You knew him in a way Jason and I didn’t.”
Her voice softened. “The memories don’t have to be something you need to escape from, you know. Yes, sometimes it’s painfulwhen I stop in front of what used to be his room and think, just for a moment, I can hear him humming to himself inside. Or when I see someone out of the corner of my eye who bears a passing resemblance to him but when I look, it’s not him. But those little moments…they keep him alive, in a way. If memories are the only thing I have left of him, then I’ll hold them close.”
Ferox took a moment to absorb her words. It was tempting to view things as she did. To allow himself to bask in the memories instead of fleeing from them. But he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to. “It’s different for you,” he said, his voice lowering. “It’s not your fault he died.”
“Neither is it yours.”
“It is,” Ferox grunted. “If I’d fought that day as I was supposed to, he would still be alive.”
“Oh, stop it.” Lea tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Velia thinks your match with Achilles is all her fault, doesn’t she? There are some who might agree with her. But you would never allow her to believe that. Why can’t you give yourself the same grace?”
Ferox blinked. He had never seen the two situations as remotely similar. In his mind, he alone was responsible for this match-up with Achilles, as he’d been the one to swing the sword that defied the emperor’s wishes.
But if that were true…could he view Hector’s death the same way? Could he admit the only person truly responsible was the man who’d actually killed him?
“I don’t think Hector sees it that way,” Ferox muttered.
Lea gave him a questioning glance.
Ferox hesitated; he hadn’t wanted to bring this up, but perhaps it was too late for such circumspection. “I’ve felt him hauntingme,” he confessed. “I have these dreams of him in the underworld, all bloodied and wounded. I know he’s angry with me. He blames me for his death.”
The confession, painful as it was, eased something in his chest. This had been his burden to bear for so long, and there was relief in sharing it, even if it wouldn’t fix anything.
“You blameyourselffor his death,” Lea said. “That’s where those dreams come from. Listen to me.” She swiveled on the bench to face him. “Hector didn’t relish this life. For better or for worse, he’s at peace now. No more fighting, no more violence. He’shappynow.”
The conviction in her voice tempted him. What if she was right? What if his dreams were merely the result of his own misplaced guilt, not Hector’s shade seeking to torment him?
“Hector is not haunting you,” Lea continued. “You’re haunting yourself. Hector is off frolicking in Elysium. I doubt he even spares us a thought. And if he does, you know he’d want us all to be happy. Even if you had wronged him, he wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge.”
That was true. Hector would forgive nearly anything. Once, Ferox had witnessed Hector get into a fistfight with a man who’d insulted his accent. Hector had bludgeoned the man into submission, then a quarter of an hour later, they’d been deep into a game of dice, laughing and chatting as if they were the best of friends. Hector didn’t hesitate to solve problems with his fists, but he also was quick to forgive.
Ferox abruptly realized the version of Hector conjured by his guilt bore little resemblance to the real man.
