You’re haunting yourself.
“Listen, you have many strengths, but you’re not exactly the most agile thinker,” Lea said. “You get one idea in your thick head and you cling to it as if it’s the only thing that’s true. Hector dies, you decide to leave the ludus with barely the clothes on your back. A terrible idea, as Jason and I tried to tell you. How did that go?”
“Not well,” Ferox admitted.
“Then you come back, and all you can think about is this even more terrible idea of abandoning everyone who cares about you for a place you haven’t been in what, fifteen years? And you talk about wanting to buy a farm or a vineyard or a mine or whatever it is—but you know nothing about any of that, do you?”
Ferox stared at the ground. Maybe he had made some poor decisions in the past, motivated by a guilt which—if he could believe Lea—might have been misplaced. Maybe he was on the verge of another terrible decision.
“If Hector hadn’t died, would you have still wanted to leave?” she asked.
“No,” he muttered. Ferox had never considered leaving until Hector’s death. He’d been…if not precisely happy, then content. He had a better life than many in this very city. Once he got too old to fight, assuming he hadn’t met his death in the arena, he probably would have convinced Lucullus to repurpose him as a trainer for the newer gladiators. Just like he was doing now, for Velia.
“I don’t begrudge you wanting something different,” Lea said. “None of us ended up here by choice, after all. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to build something real.” She fell silent,and her gaze grew faraway. “My mother’s favorite plant was the thistle.”
Ferox blinked at the incongruous remark, but stayed quiet, trusting she had a reason to mention it.
“She liked their purple flowers, but it was mostly because of how their seeds work,” Lea continued. “The wind carries the seeds far and wide, and they grow wherever they land. She used to say if a little thistle could make the best of wherever it found itself, then so could we.”
Ferox made a low murmur of acknowledgment. Lea rarely spoke of her past, but he knew she’d been enslaved with her mother, who died shortly before Lea ended up at the ludus.
“Do you understand what I mean?” she asked.
Ferox nodded. She meant he could be like a thistle. He could put down roots where he found himself, choose to make this life his own.
But in order to do that, he’d first have to believe Lea, believe her conviction that Hector was at peace, not haunting him. That he bore no responsibility for Hector’s death, just as Velia bore no responsibility for the circumstances of this upcoming fight. That what seemed like Hector’s ghost was just Ferox’s own misplaced guilt.
As he attempted to get his head around the idea, Nyx prowled up to them. The cat’s yellow gaze swung from Lea to Ferox, and he emitted a hiss in Ferox’s direction. Then he darted forward and swatted at Ferox’s foot.
Ferox jerked his foot back with haste.
“He wants you to leave,” Lea said helpfully.
Ferox grumbled, but he’d rested for long enough. He needed to get back to training. He heaved himself from the bench, and as soon as the spot was vacant, Nyx hopped up and rubbed his face against Lea’s arm.
Ferox picked up his sword and went to find another sparring partner, contemplating thistles and seeds and roots as he did.
28
Veliaeyedherbeddoubtfully. Night had fallen, but she hadn’t yet extinguished her lamp. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, the night before Ferox and Achilles fought to the death, and there seemed to be little point in trying.
Dread had been pooling in her stomach all day, steadily intensifying until it felt like it gripped her with a dozen pairs of grasping, crushing hands.
No matter what happened tomorrow, it would be the worst day of her life.
Her gaze shifted to the door, her thoughts turning to Ferox. She’d been trying to summon the courage to go to him since dusk. Surely, they couldn’t spend this night apart.
But she must be more of a coward than she realized, for the prospect of seeing him terrified her. It was the reason she’d stayed away from him these past few days. She feared the pain and grief it would bring, feared being broken under their weight. What was she even to say to him?
Perhaps he didn’t want to see her. He’d been avoiding her too, after all. Perhaps seeing her would cloud his judgment tomorrow, would weaken him.
She sat on her bed but jumped up a moment later as nervous energy propelled her to pace her tiny room.
Just open the door and walk to his room, she urged herself.You’ll regret it forever if you let him leave or die without spending this last night with him.
She took one step toward the door—and then the sound of a knock stopped her in her tracks.
She forced herself into motion, found the handle of the door, and pulled it open.
