Achilles hauled himself into a sitting position, wiping sand from his face. His coppery brow was furrowed. He glanced from Ferox to the emperor, incomprehension clear on his face. He might have said something, but Ferox couldn’t hear him amid the noise and the shambles of his own mind.
It was time to leave the arena, but standing was not an option at present. His legs felt like they were made of soft, unfired clay; they’d collapse under the slightest weight. The half-healed wound on his left leg bled freely, torn open by that vicious kick from Achilles.
Ferox eyed his sword. If he could drive it into the sand, maybe he could use it as leverage to rise—
Before he could reach for it, a pair of hands anchored under his arms. Achilles hauled him to his feet. “Get up, old man. Unless you want a front-row seat to the next match?”
Ferox managed a grunt in reply as they stumbled together to the arena’s exit. As soon as the shadows of the passage fell over him, his wounded leg gave out once and for all. His weight slumped, too heavy for Achilles to catch. He braced himself to hit the ground, but there were other hands, other arms there to catch him. Lea and Jason, he realized dimly, as they supported him into the open area beyond the passage.
They eased him to the ground, his back against the wall. Sitting was a relief, though his leg still screamed in agony. There were other wounds, too—slices and aches and rips in his skin he didn’t even remember getting.
He had no time to catalogue his injuries, for no sooner had his body reached the ground than Velia hurled herself into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging tight enough to crack a marble column. Her elbow was digging into a wound on his shoulder, but he didn’t care. The pain was nothing compared to the pleasure of having her in his arms.
“You did it,” she gasped amid sobs. “I-I can’t believe it!”
He wanted to object that Achilles deserved the credit for his salvation; if the novice hadn’t built such a reputation for himself, the crowd wouldn’t have protested so strenuously at the emperor’s decision. But Ferox wasn’t yet capable of speaking, so he allowed himself to sink into her embrace. His left palm was a bloody mess, and he was probably ruining her clothing, but he couldn’t bring himself to release her.
This was where he belonged. Anywhere Velia was. Whether she wanted to stay at the ludus forever or move to the underworld itself, he would follow her.
30
Veliasmiledasherfeet sank into the three rugs that adorned the floor of Ferox’s bedroom. The vestiges of the tension that had gripped her all day finally lifted at the sight of him, sitting up in bed and sipping a cup of water. Bandages covered him in several spots, but he was overall in one piece.
She still couldn’t believe the day had turned out like this, that neither Ferox nor Achilles had died. She’d been frozen with fear for the entire match, which seemed to stretch for hours. When Achilles had landed that brutal kick to Ferox’s wounded leg, she’d nearly collapsed in horror, her vision patchy and every muscle quivering like the last autumn leaf on a branch. She was sure that was it, that Achilles’s sword would be at Ferox’s throat in the next moment.
But somehow, Ferox had gotten the upper hand. Then, she’d watched in petrified awe as the emperor reversed his decision, conceding to the crowd’s will.
She would never forget the sight of both of them stumbling from the arena, exhausted, bloodied, but alive.
The physician had tended to Ferox’s leg with much displeased muttering. He had to remove the remnants of the previous stitches and close the wound once more. He’d warned that Ferox might be left with a limp.
Besides his leg, the slice on his left palm was the worst injury, and the physician had stitched that too before wrapping it tightly in bandages. His hand, like his leg, might never regain full mobility. Ferox had accepted both prognoses with a grim nod.
Now, Velia bore a tray of food covered with a napkin, which she set carefully on Ferox’s lap.
He murmured thanks. “I heard a ruckus outside. Is anything amiss?”
Velia grinned wryly at the memory of the disturbance she’d just left. “Achilles is telling anyone who will listen that he let you win. Lea punched him in the mouth. Jason had to drag her off him.”
“Gods below,” Ferox muttered.
“No one believes him,” Velia said. “Anyone who watched the match could see he was fighting for his life. But I could have watched Lea knock him on his backside ten times. Even though she shouldn’t be punching anyone after—” Velia broke off. She didn’t want to worry Ferox with details of what happened in Lea’s match.
“After what?” he pressed, raising himself into a taller sitting position.
Velia hesitated, but he’d find out soon enough. “Lea was wounded earlier. She’s fine,” Velia added quickly when she saw the tension ripple through his large body, the worry flaring in his gaze. “She even won. The emperor was so impressed he called her up to his box and personally awarded her a prize. I think he was trying to give people something else to talk about after earlier.”
“Did the physician tend to her?”
“You won’t believe it, but the emperor sent his personal physician to see to her wound. He must have done a good job, since she was well enough to pummel Achilles.” Velia had briefly caught sight of the man, and she grinned. His appearance had made quite the impression on her. “I think he’s Greek, and he’sveryhandsome.”
Ferox glowered. “I don’t need to hear about the other men you find handsome.”
“I didn’t sayIfound him handsome,” Velia clarified. “Just that he was, objectively, handsome. Not that Lea seemed to notice.” Velia ran a hand up Ferox’s uninjured leg over the blanket, stopping when she reached the wooden tray still resting on his thighs. “Luckily for you, I prefer rugged, battle-scarred gladiators to devastatingly handsome Greek physicians.”
“Now he’s devastatingly handsome?” Ferox growled.
Velia let out a ringing laugh. “All right, he was the ugliest man I’ve ever seen. Happy?”
