Felix gave him a light pat on his shoulder, careful not to jar the one that had been wrenched out of joint, and crossed the infirmary to the adjoining clinic door. It was Sergius’s day off—of course it always fell on the endurance training day when Felix would be rushing to treat heatstroke and wild injuries born of rudes flying into eye sockets. He closed the door behind him as he stepped into the clinic and over to his worktable beneath the window.
Few of the gladiators Felix had known as a boy remained in the school. Many had died, a few had earned their freedom and left, and still others,like Ignacio, had become magistri and doctores, training and coaching the next generation.
His eyes strayed to the third ring where the Amazon faced off against Ignacio, whose eyebrow he’d stitched back together several days before. He’d been only slightly more pleasant than the Amazon—no death threats, at least. But there was something less honest about his calm. As if he could call you a friend and then run you through the moment you turned your back.
The Amazon wouldn’t bother with the pretense of friendship. Nor had she bothered to follow his firm instructions to rest her arm. Not that he’d expected her to, but he’d thought at least Ignacio or the gladiatrix doctore would make her comply.
The Amazon and Ignacio fought without scutum, which was better for her arm in one sense and more dangerous in another. They dropped into their ready, bent-knee stance, muscles flinching in anticipation. Ignacio lunged first with heavy, hammer-like strokes. The Amazon met the attack with a quick defense, her sword meeting every blow dealt. She could hold her own; that much was clear. The doctore circled them, dodging and barking commands Felix couldn’t discern. They changed positions with the Amazon switching to the offensive, her feet scuffing the sand, the muscled lines of her body gleaming with sweat and grit.
How in the world was she even able to stand, much less fight with such—
The Amazon’s sword slipped, allowing a direct hit to her bandaged arm.
Felix pushed away from the table and was out the door in a moment, leaping over the courtyard rail. Dodging a heavily armored gladiator, he angled straight for the ring where the Amazon hunched forward, hand pressed against the bandage. Ignacio tossed his rudis in the dust in a motion that seemed more irritated than concerned. He folded his arms across his chest, saying something Felix couldn’t hear over the pulse pounding in his ears.
“I told you she wasn’t ready, Ignacio.” Felix reached the Amazon and peeled back her grip on the bandage to inspect the wound.
“My hands are tied, Felix.” Ignacio raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “She must train. The dates of the Dacian matches won’t be changed.”
The Amazon shrugged away from his touch. “I am fine.” The words were forced between her teeth. From pain or anger at Felix’s interference, he couldn’t be sure. Probably both.
Blood seeped through the bandage. Felix pointed. “You’re bleeding and I’m fairly certain you’ve ruined my stitches.”
She rolled her neck from side to side, blowing long breaths between her lips, as if to quell the pain. She thrust a hand toward Ignacio, wiggling her fingers. “Give me my sword.”
Ignacio hesitated.
Felix pressed harder. “You know what can happen, Ignacio. Small cuts can leave one bedridden with infection. How will you explain the loss of your best gladiatrix to Jovan?”
That was enough.
The magister shut his eyes and sighed, waving them toward the edge of the ring. “Let him look you over, Amazon. Just to be safe. Then you can return.”
The gladiatrix huffed and stormed ahead of Felix toward the clinic.
He jogged after her, cutting in front and pushing the door open.
Arms crossed, she stalked inside and stopped near the stained operating table, as he pulled the door shut.
“Sit, please.” He held up a palm. “It won’t take long.
She whirled and slapped his hand away, stepping so close her body brushed against his. He inhaled and took a half step back as she bit her words between her teeth. “Do you think you can order me about like a dog? Your interference makes me look weak.” Her arm sliced throughthe air in a jerking motion, sharp with barely restrained fury. “And if Jovan thinks that, he will cut me from—”
“I don’t think you’re weak.” His quick response stopped her tirade in mid-sentence. “I’ve never thought that. Not for a moment. And anyone who does is a fool.”
Adel was no fool either. No man offered compliments without motive. She’d seen it too many times. The medicus wanted something from her. She crossed her arms, wincing at the ache the movement induced. A glance about the room revealed little but walls of jars and tools, and the high table.
“It is only my arm. It does not hurt.”
“That’s impossible.” Twin lines appeared between his dark brows. “The painkiller should have worn off by now. Let me have a look.”
She held his gaze and edged away. “I was in more pain the day after Dreda’s lizard bit me than now.”
If the admission amused him, he didn’t show it. Truly, it was just an ache.
He stepped closer. “Are you going to threaten to kill me again if I check your arm?”
He didn’t need to ask. She was a slave. He could do as he pleased, as evidenced by the way he’d ordered her here and she’d obeyed. Still, he seemed to wait on her consent.
