Red?
The room dropped into a ringing silence. Adel’s gladius clattered against floor tiles laid in a basketweave pattern that reminded her of the war-daughters’ hair, plaited for the Easter celebration and woven with flowers. A distant memory of laughter spun in her head, shattered all at once by the warning cry of a Roman trumpet. Shouts, screams, pounding feet. A searing in her chest wrenched the air from her lungs.
In an instant, her senses roared back into full volume—heat, pain, the echoing bellows of the watching crowd who seemed as shocked as she was.
The Amazon never lost.
Breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth gaped. She reached up and clawed at the strap on her helmet, her fingers stiff and clumsy. She needed air.
“Hold still.” Hands gripped her underarms, holding her steady, as still others worked at her helmet and shield straps. She fought against the hold, nausea swirling along with the faces of the crowd pressing closer. She just needed a little air, and she’d be fine. The helmet lifted away and coolness washed over her sweat-drenched hair and neck. She sucked in a deep breath and lurched forward, her fingers closing around the hilt of her gladius. A hand landed over hers, stilling her.
“You’re done.” A graveled voice bit through the fog, words settling in Adel’s stomach with sickening clarity as she looked up to see amagisterfrom one of the rival gladiator schools push through the crowd to grip Vesuvia’s arm and raise it high in victory.
The air felt struck from Adel’s lungs again.Idiot. Idiot.Shame and anger coiled in her chest. Men were forever doing stupid things in the closeness of dinner party spectacles—as if highly trained women hired to fight for entertainment could be used for other things as well. How could she have let one grabbing brute throw her focus?
An angry voice rose from the crowd. “This isnotwhat I paid for!”
“It was his fault,” someone else shouted. “He grabbed the Amazon.”
The sounds seemed to fade in and out, edges of her vision blurring around the sight of a victorious Vesuvia being swallowed by the crowd.
She’d lost.
A chill replaced the fury of a moment ago, carrying fear with it. Had she brought shame on the Ludus Gallicus as she’d shamed everything else she’d loved?
“Remove the shield.” That same low voice from earlier was closer, familiar. “I’ve got to get to her arm.” One of themedicifrom her ludus leaned forward, blocking her line of sight. The old one with sagging jowls. Sergius something or other. She’d never bothered to remember.
“What’s your name?” he barked.
She shut her eyes, teeth grinding against the pain roaring up her shoulder with fiery claws. “Do you not know?”
“Now isn’t the time for impudence.” His words slurred slightly, breath heavy with spiced wine.
“How dare you interfere with a fight!”
Pain or not, Adel would recognize the voice of her magister anywhere—though Ignacio was usually shouting at her, rather than a spectator.
A strange voice laughed. “Oh, come off it, trainer. It’s not like this is a real fight. They’re only women.”
Sergius’s fingers bit into her good arm, and a good thing too, or she might have leaped up and showed the brute what a woman could do in a real fight. Not a staged one like this had been.
“Hold still.”
Adel bit back a growl as Sergius peeled her skin from the bone—or perhaps he’d only wrapped a cloth over the wound. She couldn’t bring herself to look at it.
She’d lost. The weight of it slammed into her again.
“Drink this.”
A cup banged against her teeth, and she gulped wine mixed with something bitter.
“Get her up,” Sergius ordered. “Take her out.”
Hands slid beneath her arms and tightened, hauling Adel to her feet. Her head whirled and her stomach heaved.
Sergius scooped up his bag and stood by as one of her guards looped an arm around her waist. She pushed him away, gritting her teeth.
“I can walk. Let me walk. I am fine.” She lifted her chin.Only women.Even if her legs had been struck off, these Roman pigs would not see her carried out.
