She nodded, feeling anything but. Ignacio left, locking the door behind him and leaving a suffocating emptiness in his wake. Adel fought to draw in a breath, all the air seeming to follow Ignacio out of the room. Would Jovan truly sell her? Had she fought and clawed her way to nothing? She gulped a shaking breath, pressing a palm to her chest in a vain attempt to calm her pounding heart. Was that why Jovan had not announced her new position? Had he received an offer to buy her? Accepted?
Suddenly weary to her marrow, Adel rolled her shoulders, unsticking her damp tunic from her back as she turned toward her bed. What she wouldn’t give for the warm comfort of her wolfhound curled beside her. The weight of her furry head resting on her shoulder. She could almost hear Aipei’s scolding.You must stop sleeping with that dog. No man wants a wife who smells like a wolfhound.
Perhaps that was true among the Visigoths. But here, her worth lay in her strength, not her beauty. In her ability to destroy, not create. In her bondage, not her freedom. Adel flopped onto the lumpy mattress, pressing her face into the worn fabric and inhaling a ragged breath pastthe hot lump forming in the center of her chest. She would not cry. And if she did, it certainly was not because she missed the earthy, smoky scent of camp, the warmth of her wolfhound curled next to her—home, instead of the damp mustiness of her cell.
XV
IT WAS LATE IN THE EVENINGwhen Felix finally sank onto the stool at his worktable and lowered his head onto his arms. He was done. The stress and mental toll of hours of emergency care rolled from his shoulders, leaving relief and bone-deep exhaustion in their wake. Sergius had taken the first shift on the cot in the sleeping room, leaving several slaves to oversee the infirmary and call for the medici if needed.
The sharp metallic odor of blood seemed stuck in Felix’s nostrils and on his hands. He pushed to his feet and shuffled across the room, drawing a clean tunic from the stack in one of the cupboards and stumbling toward the bathing room. At this time of night, the gladiators would all be in their cells and the magistri, doctores, and guards had full reign over the amenities. If he had to sleep here tonight, he’d at least do it without being drenched in others’ blood.
A few of the trainers and overseers lingered in thecaldarium, steam billowing over their heads. Felix joined them, sinking to his neck in the hot water.
“Finished, medicus?”
“For tonight.”
“How’s my gladiatrix?” Ignacio’s voice emerged from the steam obscuring the far end of the pool.
“Her head wound is swollen. But that is a good thing, from my experience. She’s stopped vomiting. I would advise a long rest for her.”
“How long? Two days, three?”
Felix frowned. “At least a week, if not—”
“A week?” Ignacio barked. “We’ve only got a bit over a month to prepare for the games.”
“Speaking of the games...”
All heads turned toward the doorway of the baths where Jovan stood, clutching a worn codex.
“Felix, what is the status of your enhancing potions?”
Felix shifted, the water suddenly feeling too hot. His mouth went dry, mind racing to conjure a believable answer that wasn’t the truth and wasn’t an outright lie either. The trainers looked at him, expressions expectant.
“Not quite ready.”
His uncle’s lips pressed together. “I’m not looking for perfection, but we need something soon.” He waved the codex. “These are my observations from the matches against the Dacian School. Fighter by fighter. We are holding our own, but just barely. When I hired you, you said you had experience with enhancing potions. Well? It’s been six months, and I need results, now.”
There was no preliminary warm-up today, no sparring or niceties. Jovan went straight for the throat. The sharpness of the demand sent Felix’s pulse thrumming into an anxious rhythm. The experience he’d mentioned had not been a positive one. Enhancing potions were all the rage in Alexandrian ludi. He knew enough from his time in the medical schools that they gave fighters unmatched stamina, and horrific addictions. He’d had no intention of inflicting such things on the gladiators here. But hehadneeded a job.
Jovan seemed to be waiting on an explanation.
Was it possible to sweat while in water? Felix cleared his throat. “I’ve tried a few things, but it’s... One must strike a delicate balance, since the same potion that strengthens one fighter may put another to sleep.” That sounded like an educated answer.
“Others have come to me with potions of their own and I’m tempted to allow a little friendly competition.”
Felix’s stomach dropped. He straightened and twisted around, hooking one arm over the stone lip of the pool. “A competition of this sort has great potential for harm. I saw a lot of it in Alexandria. The potions may work in the short term, but there are always consequences later. Death even.”
Jovan shrugged as if death was inconsequential. “A gladiator’s life is rarely a long one. The best we can offer them is glory in the present. It is a kindness, really.”
“It is not kind. It is certain death, and a terrible one at that.”
“Why do you think the gladiators are here, if not to die?”
He was treading on quicksand, sinking fast. Jovan was looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. Perhaps he had. The mind could compromise on all sorts of things, provided there was a sort of logic behind it. The gladiators were here for many reasons, chief of which was to make Jovan and Blandus Albus rich. “They won’t do anything for you if they are dead.”
“If ever there was a time to take risks, it is now.”
