The cool wind flickered on Berit’s green-skirted loincloth as she made for a specified place just off-center. On the other half of the ring, a dimachaerus wielded double curved blades against a full-armoredscissorwhose arm was encased in an iron tube with a half-circle blade the size of a dinner platter attached to the end. Berit’s gait wobbled as another gladiatrix entered from the opposite side of the ring, her yellow breastband and skirted loincloth signifying that she belonged to the Ludus Matutinus.
Cheers deafened Adel’s ears and left them ringing.
The old medicus’s words resurfaced.Can’t get rid of the barbarians soon enough... The sooner they are dead, the better...
The uneasy feeling of facing an opponent larger and more experienced sent a cool sweat prickling over her skin.
“Adel.”
The voice from her left sent a strange thrill through her.
Felix shifted the strap of a leather bag slung across his chest. “I need to speak with you.”
She shifted her weight, waiting.
He glanced over his shoulder and slipped a jar of salve out of his bag. His voice dropped just shy of a whisper. “Blandus Albus bet against you today.” He uncorked the lid and swiped a finger through the salve.
Adel’s stomach dropped, Wulfula’s taunt rushing back into her ears. “Against me? Why? I am his best—”
“It is precisely because you are his best,” Felix broke in quickly. He smeared the salve over the greening bruise on her cheek. A poor excuse for him to stand so close and speak to her. “He stands to win a sizable sum. And I’ve heard he needs it desperately.”
“They wouldn’t do that to me.” Her words came as weak as Berit’s first swing in the arena.
Felix shrugged. “I hate to believe it of them too.”
“How do they know I’ll lose? How are they so sure? I’ve lost so few times before.” A swooping dread sank her stomach. “Will they make me fight a man?” She was good, skilled, but against a man’s added muscle and larger build? She would not last.
Felix shook his head. “They will give you a new sword. This one will withstand a few blows but will collapse, shatter. Leave you with nothing.”
“How do you know?”
Remorse flickered in his eyes. “I... I just know.” Felix’s thumb rubbed salve in gentle circles over her cheekbone. If he were not a medicus, she might have believed it a caress. It was not, but there was more in his expression that he was not telling her. She could sense the retreat, and yet thebetrayal had already struck her chest like a battering ram. Blandus Albus betting against her. Jovan helping him by plotting her fall. Outside the holding cell, the crowd cheered. Adel looked just in time to see the yellow-clad gladiatrix step on Berit’s prone form and angle her blade to her neck.
One down. Her heart fell. Would this mean Berit would fight in the harsher matches? Or would Jovan demand her death as he’d demanded Ilona’s?
Let it not be so.
“Amazon. You’re next.” Ignacio’s shout cut through the noise.
Felix’s fingers tightened on her face, cradling it, pulling her forehead close to his as his voice dropped to a fierce whisper. “Beat them at their own game, Adel.” His eyes drilled into her own, the granite hard and stormy. Angry, determined... afraid. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“Amazon.”
Felix released her at Ignacio’s beckon, but she held his gaze a moment longer.
“Help Berit,” she whispered, then turned toward the magister impatiently gesturing her toward the gate, her helmet tucked under his arm.
“Be careful.” Felix’s last words echoed behind her as she stepped toward Ignacio and extended her hand for the green-plumed helmet.
He settled it over her head and buckled the strap. “What did he want?”
Adel lifted a shoulder, glad that the helmet covered most of her face. “For me to promise to take care, so he has less work later.” She forced a tight laugh. “As if battles are won with caution and care.”
He huffed a wry laugh. “You face the Strix.”
Adel nodded. In past fights, theirs had been the closest matches. If there was a gladiatrix she might lose against, it would be the Strix. Adel had caught a glimpse of her in the opening ceremony, dressed in blue-black and silver. The manica covering her sword arm had been fashioned in a silver likeness of an owl’s wing. It would be heavy. But the whimsical nature of it would win the crowd’s favor. They were fickle like that.
Ignacio held her scutum as she slipped her arm through the straps and hefted it for good measure.
