“For glory and the Ludus Gallicus,” he said, pressing a gladius into her hand.
The response stuck in her throat as her fingers closed around the handle, its weight unfamiliar and too light.
“This isn’t my sword.”
He pushed her toward the gate. “Of course it is,” he clipped. “It was in your spot on the rack. Double-checked it myself.”
Felix’s words ran through her head, making her heart trip into a steady racing thrum that sounded like dread. “It might have been in my spot, but this isn’t my sword.”
The screech of the gate, a blast of a trumpet, a shove from behind.
“No time. You’ll figure it out. You’re the Amazon.”
Her bare feet stumbled onto cold sand as the arena roared into full volume. The noise clamored against her helmet, echoing and distant, overcome by the huff of her own breath bouncing back into her ears. She lifted the gladius, the blade covered in etchings of a repeated pattern that disguised lines in the blade that the spectators would not be able to make out. Was that where it would break? She turned her head, scanning the arena, feeling suddenly turned around. Where was the Dacian gate? The eyeholes of her helmet offered a limited view. The gate for the Ludus Matutinus was shut, its yellow pennant flapping in the same breeze that nipped at her green skirt. Knees bent, she turned in a circle. The ornate red gate of the Ludus Magnus came into view: shut. Faces bobbed between the bars—other fighters elbowing each other for a view. That meant—
Footsteps thundered behind her in the sand, nearly drowned out by the sudden roar of the crowd.
Adel spun, kicking up a cloud of sand as she did so, but it had little effect. She threw up her scutum as a blur of blue crashed into her. Herfeet left the sand, body flying backward and meeting the ground with a bone-jarring thud. She rolled and pushed her feet beneath her, kicking sand once again toward the Strix. Grit crunched between her teeth as she blocked the next two swings with her shield. The sword in her grip felt flimsy and light. As if it truly would shatter at first impact. At least she could defend first, block blow after blow with the scutum instead of her blade. Because if the blade shattered, it was over.
The Dacian gladiatrix was large framed and muscular, taller than Adel by several inches and Adel was no small woman. Two thin golden braids snaking out the bottom of her helmet whipped through the air as she spun and crashed her scutum against Adel’s, forcing her to deflect the arc of the gladius with her own. The clash of metal reverberated up her arm. Adel shoved the woman back and retreated several steps, knees bent as she circled, ready for the next onslaught and catching her breath in the meantime.
Felix had gotten into her head. She was fighting like a coward. What if there was nothing wrong with the sword at all and he’d only planted doubt in her mind? That thought was even less comforting than the idea of Jovan and Blandus Albus’s betrayal. Who to trust? Who had yet to let her down?
The blue gladiatrix lunged. Adel threw up her shield to catch the blade and shoved her backward once more. She swung, her own blade deflected by the opposing shield. They pulled back and circled, Adel’s breath coming in sharp bursts. She adjusted her grip on her gladius and... did it rattle? She gave it a shake, menacing and taunting in any other circumstance, but the answering wobble turned the taunt backward.
Hot fury rose in her chest. Had she not done everything Jovan had asked of her? She’d fought in the school matches, trained without complaint, been sold for dinner entertainment, improved the other women—andthiswas how he repaid her? With empty promises, a faulty sword, and a bet for her to lose?
If he’d asked her to, she’d have thrown the match to please him—she knew that about herself. Hated it about herself. He would have promised her an advancement, money, position, and she would have complied, thinking it was her own skill getting her what she wanted when in reality, she’d broken her own vow and relied upon one more crooked man for her security.
Well, no more.
She flung the sword away from her, the faulty blade singing and rattling against the grit of the arena floor. If Jovan wanted a defeat, a defeat was what he would get. If he wanted a story for the fire, then she would light it herself.
With a roar to rival any lioness, Adel charged.
She’d won the match. Felix had discovered the story in bits from each patient. One had said Adel’s sword had broken; another said she’d thrown it down. All had repeated that the Amazon had charged the Strix with no weapon, thrown her to the sand, and bested her with her own sword. The crowd had gone mad over it, cheering and throwing tokens into the ring. She’d made herself a favorite for the upcoming games and had been held back after the match so spectators could meet her.
Felix’s rag snagged on the wood of the operating table as he gave it one last wipe down, the smell of wine vinegar stinging his nostrils. Nearly time to go home. Everyone in the infirmary was stitched up and settled for the evening, nothing too serious. Cuts, bruises. Gaiseric with yet another puncture wound from a trident. The man needed to work on his evasion skills. Perhaps he was not cut out to be a secutor. He tried to take comfort in the fact that Adel had not been brought to him. She wasn’t injured at least. Still, he lingered, hoping to see the evidence of it with his own eyes. Settle his mind.
“Get your filthy hands off me. I said I was fine!”
At the sound, a tumble of emotions rushed over him. The voice snapping outside his office door could belong to no one other than Adel.
Relief—she was alive.
Dread—she was injured.
“You can’t go in the baths like that.”
The door flung open and Adel stalked inside, if one could “stalk” with a limp and drying blood running down a leg.
She flung off the grip of the accompanying slave and shot a glare over her shoulder. “Fine. I am here. No need to hover like a mother hen.”
She crossed her arms as the slave raised both of his.
“Only ensuring you do not run out.”
“And go where?” She bit the words between her teeth, and even Felix could taste their bitterness.
