The slave shot a glance toward Felix as if to sayShe’s your problem now, and turned away, shutting the door behind him.
Felix moved toward her, assessing the source of the blood. “Where are you hurt?”
She leveled a glare at him. “I am not hurt. I am—”
He gestured to the table. “What injury do you have thatdoesn’t hurt?”
Adel pressed her lips together and flung herself onto the table with a huff. She peeled back the hem of her tunic just high enough to bare the cut on her thigh. The edges were red and inflamed. “I was going to take care of it.”
Felix winced at the sight and gathered a bottle and rag before moving to stand in front of her. “It might be a little much for the baths to cure.” He dumped a splash of the liquid onto the rag and swiped it over the cut.
Adel sucked air between her teeth at the sting. “It hurtsnow,” she grumbled. “No wonder your patients die.”
“How did the match turn out?”
She didn’t answer, her fists balling in her lap in a way that left him wary and deflated. Felix had overheard part of the conversation betweenJovan and Blandus Albus when he’d shown up to give the report on spending. He’d hoped beyond hope it wasn’t true. But then Ilias had been commissioned and Felix had been thrilled for what it might mean for saving lives. He’d never thought they would use the swords like this.
“Adel...” He whispered her name in a voice at once full of apology and tender question.
“You were right.” She forced the words into a flat tone, but he could see the quiver of fury in the tight lines of her mouth when she looked up.
Felix set the bottle and rag aside as her blue eyes locked with his, shattered with anger and betrayal. “He wanted me to lose,” she whispered, and the words seemed to draw the strength from her shoulders. “If he’d asked, I would have done it on purpose. Instead he gave me a faulty sword and no warning—he risked my life, Felix.” She jerked her chin toward the door, trying to hide the sheen of tears, but not moving quick enough. “I am an idiot.”
“You are not.”
“After all this time, you would think I would learn that when men ask me for something, they will not make good on their return promise.” Adel rolled her lips between her teeth, biting back the trembling. “And yet I find myself here again and again. My atta would be ashamed of my stupidity.”
“Your atta is desperate to find you.”
She lifted a shoulder as if to ask why.
Felix reached up, risked cupping her cheek in one hand and smearing wet strands of hair from her face with the other. For a woman so hard and cold, her skin was surprisingly soft. The greening bruise beneath his thumb made his chest ache. She should not be subjected to this life. No one should.
“Because he loves you.”
Her breath hitched.
“And because you are worth fighting for.”
“You truly are the biggest fool in all of Rome.” She was not quite convincing when her voice wavered like it did. Adel tried to swallow back the emotion rising in her throat, the memories that proved Felix’s words unbelievable. She was worth only what she made of herself, and if she did not fight for herself, no one would. No one ever had.
Felix shook his head, lips pulling into a sad smile as his eyes searched her face. “You keep everyone at a distance, gladiatrix. So strong, so independent, so... alone.”
His words were a lance, prodding closer and closer toward an old injury. She could nearly feel her heart flinching as his aim narrowed. Too close. She fidgeted. Pulled away from his touch.
“You’re afraid to let anyone close to you.”
She struck back. “It is a liability. A weakness to depend on anyone else. They will only disappoint. Leave you for dead.” Her fingers curled into fists.
“It is strength to rely on others when we have none of our own. It is a gift.”
“Not when they fail you.” Her voice splintered and went hoarse. “Not when they abandon you, leave you.”
His expression twisted, as if some internal war waged between his thoughts and the low words that came out of his mouth anyway.
“I will not abandon you, Adel. I would see you free of this place.” There was pain in the lines of his face, the slope of his eyes, the way his shoulders took on the shape of surrender, or defeat. For some reason the sight made it hard to breathe.
“You are risking everything by helping me, by helping Ilona and the Gaul. What do you gain from it?”
