Page 35 of Brother at Arms

Xerxes pushed his own plumed helmet back and grinned at me. “I can take care of myself, Leonidas.”

“What happened to you?” I shouted at him. “What distracted you? Why did you not guard yourself in the end?”

My words came out muffled and jumbled, barely speech at all. Xerxes fixed me with his characteristic amused stare.

“Find out, if you can. People have lives when you’re not looking, you know.”

“Just tell me,” I commanded in desperation. “Did someone kill you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about Lucius. He’s a fool, and an overconfident one. Don’t trust anything he says.”

With that, Xerxes slammed his helmet down over his face and took up a fighting stance, sword ready.

Not a real sword, a wooden rudis. The one in my hand was bronze.

I wouldn’t kill him. Aemil had reconsidered and put me in instead of Perseus to delight the crowd. Xerxes and I would mock fight, maybe nick each other for a show of blood, then go home to celebrate Saturnalia.

Xerxes came at me, battering me relentlessly with his wooden sword. I countered with my shield, trying desperately not to stab him with the metal blade. The crowd jeered and hissed, calling me a coward.

Xerxes rushed me, his helmet gone now. I swerved to avoid him, but my feet were sunk in the arena’s sand, and I couldn’t move.

My arm stuck stiffly out, and Xerxes ran straight into my blade.

Chapter 11

I twitched and flailed in the bed, trying to break out of the dream, but I found no release.

Xerxes gaped at me, his blood pouring hot over my hand, his eyes filled with betrayal.

“Why didn’t you save me?” he demanded, the words clogged. “Where were you? My dearest friend?”

Xerxes shoved me away but fell himself, landing in a tangled heap. His mouth remained open, and his eyes were sightless, clouded over.

Aemil came charging at me, fury in every stride. “What did you do?” he demanded. “You killed him. You’ll pay.”

He locked hands around my throat, and I struggled for breath. Aemil was ten years older than me, but he was hardly feeble. He squeezed, and blackness rushed up to take me.

I woke with a gasp, seizing the hand that came down to my shoulder.

I found myself facing the manservant who’d left the now spent lamp, skylights above the bed filling the room with morning sunshine.

The manservant burbled in pain, and I swiftly released him. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Dreaming.”

I’d slept in my tunic, now rumpled, on top of the bed instead of beneath covers, which obviously displeased him.

“The master is waiting for you in the atrium,” the manservant said, rubbing his wrist in irritation. “It is time for the Lemuria ceremony.”

He turned from me abruptly and went out, taking the lamp on his way.

When I reached the atrium, I found the entire household assembled.

Cassia, dressed in her best ankle-length tunic and wearing the gold earrings Livius’s father had given her, stood among the servants of the household.

The men and women around her watched deferentially as Livius approached his head bodyguard, Junius, who held a small jug in his hand.

Menekrates glowered at me from his place with the senior servants when I hurried in, my tunic still disheveled from sleep. At least I’d been barbered a few days ago, so my hair was shaved close to my head, though my chin was now rough with whiskers.

Livius sent me a welcoming nod as I slid through the crowd to stand beside Cassia. She gave me a quiet glance, as though sensing I’d spent a bad night.