Chapter 26
Her steps heavy with dread, Velia made her way to the hall where the gladiators took their meals. It was nearly empty at this early hour, but Achilles was there, tucking into a bowl of steaming barley porridge.
She slid into the seat across from him. “I need to talk to you.”
He raised his eyebrows as he shoveled another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. “Then talk,” he said through a mouthful of food.
She hesitated, trying to find the words. “Your next match…the emperor has commanded…it will be against Ferox. And it will be to the—to the death.” She swallowed hard after forcing out the terrible mandate.
He paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth. She eyed him warily, unsure how he’d react. In any other situation, this would be a death sentence for him.
His arm lowered, returning the spoon to the bowl. “When?”
“Next week.”
Achilles leaned back, a considering look in his eyes. “All right.”
Velia frowned. “All right? I’ve just told you that you’ll have to face the man who trained you, the man who made you, in a fight to the death, and all you have to say is ‘all right?’”
Achilles shrugged. “If you told me it was to be two weeks, or three, or a month…then I’d be packing my things and fleeing in the night.
But now…” A touch of excitement flared in his eyes.
“I have a chance. Imagine if I beat him, the great Ferox. My fame would explode. People would speak of it for years!”
Velia’s stomach twisted. “You can’t really be thinking of killing him.”
He returned to his meal, his appetite seemingly reinvigorated. “It’s either him or me, isn’t it? That’s what the emperor has decreed.”
A thread of an idea occurred to her, and in desperation she clung to it. “Listen.” She snatched the bowl away from him, ignoring his squawk of protest. “You must know you’re still at a disadvantage. Even injured, Ferox is ten times the fighter you are.”
He scowled at her. “Thanks.”
“I know he won’t want to kill you,” she continued. “What if you both agree not to kill each other?”
Achilles grabbed for his bowl back, but she held it out of his reach. “The emperor ordered it to be a death match,” he said. “I’m not stupid enough to defy that.”
“But Ferox is leaving anyway after this match.” Hope sprouted within her. Maybe, just maybe, if Achilles agreed…she could save them both. “He has nothing to lose by disobeying the emperor. So if you were to throw the fight, let him win…I know he’d swear not to kill you.”
Achilles finally succeeded in clasping his fingers around the edge of the bowl. He yanked, and they wrestled for a moment before his superior strength wrenched it from her grasp. “You talk as if I’m afraid of dying.”
“Aren’t you?”
“If the gamble is between dying or winning more glory than I ever could have dreamed of less than two months into this…I’ll take the bet.”
“Please,” she said desperately. “I can’t lose either of you.”
He gave her a dispassionate glance. “I’m not going to throw the fight, Velia. I know the odds may be still against me, but if I have the chance, I’ll kill him. No mercy.”
His words made her feel sick, but there seemed to be nothing left to say. Achilles’s eyes were steely with determination, and he seemed entirely unfazed by the prospect of death.
“Fine,” Velia sighed. She rose to her feet and turned toward the exit.
“Twelve mourners,” Achilles called from behind her. “We agreed on it, remember?”
She gave him a short nod. He had indeed negotiated twelve mourners in the event of his death, but she’d hoped the promise wouldn’t become relevant for a while yet. “Twelve mourners,” she acknowledged in a low voice, then left the hall.
Velia went to the storeroom to complete her initial errand, fetching clean bandages for Ferox’s wound. She’d begun it less than an hour ago, but already it felt like another life. A life before this terrible decree, this impossible choice.
She knew the emperor intended to punish Ferox with this final match, but it felt like a punishment targeted specifically at Velia.
Gaius Caesar, of course, didn’t even know she existed.
He didn’t care about what these two men meant to her, didn’t care that losing either of them would destroy either her ambitions or her heart.
With the bandages in hand, she trudged back to Ferox’s room, feeling as if she were the one who would face death in a week.
He was sitting up in bed when she entered, occupied in carefully peeling off the bandages to examine the puckered wound beneath. He glanced up at her, and his brows drew together. “Velia, about earlier—”
She held up a hand. “Please don’t.” She couldn’t bear to revisit that conversation, couldn’t add yet another thing that would tear at her heart.
He fell silent. She approached the bed and set about removing the rest of his bandages, tossing them aside.
Her hands trembled as she replaced them with clean ones, wrapping the strips of fabric tightly as the physician had shown her.
She’d done this many times over the past week, when Ferox had been sweating and senseless with fever.
She knew the motion, her hands well-trained.
But now, her shaking fingers fumbled with the fabric, and her vision grew blurry. A tear dropped onto the cloth. She bent her head lower, trying to hide her tears, but Ferox’s large hand found her face. His thumb slipped in the dampness on her cheek as he gently tilted her face up.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he murmured. “I never meant to upset you. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She closed her eyes, clasping his hand to her face. How many more times would she be able to feel his touch? “It’s not that,” she whispered, her voice raspy and unsteady.
“Then what is it?”
She returned her attention to his leg and finished securing the cloth in place with a tight knot, then perched on the edge of the bed.
He moved over, making room for her, and she allowed herself to curl against his chest. Maybe this would be easier if she couldn’t see his face.
“I just spoke with my uncle. Apparently, there was a message from the emperor a few days ago. He waited until your fever had broken to share it.”
Beneath her head, she felt the muscles of his chest and stomach stiffen. “The emperor is expelling me from the games.” The words were resigned, flat—absent of surprise or anger.
She shook her head, her braid brushing his skin. “Worse.” She closed her eyes and forced the words out. “He wants you to fight your last match. Next week. To the death. Against…Achilles.”
He was silent for several long moments, the only sound the thump of his heartbeat in Velia’s ear.
“I see,” he finally murmured.
She straightened. His face was blank of emotion. Between Ferox, Achilles, and Lucullus, why was she the only one so rattled, so nearly broken by what was happening around her?
“Does Achilles know?” Ferox asked.
She nodded. “I just told him. I tried to get him to agree to let you win. I thought I could convince you not to kill him, no matter what the emperor orders. You have nothing to lose. You’re leaving anyway. But he wouldn’t agree!” Desperation sharpened her voice.
“You shouldn’t have suggested that,” Ferox chided. “Asking a gladiator to throw a fight—it’s not honorable.”
“I don’t care about honor!” She launched herself off the bed.
“I care about keeping you both alive. Can’t you see what losing either of you would do to me?
If Achilles dies, I lose everything I’ve put into him.
He’s barely profitable. I’d have to start over.
His death would be on my conscience forever.
And if you die—” She shook her head wordlessly.
Ferox swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the floor, but didn’t rise.
“If Achilles dies, you’ll take everything you’ve learned and acquire a new gladiator.
Yes, it will be a setback, but nothing you can’t handle.
If I die…” He spoke the words as coolly as if they were discussing the potential for rain that day.
“You’ll mourn me for a time, perhaps, but then you’ll go on.
You’ll find a better man. One who can love you the way you want to be loved. ”
“I don’t want a better man,” she snapped.
Words, hot and angry, rushed from her mouth in a torrent.
“I want you. I want you to stay in Rome. I want you to train each and every one of my gladiators for the next ten, twenty, thirty years. I want you alive. I want you in my bed every night and by my side every day. I don’t want you to die in the arena fighting fucking Achilles! ”
He stared at her, his gaze dark and inscrutable. Then he glanced away, saying nothing.
Velia took an indignant step closer to the bed.
“Why don’t you care about any of this? Achilles was the same.
Why am I the only one who feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest?
” She crossed her arms. “Tell me, how would you feel if the positions were reversed? Say, if I were about to face Penthesilea in the arena at the emperor’s command? ”
He gave her a sharp look. “That’s completely different.”
“Tell me,” she pressed. “Tell me how you’d feel. Tell me what you’d do.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. His brows lowered, casting a shadow over his face. “I’d take you away from here. We’d be out of the city before anyone even noticed we were gone. We’d go as far as possible. I’d take you to the wilds of bloody Britannia if that’s what it took to keep you safe.”
“So why not do the same for yourself?” she demanded. “You can leave. Run. You have nothing to lose.”
“And would you come with me?”
The question hung in the air. Velia ground her teeth. “I’m not the one whose life is at stake.”
“I’m not going to run, Velia,” he said quietly.
“There’s no honor in fleeing a fair fight.
And this fight with Achilles—it will be well-matched, given the circumstances.
” He brushed a hand over his bandaged leg.
“Besides, if I fled, do you think the emperor would just give up? He’d blame Lucullus for my defection.
He could take out his anger on your uncle, you, he could even disband the entire ludus if it pleased him.
I won’t have you all suffer for my cowardice. ”
Velia wanted to protest, but she couldn’t argue with his reasoning.
“This fight will happen,” Ferox continued. He heaved himself to his feet, coming toward her. Instinctually, Velia reached for him, wanting to steady him, and caught him by the arms.
His palms cupped her face. “It’s out of your hands now, Velia,” he murmured.
“Please, if there’s one thing you can do for me, don’t distress yourself worrying.
Don’t try to convince me or Achilles to throw the fight or flee or whatever else comes into your head.
It’s in the hands of the gods now. There’s nothing more you can do. ”
Anxiety and dread still tumbled in her stomach. It’s out of your hands. His words were meant to give her relief, but she felt only helplessness at the thought of what was to come. But for his sake, she could pretend to fulfill his request. She gave a shaky nod. “I understand.”
He kissed her on the forehead, and she released a long, heavy breath.