CHAPTER FIVE
I’m forced to watch as Domitian walks out into the arena to meet his doom. He’s armored in scraps of plate and leather, but I can see at a glance the armor doesn’t protect the most vital areas of his flesh. It’s for show, and perhaps to make sure that he doesn’t die too quickly.
His weapon is a great sword like the one he used to try to kill me, but this one looks heavy and clumsy in his hands.
I can see the reason for that instantly: there’s a dampener on his wrist, cutting off his access to the magic that would normally aid him in battle and let him wield the huge weapon with ease.
But Domitian is still a seasoned warrior and I guess he won’t go down without a fight.
He sets off carefully across the sand, then builds speed, roaring as he charges at Rexel.
Marcus hasn’t announced the start of the bout, but it’s clear Domitian doesn’t care.
He’s just determined to kill his opponent.
Rexel weaves aside from the blow, opening a slash on Domitian’s side with one of his red hot blades.
I see the cruel nature of the gladiator’s power, because it means his weapon cauterizes the wound even as it inflicts it, damaging and hurting Domitian without letting him bleed out too quickly on the sands.
The crowd roars as the two fighters circle one another.
Domitian swings his sword in arcs that need his full bodyweight to power them, while Rexel dances around him, looking for an opening.
He can’t afford to get caught by even one swing of that much larger blade.
I find myself leaning forward, captivated by that contest of speed against strength.
“Should your new pet be looming over us, Marcus?” Selene asks. “She should be on her knees, I think.”
Marcus looks at me and I’m torn between the instinct to object to anything Selene suggests and the knowledge that she’s only looking for an opportunity to force Marcus to punish me. I fall to my knees, hating the humiliation of it but still keeping my eyes fixed on the contest.
Not that it’s much of a contest, I quickly realize.
Domitian manages some good initial swings, but his time in the prison hasn’t been kind to him and, without his magic, he doesn’t have the strength to wield his great sword like some child’s toy.
I can see him tiring, and it’s obvious Rexel can, too.
The gladiator moves in on Domitian, dodging one swipe, then another.
He flashes past the former senator, slashing him with his blades again and again.
I expect to hear the crowd cheering their approval.
Instead, the colosseum is largely silent, as if the crowd has realized that this is a contest in name only.
Domitian stumbles, then thrusts at Rexel as the gladiator moves in, but its obvious Rexel has seen the feint for what it is. He twists aside from the blow, grabbing Domitian with both hands.
Domitian screams as flames burst over him.
He’s like a tower of flame standing in the middle of the sands.
Rexel holds to him, obviously not affected by the heat.
He keeps fueling the flames, holding Domitian there while the stench of burning flesh fills the air.
The sight of the would be usurper’s death is so horrifying I think I might throw up.
No one deserves a death like this, but Rexel doesn’t do the merciful thing and cut his throat.
He just keeps holding Domitian, as if he’s been commanded to make his death as spectacular as possible, holds him upright until there’s nothing left out there on the sands but ashes.
“Why aren’t they cheering?” Selene demands. “They should be cheering.”
I don’t have my powers, but I can still see the flicker of violet in Selene’s eyes as she uses her powers, sending a burst of psychomancy out to prompt the crowd to respond.
They cheer, but there’s none of the primal bloodlust that would usually be there.
Selene has misjudged this, giving them a spectacle they never wanted to see.
She stands, sharply. “I’m heading down to the receiving rooms,” she says, holding out her hand to Marcus. “Will you join me?”
It’s a request that doesn’t seem to allow for a refusal. At least, not without angering Selene. Marcus nods and the two of them head for the door to the box.
“Come with me,” Marcus orders me, and I have as little choice as him as we head down through the colosseum.
The receiving rooms have always been as big a part of the colosseum as the arena floor.
Where the sands feature the blood and sweat of the gladiators, the receiving rooms represent the corruption bound up in the games.
They’re a place for the wealthy and the powerful to meet with gladiators, and one another, a place stocked with fine food and wine, couches to relax on and side rooms for nobles to take gladiators to for pleasure.
In the old days, they were a place for gladiators to search for patrons, or to meet with those who’d already forged that connection with them.
Today, they’re filled with nobles and merchants, gang leaders and senators.
People Selene wants to influence, I suspect.
She moves through the crowd there smoothly with Marcus by her side, the two of them stopping to smile and clasp hands with one person after another while I’m forced to follow them like a shadow.
I can feel the eyes on me, silently judging me in my new position.
Olivia is there, lounging on a couch while a handsome servant feeds her grapes.
“Did you enjoy the show, Lyra?” she asks.
“Did anyone actually enjoy it?” I counter. “Watching a man burn to death?”
Domitian might have been my enemy once, but I still hate the way he died. I can’t believe Selene really thought the people would want to see that end for him.
“Careful how you speak to your betters,” Olivia says. “You’re not a senator now.”
She stands, pushing aside the young man.
“It’s a pity I wasn’t the one who got to claim you,” she says. “I would have shown you your place. Although maybe Marcus wouldn’t be averse to me taking you into one of the side rooms for a while.”
Marcus is there beside me then. “As you say, Olivia, you weren’t the one who got to claim her. I was. And I think the time has come for me to take Lyra home.”
“Planning to leave us so soon, Marcus?” Selene asks, stepping up beside Olivia. “Are you that eager to enjoy your prize?”
Marcus shrugs. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Selene looks me over. “Personally, I can’t see the appeal, but you have done so much for me to earn her. I guess I can hardly begrudge you this. Very well, Marcus. I’ll speak with you soon.”
Marcus takes me by the arm, leading me away from the receiving rooms quickly, heading down through the colosseum.
“What’s your plan, Marcus?” I ask him. “Take me back to your villa and simply throw me into your bed?”
Marcus shoots me a look. “You know, you could be a little grateful that I played a part in getting you out of prison.”
“Only to make me your prisoner in turn,” I point out. This is better than the constant threat of violence from the guards, but only by a little. It doesn’t make my current situation something I should be thanking him for.
“You don’t know what I had to do to get you here,” Marcus says.
But the truth is I don’t want to know, because I’m almost certain Marcus has been doing everything Selene wants while I’ve been locked away. Even today, he happily stood by her side, as if the two of them are the closest of allies, rather than doing anything to try to stop her.
When I don’t answer, Marcus tightens his grip on my arm slightly, continuing to march me through the colosseum until we reach the gates and the waiting palanquin.
“My villa,” he snaps to the waiting bearers as he bundles me inside. They lift the palanquin and set off before we’re even fully settled. It means I’m thrown against Marcus by the jolting of the conveyance, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath his toga.
I pull back from him hurriedly, as far as the palanquin allows. Marcus looks a little hurt, but doesn’t say anything as we keep going through the city.
“It could have been you out there on the sands, you know,” Marcus says, after a minute or two. “Selene told me several times that she thought it might be better if she had you killed.”
“And you don’t think she was doing that to get you to do what she wanted?” I say. “Or maybe just to see how you reacted? I bet she was using psychomancy to look into your mind the whole time.”
“You think I don’t have protections against psychomancy?” Marcus demands. “After what happened to my family?”
Marcus’ family was a wealthy merchant house under the empire, at least until Marcus’ father upset the emperor.
Tiberius had Marcus’ father killed, but he wasn’t done destroying the family even then.
He sent a psychomancer to influence Marcus’ mother, getting her to sign away most of the family wealth before finally driving her to kill herself.
It’s a horrific fate that makes me feel a twinge of sympathy for Marcus every time I think about it.
Which is why I don’t want to think about it now.
I don’t want to feel sympathy for Marcus after all he’s done, and with what he might still do to me.
The palanquin comes to a halt and we step out in front of Marcus’ villa within the city.
It’s a walled compound of white marble, with a red slate roof.
Marcus leads me inside, into a space that’s an elegant display of wealth, with mosaics on the floor depicting ships crossing the sea and painted statues set here and there in niches.
There are servants waiting for Marcus, but he waves them away.
“Come with me,” he says to me, leading me upstairs. Worry rises in me with every step we take. Is he planning to take me to his bedroom? Does he think that because I’m his prisoner, he can do as he wishes with me?
Yet it isn’t that room to which he takes me. Instead, Marcus leads me to a small, empty bedroom at the rear of the villa, with a view out over a couple of olive trees in the compound. There’s a bed, a chest, and a small table.
“This space is yours,” Marcus says. “There’s water in one of the jugs if you want to wash, and clothes in the trunk.”
“And then?” I ask.
Marcus steps away from me. “We’ll talk in the morning, Lyra.”
That catches me by surprise, especially when he says it in a neutral tone, carefully devoid of emotion. It’s obvious Marcus is trying to hold back everything he’s feeling. It’s a long way from what I expected of him as he steps out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind him.
I look around at my room, unsure what to make of it.
When I’ve stayed in Marcus’ villa before, it’s always been beside him.
Now, he seems determined to keep distance between us.
I don’t know if that’s because he wants to show me I can trust him, or because he knows he has all the time in the world now I’m his prisoner.
And I am a prisoner. I might not be stuck underground or surrounded by guards, but I still can’t leave. I don’t know what to make of my new situation. All I can do is wait for morning and hope that it will make more sense then.