CHAPTER SIX #2
“These are called scutums,” Leon says. “The Guard uses them in battle, but so do the stronger gladians. Not only does this kind of shield provide the best protection, but it makes an excellent weapon in the arena as well.” His mouth thins as he watches my arms shake, and he takes a practice sword, swinging it at me.
I’m losing the battle to keep the shield high before he even finishes the swing.
“Put it down.” Leon’s voice is somehow both sharp and empty at the same time.
Something in my chest wrenches. I knew he hated me, and I told myself I’d accepted that years ago. But …
I drop the shield on the ground, and a snigger sounds to my left. A woman strolls past, effortlessly holding a scutum of her own. I recognize her as the woman who looked at Rorrik like he was everything she’s ever wanted directly after he murdered someone in front of us.
“You can’t lift it?” Her voice is purposefully loud, and she ignores Leon, turning to stroll away, but several other gladians nearby have heard her, and I can feel their eyes on me. My skin turns hot.
So much for not showcasing my weakness.
I turn back to Leon. Silence hangs between us as he studies my face. I’m not sure what he sees, but he leans down and picks up another shield.
“Your skill has always been your speed,” he says gruffly.
“You’ll use the parma. Yes, it’s smaller,” he continues as I gaze at the round wooden shield.
“And no, it won’t provide you with as much protection.
But you’ll be more mobile, and you can train with it while working on your upper body strength. ”
Yes, my skill has always been my speed. Because this man ensured it when I was too young to understand what he was doing.
The training hall fades around me. Suddenly I’m five years old, Kassia’s hand clutched in mine, standing in Thalunia’s temple, as Leon begs his goddess to bless us the way he was blessed.
The memory turns fuzzy, and I push it away, sliding the strap of the shield over my left forearm, positioning my hand so that I can grip the handle. Even the smaller shield is heavy, and the muscles on the left side of my body strain as I hold it up at chest height.
Leon nods. And then he swings.
Again and again and again, his sword meets my shield. We fall into a rhythm. He’s not even breaking a sweat, but he aims each slash, swipe, and strike at different points on my body, forcing me to shift both the shield and my feet accordingly.
I tire quickly. Too quickly. Within minutes, I’m panting, my arms shaking. Leon’s expression is dark, and when he throws down his wooden sword, it hits the floor with a clatter.
“Your strength is all but gone, your natural instinct has disappeared, and your speed …” He shakes his head. “Even Thalunia’s gifts must be trained. What were you doing for the past six years?”
Bitterness rises, sharp and hot. “Keeping my brothers fed and alive.” While he ignored us and became a recluse in his cottage.
Leon opens his mouth to say something, but his gaze slips past me.
The Primus is leaning against a nearby wall, that armor covering every inch of his body and face. And he’s watching me.
“You need to go home,” the Primus says, his voice as rough as boots on gravel.
My sweat turns icy. He hasn’t paid attention to anyone else near me. Does he know I’ve been sent to kill the emperor? Is that why he’s attempting to give me a chance to leave? A chance to live?
Several people nearby laugh at his words, and the Primus slowly turns his head. The laughter cuts off abruptly.
I keep my gaze on him. “I can’t.”
“Then I’ll make you.”
Someone calls to him, and he turns, stalking away.
“Ten laps,” Leon says, as if nothing happened. “Sprint.”
Nodding, I go to drop the shield and he shakes his head. “Take it with you. Hold it up.”
Grinding my teeth, I join a few others in their laps. Thankfully, they ignore me.
Circling the hall allows me to see the others training.
A group of gladians work on knife skills, hands fast and sure as they throw blades at their targets, disarm their opponents, and slice out with wicked speed.
Several people climb up and down the ropes using only their arms. A woman calls down to Maeva, nimbly wrapping the rope around her waist and one leg and holding herself horizontally in the air.
She reminds me of an acrobat, and Maeva gives her a grin before going back to her own drills.
She’s fast, too, her sword slicing through the air as her guardant calls out instruction.
In one corner, a group of gladians are training with magic.
All of them are at least half-crowned bronze, and a man with a face covered in freckles throws flames from his hand, while his opponent sends up a gust of wind, driving the flames straight back at him.
A woman with long, yellow-blond hair smirks, and both of the men curse, feet wheeling as they slip on the sudden pool of water beneath their feet.
In another corner, a group of vampires are throwing knives, the blades nothing but a blur, until they hit the target with a thump.
I pass Leon and he folds his arms. “Faster.”
Everywhere I look, sigilmarked and vampires spar with scutum and parma shields, broadswords and daggers. Their arms are strong, their footwork flawless. Each lap reinforces just how out of my depth I am.
Baldric and Hester train in the center of the hall, fighting two opponents each. Baldric trips one of the men, slamming a wooden sword into his back with a laugh.
By the time I finish a few laps, I know exactly why Leon made me run laps, and it has nothing to do with the burning in my muscles.
Six years of bodyguard work has sharpened my instincts. Guarding the kind of people who have potentially violent enemies is a great way to learn how to judge those enemies at a glance and react accordingly.
By my fifth lap, I know Maeva is playing smart.
Instead of showcasing her skills for everyone to see, her movements are carefully restrained, her speed slower than what she’s capable of.
She can’t completely dampen her instincts when responding to a strike or blow, but she’s slowing that response down as much as she can.
Clever.
By my sixth lap, I know Baldric has an anger problem—as if that wasn’t already evident from the moment we met. He’s strong and fast, but each time his opponent gets beneath his guard, he takes it as a personal affront, his eyes hardening, teeth bared in frustration.
By my seventh lap, I know the best way to fight Hester will be to tire her out. She’s fast, but her stamina is lacking. Kaeso, on the other hand, never seems to stop moving, the vampire dancing from side to side as he grins at his opponent.
By my eighth lap, I know if I ever have to fight Titus—the hulking brute of a man who seems to have more muscle than brains—I’d better have honed my speed to a knife edge. If he hits me even once, I’m in big trouble.
By my ninth lap, I’m too tired to focus. My abs feel like a knotted fist of pain, my arms throb, and my back muscles scream relentlessly at me.
Finally, I drop my parma, suppressing a wince at the ache in my arms. Leaning over, I suck in huge, panting breaths.
Leon’s eyes meet mine and he gives me a stiff nod. “Get something to eat and meet me back here after lunch.”
I keep my head high, attempting to hide my exhaustion as I stroll from the training hall. I know from experience I’ll barely be able to walk when I get out of bed tomorrow morning.
On a whim, I stroll past the dining hall, until I’m standing in front of the statue of Anoxian. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. Is Anoxian pleased by the emperor’s games? Or does he find them to be a poor substitution for true battle?
Several gladians have left more offerings at his feet overnight. A dagger—clearly new. A bunch of dried flowers, tied together with black ribbon. A set of bracers.
I’m not as pious as I should be. I’ve never felt the gods steering me toward any particular path as others claim to. And yet …
Please, Anoxian. Don’t let me die before I free my brothers. I’ll give you a good show in the arena. I’ll devote each challenge to you. Just help me stay alive.
Silence. I don’t know what I was expecting. Shaking my head at myself, I turn to go, but something catches my eye. A tiny mark carved into Anoxian’s chest. A mark that wasn’t there when I arrived yesterday, I’m almost sure of it.
A twisted spiral starts from a sharp point at the center and widens as it unfurls.
Surrounding the spiral, thin, spidery lines radiate outward like cracks in glass, growing fainter as they extend.
Encircling the spiral, a ring is punctuated by four distinct symbols in each direction—symbols I’ve never seen before.
Tiny dots and lines are randomly dotted across the entire design, the gaps jagged and uneven.
The mark is entirely unfamiliar, but it makes my skin break out in goose bumps, makes a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. My reaction to it is violent, a sudden wave of nausea crashing over me.
Giving into my instincts, I turn and hurry away.
I LOAD MY tray with flatbread, chicken, and fruit, before making my way toward a small table near the front of the room. A table where I can be alone.
A huge hand wraps around my upper arm. I yank at it, and my tray wobbles dangerously.
The Primus doesn’t release his grip.
I freeze, waiting for the cold slice of metal as his sword runs me through. Instead, the Primus leans close.
“You’ll sit with us.”
All the spit evaporates from my mouth. “No thank you.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
He hauls me toward the imperius’s table, and voices around us trail off. The back of my neck heats. At least eight of the imperiums are already seated, still wearing their intimidating black armor, although no one else is wearing a helmet.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
The Primus simply kicks a chair out from the table and nods at me to sit.
I hesitate.
He looms even closer, his armor creaking as he folds his arms.