by L. A. Witt
I wet my lips. “He hasn’t.”
“Not yet,” he says. “But you believe he ordered Iovita to kill me?”
“You, and possibly the Lady Verina. He may have ordered others, too. I can’t say for certain.”
Drusus’s piercing blue eyes are still locked on mine, and I wonder if I’d be able to stand at all if not for the chains holding me upright. His voice is hard but quiet as he says, “And if he does command you to do the same now that Iovita has failed?”
“I won’t.” I hold his gaze. “I swear it, I won’t.”
He’s silent for a long, long time. The tip of his tongue worries at the corner of his mouth, and the flagellum’s tails whisper against each other as he shifts his weight, but he doesn’t look away from me. I can’t look anywhere but right back at him.
Eventually, Drusus’s gaze slides toward the flagellum tucked into the crook of his arm. “The other men . . .” He glances at me. “If you leave this room without a mark—”
“I know. I knew before I hit you.” The chains rattle as I try in vain to get comfortable, and I steel myself. “Do what you must.”
Lips apart and brow furrowed, Drusus stares at me, more confused than I’ve ever seen him. “You’ve been whipped before. You know it’s—”
“Yes.” I suppress a shudder. “I do.”
We look at each other. Neither of us moves. Neither speaks.
After a long moment, he tucks the flagellum under his arm. “Thank you, Saevius.” He reaches for my face. “You’ve done more than you can possibly imagine.”
Before I can speak, he raises himself up and presses his lips to mine. We’re both still, not even breathing, until he pulls back and looks in my eyes. Then his hand curves around the back of my neck, and he kisses me again, harder this time. Gods, every look he’s given me makes sense now, as does every look I’ve ever given him, and even the fear and anticipation of pain rushing through my veins can’t temper the heat his kiss ignites.
He parts his lips, and I tilt my head as he welcomes my tongue into his mouth. His kiss is intoxicating, perhaps because I never expected it and perhaps because it’s Drusus, and I curl my hands into fists, straining against the shackles and chains, but they refuse to give. No matter how hard I try, I cannot touch him.
Drusus breaks away, and our eyes meet. He’s out of breath. So am I.
He looks at the flagellum again. “Gods help me, I can’t do this.” He releases a breath and caresses my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Not after you’ve quite possibly saved Verina’s life. And mine.”
“What choice do you have?”
He chews his lip.
“We both know you can’t let me leave here unscathed,” I say. “If you do, the men will have more reason to think there’s something unusual going on. That, or they’ll think they can attack you without consequence.”
Drusus closes his eyes and pushes out a long breath through his nose.
“I bloodied your face, Drusus,” I whisper. “I knew what the consequences would be.”
Slowly, he nods. Then he opens his eyes. He kisses me lightly, and when he backs away this time, he lowers his gaze.
My heart beats faster when he walks around me.
Behind me, he stops. His leather breastplate creaks, and the long, stiff tails of the flagellum rattle against each other.
“Forgive me, Saevius.”
Somehow, my legs are moving. My feet drag, and every couple of steps, I trip on the stones beneath me, but my legs are moving. It’s only because of the rough hands gripping my arms that I don’t stop or crumble to the ground. They force me to keep moving.
My mouth is sour. My head spins and throbs. I can’t even lift it, and just let it fall forward. Concentrate on walking. And not getting sick again. And staying conscious.
And the pain. My back. My shoulders. Every movement—every breath—brings more flames to life. I’ve given up begging the gods for death. Maybe it’ll come, maybe it won’t, but I don’t have the strength to send up another prayer.
The world is brighter now. Blinding. Heat presses against drying blood and scourged flesh. When my eyes adjust, I’m outside. There are voices nearby, clattering weapons, and all those sounds falter. Or maybe I’m fading again, spiraling from this world into—
“On your feet,” a voice beside me barks. The hands on my arms tighten. Shake me. Jolt me hard enough to clear my mind.
We stop. I’m on sand. The voices and weapons really have ceased now, and only a hushed murmur remains.
“Into ranks,” someone near me shouts. “All of you. Now.”
Feet thump on the ground. I swear I can feel every step reverberating through me. Then, everyone is still and silent again.
Another set of footsteps—only one this time—crunches on the sand behind me until they too stop.
“Turn around, Saevius.” Drusus’s voice sends chills through me.
Forgive me, Saevius, I hear him whispering what seems like a lifetime ago.
I bloodied your face, Drusus. It was so easy to say then. I knew what the consequences would be.
“Turn. Around.”
The hands on my arms let go, and I will my shaking legs to stay under me as I go through the simple but excruciating motions of a slow about-face.
Behind me, the men murmur and curse. I think someone retches, but I can’t be sure. Gods, how badly is my back wounded to make gladiators ill?
“Saevius,” Drusus says coldly. “Look at me.”
I swallow the rising bile and lift my chin. I blink a few times to bring my vision into focus.
His face is as cold as his voice. “Get on your knees.”
I hold his gaze. He holds mine.
Forgive me, Saevius.
I knew what the consequences would be.
“The master gave you an order,” Arabo barks, and before I can think, he kicks my knee out from under me. The other buckles, and I drop to the sand.
Drusus walks past me. He’s behind me again. He’s still. I shiver, bracing just as I did before the first strike in the pit.
“Look at him,” Drusus snarls. “Look at him, and remember this. Let him be a warning to every last filthy bastard among you.”
No one makes a sound. I’m not sure anyone is even breathing. Not even me.
“This will not be tolerated,” Drusus says.
The familiar rattle. Oh gods. My throat closes around my breath, and every inch of shredded flesh burns with anticipation of more, especially as Drusus says, “Any one of you attacks me like this fool did, I promise you that this will only be the beginning of your punishment.”
Whoosh.
The lashes carve fresh streaks of fire across my back. The sound that leaves my lips seems to come from somewhere else, and I fall forward onto my shaking arms.
Another whoosh warns me there’s more coming. The lashes haven’t even touched me before I vomit on the sand between my hands. My elbows almost buckle. Much more, and they will.
I barely feel the flagellum’s talons rip into my flesh this time. The pain is there, but I’m not. I’m somewhere else. Fading deeper into blackness with every vicious stroke. Every stroke I can’t even count.
Shaking. Falling.
One elbow collapses. Then the other.
Hot sand. More pain. More vomit. Blood.
A foot rams into my hip. I grunt and topple onto my side. Sand grinds itself into my mutilated back and shoulder.
I blink my eyes into focus and look up at him. He sneers down at me, but for a fleeting instant, half a heartbeat at best, his brow knits together.
His expression quickly hardens again, and he looks past me. “Get him to the medicus.” Then he turns on his heel and leaves.
Forgive me, Saevius.
I close my eyes.
Hands around my arms. Someone jerks me upright.
Darkness.
The foul-smelling tincture threatens to make me retch again, but it dulls the fierce burning across my back and shoulders en
ough that I’ll gladly deal with what it does to my stomach. The medicus works slowly on my scourged flesh, suturing the worst of the wounds.
Finally, he’s finished. “You’re not to spar again until you have my say so.”
“Right.” I don’t think I could spar now if I wanted to anyway.
The medicus eyes me. “I mean it. Drusus has a problem with it? Send ’im to me.”
I nod, but say nothing.
Drusus. My stomach twists. My mouth still tingles with the absence of his lips and tongue, but after what feels like an eternity of my head being light from pain and all the blood I’ve lost, I wonder if I imagined it all. My lanista kissed me? Impossible.
Why are you telling me and not the Master Laurea? he’d asked. Calvus Laurea could kill you for this.
I know.
And yet you did it anyway. Why?
I slowly run the tip of my tongue across my lower lip, searching for a taste of that long-since-cooled—and possibly imagined—kiss. Why, indeed?
The medicus finishes bandaging my back and gives me one more gruff warning about sparring before I’m healed.
Arabo comes to collect me. He shackles my wrists and ankles, and neither of us say a word as he leads me out of the infirmary. We pass through the training yard. I don’t look at the men. I don’t need to. I can feel their gazes—curious, murderous—even as I keep my own fixed on the sand beneath my feet.
Their matches slow. Some stop. Whispers. Murmurs. Gods be with me when I return to my training, because no gladiator will want to associate with one who’s willing to attack the lanista. The greater distance they keep from me, the less likely they are to be killed if I try anything again. Except we all know damn well no lanista wants another Spartacus on his hands, and no gladiator wants to die because a lanista suspects a possible uprising, so the first chance these men get, they’ll be falling over themselves to be the one to kill me.
For now, though, I’m to be kept under lock and key. As far as the men know, I’m under heavy guard to keep me from committing another such offense. Just as well.
Arabo takes me to a new cell, separated from the rest of the barracks. No windows. A single door. Two guards I pray haven’t been bribed, persuaded, or otherwise compelled to kill me for the other men’s safety.
Let someone kill me. Death would be merciful now.
I settle onto the small, hard rack, cursing the straw that prickles my flesh and the bandages that press against my wounds. Gods, yes, death would be welcome. Or sleep. Some kind of oblivion.
Before long, thank the gods, darkness takes over.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been in here. Days, at least. The grimy bowl has been refilled with cold gruel . . . four times? Five? The pain has diminished, though it won’t be gone anytime soon. My desire for death or sleep has changed to boredom. Restlessness. The cell is shrinking around me, and pacing only makes it shrink faster.
At least Calvus or Ataiun can’t summon me from in here. I’m long overdue for a meeting with one of them, but I can’t as long as I’m imprisoned within the ludus.
Chains rattle, and I look up to see Arabo approaching with shackles in his hand.
“The master demands your presence.” He pushes open the door. “Immediately.”
I don’t fight him as he shackles me. It’s best for the men to see me this way as much as possible; anything to convince them Drusus and I are enemies.
Arabo leads me to that familiar room where Drusus waits. My shackles are removed, and then the bodyguards step outside and close the door, leaving me alone with the lanista.
Drusus sits in his usual chair, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s got a message in his hands. His lips are tight and eyebrows knitted together like the words are painful to read.
His hands moving slowly, perhaps even reverently, he rolls the paper into a scroll. He doesn’t look at me as he says, “Your wounds. How are . . .”
“They’ll heal.”
He runs his finger back and forth along the rolled scroll. “But you’re in pain.”
“I will be for some time.” I shift my weight. “But the worst has passed.” When he flinches, I add, “It was necessary. We both know it.”
Drusus nods. Then he pulls in a breath. “I need you to deliver this. To Verina.” With unsteady hands, he melts some wax with a candle, and I barely hear him as he adds, “I can’t trust anyone else. Not with this.”
“Of course, Dominus.”
He says nothing. He seals the scroll, but doesn’t press a signet into the melted wax. Once the wax has hardened, Drusus stands and holds out the scroll, but still doesn’t look at me.
I carefully close my fingers around the message and take it from him.
Eyes down, Drusus speaks. “The Lady Laurea will be at the market this afternoon. There is a servant who accompanies her. Lucia.” Swallowing hard, Drusus looks at the message in my hands. “Give it to Lucia, but do not tell her it is from me. If she asks, assure her Verina will know.”
“I will, Dominus.” I tuck the scroll into my belt.
“Thank you.” Finally he looks up at me, and when our eyes meet, he swallows. “Your back . . . are you sure . . .”
“It’ll heal.”
He holds my gaze. We’re close together, close enough one of us could reach for the other, but neither of us moves, and his intense eyes are unsettling.
After a long moment, he says, “I still can’t quite work out why you did what you did. You knew I would . . .” He pauses, and his face colors. “You knew you’d be scourged for it. That I’d have no other choice.”
“I’d do it again,” I blurt out. “Even now.”
His lips part. “I just don’t understand why.”
I pull in a breath. “I’m not sure I do either. But . . . I don’t regret it.”
We lock eyes once again, and I wonder if he has as much difficulty breathing as I do. My heart’s pounding as it always does when I face Drusus, and the phantom tingle on my lips says I know damn well why I can’t breathe, why my heart’s racing, and why I’d take a scourging for Drusus again without a second thought.
He moistens his lips. “Saevius . . .”
I can’t take another moment. I reach for his face, and before my hands touch his flesh, his own hands are on the sides of my neck, and he’s drawn me in until our lips are nearly together.
And here, we stop, breathing hard against each other, and I’m sure he can feel my heart thundering against his breastplate. His mouth is close enough to mine, his breath warms my lips. I’m distantly aware I’m on an entirely new kind of dangerous ground, that this is foolish, but all I can think is that I can nearly taste his wine in the air between us.
He releases a breath and draws back enough to look in my eyes. “I’m your master, Saevius, but . . . I won’t force this on you.”
I close my eyes and touch my forehead to his. “It’s your right.”
“And as your master, I’m giving you the choice,” he breathes, our lips just brushing. “I won’t have a man who doesn’t want me.” Soft desperation tinges the edges of his voice as he whispers, “Saevius, tell me—”
I cover his lips with mine.
He grasps my hair and returns my kiss. His mouth is soft, but precise; everywhere his lips touch or his tongue teases is deliberate, I’m sure of it.
He pulls me against him, and we both stumble until his back hits the wall. I curse his armor, his damned belt, the distracting wounds beneath my tunic, everything that keeps us far enough apart that I can’t feel if this affects him like it does me.
Abruptly, though, Drusus puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back half a step. He lets his head fall against the wall. “Jupiter’s balls, we can’t do this.”
I step back, but as soon as the gap between us widens, Drusus reaches for me again, and I seize the edges of his breastplate. His kiss is demanding and unrelenting, and I match his hunger and aggression. My hands drift down, and my fingers curl around the tightly fastened laces on
the sides of his breastplate. Jupiter, Neptune, and Venus, what I wouldn’t give to take away these laces and feel his flesh, even through his clothing. What I wouldn’t give to get past all this—
Drusus breaks away again. “I’m sorry . . .” He meets my eyes. “We . . .”
He can’t speak. I can’t. I can barely breathe. It’s like all the air in the room is gone.
Then Drusus clears his throat and lowers his gaze. “You need to go soon. She’ll be there before long.”
“Right.” I gesture at the scroll in my belt. “I’m on my way.”
Message in hand, I start for the door.
“Saevius.”
I stop and face him again. “Yes?”
His back is to me now, his head turned so he’s only visible in profile. “Nothing happened in this room.” The cold lanista’s voice is back, but it’s not as sharp and rigid as usual. “Or in the pit. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Dominus.”
Barely whispering, he says, “Dismissed.”
Arabo shackles my wrists again, and we leave through the ludus’s front gate. Men watch. They whisper. The gods only know what they suspect now, if they wonder whether I’ll return alive or at all.
Drusus’s bodyguard stays with me, a hand on my elbow until we’re well out of sight from the ludus. Then he opens the shackles.
“I’ll wait here,” he says.
I nod. “I shouldn’t be long.”
I check again to be sure the scroll is still safely tucked beneath the tunic that’s scratching and irritating my scourged, sutured back. It’s there, just as it should be, so I hurry down the street toward the marketplace.
My heart beats faster as I pass the Forum. Men in togas swarm this place, politicians coming and going, clustering here and there to discuss whatever it is politicians discuss. By the distinct purple stripes on more than a few togas, there are senators out here. And where there are senators, there are other politicians. Any one of whom could be Calvus Laurea.
The crowded marketplace offers relief from that fear, and I search less for Calvus and more for his wife and her servant.
The streets here are choked with people, and many are noblewomen and their servants. I’ve only seen Verina a few times, just when she’s visited the ludus and then the occasional flash of her face from beneath a hood as she slipped in or out of a rendezvous with Drusus, but I’ll find her.