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17

I stood outside the dining hall, letting the evening air cool my skin after training. My muscles ached from the practice bouts, but it was a clean pain, honest. Different from the hollow feeling that always came with this time of day, when the arena's strict routines gave way to these moments of... whatever this was. Freedom wasn't the right word, but during meals, we weren't drilling or fighting or performing. Just existing. Sometimes that felt harder than any fight.

The hollow feeling was worse without Livia there. It had been two days since her head injury in the arena and I found myself missing her constant chatter, the way she'd plop down beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I never knew what to say back, but she didn't seem to mind. Just kept talking, smiling, acting like I was any other gladiator. Like the other slaves didn't whisper warnings to her about getting too close to the half-breed.

My mother used to talk like that too, easily, warmly. Even on those nights when I'd wake up crying about the things other children said, about the demon that must live inside me. She'd stroke my hair and tell me how she'd loved my father, how he'd loved her back. How she'd chosen him, no matter what people said about the Talfen. But she'd been killed before I was old enough to ask the questions that haunt me now. Before I could understand what her choice had cost her.

Time to eat. Time to be seen eating, to prove I could be civilized. To show I could sit among them without bringing their nightmares to life. To pretend I wasn't terrified that someday, they'd turn out to be right about what I am. I took a deep breath, pulled open the heavy wooden door, and descended the stairs into the dining hall's familiar stench of sweat and tallow candles.

I sat alone at the end of one of the long wooden tables, the empty spaces to either side of me as familiar as bruises. Steam rose from my bowl of watery bean stew, barely visible in the dim light filtering down from the narrow windows set high in the basement walls. Three house slaves huddled at the table behind me, their voices carrying clearly in the crowded space. I kept my head down, stirring the stew with my wooden spoon, but my ears twitched at their words.

"My brother served on the eastern frontier," one was saying, scraping his bowl. "Says he saw what the Talfen did to a border village. Didn't leave anything alive - not the people, not the livestock, not even the dogs. Burned every building to ash, poisoned the wells so nothing could ever live there again."

“I heard the attacks are increasing, all along the border. The soldiers at the fort are definitely drilling harder in case they attack Veredus.”

His friend scoffed. “We’re miles from the border. There’s no way the Talfen could attack so far from their lands. They get their dark magic from the ground, they’d never leave it to invade this far into the Empire.”

“Let’s hope so, or there won’t be anything of Veredus left.”

"Heard the same from a grain merchant," another replied, his voice thick with certainty. "Said they found three settlements like that last spring. No survivors to tell what happened. Just scorched earth and silence. Not even the scavenger birds would go near."

"That's their way, isn't it?" the third added. "They're not human. Demons, all of them. They don't just kill - they erase. Make it like you never existed at all. Even the half breeds..."

He trailed off suddenly, probably realising I was in hearing distance. I didn't react. That was something a human man could do, not a half breed like me. Turn on them, show anger at their insults, or gods forbid, violence, and I doubted Drusus would think twice about having me killed. Instead, I focused on my breathing, kept it steady.

My spoon had stopped moving. I made it start again, forced myself to take another mouthful of stew though it tasted like ashes now. These weren't even particularly cruel men - I'd seen them joke with other gladiators, share drinks after matches. But the hatred came as naturally to them as breathing.

My attention drifted to where Septimus sat with several other gladiators, their table slightly elevated on a platform at the far end of the hall. He was finishing his meal, which meant I'd need to approach him soon if I wanted to ask about Livia. Cato sat near him, and the thought of approaching them made my stomach clench, but I wanted to know if she was recovering.

Septimus stood, scraping back his chair. Now or never. I rose slowly, careful to keep my movements smooth, unthreatening. I walked toward their table with my eyes lowered, the way I'd learned. Stop far enough back to show respect. Wait to be acknowledged.

The conversation at their table died. I could feel their stares, the weight of their judgment. Septimus turned, his face unreadable. "The half-breed wants something," he said, loud enough for nearby tables to hear. "Well? Speak."

"I wanted to ask about Livia," I said, keeping my voice quiet, steady. "If she's improving."

"Gods, it speaks!" Cato called out, drawing laughs from the others. "Here I thought it just growled and snarled like the rest of its kind. You know, like the sounds they make when they're burning our villages?"

I kept my eyes on Septimus, pretending I hadn't heard. He was watching me with that cold, measuring look he gave opponents in the arena.

"Sweet little Livia?" Maro leaned forward, his grin sharp. "The one that doesn't know better than to sit with animals? Should've known you'd come sniffing around about her."

"She'll live," Septimus said flatly. "Back in training by week's end." He turned back to his wine, dismissing me.

"Careful, Maro," Cato said, standing now. "Wouldn't want to make it angry. Might go feral, like its father's people. Did you hear about that frontier garrison last month? Thirty soldiers, all with their throats torn out. Found Talfen teeth marks on the corpses." He circled closer. "That's what they do, isn't it? When they're not poisoning wells or stealing children? Just animals playing at being men."

"I just wanted to know if-"

"You just wanted?" Maro cut in. "Listen to it, acting like it has the right to want anything. Like it's one of us." He stepped closer, wine on his breath. "Like it has any right to even look at Livia. Maybe that's why it spends so much time watching her - waiting for a chance to drag her off into the dark?"

"It should be grateful we even let it eat in the same room," Cato added. "My father served in the Eastern campaigns. Said the kindest thing was to drown them at birth, like runts from a litter. Said you could always tell which ones would turn - they all do eventually. It's in their blood."

The other gladiators had gathered now, forming a loose circle. I could feel my heart pounding, the blood rushing in my ears. Stay calm. Stay civilized. But Maro was too close now, deliberately in my space.

"Tell us, beast," Cato pressed. "Does it burn in you? That Talfen blood? Do you dream about it - burning towns, ripping throats, hearing children scream? Is that why you can't sleep at night?" His voice dropped lower. "Or maybe that's why your mother spread her legs for a demon in the first place. Maybe she was just another beast herself-"

"Probably begged for it," Maro added with a laugh. "Everyone knows what Talfen do to women they catch. Maybe she-"

The roar that tore from my throat wasn't human. My vision went red as I lunged for him, all thoughts of civilization forgotten. Someone was screaming. Tables crashed. And somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered: See? This is what you really are.

My first blow caught Maro in the jaw - not a gladiator's practiced strike but something primal, meant to hurt. Blood and spittle sprayed as he stumbled back. Before I could follow through, Cato slammed into me from behind, driving me face-first into the table. Cups and bowls crashed to the floor.

"There it is!" Cato's laugh was ugly as he tried to pin me. "Show everyone what you really are, demon-spawn!"

I twisted, letting the animal part take over, the part that knew how to fight without rules or honor. Cato was stronger, but I was faster. I slipped his grasp and drove my elbow up, catching him under the chin. As he staggered, I hooked his leg and slammed my head back, feeling his nose crunch against my skull. He howled.

"Filthy half-breed fighting like a beast!" Someone grabbed my arm - I spun to find Maro, his face twisted with rage and fear. Behind him, Cato was on his hands and knees, blood streaming down his chin.

"Just like your father's people," Cato spat red. "No honor. No humanity. Nothing but-"

I cut him off with a kick to the ribs that sent him sprawling. The dining hall had erupted into chaos. Slaves scattered, benches overturned. I could hear shouts for the guards, but they seemed distant, unimportant. Part of me knew I should stop, knew what this would cost. But that part was drowning in the red haze, in the fury that had been building for years.

Maro swung. I caught his fist and yanked him forward, slamming my forehead into his nose. The crunch was satisfying in a way that made my stomach turn. He staggered back, hands clasped to his face, but Cato was up again, and others were moving in now.

"Kill it!" Cato was shouting, his face a mask of blood and hatred. "Put it down like the rabid dog it is!"

I backed away, lips pulled back from my teeth, watching them circle. My breath came in ragged gasps. The hollow feeling was gone, replaced by something hot and violent and terrifying. This was what they'd always seen in me. This was what I'd tried so hard to prove didn't exist.

"Come on then," I growled, tasting blood - mine or theirs, I couldn't tell. "Come see what a beast can do."

Three rushed me at once. I caught someone's throat, dug my thumbs in until they choked. An elbow caught me in the temple. I responded by driving my knee up into soft flesh, hearing the wheeze of expelled air. Cato got behind me, locked his arms around my chest. I slammed my head back again, but he held on.

"Not so fierce now," he hissed in my ear, tightening his grip until my ribs creaked. "Just another Talfen animal that needs putting down."

Maro's fist drove into my stomach once, twice. The third blow dropped me to my knees when Cato finally released me. I tried to rise, but a boot caught me in the side. Someone was laughing - Cato, I thought. I could hear him urging the others on: "Break it! Make it beg!"

The dining hall fell silent. Drusus stood in the doorway, surveying the destruction with the same detached interest he showed when examining livestock at market. His eyes moved methodically across the scene - overturned tables, scattered food, the blood-stained floor. From Maro's ruined face to Cato's bloody grin, then finally to me, still on my knees.

He took his time crossing the room, each click of his boots on stone deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost thoughtful.

"Do you know what they do with rabid dogs in the Eastern provinces?" He nudged a broken bowl with his foot. "They don't waste a quick death on them. They chain them up in the town square, let everyone see what happens when an animal forgets its place. It can take days, I'm told." His lips curved slightly. "The festival of Sol and Aeolus is coming. Perhaps we should give the crowds something more... memorable than simple gladiatorial games."

"Master," Maro straightened, wiping blood from his face. "The half-breed attacked without provocation-"

Drusus raised a hand, silencing him. "I can see what happened here. Some beasts can wear the mask of civilization for a time, but their true nature always emerges." His eyes never left mine. "Like father, like son. The Talfen taint always shows in the end."

He turned to the guards. "Take it to the training yard. Tie it to the post." Then to Cato: "You seem to understand what needs to be done with creatures like this. Take the whip."

Rough hands grabbed my arms. I didn't resist - the fury had drained away, leaving only the hollow knowledge of what was coming.

"Don't stop until the sand is soaked with its blood," Drusus said, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "Let's see if we can't remind it what it is." He turned to the others. "The rest of you, see the physician. I won't have valuable property damaged because one animal couldn't control itself."

They dragged me across the training yard, my knees scraping through sand still warm from the day's sun. The torches cast long shadows that danced like demons against the walls. The whipping post stood alone in the center, its wood dark and stained from years of use, deeper marks where countless hands had clawed during punishment.

Two guards held my arms while Cato took his time with the ropes, humming tunelessly as he worked. He wrapped them around my wrists with deliberate precision, each loop calculated. When he pulled them tight, the coarse fibers bit deep enough to draw blood.

"Been waiting for this," he murmured, his lips almost brushing my ear. "Watching you all these months, playing at being civilized. Acting like you belong among us." His fingers traced the rope burns, pressing into them. "Every time you walked past, every time you dared look at one of our women, I thought about this moment."

The night air raised gooseflesh on my bare back. Metal clinked as Cato moved to the weapon rack, taking his time examining the whips hanging there. His fingers danced over the lighter ones before settling on the heavy black scourge - three braided tails studded with steel barbs and hooks designed to catch and tear.

"You know what I saw once, in a border town?" Cato's voice was almost dreamy. "What was left after your father's people finished with it? The bodies they left hanging from trees, what they did to the women and children?" He unfurled the whip slowly, letting each barbed tail slither through the sand. "I'm going to paint that story on your back. Every scream, every plea I heard that day. And I'm going to take my time about it."

More torches were being lit now as others gathered to watch. I could hear them placing bets on how long I'd last before passing out, whether I'd beg. The smell of wine and excitement mingled with the metallic tang of blood already drying on my face.

"Some say half-breeds feel pain differently," Cato mused, testing the whip with practiced strokes that cut the air with soft hisses. "That your demon blood makes you less human. Shall we find out?"