Page 9

8

F or days after my humiliation at Cato's hands, I kept to myself, avoiding the gladiators and burying myself in my work around the barracks and animal pens. The sting of defeat and embarrassment burned hot within me, fueling a simmering anger that I couldn't shake.

I threw myself into my tasks with a fervor that surprised even me. I scrubbed floors until my hands were raw, polished armor until I could see my reflection in the bronze, and organized supplies with a meticulousness that bordered on obsession. Anything to keep my mind occupied, to push away the memory of Cato's smug face and the pitying looks from the other gladiators.

But no matter how hard I worked, I couldn't escape my thoughts. They swirled in my head like a tempest, a confusing mix of anger, determination, and hurt. I was angry at Cato, of course, for his brutality and mockery. But I was also angry at myself for not being good enough, for failing to prove my worth.

And then there was Septimus. His reaction had cut deeper than Cato's blows. The disgust in his eyes, the harsh words he'd hurled at me - they replayed in my mind over and over. I'd always known he disapproved of my desire to become a gladiator, but I'd never seen him so cold, so dismissive. It hurt more than I cared to admit.

What’s more, I couldn’t get him out of my head. I couldn’t quite believe I’d kissed him like that. I mean, he was an attractive guy, but he was Septimus. My brother’s best friend, the annoying pest that had hounded me since I was a child. If anyone had been off limits it was him. He’d sensed it too, I knew that. We’d always avoided each other, and he’d never once called me to his room to use my body, or even shared me in the dining room, as others had, so I figured he felt the same. Like I was some annoying younger sister. But the way he’d looked at me in that alley, that burning hunger in his eyes that had sent fire burning in my core, that hadn’t been the look of a brother. It had been so wrong, but fuck it had felt so good.

No. I shook myself mentally. It was just wrong and I was not going to think about it, about him any more. I didn’t care that his kiss had called to something deep inside me, something long buried. I hated him, and it was clear he felt the same way, despite his obsessive need to interfere in my life.

Beneath the anger and humiliation, my resolve remained unshaken. If anything, this setback had only strengthened my determination. I would become a gladiator, no matter what Septimus or anyone else thought. I would prove them all wrong.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the dusty courtyard, I made my decision. I would not be defeated so easily. I would show them all what I was made of.

With renewed determination, I made my way to Marcus's quarters. Marcus was pacing when I entered, his lean frame casting long shadows in the lamplight. Though still recovering, there was nothing weak about the fury radiating from him as he turned to face me.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" he demanded, not bothering with pleasantries. "Taking on Cato? What were you thinking?"

I lifted my chin, refusing to be cowed. "I was thinking I deserved a chance to prove myself."

"Prove yourself?" He barked out a harsh laugh. "The only thing you proved is that you're not ready. You could have been killed, Livia!"

"I wasn't," I shot back. "I held my own."

"Held your own?" Marcus stopped pacing, his eyes blazing. "Is that what you call it? Because from what I heard, you barely lasted two minutes before he had you on the ground."

The words stung, but I refused to show it.

"Then let me train properly. Give me a real chance, not just these stolen moments in the early morning. I've been practicing for years, Marcus. Years! But none of you will even consider—"

"Because it's suicide!" He slammed his hand down on the table, making the cups rattle. "You think a few years of secret training makes you ready to face men who have been fighting their entire lives?"

"How will I ever be ready if no one gives me the opportunity to learn?" I demanded, taking a step forward. "You've seen me fight. You know I have potential."

"Potential?" His voice dropped dangerously low. "Potential doesn't mean anything when you're dead, Livia. This isn't some game. These men aren't going to go easy on you because you're a woman or because you're..."

"Because I'm what, Marcus? Because I'm not worth it?" The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "Is that all I am to you? Another slave to be protected and controlled?"

Something flickered in his eyes – pain, maybe, or regret. "You know that's not true."

"Do I? Because from where I'm standing, you're just like Septimus – so convinced I need to be sheltered, protected, kept safe in my little cage." My voice cracked slightly, but I pressed on. "I'm not that scared little girl anymore, Marcus. I can do this. I know I can. But I need someone to believe in me."

"Livia..." He moved closer, his anger seeming to deflate slightly. "It's not about belief. It's about keeping you alive."

"No," I said firmly. "It's about control, and I'm done listening to you. I'm never going to give up, Marcus. I'd rather die."

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're as stubborn as a mule, you know that?" But there was a hint of admiration in his voice. He seemed to be considering something. "Alright," he said finally. "I can't promise anything, but... there's something I want to show you. Something that might make you understand what you're really asking for."

Marcus led me through the darkening corridors of the ludus, our footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The usual bustle of the day had faded, but I could still hear people moving around, preparing for the fight this evening. We moved swiftly, ducking into shadows whenever we heard approaching footsteps.

"Where are we going?" I whispered, curiosity getting the better of me.

"The elite pens," Marcus replied, his voice barely audible. "And keep your voice down. We're not supposed to be here."

The thrill of secrecy sent a shiver down my spine. I'd heard whispers about the elite pens, the place where they kept the exotic beasts for special fights, but I'd never been allowed anywhere near them. As we descended deeper into the bowels of the ludus, the air grew thick and heavy, laden with unfamiliar scents.

We rounded a corner and came face to face with a burly guard. My heart leapt into my throat, but Marcus didn't miss a beat.

"Evening, Brutus," he said casually. "Drusus sent me to check on the new arrival. Make sure it's settling in."

The guard's eyes narrowed suspiciously, flickering between Marcus and me. "And the girl?"

"She's helping me. Two sets of eyes are better than one, eh? Plus, it's private down there, if you know what I mean?" Marcus clapped the guard on the shoulder, his easy confidence seeming to put the man at ease.

After a moment's hesitation, the guard grinned at Marcus and then nodded and stepped aside. "Be quick about it," he grunted.

As soon as we were out of earshot, I looked at Marcus. "That was close," I murmured.

Marcus just grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye that made him look years younger.

"Nah, the guards down here are never really that bothered about keeping watch. Most of them drink or sleep their shifts away, but stay close," he said. "It’s a maze down here. We're almost there."

We approached a heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron bands. Marcus produced a key from somewhere in his tunic and unlocked it, the mechanism groaning in protest. He pushed it open just enough for us to slip through, then closed it behind us.

The pens stretched out before us, a series of sturdy cages lining both sides of a wide corridor. Most were empty, but a few held shadowy forms that stirred restlessly as we passed. I caught glimpses of fur, scales, and gleaming eyes, but Marcus urged me on before I could get a proper look.

"This way," he said, leading me towards the far end of the corridor. "What I want to show you is in the last pen."

As we approached, I became aware of a low, rumbling sound, like distant thunder. The air grew warmer, and a strange, acrid scent filled my nostrils. My heart began to race with a mixture of excitement and fear.

Marcus stopped in front of the final pen, a massive structure that dwarfed the others. "Are you ready?" he asked, his hand on the viewing slot.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He slid open the slot, and I peered inside.

For a moment, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. Coils of iridescent golden scales filled the pen, shifting and moving in a hypnotic dance. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw it.

A dragon.

It was huge, the size of three carriages, and that wasn’t counting its tail. Its scales shimmered in shades of black and bronze, like the fabled treasure hoard of the Emperor come to life. A crown of horns adorned its huge head, and wings were folded tightly against its body, hints of delicate membranes visible between the joints.

As I watched, breathless, its eyes opened - brilliant, golden orbs that seemed to glow from within. Those eyes fixed on me, and I felt a jolt of recognition, as if the creature was looking into my very soul.

"By the gods," I whispered, unable to look away. "It's... it's beautiful."

"And deadly," Marcus added softly. "This is the prize for tonight’s night's fight. Whichever ludus wins the battle, that dominus gets to keep the dragon. Drusus has been beside himself with excitement. Says it'll draw the biggest crowd the ludus has ever seen. A black market purchase, of course."

The dragon shifted, stretching out its long neck, and I spotted the thick iron collar bolted around it. It was coarsely made. I imagined the ones worn by the imperial dragons were more beautifully made, but all were a necessity. They enabled the dragons to be chained, as this one was, but they also made them more docile, more controllable. Still, I felt sorry for this one, kept inside its tiny cage. Another slave, just like me.

"How did they capture it?" I asked, still mesmerized.

Marcus shrugged. "No one knows for sure. There are rumors of dragon hunters in the far north, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "What matters is that it's here now. And if we win it, I hear Drusus is planning to use it for the festival of Sol and Aeolus in a few months."

His words broke the spell, and I turned to look at him. "Use it? You mean... you’ll have to fight it?"

He nodded grimly. "That's what I wanted you to see, Livia. This is the reality of being a gladiator. It's not just about fighting other men. Sometimes, you're up against beasts like this. Creatures that can tear you apart or burn you to ash in seconds."

I looked back at the dragon, trying to imagine facing it in combat. The thought sent a chill through me, but also... a thrill. The danger, the challenge, the sheer spectacle of it - wasn't this almost exactly what I'd been dreaming of? Not completely. I’d wanted to be a Dragon Elite, to have a dragon egg of my own, gifted to me by the emperor. To help raise it, train it. To command it. The thought reminded me of my vow, my determination for vengeance against those who had destroyed my life.

"I understand the risk," I said slowly, my eyes still fixed on the magnificent creature. "But this... this is incredible, Marcus. To be part of something like this, to test yourself against such a beast... isn't that what being a gladiator is all about?"

I heard Marcus sigh beside me. "You're not going to give this up, are you?" he asked, echoing his words from earlier.

I shook my head, finally tearing my gaze away from the dragon to look at him. "No," I said firmly. "I'm not. This has only made me more certain. I want to be a gladiator, Marcus. Whatever it takes."

Marcus rubbed a hand over his face, his expression torn between exasperation and grudging admiration. "Gods help me," he muttered. "You're either the bravest or the most foolish woman I've ever met."

I grinned, sensing victory. "Why can't I be both?"

He chuckled despite himself then studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Finally, he nodded, a mixture of resignation and respect in his eyes.

"Alright, little warrior," he said with a resigned sigh. "If you want to prove yourself, then face one of my gladiators in the arena."

"Face one of them? Which one?" I asked. My mind immediately went to Antonius, the biggest gladiator we had. Marcus must have guessed what I was thinking, or maybe it was written all over my face because he grinned.

"Whoever I pick."

"I'm not sure..." I said, fear coiling inside me at the thought of facing a well trained gladiator in the arena. I had trained early every morning and late every night for over a decade, and had sparred with Septimus for years, though less often recently since he was picked for more and more fights.

"You didn't make Septimus do that," I said, my eyes meeting his.

"No. I made him fight me," said Marcus, his voice serious. "But I think that would complicate things. If you really want to try this, then prove it to me in the arena. Face one of my gladiators and show me that you have the skills and courage to become a gladiator and I'll train you."

This was it. My only chance and I knew it. I just had to hope that I could hold my own long enough to prove I deserved to be on that sand with them all. I thought of Tarus lying facedown on the dirt, the swinging bodies of my parents, and the leery face of the soldier Arilius, a name that still haunted my dreams. I thought of the Emperor that had ordered my village to be destroyed, and I looked Marcus straight in the eyes, my face calm, even though my insides churned.

"I accept your challenge, Marcus."

He nodded, but didn't smile. He reached out and ran a finger down one side of my face, tracing it gently. "Give me three days. There’s another arena fight in two, and if I live through it, you can come into the arena the next day."

I smiled at him, relief and joy filling me up inside as hope blossomed. “You’d better live through it, Marcus, because I'm going to hold you to this.”

“Well, there’s an incentive.”