The Valiant

by Lesley Livingston

  I looked at Elka, searching her pale eyes for answers I didn’t have. Then I remembered what Sorcha had said to me earlier about the danger of those who had nothing to lose, and I realized she’d been almost right. The woman who’d called herself Uathach, whom everyone else had labeled the Fury, did have one last thing to lose: her honor.

  By beating her—ending her—in a good, fair fight, I’d let her keep it. She had died by the sword, and that was the way she’d wanted it. To lose myself in mourning Uathach’s death would be to dishonor how she had lived her life. But to live my life the way she had—in restless fury, always seeking freedom over the next horizon—would be to cage myself inside a fate that was not of my own making.

  Why even fight at all?

  I thought back to the night of my oath swearing. I had come a long way since uttering those words in the darkness. I hadn’t really understood them at the time—not fully. And I had not thought to find my kindred spirits—my tribe—so far away from home, but I had. Elka, Ajani, Sorcha. Even Nyx. I had found friendships . . . rivalries . . .

  Family.

  Family I wanted to keep safe the way Sorcha had wanted to keep her gladiators safe, by transforming the Ludus Achillea into a safe haven . . . in the days before she’d had to abandon that dream for my sake. That was why I would fight. That was why I would win. I was Victrix. Victory. At least, I would be. I said a silent prayer for the Fury and thanked her for giving me the fight that would send me hurtling toward my destiny.

  I spoke the oath, Elka’s voice joining with mine: “Uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari . . .”

  Simple words, simple promises. The very same oath the men swore in their rings of sand and swords. We were no different—except we were. And no one was more surprised by that than I. We were castoffs and slaves, orphans and unwanteds and used-to-be princesses. We were infamia . . .

  But we were a sisterhood.

  “Uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari.”

  And we were mighty.

  XXV

  FROM THEN ON, the games in the towns that followed were easier. I fought, and I fought well, but I never again fought like I had against the Fury. I didn’t have to. The circuit ended in a small arena on the outskirts of Rome, and by the time it was finished, all the girls of the Ludus Achillea were seasoned fighters.

  And I was a tiny, growing legend. The Fury Killer. Victrix. Victory.

  Whether or not I would be chosen as Caesar’s Victory remained to be seen.

  After the last fight, Sorcha had announced that Caesar’s scouts had reported back to him and that the competition for the role had come down to just two of us: me and Nyx. We were to present ourselves to him in two days’ time at his villa across the River Tiber so that he could interview us in person and decide for himself to which gladiatrix he would bestow the honor of the Victory role. The announcement generated a great deal of chattering and whispering in the hallways of the domus where we lodged in the capital. But it didn’t account for the shouting and commotion I heard as I walked back toward my quarters.

  I pushed my way through to see what the matter was and was brought up short by Ajani, whose expression was grim.

  “Don’t” was all she said.

  “Don’t what? Let me by, Ajani.”

  I shouldered her out of the way and saw a knot of girls gathered in the hall in front of the door to my room. Elka was there, storm clouds in her blue eyes. When she saw me she shook her head and strode toward me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Someone’s idea of a sick joke.”

  I looked past her, and my heart turned over. The door to my room was closed—and streaked with the blood of the dead bird nailed to it. Not just any bird. A crow. I swore and scanned the faces of the other girls who stood there gaping. I snarled when I spotted Nyx, her eyes fixed on the grisly sight.

  “Nyx—”

  I lunged for her, but Elka caught me by the arm.

  “Wasn’t her,” she said. “It wasn’t there an hour ago, and Nyx was in the dining hall the whole time. So were Meriel and Gratia. Lydia found the thing and was so hysterical when she saw it, it couldn’t have been her.”

  That ruled out all of Nyx’s most ardent minions. Unless there was another gladiatrix in the ranks trying to curry favor with her. For her part, Nyx had barely even seemed to notice that I was there. Her gaze was riveted to the door.

  “It’s a curse,” she murmured. “An ill-luck omen.”

  “It’s a bird.” I pulled my knife from my belt so that I could pry out the nails that held the poor dead thing there, crucified like a slave.

  Only, it wasn’t dead.

  As I reached for it, the crow—a juvenile, by the look of it—lifted its head and cawed weakly at me. One of the girls behind me screamed, and the bird struggled to flap its wings.

  “You should break its neck,” Elka said. “End its suffering.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t sure how the Morrigan would take that. And I wasn’t going to kill an innocent creature if I didn’t have to, just because somebody thought it would be fun to try to frighten me. I glanced back at the other girls and saw that Neferet was standing in the crowd. I called her over, and she came, her steps only a little hesitant. Ever since she’d started taking care of Antonia, she’d been studying under Heron and learning medicine.

  “Can you help me try to save it?” I asked.

  She nodded and supported the weight of the bird as I worked the two nails out of its wings. Whoever had done this must have fed the bird something to drug it into a stupor first. Once we freed it from the nails that pierced its wings just below the mid-joint, it was plain that there wasn’t anything else wrong with it. Neferet cooed gently to the bird, and it tucked itself in close to her chest.

  “I’ll keep it warm and clean the wounds,” she said quietly to me. “It will probably never fly again . . . but perhaps it will live.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Neferet.”

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Someone who has no idea how angry they’ve just made my goddess,” I said. “And me.”

  I spun on my heel and strode down the hall in the other direction, in search of a bucket and rag.

  • • •

  Sorcha found me just as I was cleaning the last of the blood from my door. It was plain she had learned about the crow. Her face was flushed, showing the whiteness of her scar in stark contrast, and angry sparks seemed to dance in the darkness of her damaged eye.

  “It’s nothing,” I said to try and forestall what I knew was coming.

  “It’s not nothing.” She glared back and forth from me to the door. “I’m pulling you from consideration for the Triumphs.”

  “You can’t do that!” I felt a flare of panic.

  “I can. I will.” She thrust out her arm, pointing at the last of the rusty stain on the wood. “This is more than a warning, Fallon! It’s a promise. It’s a death mark, and I’m not going to let you go out there and—”

  “Sorcha, please.” Something in the sound of my voice stopped her cold. “We don’t even know if Caesar will choose me. But if he does, I have to fight. Not just for me. For you. For the honor of the Ludus Achillea and the House Cantii. You have to let me.”

  “No. My decision is final.”

  Just like when we were young. My sister could be the most bullheaded creature the gods ever let walk the earth. I felt like I was nine years old again, and I wanted to scream. “It didn’t worry you to send me into the arena against the Fury,” I spat. “How is this any different?”

  “You weren’t supposed to fight that madwoman,” she said. “None of my girls were. She shouldn’t have even been on the roster! I argued with the games masters until I was blue and out of breath, but they threatened to censure the whole ludus unless your match went forth. Caesar would have had my h
ead.”

  “When are you going to stop protecting me, Sorcha? You say you can’t treat me any differently than the other girls? Then don’t!”

  “This isn’t a game anymore.” She gripped my shoulders, her face close to mine. “For some, it never was. And now they’ve set their sights on you. I won’t let that happen. You’re going home to the ludus in the morning.”

  “Sorcha—no!”

  “Pack your things.”

  Without another word, she turned on her heel and left me standing there, blood staining my hands and tears of frustration welling in my eyes. Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t alone. I turned to see Thalestris standing at the opposite end of the hall from where Sorcha had stormed off. I turned back to the door and angrily scrubbed at the last traces of blood. The Amazon fight mistress came toward me, silent as a hunter stalking prey, and stopped to lean on the wall beside my doorway.

  “It’s natural for older sisters to worry,” she said.

  My hand holding the rag froze.

  “You know?” I glanced up and down the hall to see if we were alone, more than a little surprised. After Sorcha made me swear not to tell our secret, I hadn’t even told Elka. I hadn’t told Cai.

  “Of course,” Thalestris said. “I’ve always known. I am the Lanista’s Primus Pilus. We have no secrets, she and I.”

  I thought back to the night on Cleopatra’s barge when Sorcha had said the only people who knew I was her sister were the three of us and Charon. She’d seemed adamant to keep it that way, but I supposed she must have made an exception for Thalestris.

  “She’s very proud of you,” she said, interrupting my thoughts.

  I snorted. “I doubt that.”

  She grinned. “The Romans have a saying: In vino veritas.”

  In wine, truth. Romans and their wine, I thought. Back home in Prydain the chiefs and freemen drank good dark beer and spiced mead if they wanted to get to the truth of things.

  “There was a banquet one night,” Thalestris continued. “Only a month or so before the chariot wreck that ended Achillea’s career as a gladiatrix, back in the days when she was the absolute darling of the city. That’s when I first learned of your existence. One of Achillea’s admirers was bemoaning the fact that there was only one of her. I’d never heard Achillea speak of her past before, but the wine had been flowing all night, and she was in a melancholy mood. She told the man that, in fact, she’d left behind a younger sister—a sister who showed great promise as a warrior, greater even than Achillea herself—and that she was filled with regret that she hadn’t been able to see her grow to fulfill that promise. She boasted that you would have made a fierce gladiatrix. A champion.”

  “She said that?”

  “She did. And now you are here.” She shrugged. “Perhaps the goddess you both pray to has designed it that way.”

  “Or maybe she just has a twisted sense of humor,” I said bitterly. “I’m here, I can fight—better than anyone—and now she won’t let me!”

  “As I said, that was before her accident,” Thalestris said.

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with me. I’m not even a charioteer—”

  “Afterward, we learned that the axle of her chariot had been tampered with.”

  I stared at the fight master.

  “In the days before the race”—her eyes flicked to the damp planks of my door—“Achillea had ignored certain . . . portents. Warnings. Over the years, the games have become very dangerous, both inside the arena and out. The rivalries between the ludi are heated.”

  “She lied to me,” I said. “She told me it was just an accident, not that someone had tried to kill her. Why would she do that?”

  “She didn’t want to frighten you,” Thalestris said. “The very worst thing you can enter into the arena with is fear.”

  “She also told me she wouldn’t treat me differently than the other girls.”

  “Perhaps her perspective has altered.” Thalestris put a fingertip on the damp wood of the door, tracing the faint remains of the stain. “Or perhaps she would take the same course of action with any one of her charges.”

  “And do you agree with her?” I challenged. “About sending me back to the ludus?”

  “The decision is hers to make, not mine,” she said. “But no. I would send you back into the arena. You can’t win the fight—whatever fight you face—by running from it. But think on this: It would break the Lanista’s heart if she were to lose her beloved sister.” She gazed at me steadily with her dark, unblinking eyes. “Believe me. I know.”

  With that, she nodded at me and glided off down the hall. I stood there for a long time after she’d gone, staring at the wet pink rag in my hands and wondering what to do next.

  • • •

  I skipped the evening meal, preferring to brood alone in my room. Of course, Elka wasn’t having any of it, and she insisted on keeping me company while I fumed and paced. When there was a knock on my door I opened it, surprised to see Nyx standing there.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder and then stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “Oh. Of course you did,” I snapped. “And I deeply appreciate your obviously genuine concern. Now get out.”

  “Wait.” Nyx shook her head. “That business with the crow? It wasn’t me.”

  To my surprise, I could tell from her expression that she was actually telling the truth. Suddenly, I felt exhaustion wash over me. The animosity just became too much effort. I sighed and sat down on the bed.

  “I know it wasn’t you,” I said, raking a hand through my hair. “Elka already vouched for you.”

  Nyx glanced at Elka, who shrugged.

  “I just wonder who it was and what they think they’re trying to prove.”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  At that, Elka snorted.

  “I would.” Nyx crossed her arms. “Look, I know I’m not nice. But I don’t resort to dirty tricks, and I don’t respect anyone who does. I fight hard and I fight well, and sometimes it’s hard for me to admit when somebody else does too.” She looked at me through narrowed eyes. “The Fury? I don’t know that I could’ve beaten her.”

  “I’m not sure I did.”

  “You did. It was a good fight. An honorable fight.” Nyx took another step into the room, her expression turning rueful. “I mean it. And for the first time since I’ve been at the ludus, I have someone pushing me to be a better fighter. Even if it kills me to admit it . . . I’ve needed that.” She held out her hand. “We can still be rivals, but I want us to be friends too.”

  I hesitated. How would Nyx react if I told her that she no longer had to compete against me—that Sorcha was withdrawing me from the Victory challenge? I decided, considering everything she’d just said, that it might not be the right moment to enlighten her.

  I stood and clasped Nyx’s wrist.

  She smiled and said, “Good. Listen, I have a patron here in Rome, a wealthy equestrian lady. She sent me word of revels taking place tonight.”

  “Revels?”

  “A party. A big one. Very lavish, very exclusive, full of other rich patricians looking to spend money on pretty young fighters.”

  “I already have a patron,” I said, careful not to name Charon.

  “I noticed.” Nyx pointed at Elka. “But you don’t. And you could do better than Ajani’s castoffs.”

  Elka lifted a shoulder. “I’m not fussy.”

  Nyx turned to me. “Come on, Fallon. We’re all on edge after today. We deserve a bit of fun!”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Did the Lanista gave you permission to go?”

  She grinned. Wickedly.

  I felt an answering grin spread across my face.

  The domus we wer
e lodged in was similar to the ludus compound in that we weren’t locked into our sleeping cells at night. But neither were we exactly free to wander the streets of Rome at will, and getting caught doing so would, I was sure, bear consequences. Nyx didn’t seem to think it would be a problem.

  “It’ll be fun,” she said.

  “I’ll go if Elka does,” I said.

  Elka blinked at me, but Nyx just grinned.

  “Fine by me,” she said. “I invited Lydia too. She could use some new kit, and she knows how to behave around men. But you have to be quick and change. Put on something nice. Fancy. Meet me down by the laundry scullery as soon as you can. Don’t get caught. And don’t tell any of the other girls!”

  And then she was gone.

  I plucked at the hem of my plain tunic. “Something nice?”

  “Fancy?” Elka was dressed the same way as I was.

  Reluctantly, I flipped open the lid of my trunk. In one corner, beneath the heavy cloak Ajani had given me on my first night at the ludus, there was a small folded pile of shimmery fabric: the costume Charon’s women had dressed me in for the slave auction. As I gazed at the thing, the memory of that day—it seemed like a thousand more had passed since—came rushing back, washing over me like an incoming tide.

  “You kept yours too?” Elka said wryly.

  I laughed at her expression. “Is this a very bad idea?”

  “You know we’re slaves, ja?” she said plainly. “If anyone catches us out, they’ll think we’re running. We’ll be flogged.”

  “This is a very bad idea.”

  And yet neither of us was about to back out. Sorcha could try and keep me safe from death, but she couldn’t keep me from living my life. And if I wasn’t competing for Victory, it wasn’t as if I had anything to lose. A reckless thrill surged in my heart at the thought of disobeying her, and it must have shown in the expression on my face.

  Elka sighed. “I’ll go get dressed.”