Her lips met his, scorching like salt in a fresh wound.
He jerked back and flung her away.
She toppled the brass lamp stand in the corner of the chamber. The clanging metal mingled with her curse as they both fell to the floor. She struggled to untangle herself while calling him names that even Seppios didn’t use. Mingled with her cursing, the scent of singed wool reached him. Her smoking cloak turned to a flame she must have seen the moment he did. Her scream filled the room as the flame spread through her cloak and ignited the oil spread around her.
“Help me! Please!”
No. Jonathan remained rooted in place, fighting his instinct to snatch the covering from the bed and smother the flames. As many scars as he carried because of her lies, she deserved some scars of her own.
The door slammed open. Two guards rushed in with Clovis in their midst.
Jonathan held still while Luca’s sword halted inches from his throat. Clovis pulled a wailing Valentina from the prison of flame and ripped the burning cloak from her body. He threw it onto the burning oil and shoved the couch further from the flames. The other guard carried the sobbing woman from the room.
A slave ran in with a pail of water, but Clovis yelled for him to bring sand instead. Smoke and burning wool made breathing in the windowless room difficult. When the flames had finally been extinguished, they were all struggling to breathe. Clovis motioned for the guards with a jerk of his head and grabbed Jonathan by the arm, hauling him back into the main chamber. Jonathan thought about grabbing for a sword on the wall, but Luca turned and set up his blade again the moment Clovis released him.
His trainer gave him a seething glare. “Caius will not be pleased.”
No one knew that better than Jonathan, and here, away from Valentina, that reality sank deep. “Take me to him. Now.”
Luca’s sword edged closer to Jonathan’s throat. “You don’t give the orders, slave.”
“Leave us, Luca,” Clovis said. “Make sure Quintus is tending the woman’s burns and that she’s brought a new cloak.”
The thought of Valentina anywhere near Nessa made Jonathan cringe, but he needed to address a more potent threat—immediately. “Take me to Caius.”
Clovis crossed his arms and sighed, surveying the room they were alone in. “You could have refused her without setting her on fire.”
“That was not my intent, though I’m not sorry for it. I refused her four years ago and she had me beaten so badly they thought I was dead.” Jonathan’s voice broke as his fears for Nessa grew. How could he have let this happen?
“Death may come for you now when Caius learns of this. His anger will extend beyond you. You know that.”
“Which is why you must take me to him. Now.”
Before Clovis could respond, the lanista entered, flanked on either side by a pair of guards. The men quickly filled the room and surrounded Jonathan.
Caius regarded him with the same hatred that had overpowered Jonathan moments ago. “You just cost me a hundred aureii.”
Jonathan winced at the amount. Ten thousand sesterces—as much as if he’d fallen in the arena. Gaius Florus must be dead for Valentina to have given Caius such a sum.
Caius unsheathed his dagger and held it between them. “You can’t even imagine all the ways I’m going to make you pay for this. Some of which I might make you watch.”
Don’t react. He must believe you. “Go ahead.”
Caius’ brows dipped and the knife in his hand wavered.
That was the uncertainty Jonathan needed to see. “I swear on my sword I would sooner you kill Nessa and me both, as cruelly as you can invent, before I would ever bed Valentina Florus.”
“Nessa?” One of the guards had spoken her name. One by one their questioning stares came to rest on Caius.
“Out. All of you.” Caius gestured toward the door with his dagger. “Clovis, you remain.”
The way Caius held his dagger, Jonathan could seize it and cut the man’s throat in seconds. But if Clovis intervened, or Jonathan failed to hit the jugular vein…no, this was still the best way to protect her—the only way.
When the three of them were alone, Caius took a step closer. “I think you lie. Nessa is your greatest weakness. You’ve proven it before.” He turned the dagger in his hand back toward Jonathan’s face, staring down the edge of the blade at him.
“Valentina is my weakness. Nessa is what I prize.”
“If that’s true, why refuse her? She told me she’d sent you here for trying to have her against her will.”
“She lied. Then, today, and always. I hate her, and I wish her dead far more than I want Nessa to live.”
The silence that followed would have invited the most timid of creatures to emerge. Jonathan forced himself to keep breathing, not to so much as blink or twitch.
Caius slowly lowered the dagger, but not his stare. “You vex me, Jonathan, and you cost me a great deal of coin. Again. How shall you make it up to me? Assuming I don’t make Nessa contribute, which I still might.”
“Let me do what I do best.”
“Vex me?”
“Bleed for you. You know how quickly I’ll earn that back. I can’t if I’m dead.”
Caius pursed his lips and closed the distance between them. He turned his dagger to rest the flat of the cool metal blade beside the hollow at the base of Jonathan’s throat. “I’m not going to kill you. But I can’t allow this to go unpunished. You’re no good to me if I must be wary you will defy me again.”
Jonathan resisted leaning away from the stench of Caius’ breath, or the blade resting against his throat. “I have done nothing but perform for you in and out of the arena since you put this scar on my face. But I will not perform for you in the bedchamber.”
“Because you can’t?”
“Because I won’t. And before you threaten to harm Nessa, consider this. If you touch her, force me to see that fear and pain in her eyes again, I will have died already. And I will never pick up another sword as long as I live, except to fall on it.”
There’d been no need to fake the sincerity in those words.
Caius studied him for a long moment. “For the first time since I have known you, you impress me.” He lifted the dagger from Jonathan’s neck. “You impress me indeed.” He walked to the tall floor lamp burning opposite the balcony and placed the tip of the dagger above the point of the greatest flame.
Jonathan looked to Clovis, but the trainer watched their master as he slowly passed the metal blade back and forth over the flames of the lamp. Long moments passed and Caius seemed to have forgotten them both, his attention wholly on his strange task.
Finally he spoke. “I agree to the new terms of our arrangement. No summoning you to pleasure patrons, and no taking my own in your little Jewess. You will perform in the arena and at feasts only, and as long as you continue to perform well, she will live.”
He turned toward Jonathan, the metal blade now blackened and smoking. “But we seal the deal properly. Give me your hand.”
Jonathan’s stomach dropped.
Clovis moved toward them. “My lord, I—”
“Silence, Clovis. This is between me and Jonathan.” Caius reached his empty hand toward Jonathan, still gripping the smoking knife in the other. “Give me your hand.”
Jonathan took a deep breath and held it while raising his right hand. He refused to look away or tremble in fear as Caius took him by the wrist, turning his sword hand palm up. Caius pressed the blade to his palm and the searing metal scorched through the first layers of skin as the stench of his own burning flesh reached his nose. The nerve endings below burned away in the blink of an eye, a last act of mercy given in the violent pain of their dying. But not before letting Jonathan feel what he could smell and hear beneath the hot blade. Every muscle in his arm tensed. His fingers curled in an attempt to flee the source of the pain, but he refused to cry out. Nor did he look away from the eyes of the man who continued to smile at him while holding his wrist
tight and pressing the knife to his palm.
When all heat had been sucked from the blade, Caius tore the knife away and relinquished his grip on Jonathan’s wrist.
He wanted to see what remained of his palm and cradle the burnt hand to his chest, but Tao’s words were there at once. Showing me where you are in the most pain only invites more in the same place. Instead he lowered his arm to his side and remained silent, blinking fast to keep the moisture stinging his eyes from gathering in the corners.
Caius sheathed his dagger without cleaning the char and burnt skin away. “You are the first to not scream and cry like a child who’s lost his mother.”
A different hurt flashed through him at the thought of the carving resting against his chest. “Gladiators embrace pain.”
“Yes. And you better than any I have ever seen. One day you may be my champion.”
“I am Nessa’s champion, not yours.”
“Watch your tongue, slave, or I’ll burn that as well.”
The thought of enduring the pain shooting up his arm on his tongue made him swallow involuntarily.
“Clovis, see Jonathan to his cell. He returns to training tomorrow.”
“Even before you made him unable to grip a sword, he was still too injured to wield one.” The disapproval in Clovis’ voice matched his posture.
“You coddle him. You coddle all of them. Perhaps it’s time to retire your whip and find you other duties. Perhaps something in the kitchens.”
Clovis uncrossed his arms to rest his hand on the grip of his sword. His usually stoic expression became one of indignation. The open challenge gave Jonathan hope, and he skimmed the wall for the sword he could reach fastest.
“Careful, Clovis,” Caius said. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think that was a threat. You know how I deal with threats.” His gaze went to Jonathan. “Rest him another day if you must.”
He retreated from the room and Jonathan raised his hand to see it.
Then wished he hadn’t.
Clovis came to him and took his hand to examine the burn. “I will see you rested until he threatens me again. Maybe gain you an extra day or two.”
“Don’t put yourself at risk for me.”
“I do not need a champion as Nessa does.”
Jonathan chuckled but the ache in his hand was excruciating. Not only that, lesser pain gripped his ribs, beneath the tunic and tight linen wrap. He pressed his elbow into his side and the discomfort eased. The opium must be wearing off.
“How’s the side?”
“Hurts.”
“The hand?”
“Hurts worse.”
“I never tended burns on the battlefield. I want Quintus to see to that, after I’ve made sure your old friend is gone from his chamber. Better yet, gone from the villa.”
“Better yet, gone from this life.”
Jonathan followed Clovis toward the stairs, then down them. Clovis stopped midway and turned back to him. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“You would rather see Valentina dead then Nessa live?”
Jonathan hesitated a mere heartbeat. Better if Clovis also believed the lie. “Yes.”
Clovis turned away to continue down the stairs. Jonathan felt the weight of the man’s disappointment but would carry it as he did any other wound. They passed along the edge of the barracks where the men trained. They took turns leering as he passed. Seppios offered a crude remark about Jonathan needing to go to the medicus chamber after being summoned to the upper chamber. Tao hit him in the back with his wooden sword and away they went. Jonathan and Clovis entered the corridor and then made their way through the sheet door.
Jonathan tensed as he surveyed the room, seeing only Quintus. “Where is Nessa?”
“Right here.” She emerged from behind his table holding a bundle of blankets. “What have you done now? Reopened that wound?”
Jonathan didn’t answer. Despite the pain in his side and his hand, all he could do was stare at her. She was so beautiful, and her smile had returned. If Valentina had been here, her evil had not touched Nessa. For that he was grateful.
“It’s his hand.” Clovis gestured toward Jonathan’s other side. “He burned it on a brazier.”
“Really?” Quintus eyed both of them. “The same brazier that burned the woman who refused to let me treat her and left, demanding her servant take her to a real physician?”
“The same.” Clovis’ gaze dared Quintus to keep asking questions.
Jonathan took a seat on the stool near the center table. Quintus took his hand, looked at the elongated wound ending in a tapered point, and huffed. Nessa surveyed the damage beside him. Her face twisted up and she tilted her head to view a different angle. “It almost looks like…”
“Nessa,” Quintus cut in. “Cut me more thin strips of linen, please.”
While she prepared them, Clovis took his leave. Quintus cleaned the wound before padding it and wrapping it tight while Nessa observed over his shoulder.
Jonathan ignored the pain in his hand to drink in the sight of her, made all the more radiant on the heels of his reunion with Valentina. Confronting her had been nothing like his imaginings. Rare nights when sleep refused to come he often pictured himself face to face again with both her and Manius. In his visions of vengeance however, he’d always been armed with a sword. Fire had made a poor weapon. She would live, but with scars. That would have to be enough—for now.
When Quintus finished, Jonathan stood and allowed his thoughts to return to Nessa. Everything Valentina was not. They weren’t alone. She might not welcome it, but he couldn’t stop. For the first time since he’d known her, he took her arm and pulled her to him. Her breath caught and her back stiffened the moment he closed his arms around her. A single embrace, and while she didn’t relax against him, she didn’t pull away. She was safe—the painful burn trivial in comparison. He released her and stepped back, unable to look her or Quintus in the eyes. He turned and retreated toward his cell, hoping he hadn’t made another in a long highway of mistakes.
Chapter 23 – Tremble
When Jonathan woke, the angle of the sunlight on his cell floor was wrong. He dressed, found his door unbolted and the sun hanging low on the wrong side of the sky. The other gladiators were sparring, recruits were strength training, and the guards were lazily watching from their posts. A normal day in the ludis, except he’d missed most of it.
Clovis ordered him back to his cell and because the balcony was empty, Jonathan returned. His side and his palm only hurt when he moved them, so rest would be welcome. A slave brought a cold bowl of barley stew, bread, and watered wine. Jonathan ate alone, listening to the others spar and wondering what Nessa was doing. How she felt about the moment he’d held her yesterday. When the day’s training ended, Clovis entered and set a small vial down on Jonathan’s table.
Jonathan recognized the familiar shape. “Poison?”
“No. More opium for your pain. It’s undiluted, so don’t tell Quintus.”
“A gift most appreciated.” Jonathan poured the fragrant liquid into his cup and added more watered wine. Clovis was now on Jonathan’s side. Of that he was certain. The trainer kept him in opium, and insisted he rest the following day as well. When Clovis did allow him to return to training, he forbade Jonathan from sparring, which disappointed both Tao and Seppios. Jonathan worked the pole instead, like a new recruit. This angered Caius, who scowled while grasping the balcony edge like a reluctant lover. Jonathan made sure his back was to Caius before smiling as he hacked away with his wooden sword.
The dressing on his hand made gripping anything difficult, but he worked through it. His side pained him less every day, even without the opium he’d stopped four days ago. Quintus often warned the effectiveness diminished if overused, and Jonathan had no desire to become a slave to it as some did. One cruel master was more than enough.
When Clovis entered his cell in the morning and set another vial on the table, Jonathan shook h
is head. “No more. I told you, I’m embracing the pain.”
“Drink it. You fight today. The emissaries from Rome have arrived in Capua. They visit the ludis of Pullus first, which is an honor Caius owes Tao, and you.” Clovis poured the numbing liquid into Jonathan’s cup and filled it halfway with water.
His rest was at an end. Time once again to see Caius pleased with him. Jonathan rose and drained the cup.
Clovis pulled his dagger from his belt and extended the handle. “No wraps. It makes you appear weak.”
Jonathan took the knife and cut away the linen circling his middle. The crusty scab over the gash brushed away, revealing a newly forming scar. He cut away the wrap on his sword hand.
Clovis took one look at his palm and cursed.
The center of the bright pink flesh was painful to the touch. Jonathan pressed with his thumb and had to stifle a hiss. He reached for the empty cup on the table and tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened. Though painful, he could sustain the pressure. He set the cup down and flexed his hand. “The juice of that dagger-leafed plant must be working.”
“Aloe is a great healer, if it can be found in the market.”
Jonathan chuckled and flexed his hand again. “Quintus does bemoan the cost when Nessa slathers it on like oil.”
Clovis stared at Jonathan, a faraway look in his eyes. “I once knew such devotion.” He blinked, and the mask of hardness returned. “Make her proud today.”
Jonathan and Tao would fight in the training area, where they could be observed more closely from the balcony than from the stands of the arena. The pair of officials from Rome wore tunics, not togas. They had the hardened look of Clovis rather than the pampered appearance of the magistrate and other Romans who frequented the ludis.
With trained eyes, the men on the balcony, including Caius, could likely tell Tao was holding back. The crushing force Jonathan normally encountered in Tao’s blows wasn’t there, though their speed and form remained the same. The match was still a struggle, but he felt the moment his second strength surged. His mind shut out all pain and any thought but victory. He rushed Tao, and the hilt of his sword struck a glancing blow off the champion’s brow.
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