The Defiant (The Valiant #2)(17)

“Doing what?”

“Losing their week’s wages to Quint at dice.” Cai laughed at my expression. “Never gamble with a Corsican. Especially one as devious as him.”

“I have a feeling he’s not the truly devious one. You put him up to this?”

“I asked a favor. Now come here. Let’s not waste it.”

I felt myself smiling as Cai plucked the lamp from my fingers and placed it on the bench to illuminate our midnight repast. This was the place where we’d come a fingerbreadth away from sharing our first kiss on the night of my oath swearing. This time, there was no near miss.

The shadows beneath the tall cedar trees circled us like a dance of phantoms as Cai lowered his face to mine and kissed me on the mouth. I felt myself melting into his embrace as my arms circled around his neck. The night was warm and fragrant and wrapped around us as we wrapped around each other and sank slowly to the soft grass, the call of a nightingale soaring high over our heads in the darkness.

My hand slipped beneath the short sleeves of Cai’s tunic and up over his shoulder. His, traveling the outside length of my thigh, traced the curve of my hip up past the hem of my tunic skirt. We both broke out into gooseflesh, shivering at one another’s touch . . . and then his hand stopped moving at almost the exact same moment mine did.

Cai’s lips pulled away from my mouth, and he opened his eyes.

“What’s this?” he asked, tapping a finger against my skin.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I answered.

My fingers rested on a raised ridge of flesh that crested the curve of his shoulder and felt puckered at the edges. His hand rested likewise on the scar of a recently healed wound I’d received in a bout with a gladiatrix from a new ludus that had recently begun operations on the outskirts of a coastal town north of us called Tarquinii. They’d held a day of games to celebrate the opening of the fledgling academy, and I’d sparred with a girl who’d fought retiarius. A less experienced fighter than I was, maybe, but I suspected that she’d grown up spearfishing; she tagged me soundly with her trident. One of the weapon’s three tines had sliced up under the leather straps of my battle kilt and left a gash that had thankfully been longer than it was deep. Heron had used the opportunity to teach Neferet how to sew a wound closed using sinew thread. I had passed out only once while she practiced her handiwork—more from the sensation of the needle tugging thread through my flesh than any actual pain, because Heron’s potions had already ensured I would feel none of that.

I’d almost forgotten about the incident. It was nothing—a day in the life of a gladiatrix—but I knew Cai wouldn’t see it that way. He reached past me for the lamp and brought it down so he could get a closer look at my hip, hissing through his teeth when he saw the scar. When he looked back up at me, his expression had clouded over.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” I said, tugging down my hem. “No damage to the muscle, and no infection. I limped for a week or two—that’s all. And I won that bout!”

“I don’t like the thought of you getting hurt in the arena,” he said.

I snorted. “We have that in common, believe me.”

Cai opened his mouth and the look in his eyes told me I was in for a stern lecture—which I forestalled immediately. “Unh!” I exclaimed and tapped his shoulder. “I showed you mine. Now let me see yours.”

He seemed rather more reluctant to share, and when he finally tugged aside his sleeve, I understood why.

“Lugh’s teeth, Cai!” I gasped. “You look like you were attacked by a bear!”

I was more than a little surprised when he started to laugh. “I was.”

“What?”

He nodded ruefully.

“We were on a march through a thick forest,” he explained. “The troops were strung out in a narrow, tree-choked pass. I was mounted and checking the rear for any stragglers when I had the misfortune of coming between a mother bear and her cub. I’ve been convalescing for the past month. You might have won your bout, but I wasn’t quite so lucky with mine. Then again, the old sow wasn’t really fighting fair, but she definitely walked away from that bout the champion. I was just lucky that Quintus circled back to find me when my horse suddenly bolted past him, riderless.”

“Oh, Cai . . .”

The scars—three long parallel gashes—were still a bit livid, with ragged edges, and I could see the suture holes from where they’d sewn him up. Neferet had done a far neater job on me, I thought, than the army doctors had on Cai. Mind, I hadn’t been mauled by claws.

“Does it still hurt?”

He shrugged the material back down over his shoulder, stifling a wince. “It’s made it . . . challenging.” He frowned a bit. “I can still ride and swing a sword. But in a standing fight I’m useless in formation unless I can hold a shield. And I’m not quite up to that yet.”

That didn’t surprise me. A scutum—the standard-issue legion shield—was a great heavy rectangular thing that covered a man from shins to shoulders. In a fight against a tribe of angry Gauls hurling javelins and fireballs, I would have cheerfully hidden behind one, but it took a deal of brute strength to use one properly. Gratia and Damya were fine with scuta, but I found the things awkward and near impossible to use.