The Defiant (The Valiant #2)(51)

“We’ve left a lot of girls behind,” Gratia mused, echoing Charon’s sentiment earlier. “A lot of friends.”

I felt the dull-edged knife of guilt twist in my heart. “I know. I’m sorry—”

“No.” Gratia glanced at me sharply. “No, Fallon. You have nothing to be sorry for. I thought Nyx was my friend. I really did. And I’ve lost her too. The fact that she never felt that way about me—about any of us—doesn’t make it hurt any less. What she did to Lydia, to Meriel, those were betrayals. What she’s done to you? Unforgivable.”

“She thinks I took something from her. Something precious.”

“Status. Reputation.”

“Sorcha.”

“Well, that’s something Nyx should have learned by now. You don’t own people.” She snorted—at the irony, I think, of those words spoken from one slave to another. “Not their hearts, anyway. And if you lose them, then you weren’t strong enough or worthy enough to keep them.”

I turned to look at Gratia, surprised and a little ashamed that I’d never really considered her disposed toward those kinds of thoughts. Those kinds of feelings. I’d only ever thought of her in terms of her bluntness. Both as a fighter and as a person. I guess I’d always known there was much more to her—to all of the Achillea gladiatrices—than just the skill and will to survive. But when you spent your days facing off in the arena against the same people you broke bread with every morning, there was a natural tendency to reduce them to just that: the block of marble, not the finished sculpture.

I reminded myself again of what Sorcha had been striving for with her ideas of a Nova Ludus Achillea. A place where we could be more than just rivals. We were people. Individuals. Creatures of heart and mind, not just flesh and bone, and we deserved a chance to live our lives fully. I wanted that. For me, for Gratia. For all of us. For my sister and my sisters.

Corsica, I vowed silently, would not be the end of it.

It would be the beginning.

? ? ?

After Gratia bid me good night, I went to find Neferet, to see if there was anything in her satchel she could give me to calm my stomach and my nerves. I wasn’t the first, apparently.

“Sea sickness,” she diagnosed, then gave me a cup of water that she poured a pinch of powder into. “Drink this. And then go lie down. It’ll make you drowsy, and maybe a little muddled. So stay away from the ship’s rails, and try to get some sleep.”

I drank the soporific and wandered off to find a spot somewhere on deck where I could curl up out of the way. Tucking in behind a stack of folded sailcloth near the stern, I wrapped my cloak tight around me and pulled the hood up over my head. The deck had fallen silent, save for the creak of oars and the murmur of the sailors, and they soon lulled me to sleep.

And fretful dreams. Dreams of home . . .

“You mean Britannia?” I heard Cai say.

I tried to answer him, but my head was too heavy and my mouth wouldn’t open. And then I realized he wasn’t talking to me anyway.

“Durovernum,” Aeddan answered. “You could send her back there.”

What? No he can’t . . .

The sounds of the conversation began to drift in and out, like waves on a beach.

“. . . longer she stays in Rome, the shorter her life will be . . .”

That was Aeddan.

“. . . draws down danger like a flower draws bees . . .”

“. . . go home, back to where she truly belongs . . .”

Cai’s voice was muffled. His words indistinguishable, try as I might.

“. . . the life she should have had. The life of a queen.”

I have the life of a gladiatrix, Aeddan, I thought. The life I want now . . .

And then I heard Cai say, “I’m listening.”

What? Why? Don’t listen to him, Cai . . .

I wanted to stand up and confront the two of them, but the dream wouldn’t let me. I was paralyzed. I could only lie there while they discussed what was to be done about me. Their voices drifted in and out of my ears, shifting and modulating, catching in the sails and echoing off the wind and the waves.

“. . . with her sister or without . . .”

I heard myself moan in denial. There would be no “without” Sorcha.

“. . . a queen . . . want for nothing—”

“And we both know she won’t go willingly.”

“She will,” Aeddan said. “If you tell her to.”

Like hell I will . . .

“. . . tell her that you don’t want her here.” Aeddan’s voice grew clearer. “That you don’t want her. If you don’t love her, then it shouldn’t be a problem for you. But if you do love her, Caius Varro, then lie to her.”

I fought against the soft black fog that wrapped around me, pulling me down, struggling to hear Cai’s answer—and how vehement his denial would be.

But there was only silence.

And with his silence, I felt my heart crack.

Then the darkness insisted, and I fell into a bottomless, dreamless well. When I awoke sometime later, my eyes snapped open and I sat bolt upright, glancing around wildly in the predawn gloom, scanning the deck for Cai and Aeddan, but they weren’t there. The only sounds were the creak and splash of the ship. The shushing of the oars. And the echoes of their voices from my dream.