The Defiant (The Valiant #2)(72)

“We use the plebs—and their excitability—against their Tribune.”

“I’m listening . . .”

“We can’t retake the ludus by sheer force,” I said. “Not without an army—one that Caesar would never give us for the simple fact that Aquila has possession of the written deed to the place, signed over to him by Thalestris. Even if you were to step forward now and reassert your claim, I don’t know that it would do any good. It’s unlikely to be general knowledge that Aquila has seized the ludus through deceit.”

“The legalities are doubtless tricky,” Cai said, scratching at the stubble of his chin and thinking over the implications. “It would have to go before the courts, and that could take months if not years to settle.”

“And Caesar,” I said, “as I’ve come to understand, is a stickler for legalities.”

“He has to be.” Quint shrugged. “It’s all in the public perception.”

“Right,” I continued. “So—as I said—we use the public to our advantage, and we call Aquila out.”

Cai’s eye glinted. “Call him out?”

“Issue a challenge. A very public challenge.” I could feel my own fierce excitement brewing over the idea. “Before Aquila has the chance to perpetuate the myth of a rebellion, we meet him head-on and quash that fiction.”

“How do we do that?” Elka asked.

“We announce a match,” I said. “A big one—just like the ones in the Circus Maximus—but to take place in the field outside the Ludus Achillea. Set a date and a time, and let it be known that the main attraction of the day will be a rematch between Victrix of the Triumphs and her nemesis, Nyx—a gladiatrix contest to end all contests! Throw the promise of a wolf pack of wild Amazons into the mix and they’ll be salivating for such a spectacle.”

Elka was grinning at me fiercely.

Cai gazed at me with something approaching amazement.

Quint, though, wasn’t entirely convinced. “What if she doesn’t come out?” he said. “What if Aquila doesn’t rise to the bait?”

At that, Elka laughed and slapped him on the back. He sputtered a bit and turned pink, whether from the heat of the slap or of her attention, I couldn’t tell.

“You don’t know that bitch the way we do,” she said. “A chance to even the score with Fallon? She’d reach down Aquila’s throat and pull his guts out his mouth if he dared to stand in her way.”

Quintus turned to me. “And you think it’s a good idea to fight this creature. Carry on, then.”

“I have some ideas about that too,” I said, glancing over at Sorcha.

She cocked her head and regarded me warily, but for the moment, I held my peace. Those ideas—specifically as to what her role might very well be in the whole drama—were still not fully formed, and so I kept them to myself. For the moment. My mind flashed back, as it had done for the last few days, to the docks and the last conversation I’d had with Meriel before she’d sacrificed herself for my escape. She was right: I’d never truly beat Nyx in a one-on-one fight. The chariot crash that ended our rivalry during the Triumphs had, in many ways, been the result of teamwork. And sheer bloody-minded luck. And so Quint’s sardonic concern for my well-being in such a matchup wasn’t entirely without merit.

I didn’t know that I could beat Nyx in a duel.

But maybe . . . just maybe, I didn’t have to.

“It’s an interesting idea,” Cai said, still rubbing his chin as he worked his way through the logistics. “And you’re right. It could forestall any rumors of a rebellion. But a challenge match outside the ludus still doesn’t win us back the ludus itself.”

“No,” I agreed. “It doesn’t. But while everyone’s attention is focused on the field outside the front gate of the compound . . .”

I smiled at my friends and shrugged innocently.

“Oh.” Quintus blinked, understanding blooming in his expression. “Oh . . . I see.”

Sorcha’s wariness became downright suspicion. “I don’t.”

I took a deep breath and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. “Remember when you were having the marble frieze installed at the ludus, and I told you I thought you should consider fighting again, sister?” I said. “Well, it’s time for Penthesilea to lead her Amazons onto the field of battle. And this time . . . she’s going to win.”

? ? ?

The argument that erupted between us was one for the ages. By the time it was finished—not resolved—the deck space all around me and Sorcha had cleared, and everyone else had found something to occupy themselves with that didn’t involve coming anywhere near the two of us. When Sorcha finally threw up her hands and went to go brood stormily half a ship away from me, the winds had died to a gentle breeze, and I could just make out the mainland on the horizon.

Never mind Sorcha, I told myself, glancing skyward. There’s time yet to convince her. Time, at least, until Aquila’s munera. I searched the breaks between the clouds stretching across the day-blue sky as if I could see the moon and stars there. A fortnight. We had a fortnight to bring my plan to fruition. And then it would be too late. Aquila would hold his munera instead, and Achillea girls would die.