The Defiant (The Valiant #2)(85)

When he came at me again with a second punch, I didn’t bother to duck. I just blocked the blow with my sword. He didn’t have time to scream in pain before I circled my blade through the air and lunged forward, burying the point in his chest. He fell back, and I yanked my sword from between his ribs, kicking away his slumping corpse.

As I regrouped for another attacker, I saw Antonia put her crescent blade to good use. The man she used it on didn’t even know that his throat had been opened up before he was on the floor, staring empty-eyed up at the ceiling. Quint saw it happen too, and offered a grunt of approval. Then he turned and dispatched his own attacker. The remaining vigiles fought grimly, but they proved no real match for two trained legionnaires and three angry gladiators.

Soon, the room was quiet. Still.

Red.

The blood pooled beneath our feet, seeping from the mortal wounds of the seven dead vigiles. I stood there, catching my wind, when Cai turned to Antonia.

“Find Neferet,” he said. “Hurry—and tell her to bring her satchel!”

I blinked at him. None of us was injured.

“I don’t think it’ll do them any good,” I said, gesturing at the bodies of the vigiles on the floor.

“It’s not for them. It’s for you,” Cai said, grabbing me by the shoulders and making me look at him. “Perhaps we’re not too late . . .”

“Too late for what?”

“The hemlock.”

“Cai—”

“Aeddan, find something she can sit down on.”

Aeddan heaved at the marble altar, tipping it over on its side. It fell heavily, and the scales and feather hit the floor with a crash.

“Cai! Aeddan—stop!” I shrugged out of Cai’s grip as he tried to make me sit. “Antonia, stay here!”

They froze, all of them staring at me as if I might shatter.

“I’m fine,” I said.

Antonia frowned. “But the hemlock—”

“I didn’t drink any hemlock.” I snorted. “The senator’s physician sent a cup of wine to my room every night to help me sleep. But I had such terrible dreams the first night, I just kept pouring the stuff out the window.”

Cai looked at me. “You didn’t drink the wine.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t want to seem rude.”

He laughed and hugged me fiercely.

“I’ve decided I’ll stick to good old Prydain beer,” I said, my voice muffled by his chest. “You Romans put too many strange things in your drink.”

Cai let go of me, grinning. “All right,” he said. “We’ll celebrate with a great foaming vat of the stuff when this is all over, but now it’s past time we left this place.”

He moved swiftly to the single door that led back out into the house and cracked it open, checking to see if there were any of the domus slaves about. It seemed the way was clear.

“Wipe the blood from your sandals on that one’s cloak,” he said, pointing to one of the dead vigiles. “Let’s go.”

Before we left the room, I put a hand on his arm. “Cai? I’m sorry about your father,” I said.

“No.” He shook his head, but I could see the anger—and the heartbreak—in his gaze. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Fallon. I should have believed Kass. And I damned well should have told you of her suspicions. Instead, I let my love for my father blind me, and I led us all into danger. Aeddan was right.”

I glanced at Aeddan, who looked back at me, a grim vindication in his eyes.

“You knew he knew?”

“He came to me when we first arrived here. I didn’t want to listen at first. But he was right.” Cai nodded at him. “And loyal. He sent for me first before going to get those thug Sons of Dis just now.” He looked back at the dead men on the floor. “I’m just glad I was with Antonia when he found me—she’s a walking weapon.”

Antonia threw him a casual salute with her nonweaponized hand as she finished cleaning the blood from her crescent blade.

“At any rate,” he continued, “so long as my father thinks Aeddan is still loyal to their order, then that’s an advantage we have. He might be able to get close to Aquila, and that might prove useful.”

The thought of getting anywhere near Pontius Aquila sent a chill through me, but he was right. And I owed Aeddan an apology when everything was said and done. Several, perhaps.

Cai slipped out through the ebony door into the corridor beyond and we followed him as he ran, heading in the direction of the stables, where the rest of my fellow gladiatrices waited with horses saddled and a gilded war chariot hitched up and at the ready. Elka grinned as she held out a full kit of armor that was an exact duplicate of the ceremonial Victrix gear I’d worn during Caesar’s Triumphs.

“Charon’s doing?” I asked.

She nodded. “The man has definite connections in the artisans’ guilds.”

Then she and Gratia helped me armor up. There would be no mistaking who I was as we rode through the city and north on the Via Clodia. All the way to the gates of the Ludus Achillea. Our destination, and our destiny.

As we rode, we fanned out in a V formation: Victrix in her chariot, followed by two wild-geese wings of fellow warriors, mounted on noble steeds, helmet crests tossing, cloaks flowing out behind us, weapons and armor gleaming. We presented a magnificent spectacle, worthy of the marble frieze that graced the main gates of the ludus, as we rode through the crowds that had lined the city streets, expecting us.