The Valiant (The Valiant #1)(54)

“The other gladiatrix school?”

“The same.”

“Our rival, then. But that means your father holds interests in direct competition with Caesar’s.” I looked up at him. “Isn’t that a conflict of loyalties for you?”

“I’m an officer in the Roman legion, Fallon,” he snorted. “And the son of a senator. It makes me impervious to moral conundrums.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. It was irritating, the way the Roman mind seemed to work. And the Roman mouth. Cai, as far as I could tell, could say one thing and mean another entirely, and he didn’t seem to find anything inherently confusing in that.

“But I will say this,” Cai continued, oblivious to my frustration. “If it hadn’t been for Pontius Aquila, I might never have met you. It was at his request that I was in Massilia to escort Charon’s galley. And barring that one moment when you tried to stab me, I found the experience . . . gratifying.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Gratifying?”

He smiled. “Extremely.”

I’d found that Latin could sometimes be tricky when it came to the exact meanings of words. But there was no mistaking the tone of Cai’s voice, nor the look in his eyes. I felt heat rising in my face. He found me attractive—that much was plain—but something had changed in his gaze since the first time he’d looked at me on the legion ship after the pirate attack.

“I’ve found myself wondering about the place you come from,” he continued. “About your tribe. I wonder, do they all fight like you do? Are the men as fierce as the women?”

“Is that a polite way of asking if the women of my tribe fight naked?” I asked.

I’d meant only to tease him, but his eyes went a bit wide, and I wondered if I had been far too bold. I had forgotten myself and spoken not like a slave but like his equal. Like the daughter of a king. Remembering Sorcha’s warning not to reveal my real station, I bit my tongue to keep from mentioning it again.

Cai didn’t seem to notice. “Why don’t we just leave my thirst for knowledge unslaked for the time being?” He grinned at last. “The air tonight is too cold for such a contest anyway.”

For a moment, we just stood there, looking at each other. It was the first time we’d shared a joke that wasn’t bitter or barbed. Cai’s grin widened to a smile and he gestured to a stone garden bench that stood just off the path. I followed and Cai sat down beside me, drifting into silence again. The smile faded on his lips as something else clearly occupied his thoughts.

“Fallon, I’ve been thinking,” he said finally, turning to meet my gaze. “I’ve watched dozens of men and women speak the oath you swore tonight. And I’ve seen just as many fulfill that oath on the arena sands. I never thought anything of it, but tonight it was different.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it was you.”

“I must have said the words wrong.” I laughed, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

Instead of laughing with me, Cai leaned forward, his face pale and earnest in the moonlight. “No,” he said. “In fact, the way you said it, it was the truest I ever heard those words ring. And I realized that I don’t want to see you burned or bound or beaten . . . or killed by the sword.”

I laughed again. This was definitely not the turn I’d expected the conversation to take. Surely we were still joking? I was surprised to see that his expression remained serious.

“Listen,” he said. “My father is one of the wealthiest men in Rome. I can go to Caesar—he owes me at least one favor for my years of service to him—and I can offer to buy your contract. I could—”

“What? No!”

I sprang to my feet and stared down at him.

“You would dishonor me?” I said angrily.

“Dishonor you?” He blinked at me. “Fallon—”

“I will not be bought and sold like livestock, Caius Varro! Not again. Certainly not by you.”

Cai’s mouth dropped open, then closed and slowly hardened into a line. “You know the life you have committed yourself to often ends in death,” he said.

“All life does.”

“I would not have you die at all if I could help it, Fallon.” He stood and moved to take my hand, but I crossed my arms tightly in front of me and took a step back. “But since I don’t have the powers of the gods, I would beg this favor of them: I would not have you die any day soon.”

“Your faith in my abilities as a warrior is nothing short of staggering,” I snapped.

“You’re not the only girl in the arena who can swing a blade!” he snapped back.

I’d almost begun to think that Cai was different—that there was even a chance that he believed in me. But suddenly, it felt just like being a little girl again, listening to Sorcha tell me that I would be target practice for every warrior I met on the battlefield. It felt like when my father denied me a place in his royal war band because he feared that he might lose me, that I couldn’t hold my own on the battlefield. Sometimes I wondered if even Mael had simply thought me more reckless than brave.

“I thought you said you admired my spirit,” I said. “I thought I reminded you of Spartacus.”

“I did.” His voice softened as he took me gently by the shoulders. “You do. Fallon, Spartacus is dead because he decided he wanted to live free, and he had to rebel against the might of the whole empire to do it. And yes, he has my admiration, but it does him precious little good in his present state. I only want to keep you away from the arena so that you can avoid a similar fate.”