The Valiant (The Valiant #1)(66)

I remembered the sensation of Cai’s hands traveling over the lines of my body and felt my face flush with heat.

Charon was good enough to pretend not to notice. He turned back to the box and withdrew a battle kilt made of bronze-studded leather straps. “Here. It goes with this.”

I hesitated, regarding him suspiciously.

“Why are you doing this?”

Charon took the armor back from me and laid it gently in the box. He closed the lid and, after a long moment of silence, slid the box toward me with a sigh. “I traveled with Caesar’s legions when he invaded Britannia,” Charon said quietly. “To assess the slave prospects.”

I felt myself grow very still as he spoke.

“Sorcha. I saw her for the first time in Caesar’s camp, in his tent. And I loved her the moment my eyes met hers. I still do.” He held up a hand. “And nothing ever came of it. Nothing ever will. I came to terms with that a long time ago, Fallon.”

“She never even tried to come home,” I blurted out, the old hurt surfacing like a toothache. “She could have at least sent word.”

“To what end?” Charon said gently. “Your sister Sorcha is no more. And Achillea belongs to Caesar, who will never let her go. She’s far too valuable to him. How would the torment of knowing that his daughter was alive be any kinder to you and your father than letting you both think she was dead?”

My head spun. All I could picture in my mind was my heartbroken father sitting night after night in front of the banked embers of the fire in his hearth, drinking slowly from a great mug of ale late into the night, his gaze roaming the shadows of his hall as if seeking her out. All I could think of was that he’d made the decision to marry me off to Aeddan because he didn’t want to lose me like he’d lost her.

I looked at Charon and saw that his dark gaze was also clouded with memory.

“My love for Sorcha is an old, scarred-over wound on my heart, the ache dulled by the passage of time. Finding you ripped that wound open again. I knew there was something about you from the first moment.” He shook his head. “Then I found your sword, and seeing Sorcha’s mark on the blade confirmed it. By then it was too late to let you go, so I decided that the best thing I could do was bring you here, to her.”

“And sell me to my own sister for enormous sums of money.”

“I might be a romantic.” Charon grinned wryly. “But I’m also a businessman.”

“Does Sorcha know how you feel?” I asked. “Does she know you’re in love with her?”

“She didn’t. Not at first.” He looked at me, and his gaze sharpened noticeably. “Not until I tried to buy her slave contract from Caesar.”

“You don’t know my sister very well,” I said. “She could never love someone who owned her like livestock.”

“No, and that’s why I love her. But you misunderstand me, Fallon. I could never own Sorcha,” Charon said. “The moment her contract was in my hands, I would have torn it to pieces.”

“You would have?” I frowned at the slave master in confusion.

“Of course I would have.” He snorted. “And so would Caius Varro.”

Up until that very moment, the legalities of Roman contracts had been a bit lost on me. I suppose I’d never even considered that a contract, once it was written into existence, could simply be torn and made worthless by whoever held the paper.

Charon shook his head. “I’m assuming Caius made an offer to buy your contract? Don’t tell me you actually think Caius wanted to own you.”

“I . . .”

But that was exactly what I had thought.

Cai . . .

I blinked hard, remembering the anguish in Cai’s face as he’d begged me to let him buy my contract. I hadn’t understood what he intended to do with it. And he hadn’t understood why I wouldn’t let him grant my freedom. Instead, we had let our tempers get the best of us, never bothering to figure out the true meaning of our words.

I rose to my feet. I needed to find Cai and explain.

Charon stopped me before I could leave.

“One more thing . . .”

He reached into the leather scrip that hung from his belt and handed me a small vellum scroll, sealed with a blob of black wax.

The wax seal was imprinted with a sigil of some kind. I glanced at it and then back up at him.

“I can’t read this,” I said.

“I know.” He smiled and pressed the scroll back toward me. “That’s not for you to read.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s for you to keep. As payment for a kindness done.” Charon chuckled at the expression on my face. “You’ve made me a lot of money, Fallon, and not just on your own sale. The price your sister paid for you will serve to goad others on to pay similarly for my wares in the future. It’s all in the perception of things. You’ve guaranteed me money I wouldn’t have made had you not helped me rescue the trunk that bore your own sword. That was the proof of your identity and the only reason I made that kind of profit on your sale. I’m not blind to the irony of the situation.”

He ran his hand over the lid of the box of armor.

“Once outside the walls of the ludus, you won’t be safe. Cai will do his best to look after you, but the ways of Rome—and Romans—are still foreign to you. And you, Fallon, being you, will draw attention—not all of it benign. You’ll need to be careful, and you’ll need to curb your—what should I call it—your impulsive nature.