The Valiant (The Valiant #1)(76)
“You can’t be all uptight on a night like this,” Nyx said, passing the wineskin to Elka, who expertly tilted her head back and shot a stream of red liquid down her throat. “Ha! That’s it. You drink like an Amazon!”
“Fight like one too.” Elka wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“Better not let Thalestris hear you say that.” Nyx grinned as Elka handed her back the wine. “She’s touchy on the subject, seeing as how her mighty Amazon sister embarrassed the whole bloody tribe, distinguishing herself as the first ever gladiatrix to get killed. And by our own Lanista, no less!”
She offered the wine to me, and rolled her eyes when I hesitated. I stifled a sigh and reached for the skin. The wine was unwatered, rich and sweet. Nyx must have pilfered the expensive stuff, I thought. I took another long swallow and handed it back.
“Where are we going?” I asked, looking around at the unfamiliar buildings that loomed above the dark streets. We’d barely passed a soul, and most of the windows were shuttered tight. If not for the almost full moon above, it would have been like walking through ink-black fog.
“We’re going to the Domus Corvinus, up on the Caelian Hill,” Nyx explained. “It’s owned by a very rich nobleman who has far more money than he knows what to do with and doesn’t want to leave any of it to his greedy relatives. So he spends it all on these extravagant spreads and invites all of his friends, and everyone goes a little mad. His cooks make all sorts of outlandish dishes like monkey tongues and stewed starfish. And the entertainment is extraordinary!”
I wondered what constituted extraordinary entertainment at a Roman feast. I thought back to the gatherings my father used to host where the young men of the tribes would compete to see who could leap over the tallest bonfire flames and the bards dueled each other in song, shaping words and music beautiful enough to break hearts. Where the women would dance barefoot across a floor of naked swords . . .
My steps faltered as a wave of homesickness swept over me, and I stopped in the middle of the street. I was outside the ludus, unguarded, at night . . . what was there to stop me from running away?
But even as the thought crossed my mind, I wondered if I could bear to lose my sister again. Thalestris said Sorcha would go mad with grief if she thought something had happened to me.
After everything she’s put me through? I thought. It would serve her right.
Even in the darkness, I could probably manage to head in the general direction of the Capitoline Hill. And I could smell the river. But if I got lost and wound up in the Aventine district, then I was in trouble. The Aventine—so we’d been warned—wasn’t a part of the city to get lost in.
“Come on, Fallon!” Nyx exclaimed suddenly, reaching for my hand. “Don’t be such a tortoise! We’re in Rome. This is the most amazing city in the world, and we’ll never get another chance to experience it like this. It’ll be fun—you’ll see!”
She handed the wineskin to me again.
I took another swallow, and my urge to run faded as the liquid heat from the wine coursed through my limbs. There was a faint buzzing in my skull like a swarm of lazy bees. Nyx was right. Escape, after all, would be awfully hard work. And I could certainly use a little less work and a little more fun in my life.
A little more sisterhood and a little less sister.
? ? ?
It’s said that if you look hard enough, you could find any kind of indulgence in Rome. And that, in most cases, you didn’t even have to look very hard. There was no admittance to the Domus Corvinus that night unless you were wearing a mask. Those who hadn’t brought their own—and who, exactly, had brought their own? Elka wondered aloud—were obliged to choose one from a basket held by one of the pretty girls standing at the gated entrance of the estate grounds.
“I don’t understand why everyone has to wear one of these,” I said.
One of the girls holding a basket leaned in close to my ear.
“Because stuffy old men wrapped in purple-striped togas in the senate don’t approve of such gatherings,” she whispered. “They outlawed the Bacchanales decades ago, and Domus Corvinus parties are the closest thing you’ll find to those!” Then she kissed my cheek, her perfume making my head spin. “Isn’t that deliciously wicked?”
Some masks were made of linen strips wrapped over wire frames and stiffened with paste, and others were made of leather, molded into grotesque or fanciful shapes. They were all painted and decorated with jewels and beads or peacock feathers. Some were gilded or finished with silver, and some were even attached to elaborate wigs dyed in bright hues.
Nyx chose one adorned with a fan of peacock plumes. Lydia protested that she’d been about to choose that one, but she had to settle for one designed to look like a mosaic. I wasn’t about to tell her that it made her look rather reptilian. Elka slipped on a mask festooned with downy feathers that made her look like an owl.
I’d only ever seen masks like that worn by the actors who performed between matches at the games. Something about normal folk donning them to disguise themselves in a crowd made me uneasy. The anonymity the masks granted the revelers felt almost dangerous.
“Oh, stop dawdling!” Nyx complained. “Just pick one. We’re going to miss all the fun!”
I shook off the moment of apprehension and plunged my hand into the basket, snatching up the first mask my fingertips brushed—a pretty thing with layers of delicate green and gold leaves fanning outward like a sunburst. I settled it on my face, and the girl tied the ribbons behind my head.