The Valiant (The Valiant #1)(85)

“Really. Is that why he’s using you to get to me?” I asked.

She glared at me, murder in her eyes.

I shook my head. “How did you even know I was Achillea’s sister? Did Aquila tell you? Is he your real master, Nyx?”

“Shut up,” she snarled. “My loyalty lies with the Ludus Achillea and it always has. More than yours.”

“How did you know?”

“I heard the Lanista talking to Thalestris about it.” She pushed the dark hair back from her face and wrung the wash water from it. “About you. And how desperate she was to protect her poor baby sister from all the big, bad monsters in Rome.”

“Like the monsters I saw at Domus Corvinus last night?” I said. “Do you know what they do down there in the catacombs? Do you know what happened to the gladiator Ajax?”

“I know he lost.” Her expression was cold and pitiless.

“They butchered him—”

“I don’t care!” she shouted, covering her ears. I think she knew, or at least suspected, Aquila’s true nature—she just didn’t want to admit it. “One day it will be me fighting in those houses on the hill, living in luxury and treated like a goddess. Just as well as that ungrateful fool Mandobracius.”

I was sickened by Nyx’s idea of what we were and sick at heart to think that the night before I’d clamored for a man’s death for the sake of entertainment. That wasn’t what being a gladiator—or a gladiatrix—was supposed to be about. No matter what the mob thought, we were better than that.

I was better than that.

All of the righteous fury drained from me as I stood and climbed out of the laundry tub. I no longer wanted to make Nyx suffer. I figured she was suffering enough without my help, even if she didn’t know it. I left her there with her rage and hatred and her deluded lust for glory.

“I’m not your enemy, Nyx,” I said over my shoulder. “I won’t be.”

“From the sound of it, you have more enemies than you can handle, gladiolus,” she called after me. “I don’t even think I have to fight you anymore. I can just sit back and watch as others tear you to pieces.”

? ? ?

I went back to tell Elka everything that had happened, but Sorcha flung open the door to our room before I could get a word out. I braced myself for the beating she would give me, but then she was across the room crushing me to her chest in a fierce hug.

“Thank the Morrigan,” she whispered into my hair. “I thought they’d taken you from me.”

After a moment, Heron entered, carrying his leather satchel full of medical supplies.

“Ajani took care of her already,” I said as he strode over to Elka’s cot.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Heron grumbled, peeling back the layers of linen bandages with a brisk efficiency that somehow didn’t even draw a flinch from Elka, who actually managed to roll an eye at me. Heron muttered to himself and unstoppered the little clay pot and sniffed at the salve. Then he stood without opening the satchel. “Whatever Ajani salved the wounds with, I want her to make me up a batch.” He glanced back at Elka. “I’d say she’ll sustain no lasting damage that would keep her from the arena. Alternatively”—he shot Sorcha with a disapproving stare—“you could simply refrain from flogging the academy’s assets.”

Then he was out the door and gone.

Sorcha stared after him, unfazed by the rebuke.

“Told you I’d be fine,” Elka mumbled, turning her face back into the pillow. Within a few moments, she was gently snoring.

I shook my head and turned back to Sorcha.

“Why are you soaking wet?” she asked.

I ignored the question and glared at her silently.

“What’s that face for?”

“You had Elka beaten.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I did.”

“But not Nyx? Did you really believe her story about a midnight kitchen raid?”

“Of course not,” Sorcha said. “But it gave me an excuse not to whip her out of commission. As of this morning, I thought she was my only contender for the Victory role in the Triumphs.”

“Sorcha—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Plead for me to reinstate you as a contender.”

I bit my lip in anguish.

“Because I already have.” She sighed. “I discussed it with Thalestris, and she convinced me I was overreacting. Of course, I should have both you and Nyx thrown in irons and hung from the rafters for the stunt you pulled last night, but I really don’t relish informing Caesar of the appalling lack of discipline at his ludus. Now that you’ve returned unscathed, I’ll send you both to his villa so he can make his choice between the two of you—Minerva help the poor man!—and call it a day.”

I could barely contain the excitement I felt. But I was still angry—with Sorcha, but mostly with Nyx—over Elka’s punishment.

“I’ll win the Victory role,” I said. “But I still want Nyx to pay for what she did. She took me to that place on purpose so I’d wind up in trouble.”

“Leave Nyx be,” Sorcha said and put a hand on my shoulder. “Vengeance is never the right path to take, Fallon, no matter where you think it might lead. If I were you, I’d let Nyx think she’s gotten away with something. She hasn’t. And though it saddens me to say it, because she’s been dear to my heart these many years, she will get what’s coming to her. The Morrigan watches over you and will see to it, as she sees to all things.”