The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(102)

Then she turned and calmly nocked another arrow and shot another Coritani berserker that was giving Devana some trouble at the edge of the fray. I wasn’t the only one who noticed that time. In the next instant, Tanis was down on hands and knees from a blow to the back of her head. I shouted her name, but my cry was swallowed up in the din of the fight. I ducked under a wide, wild blow from a Coritani and slashed at his flank, pushing past to get into a pocket of breathing space. The warrior who’d taken Tanis down had his sword raised for a killing blow.

I had no choice and no chance to think twice—I would not fail her again—and I threw my sword at him. It spun end over end, and the blade caught him right at the join between his neck and shoulder. Not a lethal blow, but enough to make him scream and drop his own sword. It gave Tanis just enough time to draw another arrow from the quiver on her hip, and, spinning on one knee, she thrust it up into his torso, underneath his rib cage. She glanced back over her shoulder at me and nodded sharply in thanks. I nodded back and then turned away when I heard someone shouting my name over the din.

Cai swung his chariot in a tight turn and, as he raced past, hollered for me to get back on board. I took a running leap and swung myself up behind him as he slapped the reins and the horses surged forward. I drew my eagle sword from its scabbard. The tide of battle was beginning to turn. But not fast enough. Elka and Quint were just off to our left, wreaking havoc with spear and sword.

“Quint!” I shouted. “Now!”

He nodded at me and, lifting his legion signal whistle to his lips, blew three sharp blasts on it. At the edge of the clearing, the leaves of the trees began to glow red. While my gladiatrix sisters and I fought on the field, my band of Amazons had circled around in stealth to free Aquila’s captives. Perhaps, in hindsight, it hadn’t been the wisest thing for Aquila to do—taking only prisoners he thought would fight fiercely and well in his munera back in Rome. Because those men and women, once freed, fought just as fiercely and well on the battlefield that day. Led by Kallista and her sisters, the daughters of Amazons, wielding their fire chains with mesmerizing, deadly grace.

The rout of Aquila’s forces began in earnest.

Like peeling an onion, with our blades we stripped away the warriors that surrounded him, protecting him, until the moment when he stood there, alone in a field where others still fought around him. His own sword was unbloodied, clenched white-knuckled in his hand. I signaled Cai to stop the chariot. Off to my right, I saw Virico signal Gratia to do the same.

I stepped down onto the muddy grass and walked toward the man who’d haunted my days in Rome. The man who’d stood gloating in the shadows while Caesar fell. A coward and a villain. A madman . . .

“You only exist because of me,” he snarled at me, flecks of foam spittle spraying from his mouth. “You think Caesar cared for you? You were a tool. I would have made you a talisman. Divine. A name to conjure with. Now I’ll just kill you where you stand and leave this fetid island to sink under the weight of its own barbarism.”

I snorted. “You really don’t know when you’re beaten, do you?”

“Defeating this rabble isn’t the same as defeating me, girl.” He lifted his sword and widened his stance.

“Know this, Roman,” my father said, striding over to stand within striking distance on Aquila’s other side. “If my daughter falls, you will have to face me.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, old man?” Aquila sneered, turning the full force of his venomous attention on Virico. “I know you. I know what you are. You’re a coward and a captive and—”

I took three steps forward, and thrust my sword up under the polished black scales of his pristine ceremonial armor, stabbing him through the heart while he ranted.

Pontius Aquila had never been an honorable enemy. And it was my absolute pleasure to visit a dishonorable death upon him. He’d thought I would adhere to the rules of the gladiatorial arena. Face him in honorable single combat. I was more than happy to prove him wrong. We weren’t in an arena. And he’d insulted my father, the king. As he flailed weakly at the hilt of my eagle sword, sticking grotesquely out from between his ribs, I looked Pontius Aquila right in his black eyes.

“He is my father. He is a king. He and Caesar are the reasons I am Victrix.”

Aquila sagged to his knees, still staring up at me in disbelief.

“And you?” I continued. “You are nothing. Nothing except a reason for me to finally come home.”



* * *



—

In the wake of Aquila’s death, the Coritani lost interest in any further fighting almost instantly. They’d already gambled much on the Roman Tribune’s promises to them and let their hatred of the Cantii sway them to a cause that really wasn’t even theirs in the first place. But with the Collector dead, so were their hopes of rich purses and Cantii slaves to sell. The easy pickings they’d been promised were nothing of the sort. I could see them start to turn tail with the idea of heading for other unsuspecting prey. I knew the Coritani. They would pillage and kill all the way back to their own lands if we gave them the chance. We didn’t. The handful who survived melted into the surrounding forest, leaving the Sons of Dis—what was left of them—to be surrounded and cut down by my father’s war band.

In the end, there was only one black-clad warrior left standing in that whole field. And that was because she’d saved my life. In the aftermath of the battle, with the sun sinking low behind the trees and my war band ranged in a loose circle around us, Tanis walked haltingly up to me, my lost raven sword—the one I’d thrown at her assailant—dangling loosely in her hand.