The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(103)

She stopped and held my sword out to me, hilt-first. “I didn’t kill Hestia.”

I reached for the blade, nodding thanks.

“I didn’t kill any of ours,” she continued. “I mean . . . any of yours.”

“I know,” I said, glancing at Ajani. “I thought about it after Cosa, and I realized . . . you’re a much better shot than that.”

Ajani tilted her head at Tanis, and a small smile lifted the corner of her mouth. Tanis stood there for a long moment, just staring at us, then Gratia stepped down from the chariot she’d been driving and walked slowly over to her. I felt my muscles tense. Gratia had never allowed Tanis much slack back at the Ludus Achillea. A lot of the girls hadn’t. I waited to see what she would do, half expecting she would hurl a punch at Tanis. Or maybe worse.

Her hand came up and fell heavily on Tanis’s shoulder. “Welcome back, little archer,” she said. “We’ve missed you.”

Tanis bit her lip, and Gratia wrapped her in a punishing bear hug as the rest of us let loose a thunderous cheer that echoed off the oaks of the Island of the Mighty.





XXVII


DESTINY, CLEOPATRA HAD once told me, is not something that is given. It’s something you prove yourself worthy of taking.

I thought about that as I lit the lamps that hung from the rafters of my roundhouse, wondering if she would appreciate the manner in which I’d proved myself worthy. I suspected she would. In truth, I suspected that she would have had a good long laugh over it.

The last lamp I lit was the one Sorcha had given me to replace my oath lamp back at the ludus. Flickering light and shadow played along the walls and floors, picked out the colors of the pillows and rugs covering the sleeping platform, and reflected off the wavy bronze mirror that hung on one wall. No one had moved a thing in the little house since I’d left. My father had forbade it. The remains of my fire-tarnished dagger and torc were still sitting in the brazier, and even the stain on the rug from where Aeddan had dropped the amphora of wine that night was still there.

I tidied those things up and aired the place out before inviting Cai in later that night. There had been a feast, of course. A celebration. A lot of flirting between my father’s war band and mine.

Now there was only the song of a night bird drifting in through the tiny window. Lamplight, peace, my own bed, and Caius Antonius Varro in my arms.

“Your Forgotten Vale reminds me of the Circus Maximus,” Cai said quietly, staring up into the shadows beneath the thatched roof. “The shape of it. You know . . . the way you girls fought today, I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about tribal raids for some time to come, do you?”

I grinned. “Probably not. Word gets around . . .”

“Exactly,” he said. “So I was thinking. Maybe we could turn the Forgotten Vale into something. Something other than a place of sadness and fading memories.”

“You mean, something like . . . an arena?” I said.

“Why not?” he said, rising up on one elbow so he could look into my eyes. “A place where you could still compete. Race those wondrous chariots. Continue to hone your skills and teach new warriors . . . Invite the tribes to friendly competitions . . . Turn the grave barrows into a proper monument to honor the fallen. To not forget them. Maybe hold your own Triumphs one day.”

I smiled at him.

Our own Triumphs . . .

The words sounded like a distant carnyx calling me and all my sisters to arms . . . and I liked the sound of that.