The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(24)
He knows now, of course, I thought. Just by looking at me.
Cai had gotten very good at reading my thoughts. But I was saved any further scrutiny by the ludus guards, returning on their rounds and grunting for their gladiator charges to move along back to their cells. My visit, it seemed, was at an end.
“We have to go,” Cai said, reluctance heavy in his voice. “They don’t give us much time to eat, and then it’s back to the practice pitch until dusk.”
“And then?”
“Then they lock us all back up again,” he said.
I looked at Acheron, wondering why he’d been roaming free. “Do they lock you up too?” I asked.
“At night, yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I get a bit of free rein during the days fetching and carrying and delivering messages—I’m the lanista’s dogsbody, really—mostly because I’ve been here so long they think I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I ever managed to escape and run away.”
“Are any of the gladiators here free to come and go as they please?” I asked, thinking of my own situation and wondering just how lucky we were to have Sorcha as our lanista.
“Nah, not here.” Acheron shook his head, grinning. “That elite stuff’s only for the ludi that don’t take things seriously. The lads of the Ludus Flaminius win more than any other academy in Rome because we don’t have a choice. It’s the only way out of here. The only way other than the jackal-men and their hooks, that is. We’re a pack of thieves, murderers, slaves, and captives,” Acheron laughed. “One big happy family . . .” Then he grinned at Cai and winked at me. “See you around, Victrix,” he said with a wave before jogging back toward the archway and disappearing into the darkness of the corridor beyond.
I watched him go. “He’s different,” I said. “Not like Ixion at all.” Although I did wonder what transgression it was that had landed Acheron in the Ludus Flaminius in the first place.
Cai shrugged. “Not all gladiators are treacherous thugs.”
“Cai—”
“It was a joke, Fallon.” He smiled wanly.
“I know that.” I slapped my palm against his chest. “I was only going to say that I’d like to come see you again.”
He looked at me strangely then, tilting his head, the shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m surprised you came to see me at all,” he said. “I didn’t think you wanted anything more to do with me.”
“What?” I blinked at him, not understanding. After all the letters I’d sent to him that he’d returned to me unopened, I thought he—
“Varro!” One of the ludus guards had returned, an angry frown on his brow and his fingers twitching on the leather grip of a spiked, nasty-looking flail whip he carried. “Get your mangy, murdering arse back to your cell—now—or I’ll see your rations cut for a week!”
The amount of sheer silent will I had to dredge up from the depths of my soul in order for me not to step forward and proclaim my identity—as Caesar’s own Victrix—to the man almost made me dizzy. But Quint had been right, back at the theatrum, when he’d said that this wasn’t my fight. This wasn’t my consequence. It was Cai’s. And I had to trust that he’d survive it. For as long as he needed to before the opportunity presented itself and he could once more be free.
Cai walked toward the guard, his gait unhurried, and stopped right in front of him. “I will remember you, Balba,” he said. “I will be free of this place one day, but I will remember.”
“Remember this, scum,” was Balba’s ill-considered reply, as he thrashed his flail at Cai, who threw up his arm and caught the brunt of the spiked leather thongs on his wrist bracer.
Two thin lines of blood appeared higher up on Cai’s forearm, but he didn’t even flinch. He just turned to me and said, “Lady Victrix,” with a nod and a glint in his eye. Then he shook off the flail and stalked past Balba the guard, whose eyes had gone wide as soon as heard how Cai had addressed me. I bit my lip, stifling a grin. Cai clearly didn’t disdain using my notoriety in the same way I did. It might have been his battle to fight, but he clearly didn’t mind me helping out along the way. I watched as he disappeared through the archway, and then I walked toward the guard myself.
“Balba, is it?” I asked him.
He nodded, having gone a bit pale in such close proximity to Caesar’s darling of the sands. Caesar, who also owned the Ludus Flaminius and, by default, all those within its stark stone walls.
“I have a good memory too, Balba,” I said sweetly, remembering the bruises on Cai’s face—which he’d more than likely received in full view of guards like this one. “And I should like to remember you to my lord Caesar as a good and faithful servant. I’m certain he’ll be interested to hear how well you’re taking care of his valuable gladiators.”
“As well as can be, Lady Victrix,” he said, the muscles of his thick neck working as he swallowed nervously.
“That’s good to know.”
“I serve at the pleasure of Caesar, lady.”
I nodded as I continued past him and out into the corridor beyond.
Don’t we all? I thought.
VII
WHEN ELKA AND I finally returned to the townhouse later that day, we discovered an invitation waiting for us. Kronos had received the messenger and relayed his message, written on a fine scroll of papyrus. A party was being held that very evening at the house of Octavia of the Julii, a niece of Caesar’s. Apparently our attendance at the games that afternoon had not gone unnoticed. Tossing my arm ring into the arena might have had something to do with it, I suspected.