The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(42)

“My feelings exactly, my queen,” I said, and followed her example.

I didn’t tell her that my ludus sisters and I planned to do exactly the same thing—for whatever that was worth. None of us had much to lose. What I did want to tell her in that moment was how sorry I was for her loss, but I bit my tongue on those words too. I would not shame her in that moment with sympathy or softness she clearly didn’t need. No. What Cleopatra needed most from me just then was strength, swords, and safe passage. And she would have them. From me and from my sisters of the Ludus Achillea. Because it wouldn’t be long before there was nothing else for us in the world but that—a mission and a purpose. And none of us wanted sympathy either.

I stood.

“Send in Sennefer, won’t you?” Cleopatra said before I left, wiping the edge of her little finger under her eye. She glared at the black smudge left on her fingertip in disgust. “And my women. I know we only have until daybreak. But I’m not going anywhere until I look like the goddess I am. The goddess Caesar loved. I’m sure there must still be one pot of eyepaint left intact, at least . . .”

I promised her we’d find some elsewhere if there wasn’t. Then I bowed and took my leave of the queen of Aegypt, my sandals crunching on a sea of broken, glittering glass as I went. The sky was clear and full of bright stars that night, and as I lay awake on the cot in my ludus cell for the last time, moonlight spilled over me. I closed my eyes and imagined that same light pouring like tears over the stone steps of the Theatrum Pompeii in Rome, unable to wash away the black stain of Julius Caesar’s blood.





XII


“THIS PLACE WAS just starting to feel like home,” Kallista said, slipping the halter off one of the draft horses and giving him a slap on the neck. She watched as he wandered away to nibble on a patch of clover growing beneath an olive tree.

“I know,” Selene, her Amazon sister, nodded, leading a pair of chariot ponies into the field. “I’ll miss the baths most of all, I think.”

“They have baths in Aegypt,” I said. “Even better ones.”

She frowned at me, clearly skeptical.

“And home isn’t where you are,” I continued. “It’s who you’re with.”

Kallista thought about that for a moment, her expression serious, then shrugged. “It’s just more adventure, I suppose,” she said, looking over at Selene. “And that is what we told Areto we wanted when she agreed to let us leave Corsica, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.” I nodded far more enthusiastically than I felt.

What I felt, really, was nothing but heartache. We’d only just rebuilt the stables. And now, here we were in the hour before we were to leave, leading the ludus draft horses and chariot ponies—and even Tempest, the mighty ox—out into the field in front of the main gate of the ludus, where we turned them loose to fend for themselves. The ponies whickered softly to each other in the purple predawn gloom. The cantankerous old donkey was the last of the animals to go. I led him a ways out into the field beyond the walls and slipped the halter off his head. Then I slapped him on the rump and turned to walk away. I didn’t get very far before I glanced back over my shoulder and saw him standing there, glaring at me reproachfully.

“Go,” I said. “Go on!”

Instead, he trotted a few steps toward me and butted my chest with his long, homely nose. I felt tears spring to my eyes. I reached up to scratch his ear, and he let me—without even trying to bite, which was a rarity—and shook his head, braying loudly, lips pulled back from his long yellow teeth. Then he turned and, tail lifted high like a gamboling foal, trotted off in the direction of the far hills without once looking back.

I watched him go.

He would be fine, I knew. They all would—caught and cared for by the nearby farms and villas—but they wouldn’t be ours. We hurried back to finish our last tasks before leaving.

“We’re taking three wagons,” Sorcha told me when I joined her in the main yard, “each harnessed to a double team of horses. And five saddled horses to act as outriders and armed escort.”

“I’ll ride,” I said. “If you want me to.”

“I do.” She nodded. “Along with Caius and Quint. Who else?”

“Hestia is a seasoned rider,” I suggested.

“Agreed.”

Acheron, passing by, stopped in front of us. “If you need another rider, I was born into a family of horse thieves,” he said.

I’d told Sorcha who Acheron’s brother was the night before. We’d agreed to keep the means of Ixion’s death a secret between us. I’d also told her how he’d come to Cai’s aid in the arena. She tilted her head and looked at him. “Were you, now?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I was stealing ponies before I was five. Long before I found myself good, honorable work as a gladiator. There’s not much that can knock me off a horse’s back, lady.”

It was decided then. Acheron would be our fifth rider.

“Ajani and Elka can each take up a defensive position in the first and third wagons,” Sorcha continued. “And Kallista and her Amazons can act as bodyguard to the queen in the middle one. They are to keep Cleopatra surrounded and safe. At any cost. Impress that upon them, Fallon. Any cost.”