The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(73)
XIX
TO BE COMPLETELY fair, I wasn’t the only one having a wee bit of trouble finding solid footing in the sands of Cleopatra’s glorious kingdom.
“There’s no such thing as a female gladiator in this realm,” I lamented to Sorcha one early morning as I sat with her in the courtyard off her rooms, enjoying the cool shade before the heat of the day took hold.
“Of course not,” Sorcha said, sipping from a delicate blue glass cup. She made a face and put the cup down. Even from a distance, I could smell the pungent herbs of the medicinal tincture. “It’s still a novelty even in Rome. Or, at least, it was until you and your band of war maidens made it so wildly popular.”
“My band of war maidens, Lady Achillea?”
She gave me a wan smile. “Our band, then.”
I snorted. “There are gladiatorial arenas scattered through this realm,” I said, “but those are mostly in rough-and-tumble outpost cities. Maybe we could build one here in Alexandria. Maybe Cleopatra would dedicate it to Hatshepsut . . .”
I rattled on for a bit, and Sorcha made encouraging, noncommittal noises until a slender girl appeared, bringing a tray of dates and cold fowl for Sorcha to eat. She offered to bring me a tray as well, but I had no appetite. I wondered where Charon was—he was rarely away from Sorcha’s side as she convalesced—but didn’t bring it up. I’d promised Cai I would try to stop fretting over everyone and everything at the expense of my own serenity, but it was a hard thing to do. I was finally free of Pontius Aquila. Free of Caesar. A world away and without anything—without anyone—left to fight. I should have been at peace. I wasn’t. I left my sister to her breakfast and went in search of my fellow war maidens.
The longer we were in Aegypt, the more it became evident I wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy. Most of the ludus girls spent a great deal of time those days prowling like wolves on the hunt through the halls and gardens of the palace on Antirhodos, and no one seemed quite able to figure out what to do with the whole restless pack of us. Eventually, for our amusement—or perhaps just to get us out of her hair while she reacquainted herself with matters of state after her long absence—Cleopatra instructed one of her generals to take us out on excursions to the garrison on the outskirts of the city of Alexandria and show us what it was like to be a soldier of Aegypt. We spent days watching drills and participating in target shooting and chariot racing and sharing and comparing techniques, and it felt so good to be able to stretch our muscles and hit things. And people.
The queen’s personal guard were very accommodating in that respect.
Initially, I think they’d indulged us out of nothing more than duty to their queen. But I was also proud to see that, once we actually started to drill with them, it didn’t take long before the men began to take us seriously. And Cai and Quint stood on the sidelines with “told you so” expressions on their faces.
Of course, not all the girls were quite so keen to dive back into the rigors of fight training. Unsurprisingly, we lost Neferet to the Great Library on the second day, and Antonia and Acheron eventually had to go fetch her to bring her back to our accommodations long after the sun had set. And then, one day, our entire contingent of Amazons decided to go exploring in the sprawling ancient city, taking along Kronos to act as their guide and chaperone. They returned to the palace that night starry-eyed and chattering of wonders and bearing a little woven basket full of multicolored glass-bead necklaces, which they gave out to the rest of us, to the delight of all the girls over supper.
The one they’d chosen for me was green and gold, with deep red carnelian stones as accents. It was beautiful and cool against my throat, it complimented my eyes and my skin tone and my hair . . . and it felt so strange to wear. It reminded me of all the bits of delicate finery—torcs and bangles and circlets—that I’d worn growing up in Durovernum as a girl. As a princess. I’d been away from that life for little more than two years, and yet it seemed so alien to me. I’d grown so accustomed to tunics and armor and a leather hair tie and nothing else. Nothing other than weapons. Dressed in delicate linen sheaths, I felt naked. Awkward and vulnerable.
Restless . . .
And then, late one evening, Cleopatra summoned me to her private chambers. Moonlight spilled in through the open ceiling of an elegant room with walls dressed in thin sheets of beaten silver inscribed with placid scenes of fishing and hunting, farming and sailing, all along the banks of the River Nile.
“In three months’ time,” the queen said, noticing the direction of my gaze, “the Inundation will begin. Every year the goddess Isis sheds tears for the death of her brother-husband Osiris, and the sacred Nile overflows its banks with the deluge of her sorrow. It is a time of mourning and of thanksgiving both, for those waters bring the rich soil to the fields and make our crops grow. So we honor his sacrifice, and her sorrow, in a celebration that lasts two weeks.”
I looked over to see her watching me over the rim of a goblet.
“I wonder,” she continued, “will you still be here to dance and feast with us then?”
I laughed, confused. “Majesty, where else would I go?”
“The world is wide, Fallon,” she said.
I frowned, thinking about that, and shrugged. “Sorcha once told me that one day she’d take me to Athens—”