Page 23 of House of Serpents and Slaves

I turned to see Septimus leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Despite the early hour, sweat already gleamed on his skin – he'd been training alone again, as he often did before dawn.

"Spending a lot of time with Marcus lately," he said, his voice deceptively casual. "Too busy playing nurse to practice?"

I lifted my chin. "He was sick. Someone had to take care of him."

"And here I thought you were serious about learning to fight." He pushed off the wall, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. "Three nights you've missed training. Getting soft already?"

"I didn't realize you counted the days," I said, watching the muscle tick in his jaw. "Missing me that much?"

His eyes darkened. "Missing the chance to knock you into the dirt, maybe." But there was something else in his voice, something that made my skin prickle with awareness.

"Well, I'm here now," I said, gesturing to the training yard. "Unless you're too tired from your morning routine?"

"You've got a sharp tongue for someone who still can't block a basic thrust," he said, but I caught the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Our nightly sparring sessions had become something of a ritual, though neither of us would admit to looking forward to them.

"I blocked you well enough last week," I shot back. "Or have you forgotten who ended up in the dirt?"

"One lucky move doesn't make you a warrior." He stepped closer, and I caught the familiar scent of leather and sweat that always clung to him. "Speaking of luck – that little stunt in the arena. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking Marcus was about to die."

Something flashed in his eyes – anger, definitely, but there was something else too. Something that looked almost like pain.

"And you thought throwing yourself between him and a blade was the answer?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"It was stupid," he growled, closing the distance between us. "Reckless. You could have—" He caught himself, jaw clenching. "Your brother would have—"

"Don't," I warned. "Don't you dare use him against me."

Septimus ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired.

"You think Marcus sees you clearly? Sees what you're really after?"

"You don't know anything about Marcus and me."

"Don't I?" His laugh was harsh. "I've seen how he looks at you. How he—" He broke off, turning away. "Tonight. After supper. Don't be late."

"Why do you still train with me, Septimus?" I asked quietly. "Really?"

He was silent for a long moment, his back to me.

"Because you're going to get yourself killed if someone doesn't teach you properly." He glanced over his shoulder. "The arena isn't a game, Livia. It's not glory or honor or whatever fantasy Marcus has put in your head. It's death. Simple as that."

"My path is my own to choose," I said firmly.

"Then choose it," he said, his voice rough. "But do it with your eyes open. Tonight, I'll show you what real fighting looks like. No holding back."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You've been holding back?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar smirk that always made my blood heat.

"Wouldn't want to bruise that pretty face Marcus seems so fond of."

"Jealous?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.

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