Page 57 of House of Serpents and Slaves

"Stay with me," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Please, little one. Stay with me."

She didn't respond. Didn't stir. Her skin was growing colder against mine.

I could hear shouting behind me - Marcus, maybe Antonius. Let them come. Let them try to take her from me. I'd kill anyone who tried to slow me down, anyone who stood between her and help. The only thing that mattered was getting her to the medicus before it was too late.

Before I lost her forever.

I watched the rise and fall of her chest, each breath a small miracle. Hours ago, I'd been furious with her - her reckless charge at the mirage cat, the way she'd thrown away everything I'd taught her in her blind need for vengeance. All those careful lessons about survival, about control, scattered like ashes in the wind because she couldn't bear another loss.

I'd wanted to shake her, to make her understand that her life was worth more than revenge. That watching her die wouldn't bring Rena back. The frustration had been choking me, that she couldn't see how precious she was, how many people needed her alive.

But then she'd crumpled to the sand, so still, so silent, and every scrap of anger had vanished like morning mist. Nothing had mattered except the terror of losing her. I'd have given anything - my freedom, my life, my soul - just to see her open her eyes again.

The medicus had cleaned and bandaged the wound at her temple, said she would wake soon. Said she was lucky. Lucky. Exhaustion and frustration swept over me again. Part of me wanted to put her over my knee and teach her what mattered. She needed discipline, needed to understand that actions had consequences. That she couldn't just throw her life away on impulse and vendetta. The urge to teach her that lesson burned in my blood.

My hand hovered over hers, wanting to touch, to anchor her here with me. The torch light cast shadows across her face, softening the bruises, making her look younger. Morevulnerable. The sight of her lying there, so still, sent fresh waves of panic through my chest.

I'd almost lost her. That thought kept circling like a carrion bird, refusing to let me rest. I'd almost lost her before I could tell her... what? That she'd become as necessary as breathing? That the mere thought of her dying made me feel like I was drowning? The words felt inadequate, pathetic even to my own mind.

But I had to tell her. Today had shown me how quickly everything could end, how fragile life was in our world of sand and steel. When she woke up, I would finally find the courage to speak. To lay my heart bare and accept whatever came after.

A soft sound escaped her lips. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Marcus..."

The whispered name struck like a blade between my ribs. Of course. Of course it was his name on her lips, in her heart. I'd seen the way she looked at him, the way she smiled in his presence. I'd just been too much of a fool to admit what it meant.

I stood, my chair scraping against the stone floor. My leg throbbed in protest, but the pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest. She stirred again, closer to waking now.

I needed to be gone before she opened her eyes. Before she saw whatever raw truth was written on my face. I'd sworn to protect her, and I would keep that oath until my dying breath. But I couldn't let her know what I truly wanted. I couldn’t face her pity.

I limped into the corridor, nearly colliding with him as he rushed toward the medical ward. His face was drawn with worry, with fear for her. Good. She deserved that kind of devotion.

"She's awake," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. "She's asking for you."

He clasped my shoulder in gratitude as he passed. I stood there a moment longer, listening to his footsteps fade, to thesoft murmur of voices as he reached her bedside. Then I turned away, leaving my heart behind in that torch-lit room.

I'd keep my oath. I'd die protecting her if needed. But that would have to be enough.

17

Istood outside the dining hall, letting the evening air cool my skin after training. My muscles ached from the practice bouts, but it was a clean pain, honest. Different from the hollow feeling that always came with this time of day, when the arena's strict routines gave way to these moments of... whatever this was. Freedom wasn't the right word, but during meals, we weren't drilling or fighting or performing. Just existing. Sometimes that felt harder than any fight.

The hollow feeling was worse without Livia there. It had been two days since her head injury in the arena and I found myselfmissing her constant chatter, the way she'd plop down beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I never knew what to say back, but she didn't seem to mind. Just kept talking, smiling, acting like I was any other gladiator. Like the other slaves didn't whisper warnings to her about getting too close to the half-breed.

My mother used to talk like that too, easily, warmly. Even on those nights when I'd wake up crying about the things other children said, about the demon that must live inside me. She'd stroke my hair and tell me how she'd loved my father, how he'd loved her back. How she'd chosen him, no matter what people said about the Talfen. But she'd been killed before I was old enough to ask the questions that haunt me now. Before I could understand what her choice had cost her.

Time to eat. Time to be seen eating, to prove I could be civilized. To show I could sit among them without bringing their nightmares to life. To pretend I wasn't terrified that someday, they'd turn out to be right about what I am. I took a deep breath, pulled open the heavy wooden door, and descended the stairs into the dining hall's familiar stench of sweat and tallow candles.

I sat alone at the end of one of the long wooden tables, the empty spaces to either side of me as familiar as bruises. Steam rose from my bowl of watery bean stew, barely visible in the dim light filtering down from the narrow windows set high in the basement walls. Three house slaves huddled at the table behind me, their voices carrying clearly in the crowded space. I kept my head down, stirring the stew with my wooden spoon, but my ears twitched at their words.

"My brother served on the eastern frontier," one was saying, scraping his bowl. "Says he saw what the Talfen did to a border village. Didn't leave anything alive - not the people, not the livestock, not even the dogs. Burned every building to ash, poisoned the wells so nothing could ever live there again."

“I heard the attacks are increasing, all along the border. The soldiers at the fort are definitely drilling harder in case they attack Veredus.”

His friend scoffed. “We’re miles from the border. There’s no way the Talfen could attack so far from their lands. They get their dark magic from the ground, they’d never leave it to invade this far into the Empire.”

“Let’s hope so, or there won’t be anything of Veredus left.”

---