Page 62 of House of Serpents and Slaves

"No," I snapped. "I told you, I'm not going out in front of them like this."

She sighed. "I understand. I just want to help."

She laid her hand on the part of my shoulder that wasn't injured, and I reached up and covered it with my own.

"I know. But they can't see me like this, they can't see me weak. It would only make matters worse."

"Right. Well. Let's get on with it then. I'll need to cleanse the wounds and redress them," she said, and I heard the rustle ofstraw as she knelt down behind me. I felt her pause. "It's going to hurt." I nodded, without looking back at her.

"Don't worry about hurting me, just do what you need to."

I heard her take a breath, and the first touch of the wet cloth made me hiss between my teeth, but I didn't pull away. She worked in silence for a while, and I could feel the gentle pressure of her fingers as she cleaned each welt. Even through the pain, my skin tingled where she touched me. I’d felt it from the first time she’d laid her hand on my arm, that deep, dark desire to pull her close, to feel her body against mine. To make her mine. I tried to focus on an insect crawling over one of the walls. Those thoughts would not serve either of us, and I would never disrespect her. Livia was the only one who’d ever shown me kindness since my mother. Others had shown me pity, but never kindness.

"You're lucky these aren't deeper," she said finally, her breath warm against my shoulder.

"Though whoever did this knew exactly how to cause pain without permanent damage."

"Cato," I muttered.

She paused for a second, then resumed her cleaning.

"You're lucky these aren't deeper," she murmured again.

"Did you see Septimus's bout yesterday? Against the Thracian?"

"Yes." Her hands never stopped their careful work, dipping the cloth in water and wringing it out.

Each time she moved, her shift brushed against my arm. "He's improved his footwork. Though he still drops his guard when he goes for the kill."

"He's a good fighter, don't you think?" I kept my tone casual, though my heart beat faster as I tested the waters. I had seen the way Septimus looked at her, not even looked, the way his eyes followed her whenever she was in the same space as him. Likesome obsession he had. I understood that obsession, it was what made me need to know if she returned his passion.

"Yes, he's good."

"Better." The burning had faded to a more manageable ache, though every brush of her fingers sent a different kind of heat through my body. "The guards are taking bets on which of us will survive the tournament."

She was silent for a moment, her fingers stilling on my back. "You'll heal in time," she said softly. "The infection isn't as deep as I feared."

"Time isn't something we have much of." The tournament was less than a month away. I'd seen too many good fighters die in these events, where the crowd's bloodlust reached fever pitch and even the most skilled could fall to an unlucky blow. The thought of Livia lying broken in the sand made my chest tight. "You should focus on your own training, not wasting time down here with me."

"I decide what's worth my time." There was steel in her voice now - a glimpse of the warrior who'd earned her place in the arena. She moved to work on my shoulder, where the whip had wrapped around to catch the flesh above my collarbone. "Besides, I learn from watching you fight. The way you move... it's different from the others."

"Talfen blood," I said bitterly. "Makes me quick. Unpredictable. Like a demon."

"Like a dancer," she corrected, her fingers trailing along the edge of a welt. "You make it look effortless. Beautiful, even."

I snorted. "There's nothing beautiful about death."

"No," she agreed quietly. "But there's beauty in survival. In refusing to let them break you."

The candlelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls of my cage. Her hands moved to a particularly deepgash near my spine, and I couldn't hold back a hiss of pain. She murmured an apology, her touch becoming even gentler.

"Sometimes I think that's all I am now," I admitted into the darkness. "Just survival. Just spite." The words felt raw in my throat, but something about the night, about her presence, made them slip free.

"You're more than that." She shifted position to reach my upper shoulder, and I felt the soft brush of her shift against my arm. Heat flooded through me, very different from the fever of infection. My body responded immediately, embarrassingly, and I jerked away from her touch.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to hide my reaction, though in the confined space of the cage there was nowhere to go. The straw rustled beneath me as I moved.

"Don't be," she said softly. "It's a normal reaction when someone's this close."

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