Page 70 of House of Serpents and Slaves

"Two dozen. The prettiest ones we can find."

We both laughed then, the sound echoing off the bare walls. For a moment we were just two girls again, sharing dreams in the dark.

"You better survive that long," she said finally, rising to check my armor one last time. "I won't settle for less than two dozen pretty boys with palm fronds."

"I'll do my best." I stood, testing the weight of my armor. It felt right, familiar. Like a second skin now. "How do I look?"

"Like a proper gladiator." She straightened my shoulder guard with a critical eye. "Try not to ruin all my hard work out there."

"I never do."

"Liar." She pulled me into a fierce hug, careful of the armor's edges. "Come back to me, you mad thing."

I hugged her back just as tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of olive oil and herbs that always clung to her clothes. "Always do."

She pulled back, wiping quickly at her eyes. "Go on then. Show them what you can do." A sly smile crept across her face. "And if you happen to accidentally stab Cato or Maro, I can’t say I’d be broken hearted.”

I grinned as she shooed me toward the door. "Now go, before Marcus sends a search party."

I paused in the doorway, looking back at my oldest friend. "Tavi?"

"Mm?"

"I meant it. About coming back for you."

She smiled, soft and sad. "I know you did." She made a shooing motion. "Now go hit people with sharp objects. And Liv?"

"Yes?"

"Try not to die."

I grinned. "I always do."

As I headed for the training yard, I sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening. Not for victory or glory or even survival. Just for the strength to keep my promises. One for vengeance, one for rescue. Would I ever be able to do both, I wondered.

The training yard was already alive with the sound of clashing steel when I entered. Morning sun glinted off weapons and armor, casting strange shadows across the sand. I hesitated at the threshold, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs as memory flashed - blood on sand, the roar of the crowd, the moment I knew I was going to die.

My hand found the rough stone of the doorway, grounding myself in its solid reality. Breathe. Just breathe. The weight of my armor pressed against my healing ribs, too tight and not tight enough all at once. I forced my eyes to focus on the familiar scene before me - Marcus drilling the newer recruits, Antonius demonstrating a block sequence, the steady rhythm of practice weapons striking shields.

This wasn't just the arena. This was home, or the closest thing to it I had now. I knew every crack in these walls, every groove worn into the training posts, every patch of harder-packed sand. I'd bled here, learned here, grown stronger here.

I forced my panic down, clenching my jaw. I was better than this.

From across the yard, Septimus paused in his sparring match to watch me enter. His grey eyes moved over me clinically, assessing, before turning back to his opponent as if I were nothing more interesting than a practice dummy. The dismissal stung more than it should have, leaving an unexpected hollow feeling in my chest.

I remembered what Marcus had told me - how Septimus had leaped to my defense after my fall, had carried me to the medicus himself, stayed until he knew I would live. It didn't match this cold distance, this careful avoiding of my gaze. We'd never been friends exactly, but there had been something. Our sparring matches had been the highlight of my training days, though I'd never have admitted it to him. He'd push me harder than the others, as if he knew I could take it. Even his cutting remarks had held a strange sort of respect.

"Your footwork's getting sloppy," he'd say, or "If you're trying to bore your opponents to death, you're succeeding." But there had always been that glint in his eye, that half-smile when I'd fire back something equally sharp. We'd developed a rhythm, heand I - strike, parry, insult, retort. It had become as natural as breathing.

Now there was nothing. No barbed comments about my technique, no challenging me to push harder, not even those exasperated sighs when I did something particularly foolish. Just silence and averted eyes, as if the past months of training together meant nothing. As if I meant nothing.

I hadn't realized how much I'd come to rely on our daily exchanges until they were gone. Even when he'd infuriated me - especially when he'd infuriated me - at least I'd felt seen. Now I felt oddly adrift, like I'd lost an anchor I hadn't known I needed.

Had I disappointed him by falling? Septimus had hated the idea of me going into the arena. Surely it couldn’t be that, and yet he’d trained me for years. Maybe I had let him down. The not knowing gnawed at me worse than any insult he could have thrown.

"Livia!" Marcus's voice cut through my thoughts... "Stop daydreaming and get in here."

I pushed thoughts of Septimus aside and stepped onto the training sand. The familiar grit under my sandals helped ground me. This was where I belonged. This was what I knew.

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