Page 80 of House of Serpents and Slaves

I nodded slowly, my hand still resting on the dragon's scales. "The final would be perfect. Everyone will expect me to attack you, but instead..." I mimed a striking motion. "Those chains aren't as strong as Drusus thinks. Two, maybe three good hits with my blade in the right spots..."

The dragon's eyes seemed to spark with understanding, and I felt his muscles tense beneath my palm.

"You could be free," I whispered. "Up and away before anyone could stop you. And I..." My voice trailed off as the full weight of it hit me. I could go too. Just climb onto his back and leave everything - everyone - behind. No more Drusus, no more complicated feelings about Septimus, no more expectations from Marcus or Tarshi. Just freedom. Revenge.

The dragon must have sensed my conflict because he made a soft questioning sound. "I know," I said, pressing my foreheadagainst the bars. "It would be so simple. So clean. But I can't..." My voice caught. "Even after what Septimus did, even knowing Marcus would never understand my need for vengeance, even knowing Tarshi would probably get himself killed trying to protect me... I can't just abandon them here."

I pulled back, angry at myself, at my own weakness. "What's wrong with me? This could be my chance - our chance - and I'm letting feelings for people who probably don't even..." I stopped, took a breath. "But I can still free you. That much I can do. That much I have to do. I won't be the one who kills you in that arena, and I won't let anyone else do it either."

The dragon's tail tightened slightly around the bars, and I wondered if he understood what I was giving up. What I was choosing to stay for, even though every practical part of me screamed that it was foolish.

"Just... when you're free," I whispered, "make sure some of those flames find their way to Drusus's box, will you?"

The dragon's soft rumble held something that sounded almost like agreement. His golden eyes met mine with an intensity that made me wonder, not for the first time, just how much he really understood.

"Two days," I whispered. "Two days to figure out exactly how to make this work. The chains will be weakest at the joints..." I traced the pattern in the air. "If I can time it right, make it look like part of the fight..."

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit me, and I leaned against the bars. The events of the day - Septimus, the planning, all of it - seemed to crash over me at once. The dragon shifted closer, letting me rest my head against his warm scales.

"I should go," I murmured. "Before someone notices I'm missing. But I'll be back tomorrow night."

As I stood, my legs stiff from sitting on the cold stone, the dragon made a soft sound that almost seemed concerned. Ismiled despite everything. "I'll be alright, big one. And soon you will be too. Just..." I glanced back down the corridor, thinking of Tarshi sleeping in his pen, of Marcus probably waiting up worried, of Septimus... wherever he was now. "Just remember what I said about being careful who you burn. Some of them..." I swallowed hard. "Some of them matter to me. More than I should have let them."

The dragon's tail unwound from the bars slowly, almost reluctantly. As I turned to go, his soft rumble followed me up the stairs - a sound somewhere between a promise and a warning. I wasn't sure which I needed more.

Tomorrow would bring what it brought. For now, I just had to keep pretending everything was normal. Keep playing my part. And try not to think about what would happen after the dragon was free, when I was still here, still trapped in this life I'd chosen to remain in.

At least I'd know he was free. That would have to be enough. I had to believe I'd get another chance. A chance where I could take my men with me.

25

The festival of Sol and Aeolus was always a sight to behold, but this year everything felt different. The same bright banners fluttered in the breeze, depicting the sun god Sol and the wind god Aeolus in their radiant glory. The same laughter and chatter filled the air as families gathered from surrounding villages. But now each familiar sight felt like a mockery, knowing what I planned to unleash in a days' time.

Festivals were the only time the gladiators were allowed to leave the arena, though not to actually enjoy ourselves - we were here to make Drusus look good. This year we were helping thetownspeople prepare their buildings for the coming sandstorm season. Twenty-six storms I'd seen now, each one marking another year of my life in chains, and this was the first time I’d been allowed out of the ludus since I arrived. But this storm season would be different. This time, the winds wouldn't be the only thing bringing destruction.

"Make way for the gladiators!" shouted a herald, and I fell into step with the others, moving through the crowd. The pride I used to feel at these moments had soured into something else - resentment, maybe, or shame at how long I'd played my part in this spectacle. The townsfolk worked around us, nailing boards across windows and piling sandbags against doors, preparing for the storms ahead. They had no idea they should be preparing for something far worse than wind and sand.

"Grab a hammer, Livia," Antonius grunted, holding out a tool. I took it without meeting his eyes, afraid he might see the guilt there. These people had done nothing wrong. They didn't deserve what would happen when I freed the dragon. But then, my family hadn't deserved what happened to them either.

I drove nails into wooden beams with mechanical precision, my mind elsewhere - counting guards, memorizing patrol patterns, planning exactly where each strike would need to land to break those chains. Every swing of the hammer was practice for what was to come.

I focused my attention outward, trying to absorb the details of a world I might never see again after the final day of games. The town square had been transformed by the festival preparations. Strings of colored lanterns crisscrossed overhead, not yet lit but waiting for dusk. Market stalls lined the edges, selling everything from storm supplies to festival treats - sweet dates dipped in honey, flat bread sprinkled with desert spices, roasted goat meat that made my mouth water despite my preoccupation.

Children darted between the crowds, playing some game with painted wooden tokens that clattered against the cobblestones. Their mothers called after them in a mix of Latin and local dialect, the same languages that had blended in the arena's cells until I barely noticed switching between them anymore. A group of old men sat in the shade of an awning, playing chess with carved stone pieces and arguing good-naturedly about the coming storms.

"It'll be a bad season," one insisted, moving his piece with a decisive click. "The signs are all there. The scorpions have been moving inland."

"Bah," his opponent waved away the warning. "You say that every year, and yet here we stand."

I hammered another nail, remembering similar conversations from my childhood. We didn't have chess sets in my village - our games were played with pebbles and lines drawn in the dirt - but we had the same debates, the same careful watching of nature's warnings. The same prayers to Sol and Aeolus for protection.

The scent of incense drifted from the temple, where priests in their saffron robes were already beginning the pre-festival rituals. Their chanting mixed with the general hubbub of the crowd, the hammering of preparations, the bleating of goats being brought in for sacrifice. Soon the temple steps would be stained with blood - a mere preview of what was to come in the arena.

"Here, hold this steady," Septimus' voice came from behind me, hollow and flat in a way that made my chest ache. When I turned, the sight of him was worse than his voice. His movements were mechanical as he held up the wooden beam, and his eyes - usually so intense - seemed vacant, like he was looking through everything rather than at it. The bruise on his jaw had faded to a sickly yellow, but there were shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.

I stiffened but took my position on the other side of the beam. This close, I could see how his hands trembled slightly, though they remained steady enough for the work. He'd lost weight - his cheekbones stood out sharply under skin that had taken on an unhealthy pallor. The urge to ask if he was eating, if he was sleeping, burned in my throat. But I swallowed it back along with the memory of his hands gentle on my face, his voice soft with concern that now seemed like a lie.

The silence between us felt like another presence, heavy and suffocating. I drove the nail in, the impact jarring up my arm. Septimus didn't even flinch at the vibration, though I saw his knuckles whiten where he gripped the beam. There was something desperate in that grip, like he was holding onto more than just wood.

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