He looks at me again, and all the kohl and paint is gone from his face.
We’re both silent. Without a word, he gestures at the breastplate I’ve forgotten I’m holding. Neither of us speak as I carefully lower the piece of armor onto his shoulders. He grimaces, curses, but between us, we ease it into place.
I pull one set of laces tight, and Drusus flinches, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s all right.” He exhales slowly. “The fall . . . there’s a few bruises . . .”
“I know.” I secure the first tie. “I saw them.”
He shivers. When I tighten another lace, he grunts, then curses.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“It’ll heal.” Leather squeaks as he shifts. “Lucius broke my fall, fortunately. And a few ribs. Could have been much worse, though.” He mutters something under his breath, then adds, “Still put up a fight, the bastard.”
“Fortune be praised, then, since you’re alive and he isn’t.”
“Fortune be praised indeed,” Drusus says dryly.
I move around to his other side, and begin carefully tightening the laces. “Is it true what the men say about you? That you had half the gladiators killed when you took command of the ludus?”
Drusus laughs. “Legends grow with every telling, don’t they? I—” He flinches, cursing under his breath. Then, “Another decade, and they’ll be saying I slaughtered a thousand men with my bare hands that day.”
I glance up from working on the laces. “What’s the truth?”
“The truth,” he says softly, “is that I didn’t want another Spartacus uprising. Legally I could have killed every man in the familia for murdering Crispinus.” He pauses. “Instead, examples were made of the men involved in his death, and the others were warned that if one of them made even the slightest attempt, I would crucify every last one in the familia.”
“Did anyone challenge your threat?”
He gives a quiet laugh. “No. It would seem they just conjured legends to spread all over Rome.”
I finish tying the lace and stand. “There.” I step back. “It’s on.”
Drusus turns around. When he faces me, he’s as I’m accustomed to seeing him: short hair, the ever-present leather breastplate, the man I swear I used to fear. I wonder now if I dreamed everything before this. Had my wounds weakened my mind as well as my body?
But then our eyes meet, and in his, I see both the man he is and the woman he’s tried to hide.
His cheeks color, and he looks away. “I couldn’t think of anyone else I could trust with this, but I admit I was afraid you’d be repulsed.” He pauses. “By . . . what I claim to be. What I am.”
I let my gaze drift over the familiar shape of the man I’ve come to know. Any other time, in a moment of lust, perhaps I would have been repulsed. I cannot say now what I would have thought in any other situation. All I know now is that Drusus is alive, and nothing else seems relevant.
I gently cradle his neck in both hands and press my lips to his.
“I knew there was something different about you,” he says.
I laugh quietly. “I told you, I’m left-handed.”
Drusus laughs too. “Of course. That’s it.”
Humor fading, I run my fingers through his hair.“So what now? Where will you go?”
“I don’t know yet.” He blows out a breath. “I can’t stay in Pompeii. Not this time.” Desperation fills both his voice and his eyes as he says, “But I can’t leave my son behind.”
“You won’t.” I kiss his forehead. “I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”
Drusus pulls back, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he hooks a finger under the chain around my neck, and he slowly draws the brass tag from beneath my tunic. He closes his fist around the chain, and only then does he look in my eyes.
Without a word, he jerks the chain, and it bites into my neck for a heartbeat before it snaps.
We’re both silent for a moment. Drusus clutches the chain in the air between us, the tag swinging back and forth and twinkling in the lamplight.
“I won’t ask this of you as a slave.” He lets the broken chain slip through his fingers and fall to the floor with a muffled rattle. “Man to man, Saevius. I’m asking, not commanding.”
I close my hands around his. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Thank you. You don’t know how much . . .” He trails off, as if he can’t find enough breath to finish speaking.
Without a word, I lean in and press my lips to his. I start to pull back, but decide against it, and instead wrap my arms around him. Drusus sighs softly, parting his lips for my tongue as his hand comes to rest on my hip. Cradling the back of his neck in my hand, I tilt my head and deepen this kiss even more.
When I pull away, I don’t go far and touch my forehead to his.
“I think I have an idea for getting Kaeso back.” I sweep my tongue across my lips. “And first, I need to get your father alone.”
I’m extremely cautious as I approach the house of Laurea. I haven’t been seen here since the day I arrived in Pompeii, and a gladiator appearing on a nobleman’s doorstep is asking to stain the road with his blood.
Four heavily armed guards stand in front of the main gate, shields on their arms and spears at their sides. As I approach, one brings his weapon to the ready.
I show my palms. “I wish to speak to Ataiun.”
The guard sets his jaw. “What’s your business with—”
“My business is with him,” I snap. “And is none of your concern.”
Both men glance at each other, and the one in front of me gives a curt nod.
“Wait here.” He steps inside the gate and murmurs something to another guard, who then jogs into the house.
My heart pounds. With the Lady Verina dead, Calvus has no use for me, and could easily—and without consequence—have one of his men cut my throat right here in the street. I’m gambling with his lust for vengeance and the hope he’ll want Drusus dead more than he wants to dispose of me.
The villa door opens, and Ataiun steps out. He stomps toward me, glaring with his one eye. “Where have you been? I’ve summoned—”
“I need to speak to the Master Calvus.”
He doesn’t move. “What business you have with him can be handled through me.”
“Oh, I don’t think it can.” I lean in a little closer, lowering my voice. “Tell him I have information that is of interest to him in light of what happened yesterday.”
The servant’s eyebrows jump. “What info—”
“If he wants that information, he’ll come—alone—to Madam Gelasia’s brothel before sundown.”
Ataiun sets his jaw. “You’re not in a position to be making demands on your master, gladiator.”
“As the one with the information the master needs,” I reply, “I think I am.”
“This will not—”
“Before sundown, Ataiun.”
He sputters and curses at me, but I turn and walk away, and I refuse to look back. Calvus Laurea will be furious, especially with a slave making demands on him, but I have no doubt he’ll know as well as I do that I’m the one in control now.
He wanted me to be his left hand. Pity he underestimated the left hand’s advantage.
The light in this room is dim and the shadows are deep, the air warm and heavy with perfume, and my stomach is coiled into knots. The sun is going down. If Calvus comes at all, he’ll be here any moment.
And then what? He could slit my throat just for breathing now that he has no more use for me.
The door hinges creak, and I send up one last plea to Fortune to let me walk out of this alive.
Calvus steps into the room, and his face is already contorted with fury. “Saevius.” He slams the door behind him and his lip pulls into a sneer as he strides toward me. “You’re either a fool or incredibly arrogant to call me here and think you’ll walk away alive.”