He glanced down at my hand and jerked away from my touch.
"I don't need your pity," he growled. "I've survived this long without it."
"It's not pity," I insisted. "It's... understanding. We've both lost everything to violence and hatred."
Tarshi's dark eyes met mine, searching. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something - recognition, perhaps, or a shared pain. But then his walls slammed back into place.
"We should get back," he said gruffly, pulling his tunic back on. "Before they come looking for us. But one day, the Talfen will get their vengeance. I just don’t know which side I would fight for. I’m too Talfen for humans, too human for Talfen. I belong nowhere.”
I nodded. Vengeance I understood, and loneliness too.
"You're not a monster, Tarshi," I said softly. "And you're not alone anymore."
He looked at me skeptically. "No? And what exactly are you offering, little human?"
I met his gaze steadily. "Friendship. Understanding. Whatever you need."
Tarshi's expression softened slightly, but before he could respond, I heard my name being called. Slipping the salve backinto the pouch at my waist, I sent Tarshi what I hoped was an encouraging smile before heading back into the training ground.
Marcus was stacking some weapons in one of the racks and he turned as I approached. "Oh good, I hoped I’d catch you, Livia. A word before you go." His eyes swung to Tarshi who had followed me out, and my new acquaintance nodded, then headed into the barracks, leaving Marcus and I alone.
13
Iwatched as the others filed out of the training yard, their mocking laughter still echoing against the stone walls. My jaw clenched at their cruel jibes, but I forced myself to remain still. Livia had handled their taunts with more grace than they deserved, and my defence of her would not improve their behavior, only worsen it.
When I'd agreed to train her, it had been purely out of desperation - a way to keep her safe from her own reckless determination. I'd seen the darkness in Cato's eyes when he'd fought her, recognized the same violence I'd witnessed himinflict on other women in the ludus. The thought of him getting his hands on her again made my blood run cold. I couldn't prove he was throwing matches for money, but I knew what he was capable of. Better to train her myself than risk her seeking instruction from men like him, attracting his attention.
But now... now everything was different. I couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had changed. Perhaps during those long days of my illness, when she'd sat beside my bed for hours, cooling my fever with gentle hands and filling the silence with stories that made me forget the pain. I'd found myself looking forward to her visits, craving her presence in a way that had nothing to do with the fever burning through my body.
Even now, I could remember her fingers combing through my sweat-dampened hair, her voice soft in the darkness as she told me about her childhood with her brother. The way she'd fallen asleep once, curled in the chair beside my bed, her face peaceful in the lamplight. I'd watched her until dawn, memorizing every detail, knowing I had no right to feel the way my heart squeezed at the sight of her.
"Your footwork is improving," I said, moving closer. "You're learning to anticipate the strikes better."
She glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Really? Because according to Septimus, I still move like a drunk mule."
The thought of Septimus complicated things further. I'd seen the way he watched her during training, the barely concealed hunger in his eyes when he adjusted her stance. Part of me was grateful for his protective instincts - I knew he'd die before letting harm come to her. But another part, a part I tried to ignore, twisted with jealousy every time I saw them together. Had they become lovers? The possibility haunted me, even though I had no right to care.
"You don't have to try to make me feel better," she said, turning back to the rack. "I know what they think of me."
I studied her profile in the fading light, noting the bruise darkening her jaw from today's sparring. Septimus hadn't pulled his punches - none of us did anymore. She'd earned that respect, at least. But every mark on her skin felt like a personal failure, a reminder that I couldn't protect her from everything, no matter how much I wanted to.
The truth was, she'd become essential to me in a way that terrified me. Each morning, I watched her train with my heart in my throat, knowing that any day could bring the fight that took her from me. And even if she survived the arena, I had no real claim to her. Any gladiator could summon her to their cell, could take what they wanted. The thought made me sick, but it was the reality of our world.
"Look at me," I said softly, she wouldn't meet my eyes. When she didn't move, I stepped closer, gently turning her face toward mine. "Livia, look at me."
She raised her eyes to mine, and the vulnerability there made my chest ache. Without thinking, I reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, my thumb grazing the bruise on her jaw. The simple touch sent electricity through my fingers, and I fought the urge to pull her closer.
"You're not fooling yourself," I said. "You have talent. Real talent. And more determination than half these men put together."
"But you still don't think I should be here," she said. It wasn't a question.
"No, I don't. Not because you can't do it, but because..." I struggled to find words that wouldn't reveal too much. How could I explain that the thought of her in the arena paralyzed me with fear? That watching her serve in the dining hall each night, vulnerable to any man's whims, made me want to tear the place apart?
"Because what?"
"Because every time you step into that ring, my heart stops." The confession slipped out before I could stop it. "Because the thought of you getting hurt, of losing you..." I shook my head, stepping back as I remembered my place. "Not that I have any right to lose you. You're not... I mean, I know you're not..."
"Yours?" She finished softly.
