Three rushed me at once. I caught someone's throat, dug my thumbs in until they choked. An elbow caught me in the temple. I responded by driving my knee up into soft flesh, hearing the wheeze of expelled air. Cato got behind me, locked his arms around my chest. I slammed my head back again, but he held on.
"Not so fierce now," he hissed in my ear, tightening his grip until my ribs creaked. "Just another Talfen animal that needs putting down."
Maro's fist drove into my stomach once, twice. The third blow dropped me to my knees when Cato finally released me. I tried to rise, but a boot caught me in the side. Someone was laughing - Cato, I thought. I could hear him urging the others on: "Break it! Make it beg!"
The dining hall fell silent. Drusus stood in the doorway, surveying the destruction with the same detached interest he showed when examining livestock at market. His eyes moved methodically across the scene - overturned tables, scattered food, the blood-stained floor. From Maro's ruined face to Cato's bloody grin, then finally to me, still on my knees.
He took his time crossing the room, each click of his boots on stone deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost thoughtful.
"Do you know what they do with rabid dogs in the Eastern provinces?" He nudged a broken bowl with his foot. "They don't waste a quick death on them. They chain them up in the town square, let everyone see what happens when an animal forgets its place. It can take days, I'm told." His lips curved slightly. "The festival of Sol and Aeolus is coming. Perhaps we should give the crowds something more... memorable than simple gladiatorial games."
"Master," Maro straightened, wiping blood from his face. "The half-breed attacked without provocation-"
Drusus raised a hand, silencing him. "I can see what happened here. Some beasts can wear the mask of civilization for a time, but their true nature always emerges." His eyes never left mine. "Like father, like son. The Talfen taint always shows in the end."
He turned to the guards. "Take it to the training yard. Tie it to the post." Then to Cato: "You seem to understand what needs to be done with creatures like this. Take the whip."
Rough hands grabbed my arms. I didn't resist - the fury had drained away, leaving only the hollow knowledge of what was coming.
"Don't stop until the sand is soaked with its blood," Drusus said, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "Let's see if we can't remind it what it is." He turned to the others. "The rest of you, see the physician. I won't have valuable property damaged because one animal couldn't control itself."
They dragged me across the training yard, my knees scraping through sand still warm from the day's sun. The torches cast long shadows that danced like demons against the walls. The whipping post stood alone in the center, its wood dark and stained from years of use, deeper marks where countless hands had clawed during punishment.
Two guards held my arms while Cato took his time with the ropes, humming tunelessly as he worked. He wrapped them around my wrists with deliberate precision, each loop calculated. When he pulled them tight, the coarse fibers bit deep enough to draw blood.
"Been waiting for this," he murmured, his lips almost brushing my ear. "Watching you all these months, playing at being civilized. Acting like you belong among us." His fingers traced the rope burns, pressing into them. "Every time you walked past, every time you dared look at one of our women, I thought about this moment."
The night air raised gooseflesh on my bare back. Metal clinked as Cato moved to the weapon rack, taking his time examining the whips hanging there. His fingers danced over the lighter ones before settling on the heavy black scourge - three braided tails studded with steel barbs and hooks designed to catch and tear.
"You know what I saw once, in a border town?" Cato's voice was almost dreamy. "What was left after your father's people finished with it? The bodies they left hanging from trees, what they did to the women and children?" He unfurled the whip slowly, letting each barbed tail slither through the sand. "I'm going to paint that story on your back. Every scream, every plea I heard that day. And I'm going to take my time about it."
More torches were being lit now as others gathered to watch. I could hear them placing bets on how long I'd last before passing out, whether I'd beg. The smell of wine and excitement mingled with the metallic tang of blood already drying on my face.
"Some say half-breeds feel pain differently," Cato mused, testing the whip with practiced strokes that cut the air with soft hisses. "That your demon blood makes you less human. Shall we find out?"
18
Ishifted restlessly in my seat, watching the torches being lit around the arena's perimeter. The festival games were only two weeks away, and here I was, sitting in the stands like some common spectator instead of preparing myself. My head barely hurt anymore - just a dull ache when I moved too quickly - but Marcus had insisted I sit this fight out.
"Better to miss one small match than risk permanent damage before the festival," he'd said. I was frustrated as I'd heard there were a couple of ludus owners from the capital here tonight. During the last fight, I'd attracted attention from thecrowd, and I'd hoped to do the same from the ludus owners. Their appreciative gazes had been mixed with something darker, something that made my skin crawl, but I didn't care. Any path to the imperial capital was worth considering, even if it meant enduring the way they looked at female gladiators - like we were exotic pets to be collected.
"Livia!" A familiar voice cut through my brooding. Octavia appeared through the crowd, her house slave's tunic neat despite the dusty evening air. "I've missed you! The villa isn't the same without someone to gossip with while I'm doing the mending."
I smiled, genuine warmth replacing my earlier irritation. Before my gladiator training, Octavia and I had spent countless evenings together, sharing stories and dreams while she worked. She settled beside me now, her dark eyes bright with excitement.
"Look at you, all proper and recovered," she said, nudging my shoulder. "When they carried you off the sand last week, I was certain you'd cracked your thick skull."
"It'll take more than that to keep me down." I touched the healing cut at my hairline. "Though Marcus seems to think otherwise."
"He's right to be careful. The festival games are different - more important people watching. The Emperor's cousin might even attend this year, they say. And after your last fight..." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"Yes, yes, I know. Every ludus owner with coin to spend, looking for fresh talent to show off in the capital." I leaned back, watching the arena master make his final inspection of the sand. "Did you hear they're planning something special this year? Some grand spectacle to celebrate the victory over the Talfen raids in the east?"
Octavia's expression darkened. "Good. Let them make a show of it. After what those demons did to the frontier settlements? They deserve whatever they get." She shuddered. "My cousin'shusband trades grain out there. Says whole villages just... disappeared. Nothing left but ashes and bones picked clean by shadows."
The trumpet sounded before I could respond, announcing the first fighters. The crowd roared as gladiators emerged from the holding pens, weapons gleaming in the torchlight. I scanned their faces automatically, noting who looked fresh and who was favoring old injuries, but something felt off. Someone was missing.
"Where's Tarshi?" I asked, still searching the lineup. "He usually fights in these smaller matches."
