Octavia gave me an odd look. "Haven't you heard? He's not fit to fight. Probably won't be for some time, if ever."
"What? Why?" The last time I'd seen him was before my injury, steady and controlled as always during training.
"Gods, you really don't know?" She leaned closer, voice dropping. "He attacked some of the other gladiators in the dining hall two nights ago. Went completely wild, like a rabid dog. Broke Maro's nose and nearly killed Cato before they could subdue him." Her lips curled with disgust. "Just like they always say about the Talfen blood - you can dress them up in civilization, but the beast always shows through eventually."
My stomach clenched. "What happened to him?"
"What do you think happened? Drusus had him flogged. Made an example of him." She paused as the crowd cheered a particularly skilled sword thrust. "Though from what I heard, it was more than just a simple flogging. He had Cato do it."
The implications of those words hit me like a blow to the chest. Everyone knew Cato's reputation, his particular enjoyment for causing pain.
"That was two days ago - he should be recovered enough to at least watch the fights. Why haven't I seen him?"
Octavia's laugh held no humor. "Recovered? The way I heard it, they thought he was dead by the time Cato finished. He hasn't left his pen since - probably can't even stand." She shrugged. "Though why anyone would waste worry on a half-breed demon spawn-"
"Has the medicus seen him?" I cut her off, my voice sharper than I intended.
She stared at me like I'd suggested treating a dying rat. "Why would they waste the medicus's time on an animal? Especially after what he did?" Her eyes narrowed. "Livia, you're not actually concerned about it, are you? After everything the Talfen have done to our people? The raids, the murders, the-"
I stood abruptly. "I just remembered - Marcus wanted me to review some training sequences before tomorrow. I should go."
"Now? But the fights have barely started!" She gestured at the arena, where two gladiators were circling each other with practiced grace. "That new fighter from Gaul is supposed to-"
"Another time," I said, already pushing past the other spectators. "We'll catch up soon."
I heard her calling after me, but I didn't stop. My mind was racing, remembering how Tarshi had looked after my injury - concerned but controlled, always so careful to seem unthreatening despite his size and strength. What could have pushed him to lose that iron discipline? And what had Cato done to him in that training yard?
The night air felt suddenly colder as I hurried away from the arena's lights. Behind me, the crowd roared its bloodlust to the stars, and I wondered how many of them would show the same enthusiasm at the festival's "special spectacle" - at whatever cruel display they planned to make of captured Talfen warriors.
The way to the animal pens was dark, lit only by occasional torches. I slowed as I approached, trying to work out what exactly I planned to do. The guards would be at the arena,watching the fights, but there would still be slaves there caring for the animals. I hesitated for a moment, but I couldn't just return to my quarters and pretend I hadn't heard, couldn't ignore the sick feeling in my gut at the thought of what had happened to Tarshi.
I blagged my way through, telling the slave at the door that Marcus had sent me to check on Tarshi and see if he'd be up for training the next day. The slave couldn't have cared less, and let me through with barely a grunt.
The stench hit me first as I entered the pen - blood, infection, and something deeper that made my stomach turn. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw him lying face-down on the filthy straw. His back... gods, his back. In the dim light filtering through the bars, I could see what Cato had done. This wasn't a flogging - it was butchery. The skin was torn to ribbons, black with dried blood and yellow with infection. Some of the deeper wounds still wept.
"Tarshi?" I whispered, kneeling beside him. He stirred slightly, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Fever. Without treatment, he wouldn't survive another day.
His eyes opened, glazed and unfocused. "Come to... watch the animal die?" His voice was barely a breath.
"No. I'm here to help." I reached out, then hesitated, afraid to touch him. "I'm going to get water, clean cloths. Something for the infection."
His hand shot out with surprising strength, gripping my wrist. "Don't." His eyes cleared slightly, filled with something that broke my heart - not fear, but resignation. "Don't leave me to die alone. Please."
"I'm coming back," I said firmly, carefully extracting my hand. "I promise you, Tarshi. I'm coming back."
I ran to the kitchens, my mind racing. The herb-woman had taught me which plants helped fight infection when I was young- my mother had insisted all her children learn healing as well as fighting. I had resisted at the time, wanting the glory of being a warrior rather than the anonymity of the healer, but now I thanked the gods I'd retained some of what I'd learned.
I grabbed clean cloths, a water jug, and raided the herb stores for what I needed - yarrow for bleeding, garlic and honey for infection, willow bark for fever. The kitchen slaves ignored me - no one questioned a gladiator's movements, and they probably assumed I was gathering supplies for Marcus.
When I returned, Tarshi hadn't moved. But his eyes tracked me as I knelt beside him, setting down my supplies.
"This will hurt," I warned, soaking a cloth. "But I have to clean the wounds."
He made no sound as I worked, though his muscles tensed with each touch. As gently as I could, I washed away the dirt and dried blood, revealing the full extent of the damage. The whip hadn't just torn his skin - the barbs had caught and ripped, leaving deep gouges from shoulders to waist. Some of the wounds were so deep I could see muscle tissue.
"Why?" I asked softly, applying the herb paste I'd made. "What happened?"
He laughed - a hollow, broken sound. "Showed them... what I really am. Animal. Beast. Less than a dog." His words slurred with fever. "They were right. Always right."