His words had hurt. They’d wounded deeply. To know she meant nothing to him, that what they’d shared meant nothing.
Even now, though days had passed, the pain slicing through her was fresh, and it was agonizing, merciless in the anguish it caused.
Aurora had no experience dealing with such things. She had no experience in dealing with such a man. Cyrus had felt betrayed by her attack on Claudius. Cyrus had felt betrayed, and so he’d struck out in the cruelest way possible.
Had any other man but Cyrus spoken to her in such a manner, his words would have rolled off of her. She would have ignored them, she would have felt nothing.
Yet, with Cyrus, she felt it all—the pain of her betrayal, the pain of his every word cutting deep. It was as if she could not seem to
stop
feeling, and she hated it. She hated that he made her feel, that he made her care. Aurora had no experience when it came to matters of the heart, and she hated that as well.
When dusk finally fell upon the arena, Aurora was relieved, and she dropped her weapons where she stood. She trailed behind the other gladiators until she heard her name.
Aurora spun around to face Cyrus.
This was the first time he’d spoken her name since their fight.
Hope flared inside her. She’d tried to speak to him, to broach this matter with him, but he’d ignored her every attempt.
Maybe. Maybe he was finally ready to hear her out.
“Claudius wishes for you to train through supper.” He gestured for her to retrieve her wooden blade. “And he has asked me to spar with you.”
The tiny ember of hope that had sparked to life died within an instant, only to be replaced by the hot flash of her temper.
“To what purpose? You could not best me when you were well. You shall provide no challenge at all with your injured arm.” She whipped around, already walking off. “Do not bother.”
Aurora was aware that she spoke to him with disrespect. He was her
doctoris.
He could easily have her whipped for such defiance. But Cyrus was not her
doctoris,
he was but a man in her eyes. A man she cared for deeply, a man who’d wronged her, and she him.
He roared out her name so loudly that she had no other choice but to stop. She was certain he’d been heard all the way to the depths of Pluto.
She twisted around to face him, too angry to heed the warning in his eyes.
“You do not have to pretend as if you care anything about preparing me for the games. I know you do not, so let me be. Let me die within the arena at the
ludi Victoriae Caesaris
, that way you shall not be forced to kill me yourself,” she snapped, hurling the cruel words he’d spoken in the infirmary back at him. Cruel words that still haunted her every day, and every night.
Aurora felt the moisture sting her eyes. She would not cry before this man, not this time. She turned to leave, but before she could take a single step, Cyrus was upon her, quick as lightning. And before she could take her next breath, her back was pressed against one of the arched columns along the arena. Where they stood, no one could see them, and Cyrus towered over her, his eyes flashing dangerously.
“How dare you hurl your anger at me, when it is
I
who has been betrayed?”
His words cut her to the core, deflating her within an instant, and her eyes softened. She
had
hurt him—
deeply
. But more than the pain she’d caused, she had intentionally deceived him, and the shame of her actions was like a crushing weight upon her heart.
She had betrayed him, though she’d had no choice.
I would never harm you
, she’d whispered to him.
But she had.
Cyrus had protected her, kept her secrets—he still did, and yet, she’d struck without warning, wounding him in the process.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, her fingers lightly brushing his jaw, trembling with the force of her feelings for this man, feelings she could no longer seem to get a hold of. “There are days when I wish you had never met me,” she forced out from a throat raw with emotion. “Truly, I wish you’d never met me because before this is done I fear I shall hurt you again, and that is the last thing I would ever wish.”
Cyrus stilled at the agony in Aurora’s eyes. He had not been prepared for her to reveal herself to him so openly, so honestly.
“If anything had happened to you—” Her voice broke and she fell silent. She did not admit she’d been there that day in the market. Cyrus knew she never would, just as he knew she’d been there, shrouded in a dark cloak, her burnished amber gaze shimmering with determination, then fear as she’d stood there helplessly, watching him deflect the weapon she’d hurled in his direction.
In his anger, his deep-seated sense of betrayal, he’d forgotten the fear and horror he’d glimpsed in her eyes that day in the
forum
. But gazing upon her now, he was flooded with the memories. The rage he’d wanted to hold on to began to ease from his body like the tide creeping back out to sea.
She’d not set out to harm him. He knew this. Her target had been Claudius, not him.
Cyrus’ wound was minor, but it tortured her to know it could have been far worse, because had she faltered, had
he
faltered, she would have done more than harm him, she would have killed him.
“I have spent so much of my life alone that I do not know how to care for another,” she said quietly.
Cyrus felt the change in her voice, the change in her. The words she spoke were probably as much as she would ever reveal of her true purpose for being there, and he knew it cost her to do so now. “In all the years I have done this I have never faced such indecision, I have never faced such an insurmountable obstacle.” She sighed, and the sound was as harsh as gravel against his ears. “Cyrus, I beg of you not to stand in my way. I could never hurt you, but neither can I fail.”
He closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers, and he imagined when he sighed, the sound of it was as tormented as hers had been.
“You know that if it is within my power I will try to stop you.”
“He is not a good man, Cyrus.” She spoke vehemently. “He cares nothing for anyone, least of all you. He has not earned such loyalty, and he certainly does not deserve your life.”
Every word she said, he knew to be true. Claudius was not a cruel
dominus
, but he was greedy, selfish. His greatest concern had always been that of earning a profit, shadowed only by his lust for women. And then there were the rumors Cyrus had heard of what he did to his enemies, to their children…
No matter what was whispered of Claudius and what he did, Cyrus had never known him not to keep his word, and Cyrus had made him a promise. He’d lost so much these years, he refused to lose his honor as well. He was plagued by guilt that he still had not told Aurora of his past with Sorina. The right moment had yet to present itself, but that did not excuse his cowardice. He was a man of honor. While that honor was already tarnished, he would not see it further tainted, because he was not a man of his word.
If he could no longer keep his word, then he was not the man he once was. And if he was not the man he once was, then he did not wish to live the life of the man he’d become—one whose word could not be trusted.
“I know,” he said finally. “But I made a promise, and I shall remain true to it.”
He opened his eyes, only to close them again as he brushed his lips to hers.
The myriad of emotions, of feelings he felt for Aurora, whose heartbeat now joined his, he could not even begin to put into words.
It killed him to know they were destined to destroy one another. They were at cross purposes, and neither was prepared to give.
He kissed her more deeply, his tongue twining with hers, as if by doing so he could lock her to him forever. She moaned against his lips, yielding beneath the pressure of his mouth, the strength of his body.
He knew she felt it too, this desperation to tattoo himself upon her, so that whoever survived this battle between them, they would take a piece of the other with them.
Cyrus could not find the strength to separate their lips until they were forced to take in air. Panting against one another, he trailed his fingers along her cheek.
“There is not one day that I regret having met you,” he remarked in response to her earlier words. “Not one,” he said his voice firm. No matter that she’d injured him, that this would end in one of their deaths, maybe even both, he did not regret having met her because he would never have known what it was like to love another in the most intimate way possible had he not.
She smiled, though it was bittersweet. “There is not one day that I regret having met you either,” she whispered.
She’d barely spoken the words before he joined their lips again in a kiss that went on longer than before. They remained there in the small alcove within each arms long after supper had passed.
Cyrus knew this would be one of their last moments together, and he savored it knowing it would have to sustain him for a lifetime, or for however long he had left to live.
Chapter Eleven
Ludi Victoriae Caesaris
.
The annual gladiatorial games to honor the esteemed goddess of victory—the goddess of the arena—alongside the first emperor of Rome, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus.
The games had begun with a festive parade that boasted the melodious sounds of drummers and trumpeters, and the alluring sensual dances of young women whose hips swayed to the pulsing rhythm. Exotic beasts from across The Empire followed the dancers, and they were fawned over by the adoring crowds, who stared at them from the other side of elaborate, gilded cages. The gladiators were presented last, their oiled skin gleaming beneath the sun.
Soon after the parade ended, the games began before a crowd of several thousand. The arena was packed with people draped in wreaths of red roses and yellow hyacinths, the colors of the games.
The thundering roar of the mob was almost deafening as they cheered wildly according to the whims of their favor. As Aurora waited below the arena, she silenced the brutal, bloodthirsty sounds that accompanied such an event.
The sun had already begun slipping from the sky, the horizon flickering golden, then bronze. It was nearing dusk, and she was soon escorted by the guards to the metal gate leading into the arena.
Aurora’s name was announced first, followed by the harsh blare of trumpets. Soon the gate opened and she stepped into the arena, her sandaled feet kicking up sand, sinking into puddles of blood.
She stood within the center of the open space, the din of the throng of people around her, bursting in her ears.
Aurora heard all those who cheered, who chanted her name.
She heard all those who didn’t, for they’d not forgotten her last time in this very arena.
The gate on the other side opened, and Aurora held her breath, then released it.
Her heart quickened, then quieted.
As she awaited her opponent, she experienced a moment’s fear, but it soon disappeared. As quickly as it had stolen over her, it vanished.
She wished she could have said she’d taken hold of her inner demons and mastered them, but Aurora doubted she would ever completely bury them, nor did she truly want to.
Her demons had driven her to this moment, to this place, and she could not change any of the past that had brought her there, just as she would never regret finding herself within this space, because it was another moment within her life.
That one word rang out in her mind.
Regret.
Her gaze found Cyrus in the midst of the crowd, standing along the edge, where the trainers could often be found.
She would never regret having met him, and when his eyes flashed with confidence, with reassurance, she believed his words that he did not regret having met her either.
He’d forgiven her, despite what she’d done, despite her betrayal. He’d forgiven her, and then he’d healed her. She had never known a man such as Cyrus, and she knew that she never would again.
It was Cyrus, the strength in his eyes, the faith shimmering in his gaze. It was Cyrus who helped her quiet her demons, as only he seemed to have the power to do.
When her opponent stepped into the arena—another gladiatrix from the kingdom of Dacia—Aurora was as she had once been.
She was the mistress of the arena, the champion of Capena. Just as the sun disappeared completely from the sky, Aurora raised her hand and was as she’d once been.
Triumphant.
* * * *
On this day, the House of Norbanus had been victorious. And so they celebrated as they’d fought—wildly, fiercely—and well into the night.
Aurora enjoyed the praise of the other gladiators, the praise of Claudius who indulged in wine and revelry until he could barely hold himself up. Two guards eventually led him from the
triclinieum
. Even Cornelia seemed to be in good spirits, as she flirted shamelessly with the fighters and celebrated with them until she passed out on one of the couches. Aurora was grateful Cornelia did not return to her chambers because she did not wish to take more lives than were necessary—more lives than she’d already taken.