“I have earned it!”

“Show me.”

Vix launched an overhand attack. Arius clipped the wooden blade out of his hand and sent him sprawling.

Vix scowled. “Just because you’re bigger.”

“If you’d stepped inside and gone low, you’d have thrown me off balance. Keep pretending you’re a big man when you fight, and you’ll die. Fight like a ten-year-old boy, you might be able to kill someone someday. Quit trying to impress me.”

Vix swore. “Again?”

They circled briefly, then closed. Vix stepped under the swing of the sword, throwing his weight against Arius’s side. The Barbarian staggered briefly; Vix brought the wooden sword up to clip his jaw.

“Better. Again.”

“Yeah, and don’t pull your blows this time.”

Vix tried the same trick and came up against a solid wall of shoulder. He swung his wooden blade around in a hasty swing; Arius seized his arm, jerking him off balance, and the joint in his shoulder came apart with a pop. Vix yelled.

“Lie facedown and lift your arm straight back.”

“What arm? You son of a bitch, I don’t have any arm left—”

“Quit whining.” Arius planted a foot on Vix’s back, seized the misaligned arm, and tugged it briskly back into place. “Go ahead and throw up.”

“I never puke.” Vix reeled upright, flexing his elbow. “I’m good for another hour.”

“Then go another hour with this.” Arius tossed Vix his sword.

Vix caught the hilt in both hands, staggering. “Jeez, it’s heavy.”

“Too heavy for a boy, by rights. But it’ll make you strong. Fight with that, you can fight with anything.”

“Yessir.” Vix turned the blade along the light, admiring the honed steel. “People said you fought with a lightning bolt for a sword and a thundercloud for a shield.”

“People are idiots. Start drill number two, but twice as slow. Builds control.”

“This how they taught you in gladiator school?” Groaning as he swung the heavy blade inch by slow, agonizing inch.

“No. This is how my brothers taught me. We’ll start conditioning, next week, sprints and weights. You’re fast, but you have no stamina. Again, five more times. Slower.”

“Why didn’t you like being a gladiator?” Lifting the blade in increments.

“It’s a lousy profession.”

“Sounds fun to me.”

“You’re young. Seen too many games.”

“Only saw one, actually. M’mother says they’re barbaric.”

“Your mother’s a sensible woman. Again. Slower.”

“My arm’s gonna drop off.”

“Then you’re doing it right.”

“Bully.”

“Whiner,” said Arius, enjoying himself. “Ten more sets.”

ROME

JUSTINA.” Paulinus focused weary eyes on the disapproving Vestal. “I need to see Justina.”

“Vestal Justina is occupied with her sacred duties.”

“Get her. Prefect’s orders.”

He settled against the marble wall of the temple, ignoring the scandalized looks of the worshippers. He knew what he looked like: bloodshot, untidy, unshaven . . . It had been months since his betrothal banquet, but he still felt the need to get drunk at night so he could forget the things he’d done.

“Prefect?” Justina’s voice. “Is there trouble? I haven’t seen you in months.”