The Valiant by Lesley Livingston

Author:Lesley Livingston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2017-01-31T11:10:51+00:00

XIX

I LAY ON MY PALLET in my cell, staring up at the full moon as it crossed the deep black square of sky framed by my tiny window. It felt as though it were the unblinking eye of the Morrigan staring down at me, silently admonishing me for doing nothing about the fact that she had brought me to my sister, who was alive and well and currently enjoying her robust health within shouting distance.

What, the goddess seemed to be asking, was I going to do about it?

After the oath ritual had been completed, Caesar and the men had retired to the guest quarters to drink wine and, I imagined, brag to each other. Cleopatra, I’d heard two of the kitchen slaves say, kept a pleasure barge—gifted to her by Caesar and reserved for her personal use—moored at a villa on the far side of Lake Sabatinus. Her entourage had rowed it across the water for her visit to the ludus, and that was where the Lanista would privately entertain the Aegyptian queen with wine and delicacies late into the night.

Unsurprisingly, sleep eluded me utterly.

Instead, I lay on my cot tossing restlessly and contemplating the sharp turn my life had just taken. As outlandish as it seemed, as bizarrely coincidental, my long-dead sister not only lived, she lived in a palatial house not more than a stone’s throw from my cold, cramped cell. After seven long years.

I sat up with a start.

Caius Varro’s mystery, at least, was solved: my sword.

Charon had kept my sword, the blade that bore my sister’s triple-raven mark, and I suddenly understood he’d kept it because he’d recognized it—and me. That was what the slave master had meant when he’d said the trunk was the key to both our fortunes: his fortune, my fate. He must have known who the “Lady Achillea” really was, which meant he’d known that he could likely sell me to her for a royal ransom.

My thoughts turned then to Virico, my royal father. After our mother had died birthing me, Sorcha had become the shining light in his world. And when she’d died—no, when she’d disappeared—that flame had been snuffed out forever. My brave, handsome father had lived as a broken man ever since. I could only wonder what my abduction had done to him.

And it was all her fault.

The anger toward Virico that I’d kept alive in my heart, like a glowing ember, flared brightly. Only now, its heat was directed toward Sorcha. Seething, I threw off my blanket, swinging my bare feet to the cold stone floor. The back of my neck was damp with sweat, and I felt like there was a fire burning deep inside my skull. I dressed and threw on my long woolen cloak, pulling the hood up over my hair. Then I quietly opened the door to my cell and slipped out into the corridor, padding swiftly toward the archway that led out into the practice yard, where the flower garlands still swayed between the extinguished torches.

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