Page 9 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

As we enter the conference room, I notice Thrax has to dip his head to get through the door. Perhaps it’s a habit from his other lifetime, because, tall as he is, he doesn’t have to hunch.

I swallow and brace myself for bad news as if I’ve been called into the principal’s office. My hands are clammy as I take a seat, wondering if this is where my extraordinary adventure comes to an abrupt end.

Laura and Varro exchange a glance before Laura speaks, first in English, then repeating herself in Latin. “We want to apologize for the short notice. We’ve been called to America on urgent business. It’s bad timing, but it can’t be delayed.”

The knot in my stomach partially uncoils. I’m not being fired. Not yet, at least.

Varro continues, “We’re not sure how long we’ll be gone. But we don’t want to delay your work on the pronunciation, Skye. It’s crucial for the project.”

I nod, still unsure where this is going.

Laura turns to Thrax, her voice gentle as she speaks first in Latin, then translates for me. “Since you’re the only other person here who speaks ancient Latin, we were hoping you might be willing to help Skye with the pronunciation work while we’re gone.”

Thrax’s eyes widen slightly. It’s the first time I’ve seen a genuine emotion cross his normally blank face. He glances at me, then quickly looks away. His reluctance is palpable.

“Nom possum…” He shakes his head, lips turned down.

I don’t need to understand his language to know he doesn’t want to do this. My heart sinks. He must really dislike me if he’s unwilling to work with me. I rack my brain, trying to figure out what I’ve done to offend him. Was it the staring? I thought I was being stealthy. Did I invade his space in the atrium?

Varro places a hand on Thrax’s shoulder and talks to him. Laura translates, “I know it’s a lot to ask, my friend. But your help would be invaluable. Skye’s work is important for all of us. It will help you adjust. And think of the others.”

Thrax’s gaze flicks to me again, and I try to school my features into something neutral, non-threatening. But inside, I’m a whirl of emotions. Embarrassment at being so obviously disliked. Curiosity about what I’ve done wrong. And, despite it all, a strange excitement at the prospect of working closely with this fascinating man.

After what feels like an eternity, Thrax gives a small nod. “Si, putas me iuvare,”he says softly.

“Yes, if you think I can help,” Laura translates, then speaks to him in Latin. I understand one Latin word from what she says to him, “Gratias.”

As the meeting wraps up, I can’t help but wonder what I’m getting myself into. How am I supposed to work with someone who can barely stand to look at me?

But as we file out of the conference room, I catch Thrax sneaking another glance my way. And for a split second, I see something in his eyes that doesn’t appear to be dislike at all. It looks almost like… fear?

The realization hits me. Maybe it’s not that he dislikes me. Maybe he’s just as nervous about this arrangement as I am.

As I head back to the atrium, my mind is already brimming with possibilities. This project just got a whole lot more interesting.

Chapter Nine

Thrax

When I slip into the atrium, the sun hasn’t yet peeked above the horizon. Sleep didn’t come easy last night—my head was whirling with everything I’m supposed to do today. How am I supposed to help this woman, Skye, when just looking at her makes my chest tighten?

I pace the length of the atrium, my bare feet hardly making any sound on the cool, damp grass. The sky lightens, turning the clouds shades of pink and gold. It’s beautiful, but my eyes keep drifting toward the wooden table where Skye usually sits.

As if my thoughts pulled her here, she shows up, carrying that strange silver box. Our gazes lock for a moment, both of us standing here, not moving.

She talks, but I can’t make sense of the words. I nod, not sure what else to do. Should I bow? Avert my eyes? In my world, a slave would never address a free woman so directly. But Varro insists I’m not a slave anymore. The confusion makes my head spin.

Skye sits at her usual spot, opening the silver box. I edge closer, curiosity warring with caution. The box glows, displaying images and symbols I don’t understand.

She speaks again, then seems to remember I can’t understand her. She taps at the flat part of the box, and suddenly, I hear afeminine voice speaking Latin. My heart races in surprise as I hear, “It’s a computer. Would you like to see?”

The word “computer” did not translate. I have no idea what I’m looking at, but my curiosity wins.

I hesitate for a moment before slowly sitting on the bench, making sure to keep some space between us. The scent of flowers—her scent—drifts over me, and I fight the urge to lean closer.

Skye speaks again, and the feminine voice speaks again in Latin. “It’s a translation program, similar to how an abacus works. We give it information and it works out the rest like a sum. It’s not perfect yet, but it should help us communicate. Can you say something?”

The pronunciation is strange, almost comical, like one of those colorful talking birds that were fashionable amongst the wealthy families. Every word doesn’t seem to translate, but I understand the gist.

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