Page 14 of House of Serpents and Slaves
I scoffed, refusing to let his words get under my skin.
"Adorable? Your commitment to mediocrity is what's adorable, Septimus. I'm sure the crowds will be thrilled to watch you die in the arena because you were too busy chasing skirts to train properly."
Septimus let out a deep laugh, pushing off from the pillar and sauntering towards me.
"Big words from such a little girl. Tell me, how many matches have you won so far? Oh, that's right - none."
My jaw clenched as I fought to keep my composure.
"I've only just begun. Give it time, Septimus. You'll be eating those words soon enough. The day will come sooner than you think when I fight alongside you as an equal. Maybe I will be able to relax a little more and indulge in physical pleasure. Until then..." I finished form three with a flourish.
Septimus gave a sigh, and straightened up, reaching out to grab another training sword from the rack near where he stood.
"I suppose my cock can wait another hour or so. I’d hate to leave you out here alone. It’s just so sad."
"Oh, how generous of you," I sneered, but my heart raced with anticipation. Despite our mutual dislike, sparring with Septimus always pushed me to my limits.
He twirled the wooden sword with practiced ease, a cocky grin spreading across his face.
"Don't worry, I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want to bruise that delicate skin of yours."
I scoffed, dropping into a fighting stance.
"Save your concern for yourself, you arrogant prick."
Without warning, Septimus lunged forward, his sword whistling through the air. I barely managed to parry the blow, the impact jarring my already tired arms. We circled each other, trading strikes and insults in equal measure.
"Is that all you've got?" I taunted, ducking under a vicious swing. "I've seen kitchen slaves with more skill."
"Big talk from someone who can barely hold a sword. Though of course, if you do not find me a worthy sparring partner, I can always go and find a more pleasurable partner."
I grinned.
"Not worthy, no. But sadly, my only option."
Septimus grinned back at me.
"Strength and skill," he said, echoing our arena's motto. I cocked my head.
"Strength and skill." And with that, he came at me.
For the next hour, we sparred under the moonlight, our wooden swords clashing like claps of thunder over the desert. My limbs trembled with exhaustion, and bruises bloomed across my skin, yet I refused to yield. The knowledge that every strike brought me closer to avenging my family fuelled my determination.
"You're improving," Septimus acknowledged during a brief break, concern etched upon his face. "But you need to pace yourself. You won't last long in the arena if you burn out before the fight even begins."
I ignored him. I didn't have the long hours of training he had, or the trainers or the multiple opponents so I could improve my technique. I had a limited amount of time in which to hone my skills, and rarely a sparring partner. I wasn't about to let the opportunity slip past without giving it my all.
Sweat dripped from my brow and mingled with the blood that trickled from a recent clout from Septimus's blade when I had failed to block cleanly. I ignored the stinging sensation and focused on Septimus.
"Again!" I demanded, tightening my grip on my sword. My muscles screamed in protest, but I pushed through the pain.
Septimus lunged forward, his movements swift and precise. The oppressive night air was thick with the scent of sweat as we exchanged blows, our grunts and the clash of our weapons echoing through the arena.
"Your footwork is improving," Septimus said between breaths. "But you're still dropping your shoulder when you strike."
I nodded, pausing for a moment to catch my breath. I had suspected as much myself.
"You alright, Livia?" he asked, lowering his sword.
