Page 4 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
I'd seen it happen before—warriors who'd lost too much, who'd carried burdens too heavy for any one person to bear. Inthe ludus, we'd called it the hollow-eyed sickness. Men would fight with mechanical precision, eat when food was placed before them, speak when spoken to, but the light behind their eyes would slowly dim until there was nothing left but an empty shell going through the motions of living.
Livia wasn't there yet, but she was walking that path with determined steps, and every day that passed without word of Septimus and Tarshi pushed her a little further into the darkness.
A sound from down the hall made me freeze—soft, muffled, but unmistakable. Crying. My chest tightened as I recognized the quiet, careful sobs of someone trying not to be heard, trying to maintain dignity even in their deepest pain.
I lay still for long moments, telling myself it wasn't my place to intrude. She'd made it clear she valued her privacy, had been sleeping alone since the two men she loved had vanished into smoke and flame. Marcus and I had respected that distance, offering support during the day but leaving her to face her nights alone.
But gods, the sound of her weeping cut through me like a blade.
I thought of Helga then, as I did whenever I heard a woman's tears. My wife had cried the night before the Imperial soldiers came to our village—had somehow sensed what was coming even when I'd dismissed her fears as foolish worry. I'd held her then, had whispered empty reassurances about our safety, our future together. By the next evening, she was dead, and I was in chains, bound for the ludus and a lifetime of regret.
The crying from Livia's room grew softer but more desperate, the kind of weeping that came from someone who’s carefully constructed walls had finally crumbled. I found myself sitting up, then standing, then walking down the hall before I'd consciously decided to move.
I paused outside her door, my massive fist raised to knock, suddenly uncertain. What right did I have to offer comfort? What could a broken old gladiator possibly say to ease the pain of a woman who'd lost so much? I was no good at gentle words, at the soft touches that might soothe a grieving heart. My hands were made for violence, for destruction—everything they touched seemed to break eventually.
But the sound of her pain made the decision for me. I knocked softly, three gentle taps that wouldn't wake Marcus if he'd finally found sleep.
"Livia?" I called quietly. "Are you alright, lass?"
The crying stopped abruptly, followed by the rustling of bedclothes and what sounded like frantic attempts to compose herself. When her voice came through the door, it was carefully controlled, almost steady.
"I'm fine, Antonius. Just... couldn't sleep."
"Aye, well, that makes two of us." I leaned against the doorframe, speaking toward the wood rather than through it. "The academy's too quiet at night. Makes a man's thoughts run in circles like rats in a cage."
A long pause, then: "You can come in. If you want."
The invitation was quietly spoken, almost hesitant, but it hit me with unexpected force. Trust. She was offering me trust, letting me past the defences she maintained so carefully during daylight hours. I turned the handle slowly, stepping into the room like I was entering a temple.
She sat in the centre of her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, dark curls falling around her shoulders like a curtain. At the ludus, she’d kept them short, falling onto her shoulders when they escaped their bindings, but now I realised she’d let her hair grow and her curls now fell to the middle of her upper arms. It made her look younger somehow. The moonlight streaming through her window turned her coppery skin pale as marble,highlighting the tracks of tears on her cheeks. She looked impossibly small in that moment, nothing like the fierce warrior who could cut down arena champions without breaking a sweat.
"The dreams again?" I asked, settling carefully into the chair beside her bed. The furniture creaked under my weight—everything in this place was built for smaller men than me.
She shook her head, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Not dreams this time. Just... thinking. Remembering."
"Dangerous business, remembering. Especially in the small hours."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Is that the voice of experience talking?"
"Aye. Twenty years of sleepless nights have taught me that memories bite harder when the world's gone quiet." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "What's got its teeth in you tonight, lass?"
For a moment I thought she wouldn't answer. Then the words came in a rush, like water breaking through a dam.
"I keep thinking about the last time I saw them. Septimus and Tarshi. They were arguing about something—they were always arguing—and I was so tired of being caught between them, tired of playing peacekeeper." Her voice cracked. "I shouldn’t have let them go, shouldn’t have let them fight. I should have forced them to tell each other what they really felt, and now they’ll never know how happy they could have been. How happy we all could have been.”
"And now you're blaming yourself for words spoken in frustration." I shook my head. "That's a fool's game, Livia. Trust me, I've played it longer than most."
"But what if those were the last words I ever said to them? What if they died thinking I was angry with them, that I didn't..." She broke off, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
"What if they're alive and thinking about how grateful they are that you survived?" I countered gently. "What if they're planning their return, counting the days until they can apologize for whatever fool thing they were arguing about?"
"You don't believe that." It wasn't a question. "I can see it in your eyes. You think they're dead too."
I was quiet for a long moment, weighing honesty against comfort. With Livia, honesty usually won—she could smell lies like a hound scenting game.
"I think the world's a dangerous place," I said finally. "I think good men die for bad reasons every day. But I also think those two lads were too stubborn to die easy, and too devoted to you to stay dead if there was any choice in the matter."
She laughed through her tears, a broken sound that made my chest ache. "Stubborn. Yes, they were definitely that."
