After the Ludi Appollinares, Drusus permits us to reduce our training temporarily so we can all recover, especially those among us who are wounded. As such, my absence from the training yard should go unnoticed when the lanista summons me to speak to him privately.

I had hoped, anyway. But as I stroll toward the corridor leading to where the master waits, Quintus and Lucius notice. So do Sikandar and Hasdrubal. The men notice, and they whisper. If they get suspicious enough, if they even think there’s something untoward going on between me and Drusus, then the night they dragged me out into the training yard will be a smack with a wooden sword compared to what they’ll do now. No spy or snitch lasts long within a familia.

But no gladiator lasts long if he defies his lanista, either, so I ignore the whispers and obey the summons.

We’re alone. As he often does, he sits in his ornate chair with a cup of wine between his fingers. It’s difficult to look at him, has been since the Ludi Appollinares, but it’s even more difficult to look away from him. And nearly impossible to breathe. I’m going mad. I have to be. A lanista? Turning me into—

I clear my throat. “You wanted to see me, Dominus?”

“Yes.” He shifts in his chair, resting his chin on his hand. “Saevius, I need additional bodyguards.” He pauses, taking a drink from his cup. “And I’d rather take them from my troupe than spend the money for more.” His eyes meet mine with an unsettling amount of intensity. “Tell me, who among the familia would you trust?”

I hesitate to answer. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

“If you were to pick a bodyguard for me,” he says, “who would you choose?”

I swallow. “Dominus, I cannot say with any kind of certainty that you’d be safe under the guard of any of the men in the familia.”

“Is that so? Why?”

“Because I still don’t know who is giving you reason to be suspicious.” I choose my words carefully. “With respect, I will not accept the responsibility of recommending a man who might be planning to do you harm.”

He tilts his head a little, but doesn’t appear displeased—or pleased, for that matter—with my answer. “What about you?”

“Me, Dominus?”

“Yes. Would I be able to trust you as a bodyguard?”

“Of course,” I say quickly. “But as your bodyguard, I can’t be in the training yard with the other men. I can’t watch them as you’ve asked me to do.” Or as Calvus has told me to do.

“Wise, Saevius. Very wise.” Drusus sets his wine cup aside and stands. “You know, you’re unusual among the gladiators.”

“Of course I am,” I say. “I’m left-handed.”

Drusus throws his head back and laughs. “Yes, yes, so you are.” His amusement passes, and he’s back to scrutinizing my eyes in that way that weakens my damned knees. “I don’t know what it is that’s so different. There is something, though.”

I draw back a little. “Is that . . . good?”

“I don’t know. Is it?” He pauses, looking right into me. “Are you afraid of me, Saevius?”

“No,” I lie. “I respect you, but I’m not afraid of you.”

“Seems most men in the familia are.” He laughs, and it’s almost a drunken sound. “I’ve heard some of them say I’m the man other lanistae tell their children about to scare them.”

I chuckle, but he’s not far from the truth. “Your reputation seems a bit exaggerated to me.”

“Does it?” he asks.

I nod. “You’re fair. Reasonable.” Even if you can make a grown man tremble with a look.

Drusus’s eyebrows lift. “Can I? I’d never noticed.”

My throat tightens. I hadn’t intended to say it out loud, but apparently I did.

“Do I have that effect on all the men in the familia?” he asks.

I clear my throat, trying to get my breath moving again. “I . . . it’s only what I’ve heard.”

“So I don’t have that effect on you?”

Our eyes meet.

I can’t move. Whatever effect he had on me during the Ludi, he has it now, and it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why looking at him like this makes my skin tingle. Why I can’t catch my breath. It isn’t fear. I know what it means to fear a master, and I do fear him, but this? This isn’t fear.

And I don’t understand at all why he’s looking back at me like that. Or what it is I’m seeing in his blue eyes that weakens my knees this way. Or why his intense calm suddenly reminds me of an Egyptian who’d been nearly as dangerous—and impressive—in my rack as he was in the arena.

The tip of Drusus’s tongue darts across his lower lip.

“Drusus . . .” I whisper, not entirely sure why, and the sound of my voice speaking his name sends a shiver through me. Then I realize what I’ve said and quickly add, “Dominus.”

Abruptly, he breaks eye contact and muffles a cough. “Keep watching the men.” His tone returns to the sharp voice of a lanista. “I’m trusting you, Saevius.”

I force some breath into my lungs. “Yes, Dominus.”

“I need an answer soon,” he says tersely. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Understood, Dominus.”

He doesn’t look at me. “Dismissed.”

The encounter leaves me unsettled. I have no doubt he’s losing patience just as Master Calvus is, but that isn’t what has me reeling as I walk back toward the training yard. Whatever happened in those still, silent moments before he dismissed me, I can’t help thinking it’s just as dangerous as the spying he’s ordered me to do. The spying Calvus has ordered me to do. If the gods don’t watch over me, I’m more and more certain I’m going to end up on the wrong end of a sharp blade.

“Saevius.” Philosir’s voice draws me out of my thoughts, and as I turn toward the water trough where he’s drinking with some of the other men, he says, “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh, I—” I pause, glancing over my shoulder. “Drusus asked to see me.”

Quintus and Iovita furrow their brows and exchange an unreadable look as I join them at the trough.

Philosir eyes me. “What’s he want with you this time?”

“Aye, Saevius.” Iovita finishes the water in the ladle, then hands it to Quintus as he says, “The master does seem rather interested in you.”

“Does he?” I laugh quietly and get some water for myself. “I’ve noticed nothing of the sort.”

“Iovita’s got a point, you know.” Quintus peers at me over the top of the ladle. “The master’s awfully chummy with you.”

I laugh and shake my head. “You’re imagining things.”

“All of us?” Lucius says. “You think we’re all stupid? Drusus has never had an interest in any of us before.”

“Not like Crispinus did,” Quintus says with a nod. A sly grin curls his lip. “Guess he’s taken a fancy to you, has he?” The humorous tone is edged with something else. An unspoken accusation.

“It’s nothing like that.” Though what I wouldn’t give to—what? What is wrong with—

“If it ain’t that,” Lucius says, jarring me back into the conversation, “then what is it?”

“Does it matter?” I ask.

“If it doesn’t, then it shouldn’t matter if you tell us.” Iovita’s eyes narrow. “The man is forever summoning you from training to his private chambers. You’re in his presence as often as you’re in a sparring ring.” Iovita pauses. “If he ain’t calling you into his bed, then what’s going on, Saevius?”

Before I can answer, Lucius glares at me. “He got you watching us now or something, so you can find out who’s talking to someone on the outside?”

“Watching you?” I raise my eyebrows. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well,” Quintus says with a shrug, “as often as he calls you away from the rest of us, including his bodyguards? Tell us why we shouldn’t be concerned.”

Drinking slowly and silently, Philosir watches me from his place between Quintus and Lucius. All four of the auctorati are staring intently at me, as if their eyes can pry the truth out of me.

The woman’s lover is a citizen or a freedman. I look from one man to the next. Which means he could be an auctoratus.Lucius. Quintus. Philosir. Iovita. Is it one of you?