20. Wretched

Wretched

Rose

“It’s wretched,” Daisy moans.

“It’s expected,” I say. It doesn’t matter how foul it is, that’s beside the point.

“Pater doesn’t make us go,” she argues.

I take a deep breath, refusing to snap at my favorite person. “Daisy, Tristan invited us for sapa afterwards. We can’t show up without going to the games first.”

“He won’t even know if we’re there or not.” She folds her arms, crashing onto the couch in an equally petulant and dramatic fashion. Pater’s away, which is the only reason we’re out here and not cleaning, cooking, or washing.

It’s not that she’s wrong, but it’s the principle of it. We were invited.

By my betrothed.

“I’m going,” I declare, turning towards our room as if I’m willing to leave her behind. The bluff works, and as I head back to the bedroom, Daisy sulks behind me.

“Will Augustus be at sapa ?” she asks.

I’m not sure if I want him there. Tristan saved me. I love him, but that first day in the forum is hard to forget. The way Augustus caught me when I almost fell, the way he’d made me spark from the inside…

I shake my head, dislodging thoughts of the brother I should not be thinking of. I’m lucky Tristan chose me before I let Augustus ruin what little reputation I had left.

“I’m not sure.” I’d told Daisy about Augustus' reputation for leading women on, for dishonoring them.

Instead of letting the subject of him drop, though, her curiosity has been incessant. “Hmm.”

I ignore her, and hand her a tunic. She reaches past me instead, to grab one of a deeper cerulean. I roll my eyes because it’s the one she looks best in.

“I don’t know what you’re doing-”

“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “I’m dressing so we can go, as is expected .”

I’m already dressed, so I simply grab a cloak to wrap around my shoulders, despite the warmth. Pater forgets when he drinks that I shouldn’t be marked for my husband, that bruises don’t befit brides. I dare not remind him.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Daisy announces when she’s ready.

I’m not sure if she means the games or the sapa .

The steps of the Colosseum wind us around and around. Since we don’t come often, we have to follow the mass of women and servants to ensure we’re going high enough. Up and up we climb until finally we emerge into the highest level.

We can see the entire building from here, albeit seeing down the longer side involves a bit of squinting. All around the oblong structure are seats organized in separate tiers. We’re housed at the top, in the attic. If Tristan and his familia are here, they’ll be in a place of honor, closest to the pit.

I shudder as the fanfare begins and ten gladiators enter the ring. An announcer screams each of their names and titles, but it’s hard to hear over the packed bodies. The gladiators look so small from up here, ants about to trampled beneath the foot of some foul creature.

“Ten against one?” Daisy says as a chimera bursts out of its cage at the edge of the ring. One of its parents appears to have been a Lamassu because wings protrude between its lion’s head and snake’s tail.

She was right; we don’t usually come here. We simply have no desire to see men slaughtered for entertainment.

The formidable beast slithers and flies around the ten men. It’s chained so that it can fly just high enough to expose its belly to the gladiators. The men are armored today, each with a unique weapon. A man with a pike tries to stab at the belly of the beast, but its tail whips out, knocking him into another man and they both collapse in the dirt. I bite my lip when the chimera slashes them with its claw, even as it snaps another man in half with its mouth. The crowd gasps, the collective sound echoing across the ring.

Ten to one actually seems unfair to the men. I tug at the ends of my hair, twisting the strands between my thumb and forefinger. How long will this last?

Blood sprays across the sand as the chimera tosses the body against the stone wall surrounding the pit. The crowd screams, pleased with the display of brutality.

A group of three rushes towards the creature’s head, roaring their fury. While it’s distracted with them, the remaining four rush its belly. One takes a good swipe at the flesh between the creature’s chest and leg. It shrieks in either rage or pain.

“Wretched,” Daisy mutters. Her teary eyes aren’t on the dead men, but instead on the chimera as its dark purple blood spills to the sand.

Perhaps I misjudged why we hate this place. I have no desire to see men slaughtered, but maybe Daisy has no desire to see creatures harmed in a barbaric grab for our attention.

The screaming reaches a crescendo and my ears pop as the chimera’s tail wraps around one of the gladiators, choking the life from him while it slashes at another. The man’s torso splits from shoulder to groin, his blood joining his battle brothers in the sand as his body crumples.

My stomach turns and I finally allow myself to look away, content to know I’ve seen enough to prove I was here, if Tristan should want to discuss it.

I’ve done my duty.

Even if I hated every moment of it.