Rise of the Wolf (Mark of the Thief 2)

I hadn't used magic for the race, though considering what they'd just done, I would have been more than justified in doing so. But I did use it now, letting the Divine Star work through me to heal the skin and repair the muscles.

While I healed, I forced myself to climb onto the small platform to rest. The farthest I could go was to the tall obelisk in the center, where I leaned back facing a statue of Apollo with his chariot being pulled by a griffin. Pulled by Caela, I supposed. The expression carved into Apollo's marble face mocked me, now that I had to race with horses instead of his noble animal.

A few slaves assigned to the circus were there with me, but they left me alone. My team of horses had been safely led off the track, though I intended to check on them as soon as possible. I was still sitting there as the charioteer who challenged me finished his final lap. Every other chariot came in behind him, including the two teams with a second man. Technically, they had finished the race too.

I was the loser, of the race, and of our bet.

My shoulder was healed now, or close enough for me to run up to the winning charioteer, who was climbing off his chariot.

"You cheated!" I shouted.

"We gave ourselves an even chance!" he shouted back. "You had magic!"

Yes, and I certainly wanted to use it now. My fists were curled up tight, but not to hold the magic in. If he took a swing at me, I'd have something much bigger waiting for him.

I only stood as tall as his shoulders, and he used the advantage of height to get close to me and look down.

"I know all about you," he sneered. "You dress like the patricians and walk amongst them, but you're not one of them and never will be. You're nothing but a runaway slave who should have been whipped, branded, and sent back to the mines where you belong. If it hadn't been for your grandfather, the emperor would've executed you by now, instead of allowing you to race in the finest circus of Rome. You don't belong here, Nicolas Calva."

Magic was gathering in my hands, so much that I could barely keep my fists clenched. If he understood how much power was in even the tips of my fingers, he never would've spoken that way to me. But that was the exact reason I needed to control myself now. Because I had powers he couldn't begin to comprehend. And the will to control them.

I knew I could call in a storm -- though lightning made me nervous, it was a good way to use the excess magic without causing any destruction. And if I focused it into the smallest possible storm ... well, that could be fun.

I looked up as a small and very dark rain cloud formed overhead. "Celebrate your win," I said with a grin. "You have my congratulations. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some stables to muck out."

And I turned on my heel as thunder cracked overhead. Well, over his head. Mine was fine.

A rainstorm was pouring down on him right now, only him, and would last until the cloud I'd called in had given up all its water. Whenever that was.

I whistled happily as I headed toward the stables.

I was on my third stall by the time Radulf showed up. He was holding a small bag that jingled when he shook it at me. The money he had won.

"You bet on my losing?" I asked.

"I saw the way they talked before you were challenged to race. They were huddled together and pointing to one another. I'm a military man, Nic -- it's not hard to see when trouble is coming. I knew they had a plan."

"You might've told me."

"So you're listening to me now? Respecting anything I have to say?" When I only growled and went back to work, he leaned against one of the stalls and frowned down at me. "You never should've accepted that challenge. You deserved what came to you."

Yes, I knew that. They had intended that exact trick from the beginning, and used my foolish pride against me.

"Do you think there weren't Praetors who saw that?" he asked. "Who don't know that all they must do is taunt you a little and you'll play into their hands every time?"

"I didn't play into their hands, Radulf. I was winning that race."

"Yes, you raced exceptionally well, better than I would have expected, in fact. In a fair world, you'd be celebrating a win right now. But you can't possibly believe the Praetors are going to be fair with you, not when the stakes are so high. If you want to win, then two days from now, you must give yourself every advantage." His eye fell to the bulla around my neck.

I grabbed the bulla and shoved it beneath my tunic. "I don't expect fairness, but I won't cheat either. When I win, it'll be a victory that I earned, one that belongs to me."

"Then you have a difficult job ahead." Radulf's tone showed his growing impatience. "Enough of this. You know a faster way to finish this work."

I did and I'd already thought about that, but I continued pulling out the old hay. "I earned this loss. I'll clean them myself."

"Then there is only so much I can do to help you." I knew what he meant, and it involved far more than these stables. He left without another word.

By the tenth stall, I was feeling less stubborn than before. Yes, it was my fault for being goaded into the race, but I had already paid for that by being dragged through the dirt. I didn't need to clean any further.