Wrath of the Storm (Mark of the Thief 3)

I reached over and pulled Aurelia toward me, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. It wasn't much of an answer. It wasn't any answer at all, but it was the only thing I could do.

When she leaned away, she used the back of her hand to brush at a stray tear, then stood. "Let's go, Livia. I don't want to see this. I can't see it."

Livia gave my hand one last squeeze, then stood and followed Aurelia into the tunnels behind our seats.

Down on the arena floor, Radulf was still standing before Crispus, both of them waiting for my shield to fail. Blood ran down the left side of Radulf's face, and he had drawn one arm close to his chest, as if it were injured.

I focused on him so intently that when I closed my eyes, I could see him in my mind. Going into the arena would take nearly all the magic still left from the bulla. The Divine Star would continue to help me, but I wasn't as experienced in using its lesser magic. My time was now as limited as my options ever were. Hopefully, what I'd bring with me into the arena would be enough.

I felt my body leave the seats in the stand and the compression of traveling through nothingness to suddenly land on my feet on crunchy sand. The audience's loud gasps followed by almost total silence told me I was in the arena now.

I opened my eyes, a little disoriented at first. Thousands of faces were staring down at me, more than what they had appeared when I was in the stands. I was almost directly in front of the imperial box, standing between Crispus's arrow and Radulf. The emperor's soldiers immediately gathered in closer, ready to protect their emperor, if harming him was my intention. They were lucky I had other plans. Besides, standing by the emperor would only put them at risk too. My aim with magic was never as good as I wanted it.

Up close, Probus seemed more human than he had while at a distance. His eyes looked tired, and he bore visible scars from his past military battles. I was tired too, exhausted from so many fights, so much running. For all his power, the emperor was at risk of my magic. And for all my magic, I could still be brought to my knees by this empire.

Seeing me now, Brutus stood taller in the foreground, and a wicked smile widened across his face. He must've thought his plan to trap me had finally worked. But he never considered that I would've had my own ideas about coming here.

I turned in a circle, this time looking for the archers. They had been easy to spot when I was up high in the stands, but from here they were nearly invisible. Maybe I didn't need to see them. It was enough to know they were there, and had plenty of arrows if Crispus failed.

In a loud voice, Emperor Probus said, "Your name is Nicolas Calva. You are the escaped slave with magic stolen from the gods."

I faced him, hands down and palms open. "I came to accept your offer. Allow the general to leave this stadium, unharmed."

Radulf barely spoke, but I heard him. "Fool grandson, how many times must I order you not to save me?"

One corner of my mouth curved upward. "As many times as you wish to have your orders ignored, sir."

"He can leave the stadium," Brutus said. "If he can walk out on his own."

Probus didn't seem to enjoy the joke, but he didn't correct Brutus either.

With all eyes on him, Radulf nodded at the emperor, then took a step toward the nearest gate. His attempt failed, and Radulf immediately fell forward onto the sand floor. I heard his grunt of pain and hurried over to help him get up. There was no time to heal him here, nor did I have the magic for it. But I could help him stand in front of the emperor and face the citizens of Rome as an honored general, not a fallen victim of a second-rate gladiator.

"This is all wrong," Radulf mumbled. "I'm getting what I deserve."

"Forgiveness is real," I said. "You've suffered enough."

Above us, Crispus was talking to the emperor again. This time, Probus was nodding and looking at both me and Radulf.

Finally, Probus announced to the audience, "I have made my decision. It is one of justice balanced with mercy. The general cannot be allowed to remain in Rome, but in exchange for Nicolas Calva's arrival in the arena, I will let the general live. I sentence Radulf to be exiled from the empire, immediately."

That was exactly my plan. I scanned the skies for any sign of Caela, then said to Radulf, "You are going to Britannia and there will make a home with my mother, and soon with Livia and Aurelia."

Radulf put a hand on my shoulder. "What about you?"

I shrugged and let my eyes fall from his gaze. "You know what I have to do."

Radulf nodded, but before he could speak, Caela's caw echoed down into the amphitheater and her great form created a shadow upon us. Cheers erupted from the audience when they saw her, and I helped Radulf limp over to where she would land.

"I am so very sorry," Radulf said once he was on Caela's back. "My boy, you deserve none of what has come to you."

My shoulders straightened in grim determin

ation. "I will come back from this, you'll see."

He reached for me, but by then Caela had already launched herself from the amphitheater floor. For as steep as she flew, I wondered how Radulf managed to remain on her back. She made one wide circle not far above the crowd's heads, and then the most amazing thing happened.

The audience stood, each with an arm crossed against his chest, just as Radulf's arm had been when I came down into the arena. They were giving tribute to their general, honoring his victories for them. Radulf had always been loved here in Rome. I hoped he saw their respect too.