Playing the Game

Chapter 12: A Familiar, Unknown Face

He lied to me.

He promised to stay by my side, to help me get through the nightmare.

He lied.

I stormed through the tunnels in search of him, trying to decide whether I would yell at him or punch his wounded shoulder when I found him. How was I supposed to trust him when he broke his word so easily? Granted it was not a life threatening situation, but it hurt nevertheless.

I rounded the corner that led to a set of iron, gated doors that were never open unless all gladiators were locked in their cells. The bars separated the Emperor's quarters of the arena from the gladiator tunnels. The last time I walked through those doors, I was being pulled by my hair towards the prison cells that also occupied space below the arena. I was lucky to avoid that hallway over the past couple of days for my sanity's sake, but the iron door was enough to bring back flashes of the torture my brother and I endured while locked away.

But I was quickly distracted by the sight of the two people standing on opposite ends of the door, conversing in hushed tones. No guards, no servants, no onlookers of any kind. I jumped back behind the corner to conceal myself, knowing that there was a reason for this private meeting.

Empress Aryanna masked her appearance with a long, hooded cloak. But the torchlight illuminated her face as she pressed herself against the bars.

It wasn't hard to identify the man she was talking to on our side of the gate; even from the back, he was unmistakable.

The scruffy man nodded along to whatever the Empress was saying, and then bowed his head like a scolded child. The Empress pushed a hand through the bars and lightly touched his wounded shoulder, giving him a tender smile. I could see his muscles tense and his grip tighten on the bars in front of him, but it was hard to tell if it was just a reaction to pain or if he was trying to stop himself from touching her back.

I was beyond confused, and contritely jealous. There was absolutely no good way to interpret the scene unfolding before me. They knew each other. For how long, I couldn't say.

Why did the Empress care about Tiberius' Doctore? How much did he care about her? Were they just friends? Were they lovers? For how long? Are they still lovers? Was this why the scruffy man hated being in the Capitol? Was this why he wanted to avoid it? Or was he just trying to avoid it because of me? Was I getting in the way of his relationship with the Empress? Was this why the scruffy man wanted a clean break?

My scruffy man.

But he wasn't mine. He never was, and he probably never would be.

After another sickening, caring gesture from the Empress, my heart began to race and my lungs began to constrict. I couldn't intrude on their intimate moment any longer; the whole thing just hurt too much.

I ran back down the hall I came from, searching for a place to hide from my thoughts and feelings. I needed a distraction, and I knew just where to get it.

I threw the physician's door open without consideration, watching the back of it hit the wall before swinging towards me again. I caught it before it could close entirely.

Evander was the only conscious patient in the room. Three gladiators were asleep on their wooden slabs with fresh bandages all over their bodies from the earlier event. A physician was sitting at a table making notes, but was startled to stand when I entered the room. Evander wasn't as easily frightened, certainly accustomed to my behaviour by now.

"Please!" The physician quietly hissed, "You'll wake the patients!"

I ignored his irritation. "I need to speak with him privately." I requested, nodding to Evander.