Playing the Game

Chapter 19: Bring the Fire

Jaws dropped as a resounding gasp echoed throughout the colosseum. Even Decimus seemed flabbergasted by this development, finally taking an interest in the day's proceedings. The warriors in the arena looked between one another for confirmation, assuming that they heard wrong. The gladiators were petrified, not wanting to be the unlucky man who had the honour of facing off against the Emperor. The only person who was not surprised by this confession was the Empress. For the most part she sat motionless in her chair, but I noticed her playing with a piece of fabric from her dress to calm her anxiety. For the sake of her people and her husband's reputation, she had to seem confident; it would look bad if his own wife had little faith in his abilities. But she had nothing to fear, for the Emperor was said to be one of the greatest fighters across the world, only matched by his brother.

Perhaps she was worried about something else... or someone else.

I couldn't help but spare a glance in the scruffy man's direction. He was already looking back, waiting to lock eyes. For a brief moment, I felt superior knowing that he was looking at me and not her. But it didn't matter... not while he was still determined to leave me.

I could tell that he had something else on his mind. He was biting his bottom lip to keep quiet and squeezing his hands together so tightly that they were turning white. He wanted to say something, he wanted to do something... but he didn't get the chance.

The Emperor asked his son to step forward to form the twelve battles, pulling names out of the two bowls that had magically appeared before them. The first held the names of the gladiators, the second held the names of the high houses who offered their warriors.

Newt was paired with the pirate.

Evander was paired with the Captain of Emperor's private guard.

The scruffy man was ironically paired with the animal trainer, which made the crowd howl with laughter at the notion of a fight fueled by revenge.

Theo was unfortunately paired with our Dominus. He tried to hide his disappointment best he could, knowing that he didn't stand a chance at becoming a champion. Theo had to graciously accept defeat at the hands of his Master.

My name was the ninth to be called. "The gladiator Marcus from the training facility of Lord Tiberius Varinius Tullus will be paired with..." Decimus pulled a slip of parchment from the second bowl. He stared at it thoughtfully, and then shifted his gaze to mine. The wheels and cranks were turning in contemplation, seemingly making up his mind about something. Very carefully, he crumpled the parchment in his hand before his father could read it over his shoulder. He turned his attention back to the people with a smile to hide his deception. "Marcus will be paired with the warrior of the house of Hannibal Artorius Regulus."

Decimus intentionally fixed the pairing.

I should have been scared... petrified, even. Both Evander and the scruffy man certainly were on my behalf, knowing that I didn't stand a chance against the man.

But I wasn't afraid. In fact, I was glad... almost thankful.

What luck! My brother spends ten years of his life training to challenge the Emperor in the arena to avenge our father's death. And yet, the opportunity is just handed to me. No fuss, no schemes, and no need to reveal my identity. I don't know why Decimus did it, but I had no need to complain. It was a dream come true.

As the crowd erupted, excited by the prospect of seeing their favourite novice in combat with their ruler, I smirked and nodded with private gratitude for the Prince.

This was long overdue. I had to make my father proud. I had to end it.

Remembering my father's famous last words in this arena, I clenched my fists as I gave the Emperor a hard glare. He seemed just as excited by the outcome of the draw. I had already aggravated him by bringing the name Augustus back into the arena in a favourable way, so it was plain to see why he wanted to crush me in combat. But I was ready to make it as difficult on him as possible; if I couldn't win, I was at least going to leave an impression.