Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

 

Blood, mixed with saliva, dripped to the ground as it gathered on her lower lip.

Marcia could not muster enough strength to spit the liquid away from her body, instead she simply allowed it to run past her lips and down her chin before staining the thick rugs beneath her.

The image made Marcia feel a small amount of achievement rise in the back of her mind.

No one could take that away from her, even as another fist found its way into her abdomen.

Marcia's body jolted in reaction but the pain, though bright upon impact, soon faded into the background as mist.

Torches had been lit but Marcia could see daylight slipping in through the bottom of the drapes making the air humid and hostile.

Her skin sweated from the heat whilst her throat became parched from dehydration; Marcia was panting at the moist air, trying to lubricate her throat.

Nothing worked as she leant forward, the small length of chains between her wrists and the post, allowing her body to sway softly from side to side.

Her hair dangled in front of her face, slick from sweat and oil, shielding her from the world.

Marcia tried not to think of how long she had been there because if she did, she would start to fear that no one was coming for her.

Though she knew that to be wrong. Her parents loved her; they would not allow her to remain here.

Marcia just had to hold on until they get a plan together.

They'll be storming the camp any day now, Marcia told herself. She just had to hold on.

As she thought this, the natural light sneaking in under the drapes was blocked by a figure stood before her.

They did not warrant her gratitude so Marcia remained as she was, swinging from the post with her head bowed towards the ground.

A firm hand gripped her chin and forced her head backwards.

Marcia let out a small moan as her neck protested at the sudden movement, her muscles tensed.

As her eyes parted, blinking against the sudden gush of air that blew into her face, Marcia observed Octavia staring down at her.

Her oval face, with resonating cheek bones, and olive skin was enough to fool anyone into thinking she was nothing more than a young girl with no past.

Marcia knew different as she gazed into her eyes, deep with experience and past pains.

Their eyes connected. Octavia was searching for something whilst Marcia just watched; unable to do anything and that, Marcia realised, was more painful than any torture she could muster.

Octavia sighed.

If she had seen anything in Marcia's eyes, she did not like it.

"I can see that you will not speak," Octavia narrowed her eyes, "Even if it is for your own good."

Marcia coughed as she tried to speak, her voice as rough as she felt, "Oh good, you might as well let me go then."

Octavia laughed, "I can hear your mother in your voice."

The corner of Marcia's lips tilted ever so slightly upwards at the compliment.

"I can see that you admire your mother," Octavia abruptly released Marcia's chin and her head dropped forward suddenly, "You are following in her footsteps after all; the fighting, the stubbornness . . ."