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“No, he picked people who were already trained, and then he made ’em vampires. That way, the crowds could watch us ‘die’ over and over, but he didn’t have to constantly replenish his stock. We—” He stopped when I turned over and stared at him. “It was a long time ago.”
“That’s horrible!”
“That’s life. If his men hadn’t seen me on that battlefield, hadn’t decided that a centurion was just what the boss had ordered, I never woulda made it. I almost didn’t anyway. Took him two months to nurse me back to health so he could kill me.”
I swallowed. “I hope you weren’t with him long.”
“A century, give or take.”
“A century?”
“Until the games were outlawed.” Marco pushed me back down and started on my shoulders. “Christianity didn’t approve, maybe ’cause a few too many of their people had ended up in ’em, and not by choice. You know?”
I nodded.
“And once it started to spread, the politicians stopped financing matches, because they started to cost them votes’stead of the other way around. And then the emperor converted and passed a law against it, and while some people still held them illegally, there weren’t enough to make it worth Fortunatus’s time. He traded me to another master who needed a bodyguard, and I just got shuffled around after that.”
“And ended up with Mircea.”
“You know the score. Gotta belong to someone.”
“But you’re a senior master.” I pointed out. “You could have a court of your own, if you wanted.”
“Yeah. And have all the expense and the headaches and the diplomatic shit to deal with, and still have to answer to somebody. Everybody’s the same; can’t wait to move up, to hit fifth or fourth or third level, and strike out on their own. Only to find out the same thing.”
“And what’s that?”
His hands stilled on my back. “That there’s no freedom in our world, Cassie. If I left Mircea, I’d have to ally with some other high-level master in order to survive. And then I’d be dragged into his life, his fights, just like now. Everybody answers to somebody; everybody has restrictions they got to put up with. Even senators. Even Mircea.”
I was starting to see why Marco had been willing to get on this topic. I sighed and buried my head in the pillow. “Even Pythias?”
“Everybody takes orders from somebody,” he repeated. “Mircea takes ’em from the Consul, and believe me, sometimes, he really don’t like it. But he does it.”
I turned over and regarded Marco tiredly. “Yes, and why does he do it?”
Marco frowned. “It’s his job.”
“And she’s his boss, his superior.”
“Yeah.”
“And there’s your answer.”
“There’s what answer?”
I sighed. “Mircea does what the Consul orders because he’s her servant.”
“Yes?”
“But I am not his.”
I got up and went to the bathroom.
Of course, Marco followed. “You are not his.”
“His girlfriend, yes. His servant, no. I can’t be and do my job.”
“You’ve done it pretty well so far. What the hell do you think Mircea’s gonna ask you to do?”
