81
" My mouth kept dropping open, and I would choke on road dust as the city loomed ever closer. When I glanced over at Elka, she was in the same state—wide-eyed and torn between fear and wonderment. Everything seemed like something out of legend. In the shadow of the soaring walls, the city became less of an imposing majestic place and more a heaped, jumbled gathering of wealth and squalor existing side by side. Heady perfumes and the stink of offal wrapped around each other, woven into an overwhelming tapestry by the ocean breeze. Wicker cages full of fowl and small game swung from carts, squawking and chittering excitedly, filling the air with a haze of fur and feathers. Tens and tens of incomprehensible languages rang in my ears. Houses and temples and other buildings made of stone—structures that made my father’s great hall seem like a sheepherder’s hut—rose above the street, level upon level. All of it—the sights and sounds and smells—tangled together into an assault on my senses that made me want to clap my hands over my ears and hide my head. But there was no escaping the chaos as our cart plunged on, heading right toward the very heart of Massilia. With only the bars of my cage between me and the pushing, shoving, singing, shouting crowd, I’d never felt so vulnerable. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
84
" The next day, I hobbled out to the practice yard, where the throbbing, livid bruises on my legs and arms went glaringly unremarked upon. Except, of course, by Elka when she saw me in the armor shed. I could only guess the meaning of maybe half the stream of Varini invective that spilled from her mouth, but I still got the general idea. And I agreed wholeheartedly. “At least Meriel was right,” I said through gritted teeth as I sat on the bench, carefully buckling up my shin greaves. “I do bruise pretty colors.” “You hold her down and I’ll be happy to see if she does the same!” Elka spat. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
85
" Something snapped in my mind. The noise all around me receded in a wave until all I heard was a distant, throbbing pulse like a muffled heartbeat. A legionnaire gutted one of the pirates not three strides in front of me, and the man twisted in a horrid dance as his guts spilled. He dropped his weapons—a pair of short, curved swords—and one of them landed at my feet. I picked it up. Through the red mist that drifted down before my eyes, I no longer saw a ship, or pirates. I could see only soldiers. Legionnaires in their uniforms, hacking and slashing and killing. Where the young, arrogant Decurion stood, I saw only a nameless, faceless commander of Caesar’s legions. I saw only the man who’d murdered my sister. In that moment, Caius Varro was Rome. And I . . . I was Vengeance. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
98
" Let me give you a piece of advice,” she murmured. “Rome only exists because of slaves. That’s how it functions. We are its muscles, its brains, and most of all its secrets. You are now a part of that world. You are what you are, no matter what you once were. But there is power in such a position. Understand that. And learn to use it.” Her breath in my ear was warm, but her words sent a chill down my spine. I hadn’t even guessed that this refined woman was a slave. But of course she was. Trained, specialized, highly skilled, but not free. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)