102
" didn’t know what else to do, so I whispered a prayer to the Morrigan, the triple goddess of blood and battles. Maybe not the most appropriate deity, under the circumstances, but the one to whom I most often prayed. My throat was parched, and my voice, when I tried to say the first of the three names of the Raven Goddess, came out as a crow’s rasp. “Macha . . .” I licked my lips and tried again. “Macha. Red Nemain. Badb Catha . . . hear me. Wind, carry my words. Shadows and darkness, see my plight. Let the Morrigan hear my plea. Give me strength to vanquish my enemies and wreak my vengeance . . .” I whispered the prayer over and over again until finally I slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
105
" already had a goddess, and no matter what trials she saw fit to put me through, I would not forsake her for someone who thought fighting for the sport of the masses was the least bit honorable. Achillea was no true warrior. And yet, even as I watched, I had to admit that she certainly fought like one. There was something thrilling about the way the Lanista fought, something unique and undeniably compelling to watch in the way she angled her body in defense, the way her head craned sharply to one side when she attacked. It was like nothing I’d ever seen. I wondered where she’d learned her technique, but it could have been anywhere, from anyone. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
108
" Like you? Or the Lanista?” She laughed, a throaty chuckle that sounded almost like a warning growl, and shook her head. “You should have seen her back in her arena days,” she said. “After her accident she retrained herself to fight in a way that turns injuries into assets, weakness into strength. But you should have seen her then. She was the original, and she was the best.” “What do you mean, she was the original?” I asked, suppressing the urge to boast that one day I would be best. Better than both of them. “The original gladiatrix.” “She was?” Thalestris nodded. “Caesar sent her into the arena as the first woman ever to compete in the ludi—well, the first of two—and the mob in the stands went wild with excitement. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
112
" The slave chain hissed along the ground as the men closed in around us. I kicked at it to keep it out from underneath my slippers, and one of the men—the taller of the first pair—swung a short-hafted pike at Elka’s head in an artless, horizontal slash. She ducked without blocking and shifted to the side, bending around my left flank so that I could move with her. I saw what she was doing and dropped into a crouch as she twisted. The man reared back again, and while his attention was focused on Elka, I sprang forward with a low, darting thrust that tagged him solidly on the upper thigh. He howled in pain, flinching as the point of my sword pierced his worn breeches and sank into the muscle there. I pulled my sword out and blood spilled down the front of his leg. It was the first time I’d ever wounded a man, and I felt a savage rush of excitement. “Not such easy meat as he thought.” Elka’s voice was in my ear, panting with fear or exertion—I couldn’t tell which. “That was nice, little fox. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
113
" Although my pulse thrummed in my throat, beating wildly against the knuckles of Charon’s fist, I forced my eyes to meet his. If I was going to die, I was going to stare into the face of my death when it happened. I held my breath. But after another long moment, I saw the white fury fade from behind the slave master’s eyes. “You cost me a man, and you cost me a wagon, and yet here I am, rescuing you from the ravages of your own stupidity,” he hissed. “I must be mad.” “Leave me here among these ruins, then,” I said, half-defiant, half-afraid he would do just that, “and I’ll trouble you no more.” “Don’t tempt me,” he said. “Listen to me. You’re a fool, and you know nothing. You don’t even know what you’re worth. But I do. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
115
" Get away from me!” I snarled as I spun circles of flames in the dark air, batting the whip away from me and almost setting the retiarius net aflame. “Stay back or burn, you jackals!” One girl screamed in alarm as my torch set her tunic hem smoldering, and she quickly fell back, slapping at the cloth. The firebrands flared and flamed in my hands, trailing smoke and embers in the dimachaerus patterns I’d practiced, as my attackers backed off. When I lunged straight at the girl with the whip, she turned and ran, melting back into the night, the other girls following close on her heels. I shouted after them to come back and face me. In truth, I was just as glad they were gone. My arms and legs throbbed as I let the torches drop to my sides. I squeezed my eyes shut to clear the afterglare of fire blindness. When I opened them again and lifted my head to the cool night breeze, I saw a figure, cloaked and hooded, standing on the balcony above the courtyard, watching me. The Lanista. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew it was her. I could feel her gaze on me, sharp and appraising. I straightened up, standing as tall as I could, and met her gaze. She stood there for a long moment. Then she turned without a word and disappeared into the darkness. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)