Elizabeth waited for Cesare's nod before facing the cold man. “I didn’t make this for you, Jerold. I made this for Cesare, it’s his to decide who he wants to share it with.” Facing Jerold’s growing anger, she continued, “And he doesn’t want to share it with you.”
Jerold’s eyes briefly rested on Cesare before dismissing him. “Surely you can see the bigger picture. The ones he’s helping are the dregs of this year’s class.” The words hit the kids with the power of a sledgehammer, hurt flashing across faces, quickly followed by its sinister sister despair.
“They,” Jerold gestured at the Murmillo standing at attention. “Have spent years bleeding to get to this point in their careers. They’re the best gladiators in the school, and I believe the best in the world. They’ve proved themselves through hundreds of fights and deserve the best we can provide; they’ve earned it by blood and discipline.”
Shaking her head, a small smile played across Elizabeth’s lips. “You think any of that matters to me?” She looked at the murmillo, eyes running over their disciplined ranks. “I didn’t come here today to help you. I came because Cesare asked, and I’d do anything to see him succeed.”
“I don’t need your permission,” Jerold said, voice creaking under the brutal control he was exerting. “This is my classroom. While I thank you for your help, there's nothing preventing me from doing what I want.”
Elizabeth laughed, and the earth rumbling along with her. Falling to the ground, students stared at the woman as a nightmare come to life. “This is mine, did you forget the pact?” she said, watching the slow skim of ice radiate from his feet. “The land belongs to the Earth, while the stones belong to the Void.”
She gestured at the courtyard. “This is my land, all of it. I allow you to play your petty games, to use my land to train your brain dead jocks. But your no longer welcome in this place, this I give to Cesare. This land is inviolate to you and yours Child of the North Wind.” The strange formality silenced the students whispered words.
Nodding his head, Jerold stepped away, icy strands of grass dusting into snow at the movement. “You’ve never done this before.”
“I allowed you and the others to dictate matters I didn’t care about. I had no interest in your politics. But now, I have students to look after. Challenge me at your peril creature of the snow,” Elizabeth said with supreme unconcern.
The man spun on his heel, taking the other gladiators with him. If they'd been unwanted before, the Cherries would be little better than plague carriers now. He’d come with the best of intentions, but instead of helping, he’d stripped them of any chance at acceptance. Cesare had shown them the tawdry whore hope was.
The women stepped away, leaving Cesare to face his students alone. He’d expected anger, maybe even the hollow eyes of the betrayed, but each of the Cherries straightened under his eyes. It hit him, what the encounter had to look like from their eyes.
He’d denied Jerold because he hated the pompous asshole, there was no way Cesare would sit back and let anyone take something Elizabeth had given him. He also got a sick thrill at seeing the icehole put down like a bitch in front of his class.
But that wasn’t how the Cherries saw it. Cesare had dragged them out of squalor with his own two hands. He’d given them something to be proud of. Since walking into the courtyard he'd commanded the attention of the gladiators, hate, disgust, anger, and fear, it was all the same. The burning fact was that the throw aways wanted to be anything but the nothing they knew they were. They'd rather be hated than nameless.
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“Fuck me.” The words slipped out before he could call them back at the realization he’d have to take care of the puppies. Anastasia giggled behind him; no doubt having seen it way before he had.
They'd looked their lives for someone to help them be something more than failures. He couldn't take those hopes and give them nothing, the void it left would consume them. That’s what happened when someone destroyed your hopes, you either found something to staunch the bleeding or the wound became diseased, killing you by inches. Hope kept people going, no one got up to live their life, they got up to get to the life they wanted to live. When that fading dream was lost, it left the man with nothing more than the decaying shit of reality.
Gazing into their hopeful eyes he couldn’t, wouldn’t, see them become so much trash in the gears of life. “I can’t train you to use your weapons.” His words brightened eyes, they knew in that moment he'd take responsibility for them.
Cesare's words reached out, each of them hearing the words as if they'd been spoken only for them. “I can’t make you strong. You have to carve it out of the beating meat of your heart. I'll show you the path, but you have to walk it.” A small part of the innocence of youth died in their eyes at his words, but something cried in the ashes. A disfigured thing, little more than a sickly newborn gasping for breath, mewling for the black blood of cruelty to grow into the monster it could be.
“Workout, spar, practice with your weapons, just don't cripple yourselves. I’ll have something for you on Monday,” Cesare said, words both a dismissal and a promise. They dispersed slowly, some pairing up with the bamboo men while others headed for the sparring area.
“You still think they were cheering for Alexandra?” Anastasia asked archly next to him.
“I instill fear, Commander. I don’t inspire confidence,” the vampire said quietly. “People want to own my sword, I'm just part of the package.”
“Don't sell yourself short. Your swords nothing, you are everything. A warrior isn't defined by the sharpness of his blade but how keen his soul is.” Cesare met and held her eyes. “Those that don’t understand that are unworthy of your glory. They'll never understand how special you are, they see is the blade in your hand, not the diamond soul that wields it.” Swallowing hard, she turned away with a light dusting of heat riding her cheeks.
The gladiators watched them leave, they didn’t stop training, but they slowed down to eye the group. Working with the murmillo off to the side, Jerold tracked Cesare's path from the first step to them disappearing beneath the arch.
Greg pushed off from the wall as they rounded the corner into the hallway. Uneasily Greg shuffled his feet under the intense stares of the woman. “I need to talk to, Cesare.”
The women waited for Cesare's nod before heading down the corridor to wait for him. Turning and watching, Greg’s words were quiet. “Protective, aren’t they?” he said, eyes never leaving the women's curves.
“Given that when they leave me on my own, I get my teeth kicked in, I’d say they have their reasons.”
Nodding sagely, Greg smiled slightly. “You do get yourself into trouble on the regular. Frankly, I thought you’d be fertilizer by now, but you keep coming back.” Admiration and anger wove through the boy’s voice. Cesare had never made Greg’s life easy, the sling holding the boys arm proof of that.
For all that, the boy was here with the folder that was the touchstone of their relationship. Flipping through the pages, Cesare took in the names and races of the competitors for the next Sanguinem Nativitate.
“It’s the Hitokiri of the Hyakki Yagyo,” Greg said as Cesare stopped on a picture of an Asian boy with blue highlights in his hair. “They sidelined Abraxas, the matches are supposed to be random, but the Furies are generating a lot of interest with the powers. They want to see what you can do.”
Cesare nodded at the words, already having come to the same conclusion. Blaez and Pantagruel were matched up, and while it should be a good fight, it meant the Furies would go against the Hitokiri. A part of Cesare thrilled at the idea that they were drawing the attention of the Umbrae Lunae world, even as he knew their attention had bloody consequences.
The Hitokiri were trained killers at the top of the food chain. They'd be coming for blood, knowing anything less than the Furies complete destruction would blacken their honor. Centuries of tradition, family honor, and the expectations of their Lords would insure they'd rather die than fail.