The days before Victor's debut as a jester flew by. I blinked—and found myself in a small prep room off the tunnel leading to the main arena of Fidelium. We were in the warm-up weeks before the first great games of the season, the Sacred Night of the Behemoths, so I put Quintus on the quad for his first taste of the sand. He almost went cross-eyed trying to take in Laurentius, his shield-wall, Junius and Didius—his swordsmen—and me at the same time with his gaze. It shone so bright, we could use him as a signal fire on the walls.

The Colosseum screamed above our heads, impatient to be entertained. The noise was distant, monolith and rhythmic, like the storm calling to the old sailor on the dry land. Everyone had rested since the Saturnalia, was in great shape, and eager to demolish the opposition.

"Are we ready? Or are we ready!" I bet my eyes lit up no less than Quintus'.

"Ready!" Laurentius boomed over Junius, Didius and Quintus, who yelled the same on top of their lungs.

I didn't hear Victor's voice in the cacophony, so I turned to him. "Ready?"

He didn't reply, but he was kitted out for his exit like everyone else.

My old armor hugged his shoulders. Boiled leather must have screeched a few times in protest, then relaxed into his oiled skin. The metal segments settled at just the right distance from the collarbone and all the way to the end of each shoulder without restricting his arms' movements.

For me, this set used to provide a fearsome contrast with my bronzed complexion.

For Victor, it was hard to tell the difference between the man's rock-hard muscles and the local metal. Where the metal was polished, it was the same blue as the barbarian skin, with the same sheen, since Victor's arms and legs were oiled.

I drew my hand experimentally along the edge of his bracer—yes, seamless. If I hadn't seen him before in plain cloth, he could have told me he was born in this segmented shell of leather and metal, and I would have bought it... Nah, I'm not that naïve. But, Senators, the fit was flawless!

We didn't polish away all the rust from the etchings on the buckles to underscore the vigor of his flesh. Some beasts—might have been lions, might have been mythological—scowled from Victor's collar. The matching buckles on the leather straps that hang from waist to the knee to protect the money-maker had the same decoration.

I tested the armor's chest laces, feeling the pulse of energy flow into my fingertips. These lions fought with me many times. I fed them with the blood of my opponents until their metal maws turned red or indigo. It streaked my body too until the smell of salt and metal became the taste in my mouth. These beasts and I tasted victory together while the Colosseum roared around us like a distant storm.

I jerked my hands away from the armor and took a step back, as if I needed to inspect my jester from a distance. My head bobbed on its own in an approving nod. Before me stood my dream, a perfect champion... ah... a champion of jesters. "Good. Everything's good. You're ready."

"It fits like a beetle's wings on a behemoth," Laurentius grunted behind my back.

"If only you remembered my instructions so well, you'd be worth your weight in gold by now," I replied. I knew he would be bitter about the armor, but he wasn't worthy of it. He had to earn something a Champion of Champions had worn by working far harder than he did, or at least understand that he had to.

Victor was different. He was born a champion, and so my armor suited him as is, even though he pretended he didn't want it.

Laurentius scrunched his broad face in search of a witty repartee, but had to content himself with slapping his winged helmet on. He shoved past Victor, making the shoulder buckles on their armor clink on contact. "Like a beetle's wings on a jester, bah, when it could bring us luck in battle. Waste, what a waste!"

Victor ignored the shield-wall's jab and shimmied his shoulders. It wasn't just the armor that missed a fighter's torso. His body expanded inside it, flexed, long overdue for the noble weight of metal and leather.

"Just imagine how your arm would feel when you let it grasp a sharp sword."

"I won't fight my brothers."

I rolled my eyes. The sooner he got over his tiff, the better it would be for everyone. He could become a champion in the arena this coming fall. And I would have my champion. Or we could dance around his obstinance for another year. Two years. However long it took.

"No harm in imagining it." I tilted my head toward the rack where Laurentius' gigantic sword rested next to Junius' two shorter, stubbier gladiuses. The collection also had spares and a trident for Quintus with barbed prongs. Every edge glittered dangerously. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

I wouldn't have heard Victor's reply, if he deigned to give me one, for Rufius Fulgentius burst into our prep room. It was a cool day, but sweat poured down his forehead. "The Empress is in the house!"

"For trials?" I asked.

He was too out of breath to form words, so he nodded vigorously.

I didn't expect Messalina Augusta to attend the early bouts, but... "It's the Colosseum and Claudius Caesar is out of Fidelium. If she wants to remind the citizens who rule Fidelium in his absence, it's her business."

He huffed, as if he saw through my attempt to play it cool. "Messalina Augusta! The Empress! What if she's looking for a school to fill in the games for the Sacred Night of the Behemoth?"

"Don't get too excited." I sucked my teeth. Our school didn't do well enough last year to be on the short list for the Sacred Night, and Messalina Augusta loved to preside over the games. The Empress also didn't mind sneaking a souvenir from the games to a secret love nest—or so rumor had it. Maybe she ran out of toys.

However, on the off chance that this was about business, not pleasure for our Augusta, I glared at my quad. "Win today before the Empress! Don't you dare to lose!"

"Viva Claudius Caesar and Messalina Augusta!" Rufius Fulgentius yelled. Instead of a salute though, he mopped his brow, thrifty even with his salutes. Junius partially blocked the doorway, so a passerby could hear Rufius Fulgentius, but not see him. Why waste a perfectly good salute on hired help and slaves? I nearly admired him for that.

After paying this half-hearted tribute to the Imperial family, Rufius Fulgentius stretched his wrinkly neck forward and hissed, "Maximus, you know what I mean."

I fluttered my eyelashes—the trick my nieces used whenever they were caught red-handed and wanted to deny all knowledge of mischief.

I had about as much success as they did with their mothers, since Rufius Fulgentius' beady eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "She's here, so maybe she forgave you for retiring at the peak of your glory."

Good thing the bastard didn't wink at me. Was it really my decision to accept the rudis from Claudius Caesar that lost our school Imperial patronage? I had the right to leave the arena, and I didn't care to churn through it for the thousandth time with my boss.

"It may come as a surprise, noble Rufius Fulgentius, but the world doesn't revolve around me. I'm a lanista now. I make champions, not fight for the title myself."

Something clanked to the floor behind my back.

"Tat, tat, tat!" The voice was Quintus', and he did a fair imitation of me.

Junius took off from his post by the door.

Rufius Fulgentius, who, for once, was facing the scuffle, gawked. His eyes widened so much on top of the bulging, they looked almost human.

I whirled, fists at the ready to put out whatever trouble that brewed behind my back, and froze.

Laurentius' entire quad made grabs for Victor. This wasn't foul play. Oh, no, no, no! We couldn't have anything so simple as that with the Empress waiting to see the trials. They were trying to stop Victor from shedding his armor—my precious armor—that we had just painstakingly fit onto his gorgeous body.

Victor fought off the quad handily, dodging every attack with a snake's grace, while his fingers worked tirelessly at the ties. His shin-guards and bracers were the first to hit the floor, which made the noise that had alerted us earlier. By Mithras' bull, why was he taking off his armor?

"If it chafes, you need only to adjust the laces," I explained. He was a barbarian after all, not a legionnaire used to wearing a kit. "You don't need to strip bare."

Although, with Messalina Augusta in the audience, it could be a decent Plan B to bring our school to her attention, but, but, but...

A triumphant 'Viva!' echoed in our small, cavernous room, as Laurentius momentarily got a grip on Victor's forearm.

The ease with which Victor broke the hold reinforced my opinion about the wealth of talents he hid. Our gazes met and the corner of his lips twitched into a smile that packed more triumph than Laurentius' earlier exclamation.

Laurentius! Bah! Victor's smile packed more triumph than a blast of the trumpets.

Mithras' bull, how I wanted this man to fight in the arena with a sword, instead of bickering with me! I could make him a champion, the Champion of Champions. It could happen this fall, and the Colosseum would cheer for old Maximus again. I could almost hear the frenzied crowd, and oh, how I wanted it!

Victor ripped my plate off, snapping the leather ties, and tossed it into the corner. It banged against the shin guards. Laurentius howled with outrage at this kind of disrespect to the beautiful set. Not going to lie, heat climbed up my neck and into my cheeks too.

"You could have loosened the pox-ridden laces!" I barked.

The source of havoc had the gall to look peeved. His freed chest heaved. "I know that, taskmaster."

Mithras grant me patience... I wrestled my voice down, but let it drip with the malicious syrup. "Then what's the matter, dearie?"

"Tat! We don't have time for your bickering!" Rufius Fulgentius whined behind my back. "The Empress is in the Colosseum! She was entering the Imperial box when I came running! To the arena! Now! Now! Naked if you have to! Before we kiss the Imperial contract for the Sacred Night goodbye!"

What I caught out of this tirade was 'Empress', 'naked Victor' and 'kiss', which pumped blood faster through my veins and heated my cheeks. Victor's debut as a jester was going to be memorable, and I hoped it would be in a good way.