Chapter 41: The Lion’s Summon
Chapter 41: The Lion’s Summon
The air in Ignatius’s office was thick with something Alex couldn’t name. It wasn’t the usual smell of old parchment and ink. It was heavier, denser. The kind of stillness that settled into a room when something bad had already happened and everyone was just waiting for the words to catch up.
Ignatius sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled, his expression carefully blank. But Alex had been in this office enough times now to read the cracks in the mask. The way the Lanista’s thumb tapped once against the wood. The way his eyes lingered on the broken seal at the corner of the desk—two pieces of wax, a lion’s head split clean in two.
Something’s wrong.
Akosa stood by the door, arms folded, his face its usual stone, but even he was quieter than normal.
Alex didn’t say anything. He just crossed the room and sat down in the hard wooden chair across from Ignatius.
Ignatius didn’t waste time.
"I received a letter last night," he said. "From Brutus, directly."
Alex felt his stomach tighten. "Brutus? The—"
"The ruler of Rome, yes." Ignatius’s voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. Something controlled. "In all my years as Lanista, I’ve never received correspondence from the palace. Senators, yes. Patrons, occasionally. But never from the man who holds the throne."
He paused. His thumb tapped the desk again.
"It arrived the same night you were celebrating your victory. The same night we were still counting our dead from the arena. The timing is not lost on me."
Alex leaned forward. "You think it’s connected? The sabotage."
"I know it’s connected." Ignatius’s eyes met his. "My investigations into the faulty steel have led nowhere. Witnesses who should have talked have gone silent. Records that should have existed have vanished. Whoever orchestrated the attack on our ludus is powerful enough to erase their own footsteps. That narrows the list considerably."
Aurellia. The name lingered in Alex’s mind. And from the look on Ignatius’s face, she was his suspect, too.
The silence between them said everything.
"I have my suspicions," Ignatius said quietly. "I imagine you do as well."
Alex nodded once, small.
The silence stretched. Ignatius didn’t fill it, and neither did Alex. Behind them, Akosa shifted his weight—the barest sound of leather against stone—and the moment passed.
"The letter," Ignatius continued, "contained a summons. Brutus is organizing a grand spectacle: A Battle of Champions. Every province under Rome will send its best fighters. The finest gladiators from Hispania, Gaul, Africa, Asia, Syria, Sicilia, and a dozen other territories. It will be the largest gathering of champions in living memory."
Alex felt his throat go dry. "And he wants me."
"He wants the Ghost." Ignatius’s voice was flat. "Ludus Ignatius is the only house representing Rome. The other three ludi lost their champions in the Battle of Houses. Olaf Heraldson is still recovering from a shattered shoulder and a ruined wrist, the saber man of Irectus is dead, and the giant of Magnimus died from his injuries this morning. You are the last champion standing in the city of Rome."
The weight of those words settled over Alex like a shroud. He wasn’t just fighting for himself anymore. He wasn’t even fighting for the ludus. He was fighting for an entire city. An entire province; Italia, Rome—the heart of the Republic. And every other province would be sending their best to tear him down.
"There’s more," Ignatius said.
Alex looked up.
"The games will not be held in Rome."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the distant sounds of the city seemed to fade.
"They’ll be held in Macedonia," Ignatius said. "A province far from here, far from any familiar ground, far from anyone who might intervene on your behalf." He paused. "You will be surrounded by enemy champions, on foreign soil, representing a city that has no other fighters to send. Whatever happened in the arena last week—whoever arranged it—they want you isolated. This summons accomplishes exactly that."
Alex felt his heart beating; steady, and deliberate. The kind of rhythm a man found when fear had burned itself out and left something colder in its place. He thought of the last battle, the sabotage, the letter, the timing of it.
"When do we leave?" he asked.
Ignatius blinked. For the first time since Alex had walked into the office, the Lanista’s mask slipped... just slightly.
"You’re not going to argue?"
"Would it change anything?"
"No."
"Then why argue?"
Ignatius stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. Something closer to respect.
"Two days," he said. "You depart in two days. I’ve already arranged for supplies, transport, and an escort. Akosa will accompany you. So will anyone else you choose to bring."
Alex nodded.
"I’m not telling you this to ask for permission," Ignatius said. "I’m not telling you this to make you comfortable. I’m telling you because you’ve earned the right to know what you’re walking into." He leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "You are the best fighter this ludus has ever produced. You are the reason we survived the arena. And you are the only chance Rome has of maintaining its honor in those games. Do you understand what I’m telling you?"
Alex met his gaze. "I understand."
"Good." Ignatius leaned back. "Then get ready. You have two days."
Alex stood. The chair scraped against the stone floor, as he turned toward the door, where Akosa still stood motionless, his face unreadable.
"Albius."
Alex looked back.
Ignatius didn’t glance up from his desk. But his voice, when he spoke, was quieter than before. "Whatever you think you know about who’s behind this... you’re probably right. Be careful. Macedonia is a long way from Rome. And not everyone wants you to come back."
Alex held his gaze for a moment. Then he nodded once and walked out.
---
The door clicked shut behind Alex, and the office fell into silence.
Akosa didn’t move from his spot by the wall. His eyes—sharp, watchful, missing nothing, were fixed on Ignatius with the weight of a question he’d been holding back since Alex walked in.
"Why didn’t you tell him?"
Ignatius didn’t look up. His thumb traced the edge of the broken seal. "He doesn’t have to know."
"You sure about that?" Akosa’s voice was flat, but there was an edge beneath it. "Because if he loses, you lose this ludus, your hard work over the years, everything you’ve built. Everything we’ve built." He paused. "You sure he doesn’t have to know the weight of what he’s fighting for?"
Ignatius was quiet for a long moment.
When he spoke, his voice was steady... Certain.
"I know he’ll win."
Akosa said nothing.
"But I also know he doesn’t need that weight dragging him down," Ignatius continued. "He should focus on what’s important. Survival, the fight. Not an old man’s legacy."
Akosa held his gaze for a beat. Then he exhaled—a long, slow breath that carried the resignation of a man who understood the decision even if he wasn’t sure it was the right one. He turned toward the door.
"I hope you’re right," he said.
He left without waiting for a response.
Ignatius sat alone in the quiet office, the broken seal on his desk, the letter still open. Outside, the distant clatter of the ludus through the window. The Ghost was out there somewhere, preparing for a journey that would decide everything.
And he didn’t even know it.