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320 pages, Hardcover
First published January 16, 2018
"I am nothing. Attia is nothing. Not a name or a sound. There is no me. There is only a ghost of Thrace."
"But Xanthus stayed on his knees afterward. His eyes focused on the blood drenching his hands and arms and chest. His shoulders bowed beneath an oppressive weight. His ears drowned in the deluge of the crowd's cheers.
No one heard when he finally turned his face upward and whispered a prayer into the swirling dust.
"Please," he said. "Please forgive me."
She could see the anger etched into his soul as permanently as the scars on his skin. She didn’t fault him for it. She had been raised by violent, ruthless men. She had been trained to be one of them, to lead them. If anything, she was more like the gladiators than the rest of the slaves.
The future was dead. But below the scars and wounds that would never heal, there was still the spirit of a swordlord’s heir.
“I’ll come back for you,” he said.
“I’ll wait.”
"No, Attia. I could never let anyone take you, but if you don't want me, you only have to say so."
"I'll come back for you," he said.
"I'll wait."