Page 26 of Firebird
“Aha!” Stefanos shouted, spinning deftly and play stabbing Ivo in the side of the gut.
Ivo made a dramatic show of dying and falling to the ground. Stefanos laughed, then Ivo sat up, laughing too, before he stopped suddenly when he caught me watching.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Stefanos’s grin was a league wide. “Did you see me defeat Ivo?”
“I did.”
Ivo stood, revealing he was almost as tall as Julian, easily the size of other pure-blood Romans, though obviously he wasn’t one if he was a slave.
“Hi, Ivo.” I stepped forward. “My name is Malina.”
He seemed to be somewhere in his thirties, but he blushed profusely and ducked his head, dropping his dark gaze to the ground when I moved closer.
“Oh, sorry.” I looked at Stefanos. “Does he not like meeting new people?”
“He’s just shy.” Stefanos grinned wider and patted Ivo’s shoulder. “Especially around pretty girls.”
Ivo shoved Stefanos, which almost toppled him to the ground, but the playful boy simply laughed and bounced right back.
“He cannot hear?” I asked Stefanos.
“He can, but he doesn’t speak.”
I nodded, then asked brightly, “So you like to sword fight?”
Stefanos shrugged. “Well, pretend anyway. I could never truly sword fight.”
Tension tightened the silence after he admitted that.
“It doesn’t hurt to train though, does it? You might have to defend the master’s home one day,” I offered since he truly seemed upset by the idea he would never fight in the Roman legions.
Stefanos’s blue eyes lit with excitement. “Yes! That is what dominus told me as well. That I might even fight in an army one day too.”
Ivo knocked him on the chest with the back of his hand and gave a quick shake of his head.
Surprised, I asked, “Why would dominus say that to you?”
Common-born Romans—humans—could be soldiers, but not slaves. Not even freed ones.
“Did you know Ivo can juggle?” He laughed and picked up his sword, swinging it around, but with less spirit than before.
Ivo kicked a rock on the ground with his large sandaled foot, avoiding looking at me.
“I didn’t.”
“Stefanos! Ivo!” called Ruskus, both hands on his hips in the kitchen doorway. “You’ve got a lot of work to do in the stalls to be playing in the yard.”
The both of them instantly marched for the stables, heads down.
“The master’s dinner is ready.” Ruskus eyed me carefully. “It’s your job to serve him now.”
“Of course.” I stepped toward him where he still remained in the doorway. “Where is Ivo from?” I asked.
“Macedonia.”
“He’s been here long?”
