A bugle sounded across the city, and the soldiers cursed, turned. They flung insults over their shoulders at Flavia and then fell into formation, marched on the double. Dael watched them go and wished Flavia let him carry his training gladius with him.
Not that he’d have been a match for any of the soldiers.
Once they were gone, Dael turned and helped Flavia to her feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked in broken Latin.
“Fine,” Flavia muttered, but her words were slurred from her wound. She pressed a hand to her mouth gingerly.
“Let me see,” Dael said.
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