Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Marco: Pledge
It feels like an hour since Bishop and Cross left. An hour of game architects muttering, wandering off to discuss me, Julius pacing, and the Emperor silently glowering from his big chair.
I know it can’t have been that long, but every second feels like eons.
From up here, I can see the spectators still wandering out of the stadium, finishing their drinks, making plans for where they’ll go next.
They’re happy. They got what they came for.
The sponsors aren’t so pleased, certainly not any of Jason’s sponsors, but they’re not allowed in here anyway. Nothing happens until Cross and Bishop get back. Then it will be compensation in whatever way. Repaying investments. Smoothing feathers. Maybe even an eye for an eye.
I can’t say I regret killing Jason. It felt incredible. It still does, even with his dry blood sticky on my fingers. And it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t drag Robin out there and murder him. Not like that.
But the understanding of the consequences is sinking in.
The thought of them investigating Robin is topmost in my mind. I hate the idea they might drag him over here, aching and broken. Surely even they can see he couldn’t walk, let alone play the game.
But mercy doesn’t figure in their calculations. I know that as well as any other man.
I’ve made it clear to them already, Robin had no say in this. Robin didn’t know what I was going to do.
I didn’t know what I was going to do.
A voice drifts over my shoulder, thick with contempt. “Does he really mean so much to you?”
“Father!” Julius hisses.
“What if he does?” I return. Maybe I shouldn’t answer him with such a brutal truth, but what difference can it make now? Our fates are being decided down in that dungeon, and my feelings toward Robin can hardly figure in their deliberation.
The Emperor’s lip curls, and his disapproval amuses me for some sick reason, prompting me to ask, “I’m sorry, were you planning to marry me?”
Julius stills, his face growing pale, probably at the very thought of it. His father’s cheeks flush red, and I turn away from the window to address him properly. “Were you planning to raise me out of slavery? Convert me from poverty to royalty? Present me to your people as their new ruler?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he seethes.
I laugh. “It is ridiculous, isn’t it? A stupid notion. Men like me are only playthings for men like you. According to all your history books, it was ever so. And it always will be. So what do you even care what I do in that filthy little dungeon you keep your pets in?”
“You’ll hold your tongue, captain,” comes Julius’s sharp, clipped speech.
“For what purpose? Did you not hear that crowd?” My arm extends, sweeping over the view of the vast and silent arena.
“They want me to be free. They have chosen me and begged for your seal of approval.” My hand curls into a fist, and I point across the room at the Emperor.
“More than that, you have promised me my freedom.” Julius’s head cuts toward his father, but I speak on.
“Five years, you said. Five years, and I was the ultimate fighter, was I not? Didn’t I put on a show for you, and for all your people?
Didn’t I keep them happy? Didn’t I keep you happy? ”
His chin rises, haughty, as though I haven’t seen him at his most vulnerable a thousand times over.
“Yes. I did. Endless nights, hundreds of nights, I kept you happy. Made you feel like a man. Made you believe it was all my choice, didn’t I?”
His hands tighten on the arms of his chair, fingers turning white.
“Didn’t I?” I shout at him.
Julius takes the stairs fast, his soles hitting the floor with a sharp resonance, then my head snaps across, the sharp sting of the back of his hand exploding through my cheek.
It’s almost comical. This soft little man, slapping me, twice his size, defending the father I know he hates. I don’t even feel the urge to hit him back. We both know it would be instant death for me if I did, but more than that, it just feels so… ludicrous.
The sheer ridiculousness of this entire situation hits me, and I break into laughter, the palm of my hand coming up to soothe the small pain on my cheek.
But Julius’s eyes stay fixed on mine, and something in them strikes me. An intensity about his brow, a depth I didn’t know he was capable of. And as the warning sinks in, the smile dies on my lips.
It’s not for his father. Something in that look tells me it’s not.
It’s fleeting. He turns away as the door opens on the far side of the room. Kane Bishop and Silas Cross proceed into the room with all the pomp of their self-importance.
Bishop delivers the news immediately. “He’s telling the truth. There’s no way Shore could have played the match.”
Some intense lightness at the justification almost brings that smile back to my lips.
But then he speaks on. “He’s in a coma. There’s no waking him.”
The words hit me with full, horrifying force.
Robin. In a coma.
Julius is back on his perch, shouting about what that means for the remaining matches, about how their Crown Shipping contract is too important to jeopardize.
Because Jason is dead.
Because Robin can’t play.
Because Robin is in a coma.
I curl my fingers against the sweat on my palms.
I shouldn’t have left him. What if that was my last chance to speak to him? Ever? And I ran out of there without so much as a goodbye. And now his sister, who’s in my care…
Fuck. I’ve fucked everything up so badly.
“He’ll play,” says Silas. “That doctor said he’ll fix him in time. Otherwise, just get Marco to do it.”
My heart skips a beat, then feels as if it stills entirely when Julius’s quiet, “No,” draws every head toward him. He doesn’t look at me or at them, only stares distantly at the wall. “No, they want Verus’s freedom. That’s clear.”
The Emperor is evidently even more shocked than I am to hear those words. “He disobeyed! Surely, Julius, you can see what precedent this sets, letting the men run rampant down there.”
“There’s only one man running rampant as far as I can tell,” Julius sneers.
“He’s your captain. You chose him to make decisions like these, and it’s apparent you made the right choice.
The public has no idea there’s any mess, so long as we don’t let on.
He’s left us in a good position.” His face tilts up, voice turning authoritative as he addresses the head architect.
“Keep us posted on Shore’s condition. He’s got two weeks to heal.
If he can play the final match, all will be well.
If not…” He lets out a long sigh, his gaze lingering on me.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. ”
Bishop and Cross bow, understanding that’s their cue to leave.
Meanwhile, I wait, the Emperor’s rage barely suppressed, his eyes digging into me. “I should feed you to the butcher ants.”
It’s on my lips to tell him that maybe he should. That if Robin dies, I’ll kill him, if he doesn’t kill me first. That nothing would give me more pleasure than to gut him, hang his entrails from the palace balcony for all of Victora to see.
Only one thing stops me. The oath I made to Robin to care for Esme.
I drop to my knees, eyes on the floor, always and again his slave. “Forgive me, my lord. I thought it was the best course of action. Had there been more time, I would have consulted you and sought your approval. My actions were born of responsibility to the game and to you.”
A disgusted snicker leaks from him. He doesn’t believe the words any more than I do. “Give me one reason I should let you leave this room alive.”
Because I have earned it. I have earned it with every drop of sweat, every liter of blood, every cut and slash and death that’s on my calloused and soiled hands.
But I don’t say any of it.
Because Julius speaks first. “He needs to attend the final ceremony. A lot of people will be coming to see him made free. So you won’t touch a hair on his head until that’s done.”
Relief sweeps me. Some anxious relief, all guilt and fear for Robin and the madness of the situation—what it means for any of us.
But it’s there, the relief. The hope.
I’ve done it.
They’re letting me go.
They’re really going to make me a free man.
I climb to my feet and bow low to both of them. The Emperor looks away, repulsed, furious.
But Julius keeps those clear blue eyes level on me and drops his parting shot. “Of course, what you do with him once he’s been made free…” The hint of a smile curls the corner of his lips. “That’s of no interest to me.”
I barely even feel the blow.
The conflicting emotions are so loud I’m drowning.
I’m free.
Really free.
I played that game and I earned my place, and I’m out. I’m done. I’m the first man who ever won Deathball.
But beneath it all, pounding loud and insistent, is that scouring refrain:
Not without Robin.
Not without Robin.
As soon as the doors close behind me, I move as fast as I can for the dungeon. I want more than anything to run to his side, but for all my relative freedom here, to the guards, that would look exactly like an escape attempt.
So I watch every stone in every wall, every gas lamp, doorway after doorway, floating past, and I go down, down, deeper into the arena, the paths that were once a terrifying prison now leading to my home. No matter what state I find him in.
As soon as I’m through the dungeon doors, I run to Evander’s room. I fling the door open, and my breath catches.
Robin. Awake and sitting up. Beaten, bruised, so different with his lost hair, but my beautiful Robin.
I close the distance in a heartbeat, take his face in my hands, and kiss him as gently as the overwhelm allows me. But even with his split lip, his bruised body, his kiss comes back strong and true. He wraps his arms around me, and I’m home.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Robin’s in a coma,” Evander shouts loudly, then slams the door.
Robin’s beautiful laugh breaks our kiss, but I catch him again, kiss him again, then touch my forehead to his. “They told me you were in a coma. I was so scared.”
“I’m fine,” he says softly, his hand a soothing balm to the cuts on my cheek. “I’ll explain later. Marco…” He pulls back to look me over, his firm hands wrapping around my biceps as he holds me there. “What did you do?”
“I did it for you, birdie.” The worried smile that spreads softly over his lips sets my heart on fire.
I’d kill a thousand times more for one-tenth of that feeling.
“We’re going to be free. We’re going to make it out.
” I take his face between my hands, holding him as close as I can.
“They’re making me free. They’re really making me free. That was it. That was my last match.”
“What?” he whispers.
“Bullshit,” Cas exclaims, here for some reason.
But it’s Evander who sidles up beside Robin and leans against his bed with a far-too-serious face. “Who told you that?”
The well-meaning question makes me bristle. “Julius himself.”
Robin brings my hands down into his, waiting for my explanation.
I can barely form words, I’m so desperate to get it all out to him.
“The crowd loved it. When I killed him. They were chanting for them to make me free. They expect it—they all want it. And the Emperor was pissed, truly he was, but he can’t take it back now.
Everyone in this city expects it, and Julius says he has to do it. ”
I don’t like the way Evander pushes away from the bed, his face down, his mind ticking over. But he has the decency to not say a word about it.
“Birdie.” I squeeze Robin’s hands tight in mine. “This is it. They want you to play Jason’s match, against Harlan. They’re going to make it the finale. If you can beat him, this is it. You can make it through this season. You can make it through this game. I’m living proof—”
“Baby,” he quiets me, “I’m so happy for you.” But his tone is edged with sadness, like this is some sort of goodbye.
“No, you don’t understand. You don’t. Robin…” I drop to my knees at his side. “I will keep my promise to you. I will see your sister safe back home on Atrea. I will do that. But then…”
He loves me. I love him. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt more vulnerable than I do right now, about to suggest this to him.
Yet I know I cannot live without him.
“Robin, I’m coming back. I’m going to live here. I’m going to work here. And I’m going to stay with you. Until the day you walk out of here a free man.”
His answer takes too long. Like I’ve just told him I can fly, or that I’m made of solid gold. When it finally comes, it’s on a faltering gasp. “You’re mad.”
Maybe I am. But I don’t care.
I bring his precious hands to my lips and kiss them. Then I promise him, “I’m taking you home, birdie. I’m taking you home if it’s the last thing I ever do.”