Chapter 28
The tunnel was dark and cool, and though Jalend insisted it only stretched a mile at the most, it felt like it took forever until it spit us out into a corridor that made my chest tighten with familiar dread.
Stone walls slick with moisture, air thick with dust and the metallic tang of blood that had soaked so deep into these stones that no amount of scrubbing could ever wash it clean.
Above us, the roar of the crowd pressed down like a physical weight, and I felt memories clawing at the edges of my mind like hungry ghosts.
This wasn't the same arena where we'd been enslaved—that had been a smaller, cruder place where provincial lords had entertained themselves with blood sport.
But the architecture was similar enough to make my skin crawl, the same oppressive weight of stone and suffering, the same stench of fear and violence that seemed to permeate every arena in the Empire.
The passages here were wider, more elaborate, befitting the capital's grand arena, but they served the same terrible purpose.
I'd walked corridors like these before, when walking meant shuffling in chains between a cell barely large enough to lie down in and sand that drank blood with endless thirst. But it wasn't my own memories that twisted the knife in my chest—it was watching Livia's face as recognition dawned in her eyes.
She'd been so small when they first brought us to that other arena.
Barely more than a child, really, though the slavers had already begun the brutal process of turning her into a whore and then a weapon.
I could still see her as she'd been that first terrible day—eyes wide with shock and grief, Tarus's blood still staining her hands from where she'd tried to stop the bleeding.
Her brother had died protecting us during the village attack that had taken our freedom, and she'd screamed his name until her voice gave out.
"Septimus." Her voice cut through the haze of memory, and I looked up to find her watching me.
I forced my attention back to the present, shoving down the memories that threatened to drag me under. This wasn't the time for ghosts—we had work to do, and people depending on us to keep our heads clear.
"I'm fine," I said, though my voice came out rougher than I intended. "Just... this place brings back things I'd rather forget."
Her dark eyes searched my face, and I knew she could see right through the lie. We'd all been marked by our time in the arena, but some wounds cut deeper than others. The way she looked at me now—with understanding rather than pity—reminded me why I'd follow her into the depths of hell itself.
"We're not those people anymore," she said quietly, her hand finding mine in the dim corridor. "We're not helpless slaves waiting to die for someone else's entertainment."
"No," I agreed, squeezing her fingers. "We're not."
But even as I said it, the familiar weight of helplessness pressed against my chest. The roar above us swelled and crashed like ocean waves, and somewhere in that sound were the screams of people who'd never asked to be part of the Empire's bloody spectacle.
People who were about to die while thousands cheered.
"We need to keep moving," Marcus said quietly, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "The longer we stay in one place, the higher the chance we'll be discovered."
He was right, of course. I pushed the memories down, locked them away with all the other pain I couldn't afford to feel right now. There would be time for ghosts later, assuming any of us lived long enough to be haunted by them.
The corridor branched ahead of us, and Jalend moved to the front, his knowledge of the arena's layout suddenly invaluable.
"The holding pens are this way," Jalend said, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion.
We moved deeper into the underbelly of the arena, following passages that wound through the guts of the great structure like veins through a body.
The heat pressed against us—not just from the summer air, but from the press of bodies above, from torches that had burned continuously for decades, from the sheer weight of violence that had permeated every stone.
Marcus walked with his jaw set in that familiar way that meant he was fighting his own demons. Antonius moved like a man walking through a graveyard, his hand unconsciously reaching for his throat where chains had once rested. We all carried scars from this place, but Livia—
Livia walked like she owned these corridors. Like she'd conquered them rather than been conquered by them.
The transformation was staggering when I let myself truly see it.
The terrified child who had clung to my hand during those first brutal weeks was gone, replaced by a woman who moved with deadly grace and unshakeable purpose.
She'd grown into the warrior her brother had died believing she could become.
I felt a surge of fierce pride watching her, followed immediately by a stab of fear so sharp it nearly stole my breath. She was magnificent, but magnificence made you a target. And in a place like this, targets had a way of ending up dead.
The roar above us shifted, taking on a different quality—expectant, hungry. The crowd was warming up for something special. My stomach clenched as I realized what that meant.
"They're starting," I said, quickening my pace.
We rounded another corner and found ourselves facing a long corridor with cells on either side, stretching away into the darkness.
Beside me, I felt Tarshi freeze, and I was suddenly filled with shame and guilt.
Drusus had kept Tarshi in a cell much like this one, naked and chained like an animal, and I had seen nothing wrong in that.
Had seen a beast rather than the men. I turned suddenly, cupping his strong face with my hands.
“I’m sorry.”
"Septimus—"
"No," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "I need to say this. When I first saw you in that cell, when Drusus paraded you around like some prize he'd won—I looked at you and saw exactly what he wanted me to see. A beast. Something less than human."
The words tasted like poison on my tongue, but they needed to be said. Around us, the others had stopped moving, sensing the weight of this moment. The roar of the crowd above seemed to fade as I forced myself to meet Tarshi's gaze.
"I was so focused on protecting Livia that I never questioned what I was seeing. Never wondered if you might be suffering, might be as much a victim as any of us." My hands trembled against his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
Tarshi's expression softened, and he covered my hands with his own. "You couldn't have known—"
"I could have chosen to see," I interrupted. "Could have chosen to look past what Drusus wanted me to believe. Instead, I let fear and ignorance blind me to your pain."
His dark eyes searched mine, and I saw understanding there instead of the anger I deserved. "You see me now," he said simply, his voice steady despite the tremor I could feel in his jaw. "That's what matters."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he didn’t give me a chance, pulling me hard against his body and kissing me thoroughly until I gasped for breath.
When we broke apart, I was breathing hard, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The kiss had been desperate, claiming, and it left me dizzy with want despite our surroundings.
Around us, I could feel the others pretending not to watch, giving us what privacy they could in the narrow corridor.
"Later," Tarshi murmured against my lips, his voice rough with promise. "When this is over, we'll have time for everything else."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and stepped back reluctantly.
“All empty,” growled Sirrax, moving back towards us from further down the corridor.
Jalend shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know where else they could be…”
Above us, I could hear the announcer's voice booming across the arena, though his words were muffled by stone and distance. The crowd's response was immediate and bloodthirsty—a roar of approval that made my skin crawl.
“They’re already inside the arena,” I said grimly. “All of them on the sand at once.”
Marcus frowned. “But there’s no way he could kill that many in one go.”
Jalend pushed past us. “There’s a viewing platform a little way from here for the trainers. Follow me.”
It was when we reached the viewing gallery that the full horror of our enemy's plan revealed itself.
The arena stretched out below us, its sand pale gold in the afternoon light, waiting to drink blood.
But the sight that stopped my breath wasn't the familiar fighting ground—it was the cages.
Row upon row of iron bars gleamed in the sun, each one crammed with bodies pressed so tightly together they could barely move.
Talfen prisoners—men, women, children who reminded me painfully of Livia at that age.
Thousands of them, packed like animals awaiting slaughter.
The sound that rose from those cages was a low, keening wail that seemed to come from every throat at once—the sound of people who had abandoned hope.
I felt Livia's sharp intake of breath beside me, saw her hands clench into fists. For a moment, I glimpsed the child she'd been—the little girl who had wept for her dead brother and sworn she would never let anyone else suffer as she had suffered.
"Gods," I whispered.
“Above,” growled Sirrax, and I immediately looked up.
All around the top of the arena walls, dragons stalked the walls or flew above us.
There must easily be thirty of them, and although Imperial dragons didn’t have the size and strength Sirrax and Tarshi did, two against thirty of them was completely hopeless.
“Why are the dragons here?” asked Antonius. “Why aren’t they on the borders or at the Academy?”
Livia reached out once again for my hand, gripping it tightly, as she closed her eyes.