CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I find Sorrel using my powers, borrowing the eyes and ears of creatures throughout the citadel until I find him. He's in one of the training rooms, working hard with his staff, wearing armor decorated with magical runes.
The training room is a familiar one, with chains and ropes strung across it like some giant spider's web.
It's a place designed to force fighters to think about how they move, to work on their agility and how to use longer weapons in new and creative ways.
It's a place I've trained in with Alaric back in the days when we were both forced to be here.
I had assumed that such a room would have been dismantled in the time when the games were not running but clearly someone saw the value of it even in training the guards.
Or maybe Domitian had everything perfectly preserved, hoping that the games would come back again.
I head through the fortress to go find Sorrel, and no one tries to stop me.
It's one of the advantages of my position as a senator.
I remember enough of the twists and turns of Ironhold that there's no chance of me getting lost. I know the way to the room, hurrying past servants and trainers as I go.
Sorrel is still working out when I arrive, swinging his staff in tight arcs, reversing its direction with almost impossible ease thanks to his magic.
He runs among the chains, swinging from them, bouncing off them, leaping from spot to spot.
It's a display of telekinetic mastery over himself and the things he's touching that's limited in its scope but still very powerful.
“Impressive,” I say, as he works.
Sorrel comes to a halt mid-swing, turns to me while balancing on a chain, and then flips to the ground, landing neatly on his feet in front of me.
“I'm just getting used to my new armor,” he says. “I want to be able to move smoothly in it for the fight. I assume you've heard that I'm the one fighting Selene?”
“I have,” I admit. “I wanted to know why you agreed to the bout.”
“Agreed to it?” Sorrel says. “I volunteered for it so fast no one else got a chance to argue against it. We both know that bitch Cesca would have stolen the glory of this moment if she could.”
The vehemence with which he says it catches me by surprise. In this case, though, I don't think he’s right. I shake my head.
“From what I've seen recently, she's good at picking her fights. Cesca was always timid in Ironhold. She knew she was weak, so she tried to seek protection from stronger people. She wouldn't take on a truly deadly opponent like Selene, and definitely not in a death match.”
Sorrel shrugs. “Maybe you're right, but it isn't as though she got a chance. I made sure I got there first.”
“Why?” I demand. “Why volunteer to take part in a death bout like this?”
Sorrel shrugs again, but I'm not about to let him get away with that.
“No,” I say. “I need to hear a reason, Sorrel. I need to know you're not being forced into this somehow. That you've actually thought this through.”
“I've thought about it,” Sorrel says. “I've thought about nothing but getting an opportunity like this. Something that will erase the part where I was thrown into a dungeon, and everyone thinks I’m part of Alaric’s little rebellion.”
“But you were freed from that dungeon,” I say. “I let you out myself, and there was a full pardon.”
“You think that matters to people around the games?” Sorrel snaps back.
“They assume I have something to do with it, and that means they don't trust me, not when the games are their livelihood.
Something like this… I can prove to them that I'm not squeamish about the blood in the games. That I want to be here, and I deserve to be here.”
“So, this is just about making a name for yourself?” I ask him.
“A name makes a difference,” Sorrel points out. “You, of all people, must understand that. You must remember what it was like in the moment when you went from being a nobody people didn't expect to win to one of the favorites.”
I do remember. I remember the exact moment I started to get the crowd on my side. It was because one of my opponents forced me into killing them. I also remember that it didn't give me safety or wealth.
“All that happened when I became one of the popular fighters was that I attracted the attention of people who wanted to use and manipulate me,” I say. “I made it so people threw harder and harder challenges in my way, trying to kill me. I made myself a target, Sorrel. Is that what you want?”
“Things aren't the same as they were under the empire,” he replies. “If I do this, I'll get the attention of some of the nobles. I'll get better fights and better money for them.”
“And all you have to do is risk your life in a match to the death,” I say.
He looks momentarily serious. “I know the risks, but in a bout like this, I have good chances. From what I was told, Selene Ravenscroft’s powers are being dampened.”
“She still has some,” I point out. “She could still hurt you with those.”
Sorrel shrugs. “It's a fight. But I have protection as well. This armor isn't just for show.”
Again, I see the runes worked into it, channeling power, or rather, seeming to drink it in.
“It absorbs magic,” Sorrel says. “Any that strikes one of the pieces of armor head on will be stopped.”
“That would be more reassuring if there were more armor,” I point out. As usual in the arena, the armor seems to leave more of his flesh bare than it covers.
“It does something, at least,” Sorrel says. “And I'm not the one fighting to the death. If she incapacitates me, I've been told they'll stop the bout. I'm sure you will.”
I will if I can, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'll be the one making the decision. It also doesn't mean I'll have full control over what happens in the bout. Just shouting for the gladiators to stop might not be enough.
“You know she could just kill you outright?” I say.
“It's a risk,” Sorrel says. “But it's a risk I'm willing to take. It's better than…”
“Better than what?” I ask him. I look over his armor again and I notice a small symbol worked into it, a very familiar symbol: a drop of blood set against the sail of a ship. “Where exactly did you get this armor?”
“It was a gift from one of the sponsors, I'm not sure which one,” Sorrel says, but he says it a little too quickly, and he glances away from me as he does so.
“I know you're not telling me the truth,” I say. “Sorrel, this symbol on your armor… I've seen it around an establishment linked to death matches. Fighters have gone missing from here. Have people approached you to fight in these death bouts?”
Sorrel hesitates, and there's an answer in that hesitation.
“They have, haven't they?” I say.
“It's not something I can talk about,” Sorrel says.
“People are dying, Sorrel,” I reply.
“We're gladiators,” he says. “It's what we do.”
I shake my head. “Not anymore. Not since we defeated the emperor.”
Sorrel laughs. “You really believe that? You really think no one’s dying in fights in Aetheria?”
“What do you know?” I ask him. “What aren't you telling me?”
Sorrel is silent for several seconds. “This… isn't something I can talk about openly.”
“There was a time when you wanted to make things better in the city,” I say.
“And look where that got me,” Sorrel says, with sudden harshness. “I was thrown into a dungeon, whipped, beaten… trying to change things is dangerous.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You don't seem to have any problem with danger, given that you're stepping straight into it in the colosseum.”
He hesitates then, and I can see he's thinking about my words.
Sorrel sighs. “Look, I can't say anything now.
It would spoil too many things, maybe even shut down this bout.
I can't afford that. If people learned that I talked to you, it would be bad for me as well.
I need to be in a position where they can't hurt me, and that can’t happen until I've established a name for myself.”
“You mean until you've killed Selene Ravenscroft,” I say. “I know you've killed a beast before, and I guess you killed people in the fight to stop Domitian’s forces, but do you know what it's like to stand over someone and finish them? Do you know how that stays with you?”
Sorrel looks me in the eyes. “I guess I'll find out.” He smiles. “And then afterwards I'll tell you what you want to know. I'll tell you who gave me the armor.”
I wish I could do more. I wish I could talk him out of this or at least get him to tell me more, but it seems Sorrel’s mind is made up and I'm not going to change it. It reminds me uncomfortably of a talk I had with the young fighter Kai before he went to fight Glacius in the Colosseum.
Between the vote in the senate, Selene’s reaction when I went to her, and now Sorrel’s refusal to listen to me, it feels as though I'm being carried along on a great wave of events, unable to stop them from unfolding.
I leave Ironhold reluctantly, heading back into the city, turning the presence of the symbol over and over in my mind.
Who could have given Sorrel this armor? Who would benefit from it?
Someone who wants to leave Sorrel beholden to them?
Someone who wants to get their hooks into him, forcing him to do what they want?
At the very least, it’s another indication that the death matches aren't just the work of one of the gangs, but instead of someone with far more power and influence, someone with access to the games and the gladiators.
There's a much larger web going on here, and I hope Sorrel can help me unravel it.
I return to the palace. Marcus either isn't back yet or has gone straight to his villa. I return to my rooms, and there I find a message waiting for me. As soon as I pick it up, I can tell it's from Thalia, her writing as spiky and distinctive as she is.
I have the location for one of the fights. It's tonight. Meet me by your statue an hour after dark, and I'll show you the way.
T.
Even with everything that's happening in the games, even with the fight tomorrow, I can't ignore this.
Maybe going will give me a chance to find out who's behind all this.
Maybe I'll learn enough to be able to confront the person who stepped into the spot Domitian occupied, continuing to run illegal fights outside the games.
Maybe I'll be able to stop this once and for all. That thought brings hope when there seems to be so little of it at the moment. I have to do this. I have to go to the fight.