CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“How could this happen?” Marcus asks, as the cheers of the crowd wash over us. “She wasn't meant to win.”
“From what I saw, the odds were stacked against her pretty heavily,” I say. “And yet she still managed it.”
“You sound almost as though you admire Selene,” Marcus replies. He leads me deeper into the box, where we won't be seen from outside.
“I respect her abilities and intelligence,” I say, carefully not pointing out that neither he nor Rowan did when they went along with this scheme to have her fight in the Colosseum.
“A simple dampener wasn't ever going to be enough.
I know from personal experience how it's possible to work around that. And if the dampener ever comes off with her full powers unleashed…”
“That won't be permitted to happen,” Marcus says. “We'll find a way to deal with this, and with her.”
It's clear he's talking about killing her, and that makes me uncomfortable.
Marcus has so many fine qualities, but this kind of brutal pragmatism isn't one of them.
It's a side of him that worries me because it makes him think in ways that are far too close to the ways things were done under the empire.
Beyond the box, the crowd is still chanting, calling out Selene’s name now, as if they might summon her back for an encore performance. Marcus curses.
“I need to stay here to bring the games to a close,” he says. “Then I have no doubt there will be plenty of nobles waiting around the receiving rooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of Selene.”
“And giving her a chance to try to persuade some of them to her side,” I say.
Marcus nods, obviously understanding the danger of the situation. “And if we try to keep her away from the receiving rooms, we'll be standing against all the traditions of the games.”
He curses again. He clearly didn't intend for things to go this way. His hope was that Sorrel would kill Selene quickly and bring an end to the threat she represents.
“I’ll go to the receiving rooms until you can get there,” I say. I'm not sure what I'll be able to do, but I'll think of something.
I head out from the box, down into the receiving rooms, and there are indeed plenty of nobles there.
The gladiators who fought in the day are all there, although they don't seem to be attracting their usual share of attention.
Cesca is perched on a couch, trying to catch the eye of a handsome young nobleman, but he doesn't seem interested in her, and she's pouting because of it. She gets up and comes over to me.
“Look what you've done, letting her into the games,” she snaps. “Selene’s all they want to talk about. That and when I’ll be fighting in a ‘real’ bout. Thanks to today, they want me to risk my life, or they won't give me any attention.”
“I'm sorry,” I say. “I wasn't the one who decided that this should happen.”
“No?” Cesca replies. “You were the one up in the senate box. You and Marcus are giving the crowd what they want. Hmm… you know he's kind of cute. If you ever want to share him-”
“That's not going to happen,” I assure her, but I'm more interested in why she would make the offer.
With her, it's not going to be from genuine desire.
Cesca must see a path to power or wealth through us.
She tries to attach herself to people she thinks are important, constantly trying to trade up to someone better.
Has she decided that Marcus and I are the most important people on offer in Aetheria?
It isn't long before Selene comes into the receiving rooms, unarmed now but still wearing the brief armor given to her for the contest. She stands there unabashed in it, not caring about the eyes that rove over her.
Nobles hurry to Selene, crowding around her, and I know I need to do something before she starts to persuade any of them.
I go to her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, everyone, but I wish to speak with Selene in private.”
“And if I don't want to talk to you?” Selene says.
I force a smile. “You're the one who insisted on doing this the old way, Selene. Until you survive enough bouts to earn your freedom, you remain a prisoner of the city. Now, come with me.”
I lead her away to one of the side rooms, where there's a comfortable couch and a table with a jug of wine on it.
“So, this is the only way you can think of to contain me?” Selene says. “To drag me away into a side room, hoping that I won't be able to speak to anyone. How long do you think that will work for Lyra?"
“Long enough to get you safely back to Ironhold,” I reply.
She smiles. “And do you think I'll be safe there? You, of all people, must know how dangerous a gladiator can be, even contained for a while within the fortress. The whole empire learned that lesson with you.”
I'm not going to rise to the bait. Instead, I focus on what she's done today.
“I understand now why you came to the city and gave yourself up,” I say.
“You knew you'd be able to invoke your right to fight in the games.
You knew you'd be able to gather popular support by winning, and by doing it without killing.”
“Have I done it without killing?” Selene says, her eyes locking onto mine. “Have you checked on my opponent recently? Such an arrogant young man, thinking he had all the advantages, that he could just come in and kill me to gain fame. You should probably go make sure he's all right, Lyra.”
There's something about that mocking smile of hers that fills me with dread.
“What have you done?” I demand, but she doesn't answer. I back out of the side room, and I'm grateful to see Marcus arriving in the receiving rooms. He can deal with her now, make sure that Selene doesn't use this opportunity to gain influence among the nobles. I need to check on Sorrel.
I rush through the interior of the Colosseum, my toga flowing behind me as I run.
Selene’s words have sent fear running through me, sure now that she's done something more than just disable Sorrel temporarily.
I didn't check on him before because I assumed he'd be safe in the hands of the healers, and I was sure he wouldn't want me there in his moment of defeat.
Now, I need to make sure that he's safe and well. I hurry down into the preparation areas, down to the room reserved for the healers with its great stone slabs.
Sorrel lies on one of those slabs, groaning while a trio of healers gathers around him, looking more worried by the moment.
“What is it?” I ask. “What's going on?”
Normally, his wounds would have been healed by now.
The city pays for the best healers to work in the Colosseum, precisely because there are injuries that need to be healed quickly.
It's one of the key ways we make the game safer than they were under the empire, with wounds from partially sharpened blades healed rapidly after the fights.
This way, we've been able to avoid deaths after the terrible first bout when Kai died at Glacius’ hands.
One of the healers looks up at me. “We're not sure. There's something wrong. See for yourself.”
I come closer, looking at the wounds Selene inflicted with her magic. The marks of that magic are on Sorrel’s flesh, in a strange patch of violet like the web of some colorful spider beneath his shoulder, where Selene touched him.
“We were able to heal the damage to his leg easily enough,” the healer who spoke before says, “and the wound to his arm was superficial, but this… it’s resisting our best efforts to heal it. Worse, it’s spreading.”
Sorrel groans in agony as the magic spreads a little more. Close to him I can feel that power, some complicated mix of vitomancy and something else, interwoven in a web that seems designed to spread and spread until it claims Sorrel’s life.
“Can you do anything?” I ask.
“We're trying,” the healer says. The three of them gather around Sorrel once more, pushing magic into him, clearly trying to undo the damage Selene has done. Sorrel looks up at me.
“Lyra. You were right, I should never have taken this bout. Now… it's going to kill me.”
“Don't say that,” I say, taking his hand and trying to comfort him. “The healers can still do something. They'll still find a way to save you.”
But even as I say it, I can see the pattern continuing to spread across Sorrel’s flesh, getting closer and closer to his heart. I realize, too late, that Selene’s magic has an insidious trick to it.
“Stop trying to heal him!” I shout at the healers. “Your magic is fueling this. She's made it so every scrap of energy you pour into him is making it worse, not better.”
The healers stop, pulling back from Sorrel so fast it's as if they're taking their hands from a burning stove.
It's too late. None of this is my field of magic, but I can still feel Selene’s efforts leeching the life from Sorrel, seeming to wither him as the pattern pulses an ugly purple.
“Lyra, I need to tell you…” Sorrel gasps. “I need to say who's behind the…”
It's obvious he's trying to tell me who his mysterious sponsor is, who the person is who's been setting up secret matches in the depths of the city.
I want to tell him that it's not important and that he should save his strength, that he should tell me when he recovers, but the truth is I don't know if he's going to recover now. The pattern on Sorrel’s flesh is almost above his heart now, and somehow, I know that when the pattern reaches it, he’ll die.
I lean in close to him, determined to hear what he has to say.
He takes a breath, a look of determination on his face, but all that comes out from Sorrel's mouth is a last gasp, the air flowing from his lungs as his eyes start to glaze over.
I hold on to him for several seconds, feeling the pain as I watch the life leave him.
For the second time in these new games, I've had to watch a young man die who didn't believe that there was any chance of him being killed.
Only this time, it isn't in the heat of a bout, isn't due to an opponent reacting to his violence with their own. This has happened after the fight, thanks to some magical poison left in Sorrel’s flesh.
Selene Ravenscroft has murdered him in cold blood after making a show of disabling him without violence. I’m certain of it, just as I’m certain that we cannot let this stand.