Ironhold, Trial Nine
CHAPTER ONE
The crowd roars. In front of me, two gladiators are fighting blindfolded, stalking one another with magically enhanced senses.
The people in the underground arena below their approval every time one of them comes close to cutting the other.
I can feel the tension in the air, the sense that death is close for one of them as I sneak through the crowd.
Without warning, a cry goes up, people pouring into the space, resistance fighters flooding in to disrupt the bout…
“Do you need anything else, Senator Lyra?”
The servant’s words snap me out of my memories of the death match. Was it already two weeks ago?
“Senator?”
“No, thank you,” I say, shaking my head. The servant steps back from me, looking nervous.
I don’t know how to behave around servants, even now. I’m a senator of Aetheria, arguably the greatest city in the world, and once the heart of a vast empire. It’s a position that gives me power over so many things within the city, that makes me a figure of importance in the eyes of the populace.
Or maybe the servant is nervous because I used to be a champion of the colosseum, one of those forced into it to fight for my freedom over five seasons of games.
There’s a circular brand on my left shoulder with five neat lines through it, each representing a set of games, a series of fights survived against beasts or fellow gladiators.
Of course, it could just be because of how strangely I was behaving, staring off into space as my memories took hold of me.
I wonder which side of me the servant sees as she backs away, bowing.
I still have the athletic frame of a gladiator, still work hard to stay in shape, training with practice weapons because I can feel the violence that’s coming to the city, the way someone else might feel a storm before it arrives.
But in so many ways, I dress and look like a senator.
I wear the white toga required of us when we speak in the senate, and my golden hair is swept up in an elaborate set of braids that takes a couple of servants long minutes to achieve.
The blue of my eyes is the same as it ever was, but now it's augmented by hints of golden eyeshadow that speak of power and opulence.
So do the rooms. Not that they're mine, exactly.
As a senator, I'm allowed to claim rooms in the palace to stay in and conduct my work.
Some of the wealthier senators just claim a small office, a space in which to meet with others, but live in vast houses within the city.
I live in these rooms, filled with gilded and elegantly carved furniture, even as I supposedly represent the people of the slums beyond the city, who live in hastily thrown-together shacks or simply on the streets.
Although I hope I've been able to do some good there, along with the rest of the senate.
First, Senator Rowan, in particular, has pushed the rebuilding of the slums in the same white marble as the rest of Aetheria.
Symbolically, we want to make those slums a full part of the city, even as better buildings and cleaner conditions improve people's lives.
I go to my desk, looking through the pile of missives and reports the servant brought for me.
I scan the notes and messages first, a part of me hoping there might be one from Alaric, my fellow former gladiator, my former lover.
He’s now the leader of the resistance, fighting against corruption within the city, forced to work from the shadows to avoid arrest.
There’s nothing, though. He’s been silent in the two weeks since I infiltrated the death match, since he and his followers chose to raid that fight without warning me.
He hasn’t contacted me, and nor have any of his followers.
It’s as if they’ve cut me off, seeing me as one of the enemy, rather than someone who wants to help them.
That hurts enough that I need to distract myself by throwing myself into the reports in front of me.
There are requisitions and details relating to the next round of games in the arena, some of which make me wince.
There are details of which animals they'll be bringing in for the bouts.
Matches with beasts always mean greater danger.
That danger has been building within the games each time they’re run, though. The crowds demand blood, and some within the senate are only too willing to give it to them.
Including Marcus, and that fact hurts as much as Alaric’s silence.
Senator Marcus Larius' name is on so many of the plans to do with the arena.
It makes sense when he's always pushed so hard for the return of the games.
He and I worked closely together on them, and grew far closer than that.
We were as close as I'd been with Alaric, maybe closer.
He even proposed marriage to me, albeit in a businesslike way that made it seem as much like a political move or a business acquisition as a love match.
That fell apart when I found out he was the one behind the death matches.
Marcus invited carefully selected groups of people to watch gladiators fight to the death in the old ways, watched over by priests and priestesses who worship Aetheria and its gods, ensuring that power flows back into the stones beneath the city with every death.
The priests say all magic pours out into the world from those stones, and they must be fed.
Marcus claims it’s necessary to channel the baser instincts of the people, and because someone else will do it if he doesn’t.
I don’t know what to think about Marcus.
His involvement in something like that sickens me, but I don’t have enough evidence to bring his actions before the senate, and I’m not sure which way the vote would go, even if I were prepared to do something like that to him.
Even now, I care too much about him to demand that he be tried as a criminal, potentially condemned for what he’s done.
But I still can’t let it go. I see that night at the death matches again and again, trying to think of a way things could have gone differently, remembering the shocking moment when I saw Marcus was in charge.
The thoughts of Marcus mean I can’t focus on the rest of the reports, although there’s at least one other thing distracting me:
Selene Ravenscroft, the former arch-magistrate of Aetheria.
I sigh, knowing I won’t be able to do anything useful today until I check on her.
So I go through to my bedroom, lying back on the bed so that it looks as though I’m merely resting.
I’m not. I lie in my rooms at the palace, but that isn’t where my mind is.
I reach out with my powers as a beast whisperer, one of those who can control animals and link with their minds.
I stretch my awareness out over the city of Aetheria, finding one of the birds out in the palace gardens.
I slip into its mind carefully, determined not to harm it.
My powers let me take from creatures, borrowing fragments of their strength, but if I take too much I could hurt them, or myself.
I’ve seen beast whisperers twisted into animal forms, with claws or feline eyes, patches of fur or bestial legs.
So I ride the bird’s mind without stealing from it, looking through its eyes as I push it gently to fly out over the city. I see the palace of the former emperor below, set in elaborate gardens, augmented by magic so that trees and plants grow in impossible shapes.
Magic permeates Aetheria. The fine houses of the noble quarter have illusions outside them, depicting the symbols of the noble families in motion, or works of illusory art crafted by the finest magic users around.
Glowing orbs line the streets, ready to produce patches of light when darkness finally falls.
I see the districts set out beneath me, as distinct as if they were carefully labeled on a map for my attention.
The entertainment district bustles with dancers and jugglers out on the streets, criers trying to lure passersby into theaters, taverns, and more.
The merchant district has a great market at its heart, stalls forming a tangled maze in which it's easy to get lost. The docks swarm with ships, fishing vessels, larger merchant ships, triremes that defend Aetheria's waters against attack.
And of course, at the very heart of the city, there’s the colosseum. It’s a vast, circular building approached by promenades lined with statues of famous gladiators. Flags and pennants hang from it on the holy days when contests take place, although thankfully, it’s quiet now.
The bird I control flies beyond the walls, out over the slums that occupy at least as much space as the interior of the city.
There are signs of rebuilding within them, but I also spot the colors of the different gangs that make their homes there.
I force myself to ignore them, sending the bird flying out towards a great dark shape clinging to the side of the hills beyond the city.
Ironhold, the fortress where I was once a prisoner, still has spike-topped walls of dark granite, which contrasts with the marble of the city.
Guards still patrol it, although now it's as much a training place for them as for gladiators.
As my bird gets closer, I start to reach out for other animals within the walls, sensing them now that some part of me is close enough.
I look through the eyes of a scurrying mouse, a spider hanging in its web.
It takes me a couple of minutes to find Selene Ravenscroft, walking through the fortress towards one of the training areas.
She’s pale skinned, with jet black hair and eyes that shine violet with power.
She wears the brief training outfit of a gladiator now, rather than the robes of an arch-magistrate, and her body has grown athletic with her training.
She has a circular brand to match my own on her left shoulder, although there’s only a single mark across it, rather than five.
A magical dampener is fastened around her left wrist to contain some of her vast magical powers as an archon, one of the strongest magical practitioners to ever live.
I follow her as she heads through the fortress, towards one of the training rooms, moving without the supervision of the guards. Selene takes up a practice sword, striking a practice post with smooth, elegant movements as I watch through the eyes of a mouse in the corner.
Selene works for a while, then stops, turning with almost preternatural grace towards me. She looks straight towards the mouse, smiling the way a cat might have on seeing it.
“Have you seen enough, yet?” Selene asks. “Do you think I don’t know when you’re spying on me, Lyra Thornwind?”
She lifts her left hand, and a dart of violet power lashes out towards the mouse. I frantically pull back from it, but even so, I feel the moment when it dies in a burst of agony. I come back to myself with a blinding headache, cursing to myself.
I rise and head to the offices of the First Senator, determined to persuade him this time of the danger Selene represents.
Rowan is waiting inside, sitting behind a desk piled high with scrolls and tablets.
Rowan isn't wearing his toga now, but rather, a simple tunic and a belt edged with silver.
He's square featured and auburn-haired, with muscles like boulders and a brand that matches my own.
He has a scar on one cheek, given to him back in the days when he was still a slave to a noblewoman of the empire.
His magic gives him control over the earth, and he sometimes seems to be carved from the stone he can manipulate so easily.
“Lyra, is everything all right?” Rowan asks.
“I’ve been watching Selene again. You know she wanders where she wants in Ironhold?” I say.
Rowan shakes his head. “But it doesn’t surprise me. Even with the dampener, an archon is hard to contain.”
“She’s dangerous, Rowan,” I say. “She’s planning to build her power and then reinstate the empire.”
Rowan sighs. “She needs to survive four more sets of games before she’s even free. After that… the Republic is stronger than you think.”
“There are people pushing at it from every side,” I point out.
“What do you want me to do?” Rowan asks. “The senate voted against her execution. All we can do is keep her in the games and hope she loses a bout. Her next set of games is coming up in a few days anyway.”
Selene will be shown no mercy if she loses. Every bout is life or death for her. I’m stuck in the position of hoping that the games, which I’ve been working so hard to keep safe for the gladiators, prove deadly for this woman who would otherwise turn Aetheria back into the empire it once was.
I don’t know what else we can do, though. Selene is deadly, intelligent, and knows Ironhold inside out. It makes her a formidable foe. Maybe one strong enough to kill everyone we send against her.