This Monster of Mine

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

A dry chuckle. The scrape of boots against stone. “If only that were true.” The man with the beautiful voice stepped away from her.

Don’t go. Her lips soundlessly shaped the words. She didn’t know why she was begging, only that she believed he would listen.

She willed her fingers to move from where they rested inches from his boots. Her knuckles twitched, and pain ignited along her hand, shooting up to her skull. Her functioning eye rolled back as blood filled her nostrils, seeped from her open mouth—

Sarai’s eyes flew open. Stumbling off the bed, she grasped the vanity, breathing hard until her vision cleared. The face in the mirror was gaunt, eyes feverish, thin, brown scars standing out in relief, as if someone had glued together a thousand pieces and hadn’t bothered to hide the seams. She numbly traced features that still felt unfamiliar. The healer who’d reconstructed her face hadn’t bothered with faithfulness to the original—a fact that had given Arsamea much fodder for abuse. Even her eyes were an unnatural gold from their original black.

It could have been worse. Scarring aside, her face was normal enough. But she’d endured enough flinches in Cretus’s tavern to prove that most people saw only the scars.

If only that were true . Her teeth ground together at the memory of that beautiful voice. The outline of Sidran Tower peered through the dirt-flecked window, a ghost at the edge of her vision. She averted her gaze and cursed before forcing herself to look back at it. From now on, she had to act the part of a normal person. And normal people did not panic at the sight of Sidran Tower.

Morning air teased her hair as she stepped onto the balcony. Ironically, she’d been given the highest room in Lisran Tower. Sarai gripped the railing as the tiles seemed to sway beneath her feet. Heights. The first fear she’d gained after the Fall.

Pulling her gaze up, she drank in the Academiae’s sun-drenched halls, stone walkways, and green courtyards that spoke to talented agromagi working around the clock to keep the grounds thriving. Fifty-foot walls separated the central citadel from Edessa, punctuated by the Tower Gates. Below them lay wide central roads, weaving through the city’s four Quarters, each named for the Tetrarch who governed them: Aelius, Tullus, Cassandane, and Kadra. Sarai couldn’t believe she’d be meeting them soon.

She poured power into nihumb , scars vanishing as a thread of red entering the gleaming rune. The illusion would hold until the rune went fully crimson, warning her that she’d depleted herself of magic. Sloughing off layers of travel dust and what felt like a good amount of skin in the bathing room, she donned the genderless uniform worn by Candidates over which her Tetrarch’s robes would go after the Robing: inky black and starkly cut, with buttons that extended from the uniform’s collar to her waist where the skirt flared out to brush her trousered ankles. Weaving her hair into a braid, she stared at the unrecognizable figure in the mirror. Hollow-eyed, yet dignified. Not a barmaid. Not a victim. A Petitor.

A lump built in her throat. “Petitor Sarai,” she whispered, and her reflection stood taller.

She descended Lisran Tower’s spiral staircase, firmly ignoring the wretched tower to the north. Cisuré had said that a raeda would take her to the Aequitas. She’d also mentioned something about breakfast in the Academiae’s dining hall, but Sarai knew her nervous stomach would do worse with ammunition .

Outside, the raeda waited by the Lisran Tower Gate as promised along with a few magi who looked relieved that she hadn’t run away.

“Petitor Candidate Sarai.” The coachman bowed. “An honor to escort you.”

A month ago, no one would have said that. She wondered if he was pulling her leg, but his weather-beaten face held only curiosity.

“Thank you,” she said and paused at the narrow-eyed look a passing magus shot her.

She stifled a sigh . Right. No “commoner speech” from Petitors. And the south wondered why northerners found them pretentious.

Climbing in, she gaped. All burnished oak and violet cushions, the carriage would have made Cretus weep. She sat gingerly, half expecting it to turn to smoke. The gate opened, and the carriage started forward, cobblestone blurring as it sped onto the road leading down the citadel.

Edessa lay below, resplendent under the sun, its sprawling streets lined with shops, bare patches denoting public squares, and the oblong domii of the wealthy. Years ago, atop a tall snowgrape vine, she’d looked down at Arsamea and spanned it with a hand, an uncaring fist in the distance. But Edessa could swallow her.

They joined a many-laned road, competing with other raeda heading to the Aequitas in the south. The coachman called back to her, pointing out various landmarks: domii of famous people she’d never heard of, Guilds, the Grand Elsarian Temple.

“The Hall of Records,” he said, and she nearly pulled a muscle twisting to spot a series of marble structures. Soon , she vowed.

Like the Academiae, Edessa’s major establishments were situated at the center of the city. Neutral territory.

“Best that no one Tetrarch controls it all,” the coachman confided. “Imagine if a Tetrarch could halt access to a Guild during a feud!”

“Do they feud often?” Four heads probably didn’t agree on everything.

“Might be because they care in different ways. You’ll help too. This is your city now. ”

Warmth rose in her. Propping an elbow on the window, she smiled at the bustling world beyond. The road flattened into a public square the size of Arsamea. Their pace slowed.

Clusters of people poured out into a field, competing for entry into a gargantuan structure. The Amphitheatrum Aequitas . Craning her neck, she counted the amphitheater’s five tiers of flawless white marble and intricate arches and smirked. Guess I’m not destined for dirt after all, Marus.

Sentry posts dotted the perimeter of the Aequitas. Hard-eyed vigiles in colorful robes squinted suspiciously at everyone, barking orders to confiscate weapons or large items. An elderly man belligerently objected to a wineskin being taken, to no avail.

“They wear their Tetrarch’s colors,” the coachman explained. “Black and gold for Tetrarch Kadra, ivory and silver for Tetrarch Aelius, and so on. Almost every vigile is here. Can’t be too careful with the Tetrarchy and Guildmasters gathered for the Robing. Certo, with you too …” he trailed off with an awkward glance.

That’s why we’re transported separately , she realized. To make it hard for us to flee.

Evading the mob, he steered into a fenced-off side of the Aequitas, halting before a massive statue of a regal man, almost as tall as the courthouse. The coachman indicated a door into the court, partially hidden by the statue’s base.

“The horn is your cue to enter.” He bowed. “Take care, Petitor Candidate Sarai.”

She responded in kind, Petitor language conventions be damned, then turned to the sculpture. The marble man wore a benevolent smile, stretching a hand to the sky, a rune-studded rod clutched within. Which of the seven High Elsar is this? Lord Fortune? Harvest? She squinted at the rod.

“Tetrarch Aelius and his first fulgur scutum,” a low voice commented in her ear.

She jumped, goosebumps pebbling her skin .

The lanky young man behind her grinned unrepentantly. “Incredible, right?”

She could think of other words, but she supposed that the Head Tetrarch, the most powerful magus in the land and inventor of the south’s beloved lightning shields, had the right to erect ludicrously large replicas of himself.

“Harion of Dídtan.” The newcomer’s black hair stuck up at the ends, skin as golden as hers, but there was no missing the condescension in his eyes. “You must be the barmaid.”

“Sarai of Arsamea,” she corrected politely.

“Pleasure.” He took his time looking her over. “You northern girls are usually meatier.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“She has a tongue.” Harion’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “You’ve put it to good use to get this far. Which Tetrarch did you sleep with?”

Here we go . “Excuse me?”

“I mean, the Tetrarchy needs Petitors, but I doubt we’re desperate enough for you . Unless you offered other incentive.” He circled her. “Can’t be Aelius. You were gawping at his statue like a tourist. Can’t be Kadra either, he’s a block of ice. That leaves”—Harion made a face—“Tullus? Really? Unless you swing the other way for Cassandane—”

“It’s my first time meeting the Tetrarchy.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Suit yourself, but whoever you’re fucking won’t choose you. They’ve lined you up for him . Someone’s going to be the odd one out.”

“There are four of us and four Tetrarchs,” she pointed out.

“Oh, you really don’t know.” He looked positively gleeful. “There’s only ever been three Petitors for the past few Robings. Kadra has never taken one.”

Odd. All she knew of Kadra was that he’d been elected the newest—and youngest—Tetrarch in a landslide victory a few years back. No one in Arsamea had bothered to journey to the capital to vote, and as the Tetrarchy left the north to its devices, the election had been largely ignored. But she was surprised that Kadra’s lack of a Petitor hadn’t come up.

Becoming a Tetrarch was a daydream for all but the wealthiest Edessans. Hopefuls began as Tribunes in the military, or iudices, lower court judges, and worked to amass power until they could run for office. Even then, they had to be powerful lightning magi, popular with the masses, and shrewd politicians with spotless reputations. Aspirants relied heavily on their Petitors to ferret out unscrupulous friends and con men. For Kadra to have never had one was unheard of.

Harion stooped so they were eye to eye. “It isn’t too late to leave. You won’t last a day with Kadra.”

He clamped a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. Panic bubbled to the surface, bringing with it unanchored echoes of fingers digging into her skin. Something sharp cracking over her head. Screams echoing in a black space—

Shoving Harion’s hand off, she willed herself to breathe. Men. Another fear born that night.

“Don’t touch me.”

He made a show of backing away. “Like I’ve any interest, barmaid. No one does in someone so green that you don’t even know why you’re here. Edessa nicknames each year’s Petitors, you know. To keep them straight, given how many we’ve gone through. Cisuré is ‘the Saint.’ Anek is ‘the neutralis.’” He smirked. “And I’m ‘the lover.’ But you’re just the northerner the betting books have already marked as a dead girl walking.”

Her hands balled into fists, when a low voice spoke behind them.

“I wouldn’t buy that. Several magi were calling him ‘the lecher’ just last night.”

She snorted at Harion’s indignant sputtering as a genderless neutralis descended from a raeda, fiery spirals of hair spilling over their forehead.

“Anek of Edessa.” Razor-sharp brown eyes swept over her for barely a second, but she had the discomfiting sense of being thoroughly assessed. “You must be Sarai. ”

“Pleasure.”

Another raeda halted to release Cisuré, who hugged her in greeting. Harion immediately began pestering the other girl on which Tetrarch Sarai had slept with. Sarai started toward him with a curse when Anek raised a hand.

“Enough, Harion. Look, we may as well put our cards on the table. Who does everyone want?”

“Anyone but him ,” Harion pronounced.

“Cassandane for me.” Anek folded their arms, uniform stretching tight over impressive biceps. They turned to Cisuré. “Tetrarch Aelius for you, yes?”

A trick of the light seemed to paint Cisuré with a sudden pallor. “No preference.”

“No preference? Please. You’ve been wild for years —”

“We don’t get a choice.” Cisuré flashed a nervous smile. “Let’s just hope for the best.”

They rolled their eyes. “So, Aelius for you, Saint. And Sarai?”

Glancing at a red-faced Cisuré, Sarai wondered what that was about. “I—”

“She’s getting Kadra.” Harion shrugged. “Everyone knows it.”

“No, we don’t,” Anek snapped. “It could just as easily be one of us.”

Unease crawled up Sarai’s spine . “Is there something wrong with Tetrarch Kadra?”

“Something wrong?” Harion whistled, leaning against Aelius’s statue with breathtaking insolence. “Besides him being a bloodthirsty madman? Let’s see. How about that every one of our dead colleagues were last seen in Kadra’s Quarter before their untimely ends?”

The implication dashed over her like icy water. There it is. The missing piece of information that explained everyone’s paranoia last night.

“My congratulations on being a human sacrifice for Kadra. Youngest Tetrarch in a century but the man’s mad.” Harion snickered at her bloodless face. “Gods, Saint. Didn’t you warn her? ”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Cisuré gave her a pleading look. “There are … rumors about Kadra.”

Rumors that had never reached Arsamea, because the assessors had never discussed why the Petitor deaths had begun. Had it been a murderer at the top all along?

Anek made a sound of exasperation “You lot are worse than the gossips. If there was a shred of evidence, he would’ve been put on trial. No one —not even Kadra—can talk someone into killing themselves. We’ve plenty of reasons to be wary of him without resorting to gossip.”

Harion smirked, and Sarai couldn’t help wondering if Anek was wrong. She’d heard of kings in the far western wastelands commanding ice, and the Kashyalin people beyond the ocean opening portals between countries. If she could read lies, then who was to say that there wasn’t some equally rare talent where someone could induce another to die?

The dull boom of a horn cut through her panic. Long and low, the note rippled to a close, and Sarai’s heart thudded. It was time.

They clustered by the side door into the Aequitas. Anek gripped the handle. “Ready?”

They exchanged grim nods, and the door swung open. Soil yielded to a pristine marble hallway, the crowd’s roars growing with every step. A shaft of sunlight pierced the ground ahead, and the corridor gave way to the Aequitas’s stage. Tens of thousands of voices swelled in an explosive roar across the tiered, open-air amphitheater. Sweat gathered on her hairline, trepidation clasping her heart instead of triumph, as she wondered just how many Petitors the crowd had seen come and go.

Opulent seating boxes graced the front row, filled with extravagantly attired Guildmasters and nobles. Everyday folk clustered in the higher rows, straining for a glimpse of their soon-to-be Petitors. Catching her gaze, Anek inclined their head toward the long dais at the other end of the stage where the four people who held Ur Dinyé in their palms watched and waited.

A beautiful, dark-haired woman occupied the far left of the dais, crimson robes buttoned to the throat. Sighting Sarai’s wide-eyed stare, she wiggled her fingers in a cheerful wave. Cassandane . Beside her was a stern-faced man in indigo robes, gray threading his temples. Tullus, the oldest and longest-running Tetrarch. He looked more like a cleric than a statesman. Drawing her gaze from him, she found Harion staring at her with a knowing smirk.

“Whore,” he mouthed.

Pretending to smooth a wayward lock, Sarai presented him with her middle finger.

On the middle right of the dais, a handsome man in ivory robes beamed at the crowd, all gold skin and brown eyes, dark curls wreathing his boyish face. Head Tetrarch Aelius looked exactly like his statue. Statesman, inventor, magus, and the most powerful man in Ur Dinyé. Sarai followed his gaze to Cisuré, who bowed her head in greeting. Like they’re acquainted . But that was impossible. Cisuré would have mentioned something that momentous.

Sarai turned to the only remaining Tetrarch. Her gaze rose to the man directly across from her and stuck there.

Impeccable was the first word that came to mind. Every line of him was crisp, precise—from the sculpted planes of his face to the tanned hand resting on the arm of his seat. Gold-trimmed black robes clung to broad shoulders, a baldric running crosswise over them. A smile somewhere between amusement and boredom played on his lips as he gazed at the crowd, a cruel-eyed god surveying his pitiful subjects. His black hair was swept back from his forehead, dark eyebrows drawing over even darker eyes.

Her breath stuttered. She didn’t realize she was staring until one of those eyebrows rose a fraction.

Shit. Tearing her gaze away, she wiped her clammy palms on her uniform. So this was Kadra. Not him , she silently prayed to the High Elsar. Anyone but him.

Smiling widely, Aelius raised a hand, and the applause quieted. “Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Robing.” The amplification runes on the arms of his seat flared golden, projecting his voice across the Aequitas. “Many of you have traveled far to witness these defenders of law take their vows and join the hardest battle of our time: the fight for justice. Today, we have four Candidates ready to commit themselves to this challenge. Please, step forward.”

Sarai nervously followed the others, stopping before the steps to the dais. Draped over the backs of each Tetrarch’s chair were identical robes in their colors: crimson and bronze for Cassandane, ivory and silver for Aelius, indigo and sky blue for Tullus, and—Sarai blinked. There was nothing on the back of Kadra’s chair.

“The Tetrarchy will address what is, no doubt, foremost in your minds,” Tullus took over, crisp diction betraying his military background. “Today, we at last robe four Petitors instead of the three that were custom of late because our fourth Quarter cannot go any longer without a Petitor’s helping hand.” He slanted a sly look at Kadra. “Thus, the decision was made to provide my fellow Tetrarch with the aid he evidently requires.”

Well, then . But Kadra didn’t seem offended at the barb. A corner of his mouth twitched.

“It’ll be you,” Harion murmured under his breath. “They won’t give him a trained Petitor, but you’re fair game.”

Her glare was at odds with the hammering in her chest. “We’ll see.”

Tullus raised a hand. “Please rise as the Petitors take their vows.”

The amphitheater filled with the sound of thousands getting to their feet, and vying for space. Four vigiles stepped before the dais, each unfurling a scroll. Every Tetrarch save Kadra raised an ink pen, the sharp tips dripping ink onto the marble floor.

“Petitors!” Aelius took over as orator. “Do you vow to be as pure as the law you uphold?”

Imitating the other Candidates, Sarai clenched her right hand into a fist, drumming it thrice against her chest. “I do,” she echoed.

Every Tetrarch save Kadra made a mark on the parchment before them.

“Do you vow to be unbending in your service of justice?” Aelius asked.

One. Two. Three. Her fist struck her chest. “I do! ”

Another mark. Kadra didn’t move. The vigile holding his scroll shifted nervously.

“Do you vow to be bound in life and mind to this land and your Tetrarch until the gods take you?”

“I do.” She stiffened as Kadra’s gaze brushed her.

“Then, as of this day, so you are and so you shall be.” Aelius turned to the crowd, exultant. “Ur Dinyé! Your new Petitors!”

A deafening cheer accompanied the proclamation. Sarai saw Aelius’s gaze drift back to Cisuré, not even pausing on the other Candidates. Has he already made his choice?

“May the High Elsar watch over this new chapter of your lives,” he intoned.

Sarai prepared to bow but Anek shot her a warning glance. “Not yet,” they muttered.

“May Wisdom and Truth guide you through every Probe. May Temperance calm you in moments of doubt. May Radiance heal your fears, Harvest bless your hearth, and Fortune fill your purses.” Aelius stretched both hands to the sky. “May Wrath banish from your days the Dark Elsar: Avarice, Discord, Famine, Indolence, Pestilence, Deceit, and Ruin. And may the Wretched who follow them never darken your door.”

Her eyebrows rose. “As the Elsar will it,” she chorused with the crowd.

She’d heard that the southern cities were fanatically devoted to the gods, but she hadn’t expected the Head Tetrarch to end with a prayer. Proximity to repeated natural disaster, I suppose. When the heavens tried to burn everything down every week, the gods probably seemed especially near. And angry.

“Now begins our choosing. Cassandane, if you will?” Aelius gave the other Tetrarch a winsome smile.

Cassandane descended the dais in a graceful swirl of crimson. Hoping her nerves weren’t showing, Sarai met her gaze as it rested on each of them. Is there a method to this? She held her breath when Cassandane smiled .

“Anek of Edessa, please join me.”

Sarai’s heart sank as a broad grin broke across Anek’s face. Bowing low, they followed the Tetrarch up the dais, where Cassandane draped a set of bronze-edged crimson robes over them. The Tetrarch signed the bottom of the lifelong contract and presented it to Anek, who did the same.

Sarai clenched her trembling fingers. Three Tetrarchs left.

Tullus was next. Striding down, he made short work of his selection, glossing over her with a disdainful sniff. “You.” He pointed at Harion.

Shooting her a mocking smile, he strode up the dais for his Robing. And suddenly, she had the horrible feeling that he was right. There was only one way this selection was going to end, and everyone in the Aequitas, save Cisuré, had known it. Her heart sank. When Aelius stood, Sarai didn’t even try to meet his gaze. Squaring her shoulders, she sought the cruel-eyed god who still hadn’t touched the contract before him. Black eyes rose to hers and narrowed, as though he hadn’t expected to be the object of her scrutiny. His expression hardened.

Air rushed out of her as though she’d fallen from a snowgrape vine. Depthless black filled her vision, his eyes boring deep as though he were peeling her apart, layer by layer. Cheers sounded in the background. Aelius must have chosen Cisuré. But she refused to look away, to break their silent battle. Kadra’s sharp focus altered into something almost startled. Then, he turned away.

She drew in a long, shuddering breath, knowing that she was alone onstage. Kadra whispered to the vigile still holding the scroll before him, who looked like the same one who’d let her into the city last night—Gaius. He turned, confirming her suspicions. No wonder he was so startled . He had probably known that she’d be Kadra’s Petitor from the beginning.

Aelius cleared his throat. “That leaves one. Tetrarch Kadra, if you’d be so kind. ”

Sarai swallowed her bitterness, holding her head high. Without looking at her, Kadra raised a hand. She jumped at the squeal of stone on stone. A door to the left of the dais grated open to reveal a hulking man flanked by vigiles. Steel chains dragged on the floor as he was shoved toward the wooden post at the center of the stage and tied there.

This can’t be good. A glance at Cisuré’s pale face confirmed as much. Yet, the Aequitas was buzzing with excitement, the crowd hooting their delight.

Aelius’s brow pinched. “Tetrarch Kadra, this is no time for a trial. You can’t object now.”

“This isn’t an objection.” Kadra’s voice swept over the Aequitas, gloriously low, wine smooth, and familiar.

She went stock-still. The magus last night. Raising her head, her stomach dropped when he inclined his head toward her, an amused gleam in those tar-like eyes. A debt collector, he’d said. Pulse pounding, she revisited their meeting and found an uglier answer for his presence. He was waiting for me, knowing I’d be assigned to him. And she had been so foolishly, utterly unguarded with a man who could be a murderer.

“Look here, Kadra,” Tullus growled. “You—”

“People of Ur Dinyé, many of you know that I have never taken a Petitor.” Kadra didn’t spare Tullus a glance. “Nevertheless, you came here for a spectacle. And I desire a test of the woman who is to be my right hand. What do you say? Is that a fair trade for your time?”

The crowd paused, muttering as they considered the offer.

SHIT . Sweat trickled down her jaw. A test? Was she supposed to prosecute the furious behemoth tied onstage? Giving up on decorum, she undid her topmost button and stilled when the Aequitas erupted in cheers.

“Trial! Trial!” the crowd chanted. The other Tetrarchs’ faces turned to stone.

Kadra looked unsurprised at the victory. “Far be it from me to deny the people. ”

Her limbs felt like lead when the Aequitas gave her its undivided attention. Don’t freeze. Think . Like every town in Ur Dinyé, Arsamea had owned a copy of the Corpus Juris Totus, the laws of the land. She’d memorized it years ago.

“ First, bow before whom you serve ,” trial etiquette demanded. “ Follow their every command throughout the trial. ”

She gritted her teeth and folded forward in a stilted bow of respect. A sardonic glint lit Kadra’s eyes, and she itched to slap it off. To think she’d offered to vouch for him last night.

“Ennius of Edessa.” Kadra indicated the prisoner straining at his bonds. “Held under suspicion for homicidium of his wife and son. He vows he was at a tavern at the time of the murder, sleeping off the previous night’s drink. But no one has vouched for him.”

Simple enough. Get the truth out of Ennius. Sarai took a deep breath, pricking her finger and spreading the blood over zosta when Kadra spoke again.

“We’ll start with a single log.” He sat back.

She stilled. Where was she to find a log, and why in hav?d did she need one?

“To the right.” He tilted his head as though he’d read her mind. The crowd fell silent.

A log pile waited to the right of the stage. Her steps echoed as she walked toward it, eerily loud. Bewildered, she placed a log at Ennius’s feet.

“Light it,” Kadra commanded.

Her blood turned to ice. She saw her horror reflected in Cisuré’s tight features.

Kadra raised an eyebrow. “Is this too difficult for you?”

Beside Tullus, Harion snickered, the sound echoed by a few in the crowd. She stared at Kadra’s stone-cold face, emptying her mind of the magus who’d helped her and to whom she’d given a rare bit of honesty. He doesn’t want me here . Swallowing, she glanced at the rest of the Tetrarchy who stared straight ahead. They won’t intervene . This was between her and Kadra.

She had no choice.

Pricking a shaking finger, she drew yaris, the rune for “fire,” on the log by Ennius’s feet. The wood burst into flames, and he shouted in fear. Her breath came fast. The onlookers roared their approval.

Kadra leaned forward, eyes cold. “Ennius, did you kill your wife and child?”

“Fuck you,” the prisoner snarled.

Kadra considered that, before inclining his head at Sarai. “Another log.”

The world shrank to the midnight pools of his eyes. A test , he’d said. Of whether she would adhere to his commands. Of whether her allegiance lay with him. To balk was to fail. And if she didn’t leave this Robing as his Petitor, she had no hope of accessing her records.

Gritting her teeth, Sarai added a log to the growing pyre. A snap echoed as the flames cradled its new fodder.

“Did you kill your wife and child?” Kadra’s silky voice asked once more.

“I didn’t!” Ennius screamed.

The words thrummed through her, a grating chord. Meeting Kadra’s gaze, Sarai shook her head. He gracefully gestured to the right.

Sweat ran down her temples. He didn’t have to keep asking the same question—he could have her Probe Ennius and pluck the answer from his head. It’s like he wants me to torture him . Fighting nausea, she ran to the pile and back, tossing logs on the fire. The crowd watched with bated breath when it flared even higher. Ennius’s jaw worked, his gaze trained on his feet.

This isn’t a trial, she realized . It’s an execution . Bile rose to the back of her throat. She caught Ennius’s eye, silently pleading. Just give me the truth, and this ends . His gaze shuttered.

Kadra’s eyes never left her. “You know what to do.”

Her heart thudded. Flames greedily swallowed the distance to Ennius’s heels. If she brought another log, he would begin burning before Kadra’s next question. She could obey Kadra and let the man burn to death, but that wasn’t the justice she had just sworn to uphold. Yet, to disobey Kadra was to fail his test .

Time stopped. The clamoring crowd blurred into a sea of gnats. This was the chance of a lifetime, the only way to get into her sealed records. But if Ennius was innocent, could she live with letting him die? With doing to someone what had nearly been done to her?

Sarai’s teeth ground together. On the dais, Kadra tapped a finger against the arm of his seat with utter detachment. Damn you. Her gaze rose to the cloudless sky in condemnation of the gods. Four years in Arsamea, yearning for justice.

But she couldn’t condemn an innocent man.

“Let me Probe him.” Despite not being amplified, her voice rang out. “Please.”

The crowd gasped. Head held high, she waited for Kadra’s response. There would be time for mourning later. Right now, she’d do what had to be done. What Kadra should have done.

Not a twitch in his gaze. “Another log.”

Fuck that. Pressing her bleeding finger into herar, she reached across the low flames and gripped Ennius’s skull. The world went black, the crowd’s surprised yells fading as a knotted ball of wool bloomed before her. She grasped at frayed memories, skimming through Ennius’s life while smoke choked her. Gambling, theft, habitual drunken assault. The man was garbage. But if he isn’t a murderer, then he shouldn’t die.

A scream shattered her concentration. She resurfaced to find fire licking at Ennius’s feet. Frantic, she plunged back in, hands shaking as his yells intensified. Grasping a barely visible thread, she froze.

The burn of wine … scarlet on his knuckles after a fight … a woman berating him … blood raining in a thick arc . A child’s agonized whimpers. The memory frayed further as Ennius went insensate with pain. She gripped it, sweat running down her temples, and pressed her bleeding finger into the last rune on her armilla, astomand , the rune for “Materialization.” With a burst of power, she wrenched the memory loose.

Transparent figures flickered to life on the Aequitas’s stage. Ennius brandishing a weapon, drunk out of his mind. His wife dropping to her knees and covering a child with her body. Sarai inhaled sharply when Ennius brought his knife down once, twice. She lost count. By the time he was done, there was nothing left to stab.

Nauseous, Sarai dropped his head. “He did it!” she yelled to Kadra. “He’s guilty!”

A strange glint lit the Tetrarch’s eyes. “So, he is.”

He gestured lazily at the blaze. She jumped back as the fire soared, engulfing its victim as he shrieked, pleading for life until the fire took his voice. And with a garbled gasp, Ennius of Edessa left the world.

The Aequitas went still. One heartbeat, two. Thunder crashed into their midst. She started, knees buckling to hit the stage only to realize it was the crowd clapping . What the fuck? She stared at the rows of people standing in a wave to gleefully celebrate the charred corpse beside her. On the dais, Cisuré and Cassandane were pale. Tullus looked disgusted, and Harion’s eyebrows were level with his hairline. Only Anek and Aelius were blank-faced.

“Why?” Kadra’s beautiful, wretched voice asked.

Anger vibrated down to her clenched fists. “If I’d gotten another log, Ennius would’ve caught on fire. He wouldn’t have answered you after that.”

“So you abandoned the trial.” Kadra sounded amused.

This was no trial. He’d ordered her to burn Ennius before asking a single question. He’d already decided that the man was guilty.

“I knew I’d be abandoning this spectacle , Tetrarch Kadra, but I wasn’t going to ignore my duty to give the accused justice. The vows I just took demand that much.”

“You’re aware that you were being tested on more than those vows.”

That was the last straw. Her furious gaze cut to his. “Then I have had an impossible choice. Follow your orders and abandon my vows, or follow my vows and abandon this trial. But I want to give more than I take , Tetrarch Kadra.” She bitterly reminded him of her answer the previous night. “I don’t regret my decision.”

A predatory spark flared in his eyes. “Very well.”

She waited for his wrath, his dismissal.

“Come up.”

Sarai froze. Stared wordlessly at his cruel face. The audience quieted. Her body moved before she could make any sense of him, climbing up to where Kadra stood, freshly inked contract in hand. Accepting the proffered ink pen, she signed her name, then eyed the robe-less back of his chair. He clearly hadn’t wanted a Petitor. Guess I won’t get Robed—

Fabric slid over her shoulders, warm and smelling faintly of citrus. The robes were too big, spilling onto the marble. He’d given her the ones he’d been wearing. She flinched when he helped her into the armholes, conscious of the material’s warmth from his body. Kadra registered the motion with a humorless smile, buttoning the collar at her throat. Air left her in a rush when he stepped away.

“Well, that concludes our Robing.” Aelius shot an exhausted glance at Kadra, brow smoothing when he turned to Sarai. “It’s been a difficult half hour for our newest Petitor, but she’s joined us now. Sarai, everyone!”

The world spun as pinpricks of people chanted her name. Still in shock, her heart pulsed in rhythm with the cheers. The Tetrarchy descended the dais to tumultuous applause, forming a line across the stage with their Petitors. She stiffened as Kadra stood beside her.

“ Always thank them when the trial is done ,” the final chapter on trial etiquette in the Corpus Juris Totus had insisted.

“ Tibi gratias ago ,” Sarai muttered. “I appreciated your guidance.”

A sardonic gleam lit his black eyes. “If only that were true.”

Her heart stopped.

If only that were true , a beautiful voice from another night repeated. Past and present converged. Sarai tottered, drawing a concerned glance from Cisuré as they bowed as a group .

It can’t be. When they rose, Kadra swept past her without a backward glance. The crowd began to flood out.

I must have it wrong , she thought as Cisuré enveloped her in a hug, asking if she was alright. But there was no denying that voice, his voice.

“If only that were true.”

It was him .