CHAPTER FIVE
The gladian barracks are crammed with bunk beds carved from dark wood, heavy blue woolen blankets folded over each mattress. Wooden cupboards are wedged between each bunk for storage, but the bunks are so close to one another that only one person can walk between them at a time.
Privacy will be nonexistent here.
All but one of the beds are taken—a top bunk near the front of the room. Sighing, I sling my satchel up onto it.
While a top bunk might give me a little extra room if someone attacks in the middle of the night, it’s not ideal. A lower bunk would be easier for escape.
“Hello!”
My muscles lock up, my heart pounding. I’m far too tired if I didn’t notice someone else in here with me. Mistakes like this will get me killed.
The woman is shorter than me, with wide, light-brown eyes framed by long lashes. Freckles are scattered across her fair skin like specks of paint, giving her a childlike look at odds with the half-bronze sigil on her brow. Long blond hair frames her face as she beams at me.
“Uh. Hi.”
Her smile inexplicably grows even brighter. “I’d thought this was all of us.” She gestures around the other beds with an elegant hand.
“I’m a late addition.”
Her nose wrinkles when she smiles. Gods, she’s cute as a button. I may be slow and out of shape, but everything about this woman screams perfect victim.
“My name is Maeva.”
“I’m Arvelle.”
“I bet you’re hungry, huh? I was just going to get something to eat if you want me to show you around?”
I nod. If my silence disconcerts her, she doesn’t show it. “These are all gladian barracks,” she says, leading me back into the corridor and waving her hand toward several other doors. “The healers are down the end here on the corner.”
We pass the spot where I bumped into the black armor-clad vampire, continuing down the corridor. “That’s the common room”—she points to a door on our left—“I haven’t spent much time there. And here’s the dining hall,” she says, unnecessarily.
The smaller tables nearest to us are set for two. Beyond those, four- and six-person tables are filled with gladians—many of whom are currently watching us.
Vampires sit at their own tables away from mundanes and sigilmarked. I half expect them to be drinking blood at the table, but clearly those needs are met … elsewhere.
“That’s … a lot of vampires,” I mutter, and Maeva nods.
“So far, most of them have kept to themselves. None of them had to compete in the Sands, and sigilmarked deaths outnumber vampires during the Sundering by at least eighty percent. They usually make it through, and if they don’t, the emperor considers them a disgrace and too weak to succeed as a novice anyway. ”
I follow Maeva to the right, where a long wooden table holds more food than I’ve seen in my lifetime.
My mouth waters. At least they’re feeding us. Of course, we’d be unlikely to put on a good show for the emperor if we were half-starved.
Maeva pretends not to notice the hush that falls over the room as she takes a bowl of stew.
Another bowl instantly appears in its place, and I startle.
Maeva gestures at a large, aether-filled stone hanging on the wall nearby.
“The bowls are enchanted with aether and transported directly from the kitchen. Try it.”
Someone snorts behind me. “Gods, they really are scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren’t they?”
The already hushed room goes silent.
So much for not drawing attention.
Taking a bowl, I turn, taking in scarred knuckles, a nose that’s been broken more than once, wide shoulders, and a chest so large the man’s head looks tiny in comparison.
His sigil is silver, but it doesn’t quite meet the middle of his eyebrows.
That likely makes the man close to Maeva’s power as a bronze half-crowned.
He may have a face that reminds me of a weasel, but his body says he’s been training for the Sundering all his life.
“What do you want?” I keep my words bored.
He leans closer, until I can smell the onions he must have just eaten. “I know who you are, voidborn.”
I’m not a voidborn—my gold sigil proves that. But the fact that my sigil has never grown is unheard of to say the least. There’s no true word for what I am. But I’ve gotten by just fine without power.
When I don’t respond, rage dances in the man’s eyes. Another woman approaches, and he spares her a glance. Her sigil is bronze, and she has the same solid build and blunt chin as the man beside her, but her eyes are filled with restrained violence.
The man leans even closer. My eyes burn from his onion breath, but to step back would look weak.
“You know, our cousin killed your little friend six years ago,” he whispers. “I heard you haven’t fought since.”
The crowd is a roar in my ears. My opponent gives me an opening, but I don’t take it, tripping her instead.
We both go down, but I see the relief in her eyes.
She doesn’t want to die either.
Kassia’s scream cuts through the cheers of the crowd.
And then I’m rolling, getting to my feet, sprinting for her.
Her eyes meet mine—
“Leave her alone, Baldric,” Maeva snaps, dragging me into the present. Cold sweat drips down my spine.
Baldric drops his gaze to her. “Fuck off, pixie.”
Several people gasp. My skin turns hot. Pixies have been almost entirely eradicated from Senthara. The emperor decided they were pests and began a mass extermination campaign decades ago.
They never harmed anyone. They were defenseless. And now they’re gone.
Maeva’s face flickers, and for the single flash of a moment, her expression is ice-cold. But seconds later, she turns away.
Baldric lets out a low laugh. But the woman next to him is still staring at me, her lip curled.
“You killed my cousin,” she says.
I can see her resemblance to Galia Volker.
“She chose to fight to the death instead of first blood,” I say.
What I don’t say is that after what Galia did to Kassia, that bitch had it coming.
My best friend’s last action was to kill the woman who had killed her.
All I did was remove Volker’s head from her body.
Baldric gives me a wide smile, revealing surprisingly straight, white teeth. Given the state of his nose, I would’ve expected a few gaps.
“We’re choosing to fight to the death too. Enjoy your last few days, because one of us will kill you in that arena.”
I suppress an eye roll. I’ve never understood why people give advance warning of their plans. As a bodyguard, I was mostly hired by people who’d been given very specific threats by very angry people. They knew something was coming for them, so they spent their money on protection.
The smart strategy would be to skip the threats and stay silent. To watch, to wait, and to strike when the moment is right.
But people are rarely smart.
Several gladians have moved closer, abandoning their meals to hear the drama.
Two choices unfurl before me. I either let Baldric push me around, ensuring none of the gladians here see me as a threat—and decreasing the chance I’m targeted outside of the arena.
Or I wrap defiance around me like a cloak and make it clear I’m not prey.
The more targets on my back, the less likely I am to survive the Sundering. And yet, paradoxically, I can shake off a few of those targets with a show of strength.
Maeva’s eyes are still dark and wounded. That, more than anything, helps me make my choice.
“I will meet you in the arena.” I smile wide, showing them my teeth. “And I’m looking forward to it.”
Something flickers in Baldric’s eyes before he turns and stomps away. The woman sneers at me and follows him. Holding my head high, I turn and scan the room.
Just like in the Thorn, predators wait to strike. And just like in the Thorn, my survival depends on me making it clear I’m not a victim.
It’s a delicate balance. I can’t be seen as enough of a challenge that taking me down would earn someone respect—although given my lack of training, that’s not going to be a problem—and I also can’t be seen as easy prey.
Most people have returned to their conversations. But down the other end of the room, at a table set for ten or more, a group of people are wearing the same strange black armor as the vampire who dropped my knife on the floor.
Despite their identical armor, I recognize that particular vampire immediately by the intent way he holds himself as he watches me.
His friends are watching me too. Several of them aren’t wearing their helmets, and only around half of them are vampires. From here, I can see a bronze sigil, a half-crowned silver, and two gold sigils.
It’s the only table in the dining hall where sigilmarked and vampires sit side by side.
“You’ll need to watch your back,” Maeva murmurs beside me. “I watched Baldric fight in the Sands. We’re from the same town. Nothing pleases him more than hurting people. And his sister, Hester, is just as bad.”
I shrug. Now that I know Baldric and Hester will be targeting me, I’ll be careful. But I’m more interested in the table at the end of the hall. “Who are they?” I ask Maeva.
She casts a wary glance at the intimidating group and gestures for me to follow her to one of the two-person tables. “They’re the imperius.”
I swallow, asking my next question even though I know the answer.
“And the huge one who seems to be continually seething?”
Her lips twitch at my description. “He’s the Primus.”
I close my eyes. Of course he is.
“He takes orders from the emperor himself,” Maeva continues.
Which makes the Primus the biggest threat to my plans.
“Don’t worry about the imperius.” Maeva is still speaking, her eyes holding both curiosity and concern.
“They may be terrifying, but it’s not as if they talk to any of us.
They choose one novice to join their ranks after each Sundering, but the rest of us are as insignificant to them as specks of dust.”
We sit, and I force the stew into my mouth, the huge chunks of meat filling my stomach.
But I can barely taste it.