CHAPTER SIX
The boy is back three days later. I warned Kassia that our place has been taken by someone else. She was curious, but she hated confrontation.
“We’ll find another place,” she’d soothed me, but her mouth had turned down.
I don’t know what makes me go back, but the boy is lounging in my oak when I arrive. I expect him to snarl at me for stealing his jacket, but his eyes lighten when they meet mine.
“You came back.”
“You’re in my tree again.”
He takes one hand away from the branch he’s leaning on and shakes his finger at me. “Perhaps it’s my tree now.”
He’s the first noble I’ve ever met. And he reinforces everything I’ve heard about them. They believe they’re entitled to anything they want. All they do is take.
Bitterness floods my mouth and I turn to go.
“You stole my jacket.”
I stiffen, slowly turning. “And?”
“Why?”
He can’t possibly be this stupid. Lifting my chin, I meet his eyes. “I sold it. The velvet paid to refill our aether stones. And the buttons fed us for two weeks.”
He looks aghast. “You have to worry about such things? You’re younger than I am.”
“How do you know I’m younger?”
“You’re small. Puny.”
I scowl at him. His gaze slides over my face. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
I have a feeling this is the closest this boy will ever come to an apology.
Casting a final look at him, so clean and beautiful and shiny, I turn to leave again.
“Wait.”
His voice is strong. Commanding. He’s only a few years older than me at most, and he’s already used to giving orders. But I don’t have to take them. Not here. Not in my territory.
“Please.”
That word does it. I turn once more, finding him lounging against the tree trunk, one leg stretched out along the lowest branch. He’s moved farther down, as if he’s planning to follow me.
Stupid boy. I know the Thorn inside and out. He’ll be lost before he takes ten steps.
“Stay with me. I’ll give you this.”
He plucks a button off his jacket and holds it out in his hand, the gold taunting me.
“Won’t your parents notice if you lose a button?” For the first time, I consider how much trouble he must have been in when he returned with no jacket.
Confusion slips across his face. “No.”
His home life is so different from mine. What else is different? I drift closer to the tree, stepping over acorns littered on the grassy hill around the trunk of the oak. Triumph flashes in the boy’s eyes and my skin prickles. My instincts roar at me.
Ignoring the little voice inside my head that begs me to turn and leave, I hold out my hand for him to drop the button down.
He gives me a haughty look. “I don’t think so. You’ll get it when we are finished here.”
“How do I know you’ll give it to me?”
He inclines his head. “Because I gave you my word.”
Such a statement is ridiculous in the Thorn. But for some reason, I believe him.
“Fine,” I say, climbing up. “Move out of the way.”
I should have listened to my instincts that day.
Should have left and never turned back.
But I didn’t.
THE FIRST DAY of anything is usually the worst.
I remind myself of this over and over as Maeva and I return to our bedroom in silence. Several other women follow us, murmuring in low voices among themselves. One of them is the woman who stared at the emperor’s son the same way my mother used to look at glister.
I can’t let myself focus on the vampire who just killed a man in front of me, or Baldric, who already wants me dead, or the emperor, who I have to somehow kill.
Instead, I force my mind to clear while I change into loose-fitting pants and a tunic, which I tuck into the pants.
Maeva’s still getting dressed when I walk back toward the dining hall.
Leon appears at my side, and I jump. He still moves far too quietly for such a large man.
If the lack of daylight disconcerts him, it’s not evident.
He shaved at some point yesterday, but it hasn’t done much to soften his unkempt look.
“Are you even allowed down here?”
“Guardants have access to most of the rooms beneath the arena,” he mutters.
And he must know his way around, since he was once a champion in this very arena—long before the Sands were compulsory. It’s the reason Kassia and I were so certain we would both live. We’d felt as if we had a secret weapon on our side.
I press myself against the stone wall, making way for a group of gladians who are heading toward the dining hall.
“Don’t bother eating,” Leon says, the expression on his face as grim as if he were the one about to march to his own death.
I know what that means. Leon’s planning to push me hard enough that any food in my stomach would come straight back up.
I fall into step next to him.
“You’ll be training at the same time as the other gladians,” he says, “which means they’ll be watching you. They’ll be sniffing out any signs of weakness that they can use against you in the arena. Everything you do in this place matters.”
My stomach churns. If Bran had come to me earlier with his little deal, I might’ve had longer to train before I had to display those weaknesses in public.
“What do you know of the rules of the arena?” Leon asks.
“Not much. I only know the rules of the Sands.” I keep my voice as empty and neutral as his own.
He keeps his gaze pointedly turned from me as we make our way toward the training hall. “There are three main rules during active fighting. Gladians can’t exit the arena until someone either dies or throws down their weapons—bowing to the emperor and asking for his mercy.
“Gladians also can’t enter anyone else’s fight without automatically joining them and risking something worse—the emperor doesn’t like his entertainment interrupted. And even if you win, your survival depends on the emperor’s mood—and his thumb. If he flips that thumb down, you’ll be executed.”
My mouth turns watery, and Leon finally glances at me. “He’s unlikely to waste his gladians in such a way. He has the criminals sentenced to the arena for that. He would much prefer to watch his gladians fight to the death among themselves.”
That’s reassuring. “Is every fight to the death?” It wasn’t in the Sands, but the Sundering is far deadlier.
Leon shakes his head. “Some gladians agree among themselves to go to first blood. However, the emperor casts a fond eye over those who give the crowd a good show. And occasionally, that first blood will be a wound too great for the healers to fix in time.” We enter the hall, and he turns to look at me, his eyes steely.
“And of course, there are those who want to impress the crowd—and their sponsors—with their kill count. This place is filled with people who are out for themselves. People from families with ancient grudges who use their children to settle them when they enter the arena. People who have scores to settle from the Sands.”
My mind immediately pictures Hester and Baldric, but Leon is still speaking.
“Never assume your opponent is just aiming for first blood. You know exactly what happens when—”
His voice cuts off, and suddenly all I can see is Kassia, her eyes wide with the realization that she’s about to die.
Silence gnaws at the air between us. I open my mouth, but Leon is already walking away, gesturing for me to follow him. We walk past thick ropes hanging from the ceiling, past the mats laid out for wrestling, and past the targets for archery.
Some of the gladians have already broken into groups, while others are training solo or with their guardants. Maeva is standing with her own guardant, her expression serious as she nods at whatever the man is saying.
Already, the musty scent of sweat hangs in the air, mixing with the scent of oiled leather.
I catch the coppery tang of blood and slice my eyes toward a vampire training on one of the ropes.
Every so often, his eyes flare, and he bares his fangs, head craned as he looks toward the source of the bleeding. But he keeps moving.
I suppose even vampires don’t survive within the ludus without exceptional self-control.
Several gazes turn my way, and I ignore them, focusing on the wall at our right … and the gold plaques lining the wall, names of past victories carved into the gold.
My stomach tumbles.
Since Lysoria is the empire’s capital, residents of our city are fortunate enough to fight in the Sands in the emperor’s own arena.
Arvelle Dacien.
My own name screams at me, the plaque at eye level, as if placed exactly here to taunt me.
My palms are suddenly slick with sweat.
I can’t do this.
“Arvelle.” Leon’s gaze sweeps past me to the plaque, and he swallows, his eyes turning blank. “We’re this way,” he says and turns without another word, forcing me to trot after him or be left behind.
Praesidium guards are posted every few feet along the walls in the training hall. All of them wear black body armor made from aetherweave—a relatively new invention. Six years ago, the material was all Leon would talk about. Kassia had teased him mercilessly about his obsession.
The guards’ chest pieces are embossed with the emperor’s mark—the two interlocked triangles highlighted with glowing silver accents.
Deep purple cloaks are fastened at their shoulders with ornate silver clasps, and even their gauntlets and greaves have been crafted from aetherweave and reinforced steel.
All of the guards are armed with finely crafted swords, daggers sheathed at their sides, and likely several other weapons hidden on their person. And all of them are watching the gladians carefully, as if preparing for one of us to suddenly attack.
Leon has claimed a corner to the right, at the far end of the hall. Wooden sparring swords are waiting in a pile, along with several shields. I’ve never fought with a shield before. They weren’t allowed in the Sands.
Leon nods toward the closest shield. “Pick it up.”
The shield is large and rectangular, curved at the edges to offer increased protection. It’s huge, reinforced with bronze, and so heavy it takes the use of both my arms to lift it.