CHAPTER EIGHT #3
As if the emperor wouldn’t immediately kill anyone who attempted such a thing.
A lethal, icy rage burns through my veins. If not for this man, I would never have fought in the Sands.
I would be a healer. My brother’s lungs wouldn’t have been damaged.
Kassia would still be breathing.
My aunt wouldn’t have died.
My mother might never have turned to glister.
Oh, the life I could have had.
Power lashes out, burning across my skin. I drop to my knees, conscious of everyone else in the room doing the same, all our heads bowed. I can’t help but risk a single glance as the emperor casts a satisfied look around the room.
The Primus stands on his right, while one of the other imperiums is positioned at his left, several novices following behind them. A woman strolls barefooted behind the guards, her long, black silk gown trailing behind her. Her eyes are blurred, as if she’s heavily drugged.
“Rise,” the emperor says congenially, tucking away his power. If not for his entrance, I could have walked past him in the street without ever understanding what he was.
A chill slides down my spine. Low-level sigilmarked and mundanes rely on our instincts to know when we’re in danger. For vampires to be capable of such deception …
It’s just one more example of their predatory nature.
“Hands clasped behind your back,” someone hisses from farther down the line.
The emperor wanders down our row, the Primus following closely in his footsteps. Most of the gladians avoid looking at him, as if wary of drawing his attention.
“Welcome, honored guests,” the emperor says. “And welcome to my gladians.” He says the word possessively, his gaze lingering on Maximus’s bulging biceps before shifting to the scar along Garet’s cheek. “Perhaps not my greatest achievement, but definitely my most entertaining.”
A few of the sigilmarked chuckle. The vampires ignore the sigilmarked, and I catch a glimpse of Bran standing next to a vampire who stares at the emperor with barely disguised loathing. The vampire leans over to murmur something to Bran, and Bran gives him a sharp nod.
Interesting. Before Bran arrived with his assassination plot, I’d never considered that vampires might despise the emperor. Yet here’s another one who clearly wants him dead. Bran isn’t alone in his loathing.
Compared to mundanes, and even most sigilmarked, vampires live blessed lives. What exactly do they have to complain about?
“There are many reasons this empire is the success that it is. I feel I can claim a large part of that success.” The emperor’s smile is sharp, and his gaze sweeps the room.
“But our strength lies not just in the upper echelons of this empire, but in the strength of each of the men and women who fight at our borders, expanding our reach and bringing previously reluctant kingdoms under my flag.
“It lies in the imperius, protecting me from our enemies’ diabolical plots and schemes.
And of course, it lies in my gladians, who fight for the chance to protect this empire, and, while fighting, provide our people with a spectacle that reinforces our strength.
So tonight,” the emperor continues, “I invite you to speak with my gladians. Tomorrow, you will see their strengths and weaknesses, so you can judge accordingly. Fortunes have been made and lost in my arena.” The emperor’s eyes twinkle.
“May Umbros bless you all with a calm mind.”
Vallius Corvus steps back, clearly finished. And the sigilmarked drift closer, beginning discussions with eager gladians. Baldric lunges forward, giving Sigilkeeper Pervu a toothy smile.
But I’m more interested in the vampires gathered together at the edge of the room.
I’ve never seen so many predators in one place before.
A few of them feel ancient and ageless, while others burn with power.
Kaeso bumps his shoulder against mine. “Us vampires aren’t all bad.
Sure, if you had children with us, they’d be ruthlessly murdered, but the blood play might be worth it. ”
He runs his gaze over me. I’m leaning forward slightly, hands fisted, teeth clenched. Displaying any hint of fear in this place is the height of stupidity, and Kaeso has just given me a warning wrapped within a joke.
I clear my throat, forcing my expression into blank neutrality. “Thank you.”
Kaeso just gives me a wide grin and turns away to talk to Garet. But his grin is pasted on, his wide shoulders tense. Is he speaking from firsthand experience? He doesn’t feel old enough to have children, but he could have fallen in love with a sigilmarked, been forced to give them up.
Vampires often take sigilmarked lovers. Some of them even marry. But it’s forbidden for them to have children with us. It still happens, but those who break the law are forced to go into hiding for the rest of their lives—with their illegal children.
Those born from vampire and sigilmarked blood tend to have unpredictable powers. And the emperor doesn’t like unpredictability.
Maeva gives me a nod as she approaches. She’s wearing a long, silky tunic the same bronze color as her sigil. A silver belt encircles her waist, and she wears half her blond hair up, the rest of it curling down her back.
“We should probably attempt to talk to some of the sponsors before they choose others.”
“I already have a sponsor.”
Her eyes flash with surprise. “Who?”
I’m saved from replying when Bran strolls toward us. “Arvelle Dacien. And how is training going?”
“Fine, thank you.” My reply is stilted. More than anything, I want to punch Bran in the throat.
Maeva excuses herself to speak to a half-crowned silver.
One side of Bran’s mouth curves, and he leans closer. He smells like incense and old blood. “This event would usually be held at the imperial palace. The fact that it is here means the emperor is becoming even more paranoid than usual.”
“Is it paranoia if people really are trying to kill you?” I muse.
Bran smiles. His eyes meet mine. Lightning fast, he takes my hand and squeezes. My tender skin howls, pain exploding up my forearm, and I let out a choked gasp.
“How am I to believe you’ll achieve my goals when you can’t even make it through training without needing to visit the healers?” he mutters.
I swallow, my gaze darting behind his shoulder. But Bran has that placid smile stamped on his face, my hand held in his as if we’ve just met. He leans close, as if merely indulging in pleasant conversation. As if he’s just another potential sponsor introducing himself to a gladian.
But the Primus is watching closely. His armor seems to suck in the light as he steps away from his position by the door. Bran notices where my attention has turned and drops my hand.
“Bran,” the Primus says in his husky voice.
Bran’s smile widens. “Primus.”
People are beginning to pay attention, and I attempt to melt back into the crowd.
Maeva gives me a wide-eyed look and I shrug. Her gaze widens at something behind me, her head lowering.
The room goes silent.
Rorrik appears, two novice guards walking in step behind him.
Bran elbows me. “Bow.”
I lower my head. But I keep my eyes on Rorrik, the same way I’d keep my eyes on a venomous snake.
I’d hoped the emperor’s son would have already moved on from our little interaction, but his gaze immediately finds mine. And I see my death in his eyes.
“You’re late.” The emperor’s voice carries across the room. Rorrik waves a hand and everyone straightens. I slowly melt through the other gladians, moving back toward the wall, but I can still feel his attention on my every movement.
“It couldn’t be helped.” Rorrik’s voice is a low croon. But that same dark thread winds through it—the vicious promise of a painful end.
Father and son stare at each other. Finally, the emperor nods, gesturing for one of the gold-crowned to approach Rorrik.
My knees quake, my lungs tightening.
“Arvelle? Are you …?” Maeva appears at my side, her brow creased with concern.
“I’m fine. Just … just wondering where the Vampire Council is.”
She gives me a faint smile. “They don’t concern themselves with gladians.
At least not in public. The vampires prefer to do their dealings in secret.
This is also a way for the emperor to show his appreciation of the Syndicate and a chance to counter any accusations of favoritism toward the vampires. ”
I stare at her. “You seem to know a lot about high-level politics.”
Maeva turns her attention to the Sigilmarked Syndicate once more, her gaze lingering on the stern-faced gold-crowned speaking with the emperor.
“I guess I come by it naturally. That blond gold-crowned with the scar along his cheek is my father. Sigilkeeper Alaric Virnia.”
And suddenly, Maeva has my full attention.
It’s almost unheard of for those related to the Sigilmarked Syndicate to join the Sundering. In fact, most of them are able to petition the emperor and avoid fighting in the Sands. A sigilkeeper has no need to sacrifice a child to the republic in order to receive the emperor’s favor.
Maeva gives me an awkward smile. “He wasn’t pleased with having a bronze sigilmarked for a daughter. Both he and my mother are gold-crowned, as are their parents. As their firstborn, I should have been too. I’m a … disappointment to him.”
Rorrik is slowly moving toward us, stopping to listen briefly to sigilmarked and vampires as they approach him. I pull Maeva closer to the wall, angling us toward the doors.
“I don’t understand,” I say, keeping one eye on the vampire. “You’re still powerful. And your father is a member of the Syndicate. You could have been a magistrate. Or at the very least, taken a position as an emissary.”
Since vampires are forced to stay out of the sun during the day, most of them rely on sigilmarked emissaries to handle the kinds of tasks that require daytime interaction, like negotiating trade deals, resolving local disputes, and attending court sessions.