CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thanks to my two previous wins, I had enough money for Leon to buy me lighter, breathable armor. We’ve only used it in training, but my heavier armor would make me sink like a stone in water, so I strap on the magically altered breastplate and make my way toward the meeting point.
After our two challenges, only twenty-four of us gladians are left.
For the third challenge, we’ve been divided into two groups.
I’m in the first group, which will walk into the arena to meet whatever horror the emperor has arranged for us while the others are forced to listen until it’s their turn.
Maeva is waiting outside the barracks, and she scowls at the sight of my armor. “I’m in the first group with you. And you’re the second person I’ve seen wearing that. Clearly you know something I don’t.”
“I only heard about it this morning,” I whisper. “Do you know how to swim?”
She heaves a sigh. “I’m passable. But I wouldn’t say it’s one of my best skills.”
“Go change. I’ll wait.”
With a sharp nod, Maeva hurries away.
Booted footsteps sound, and Neris’s eyes meet mine. Her expression is tight, and my stomach clenches.
“Tiernon—”
A hint of warmth enters her eyes. “The Primus is fine. I know you’re about to complete your third challenge, but there’s another body. A gladian.” She lowers her voice. “We’re keeping it quiet until after the challenge, but I’d like you to …”
I swallow. “To identify them.”
“Yes. It won’t take long.”
I follow her to the imperius quarters, where the body is splayed, gaping open. His heart is … missing.
Just like in the Thorn. My mind races, but as far as I know, I’m the only gladian from Fog’s Edge. Is this the same killer? Or just the same style?
“It’s Gradon,” I say, my voice thick.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Neris shakes her head, eyes filled with frustration. I crouch, attempting to block out the grimace frozen on Gradon’s face.
His neck is marked with a strange sigil. I’ve seen it somewhere before, but for the life of me, I can’t remember when. From the blood smeared over his skin, the killer must have wiped Gradon’s neck before placing the mark above his collarbone.
“This mark …”
Neris’s jaw firms.
“You know what it is.” Understanding drifts through me. “You have been investigating.”
“Of course we have. We kept it quiet because we didn’t want to spook the killer, but whoever it is, they’re smart. They know we’re looking. Leaving this body here is a taunt.”
I gaze down at Gradon’s body. He was a good man who loved to brag about his beautiful wife—the wife he had planned to visit on our next free day.
“You better get back,” Neris says. “Good luck.”
Maeva is waiting for me outside the gladian barracks by the time I return. Her long hair is braided, and she’s strapped on a few extra knives.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Hester and Baldric are also in our group.” She wrinkles her pert nose. “And Sisenna.”
“Great.”
She gives me a questioning look. But perhaps it’s better for her to know now, so it’s less of a shock directly before the challenge.
“Maeva … Gradon is dead.”
The color drains from her face. “Another one.”
“Yes. It hasn’t been announced yet. You were friendly with Gradon. Do you know if he had any problems with anyone?”
“No.” Her eyes glisten. “He was just a man who wanted to earn enough to start a family with his wife. I’ll ask around. See if anyone knows anything.”
We’re silent as we meet the others and walk down the long corridor between the ludus and the arena. Several other gladians are also wearing their lightest armor—including Hester and Baldric. Clearly Bran isn’t the only sponsor willing to disobey the emperor and warn his gladian.
Garet and Kaeso trail behind us, while Titus lurks in the background. He keeps to himself, but I haven’t forgotten how much he seemed to truly enjoy killing Leira.
Our guardants are waiting beneath the arena, and I find Leon leaning against a wall next to Albion and another guardant I haven’t met.
“Wait here,” the enforcer says. “Leave your swords with your guardants. You’ll get them back later.”
“Who is going out first?” Hester demands.
The enforcer gives us a taunting smile. “You’re all going out together.”
“Together?” Maeva whispers.
“It will be a bloodbath.” My mind races.
Leon immediately gestures for me to follow him a few feet from the others.
“Good choice with the armor.”
I lean close, lowering my voice. “Do you know what this challenge is?”
“No. All I know is that it involves water. Remember, this is the last one. You do this, and Evren is healed.”
My breath shudders from my lungs. The thought of being so close to freedom … it’s heady. But the thought of so many of us entering the arena at the same time …
“Take out Baldric and Hester first,” Leon says. “They’ll be aiming for you.”
“Sisenna will retaliate.”
“You can take her.”
He’s right. She may be able to fight with a scutum, but I made sure to watch her train, and I’m just a hair faster. And if water is involved, a heavy scutum will be useless. Still, I’m not as fast with my knives as I am with my sword. Unstrapping my sheath, I hand it to Leon.
“Do you think Brenin will ally with me and Maeva?”
“I believe so.” Leon surveys the other gladians. “He hates Baldric. So does that vampire you’re friendly with.”
“Kaeso,” I murmur.
He gives me a sharp nod. “Garet will follow Kaeso’s lead, but Placus could go either way.”
“Line up,” an enforcer calls. Several others join him, and within a few minutes, all of us are wearing suppression cuffs.
Brenin nods at us, and the light from the aether lamp dances across his silver sigil. “Ready?”
“As ready as we can be,” Maeva mutters.
I nod back. Brenin keeps to himself, but I’ve seen him train, and he’s lethal with a crossbow.
“I hate this,” Maeva mutters.
“Guardants, it’s time to go,” the enforcer booms. “Gladians, into the holding room.”
Leon gives me one last grave look and turns, striding away.
We file inside. The cold stone walls, dirt floor, and marble seats remind me of sitting here before my last challenge. Before I was forced to kill Antigrus.
Maeva scans the room, her gaze lingering on the floor in one corner. “We just have to make it through today, attend the ball, and we will formally be Praesidium novices.”
“What ball?”
She frowns at me. “The Sundering Ball. It’s a celebration for those of us who made it through. Please tell me you brought a gown with you.”
I shake my head. I’ve heard of the presentation—when the emperor divides the new novices between himself, Rorrik, and Tiernon—but Leon didn’t tell me anything about a ball and it’s last on my list of priorities.
“Did Albion give you any advice?” I ask.
“He said to avoid Titus.”
I scowl at her and her mouth twitches. “Yes, I gave him the same look. You’d have to be an idiot to go after Titus. But Albion said Titus will target us if he can. He likes hurting women. So we have to hope one of the others takes him out.”
Yes, he’d enjoyed killing Leira. My chest wrenches, and I force myself to focus.
“Leon?” Maeva asks, casting a wary look toward the others.
Lowering my voice to a whisper, I fill her in on what he said.
Baldric turns from the other side of the room. He can’t have heard us, but he licks his lips in a lewd gesture. “I can’t wait to watch you choke on your own blood, voidborn,” he calls.
My vision speckles and I get to my feet, attempting to ignore the roar of the crowd above us.
But it’s not just the roar of the crowd. The thundering sound above our heads is …
“Water,” Placus says, his eyes wide and terrified.
It begins trickling through a crack in the stone ceiling, and my palms turn slick. If the ceiling collapses under the weight of that water, we’re all dead.
I’m saved from imagining my watery demise when the enforcer steps into the room. “It’s time,” he says.
The sound is louder in the corridor, and even Hester looks nervous as she elbows her way to the front of the line.
Instead of the usual arena entrance, or one of the elevators, we’re led up a set of stairs, to the first level of the stands. The crowd screams, sigilmarked and vampires and mundanes all roaring, faces tight with excitement.
When Brenin steps aside, I see why.
A galley waits for us at the entrance to the arena, floating in the water. It’s a wooden, flat-bottomed representation of a Sarlithian warship, painted in the emperor’s colors; the railing is gilded, the sails a dark purple.
Three banks of oars. Six of us will need to row while the others steer and fight.
On the other side of the arena, another galley floats, painted in Torvellen colors.
Naval games.
Dread burrows into my gut and stays there.
Queen Freya of Torvellen is one of the emperor’s most hated enemies.
Even I’ve heard of the battle we’re supposed to replicate.
It resulted in the emperor taking a large swath of Torvellen territory, but not before they killed enough of his army to humiliate him.
The world grinds to a halt. We’re not fighting each other. Instead, we’re going to be forced to work together.
“In,” the enforcer orders, his eyes lit with excitement.
There’s no time to process this new information. No time to strategize.
We file into the boat. A pile of crossbows are waiting for us on the deck, and I swipe one, slinging a quiver of bolts over my shoulder.
Most residents of the Thorn can’t swim. Swimming is a privilege for those with time on their hands and access to clean water.
And yet, it was the emperor’s own Primus who taught me not to fear water, insisting I learn how to kick and stroke and breathe.
He was the one who led me to a swimming hole every day each summer, stoking my competitive instinct with races and games.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Someone shoves me from behind and I slide onto the nearest bench, storing my crossbow at my feet and wrapping my hands around one of the oars. Maeva slips in behind me, a crossbow in her own hand.