CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Iswim down, down, down into the murky depths.
Malevolent gazes burn into me from all directions. Here, I’m nothing but prey.
Maybe I have a death wish after all. Now that I’m faced with the reality of this decision, I have to fight the urge to turn around and swim toward the safety of the platform.
There.
The woman is sinking like a stone. She’s still alive, her eyes open, dazed. But somehow, she must know I’m not here to kill her, because she reaches her hand out for mine. My hand slides into hers and I kick, pulling her higher.
A tug on my arm. She’s suddenly shaking her head, eyes wide and horrified.
Dread slices through me like a blade and I begin to turn, releasing her hand.
The kelpie slams into me, rolling us through the water.
I roll with it, and continue rolling, until I’m sitting astride its back.
It bucks, rears, attempting to throw me off.
But my hands find the slippery seaweed of its mane and I clutch it with all my strength, my legs floating behind me as I pull myself even closer.
Holding on with my left hand, I use my right to fumble for the dagger in my boot, tightening my grip on the hilt until my hand aches. If I don’t get us out of the water soon, the woman won’t need to worry about the bolt in her chest.
The kelpie bucks, violently throwing its head. I hold on relentlessly, my veins flooding with cold rage. I’m not dying down here. And neither is the woman behind me.
I catch a single glimpse of her as she attempts to kick weakly for the surface, her blood darkening the water like a pool of ink.
The kelpie tosses its head once more, but this time I’m ready.
My lungs ache, begging me for air, but I kick furiously.
Reaching out with one hand, I grab the silver bridle, and a furious red eye glares back at me.
But the kelpie goes completely still for one precious moment. As if it knows what I’m planning next.
The silver bridle is connected with several dark pieces of leather. I slice through the browband. The cheek piece. The throatlatch.
The kelpie tosses its head, but it’s no longer attempting to kill me. No, it’s attempting to shake the bridle off. One more slice that comes precariously close to the kelpie’s nose, and it’s free, tossing its head. I release the bridle, turning to swim toward the woman still floating nearby.
Another kelpie approaches, galloping through the water toward us, and my stomach sinks. The kelpie I freed is suddenly in front of me, kicking out at the attacking kelpie with its front legs.
My lungs burn like fire. The woman turns toward me and I latch onto her arm, both of us kicking furiously. The kelpie appears once more, galloping through the water until it’s beneath us.
And then it begins lifting up.
I widen my legs until I’m sitting on the kelpie’s back. The woman struggles weakly. I don’t blame her. This is crazy. Tiny black spots are darkening the edges of my vision, the need to inhale almost impossible to ignore.
The kelpie beneath us rears, throwing hooves at another approaching dark shadow. Both of us scramble for its mane, holding tight. And then we’re practically flying upward, the water nothing but a blur. We break the surface of the water and I let out a sob, sucking in precious, life-giving air.
Silence. So much silence.
A chill ripples through me.
Who else is dead? Are we the last ones left?
Frantically, I scan the arena, my hands clutching at the kelpie’s mane. But everyone is looking at us.
Understanding slams into me.
They’re seeing a kelpie, red-eyed and glaring—a gladian on its back.
They’re seeing a criminal slumped in front of a gladian, when she should be dead in the water.
Uh-oh.
Someone lets out a wild laugh, and then the crowd is screaming, clapping, roaring. I catch a woman near the first row of seats wiping tears from her eyes. But Vallius Corvus is stone-faced.
An invisible weight pushes on the back of my head, forcing me to bow. I lower my head, glancing up in time to catch the emperor’s tight smile.
The pressure releases and the kelpie sidles up to the platform. I roll us both onto the wooden boards and the kelpie disappears, sliding smoothly back beneath the water.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Hester snaps.
I ignore her. Leaving the arrow in the woman’s chest—to pull it out would only hasten her death—I drag her to the side of the platform, out of the way.
She’s unconscious, but she’s still breathing. Relief sweeps through me and I stumble to my feet.
I gave her a chance. Whether she lives or dies now is up to her.
“We’re supposed to kill them, you idiot.” Brenin storms toward the woman, and I pick up the closest crossbow.
“Do it and die.”
He gapes at me. “We’re on the same side.”
“You heard her,” Maeva says. “Touch her and I’ll slit your throat.”
Brenin’s mouth hangs open. So does mine. Meanwhile, Maeva moves closer to the woman, more arrows thunking into her shield.
“Look at her, Brenin,” I demand.
He does, but his gaze quickly flickers away.
“She’s probably going to die anyway,” I mutter. “But she won’t die in that water.”
Shaking his head, he stomps away. But not without a last, lingering glance toward the unconscious woman at our feet, and the arrow jutting from her chest.
Maeva gives me a wide-eyed look. But her eyes are dark with pity.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. With one impulsive act, I’ve managed to infuriate the other gladians—again—and I’ve drawn more of the wrong kind of attention from the emperor.
Maeva crouches low, lifting her shield. But the arrows are slowing now. I squint at our boat. “Numbers?”
“Titus, Sisenna, Placus, and Tolva are dead,” she says.
My chest tightens. “What happened to Tolva?”
Maeva’s eyes fire. “Garet was supposed to be covering that side of the boat. He hid, pulling his shield over himself when they were under heavy fire. She took an arrow to the heart.”
Fury gives me a fresh hit of energy, and I reach for a crossbow, aiming at the other boat. Both sides have suffered heavy losses, although theirs seem heavier. Counting the unconscious woman on our platform, there are only around six of them left.
Beneath us, a kelpie slams into the platform, jostling it beneath our feet. I bend my knees, struggling to stay balanced. Is this what will happen next? Will the emperor force us to fight more trapped maginari?
But the crowd is going quiet, and I turn to face the emperor. Here, he is our god.
“Congratulations, survivors,” he says, his voice booming through every inch of the arena.
“Each of you stands here today not just as a testament to your own strength, but as a beacon of hope and power for our great republic. The trials you have endured, the blood you have shed, and the courage you have shown will fortify the very foundations of our empire.”
His cold gaze lands on me and I tense, but he’s already turning away, strolling back toward the priestess. Cheers break out, the gladians who survived whooping and slapping each other on the back.
Someone grabs my shoulders, and I find Maeva beaming at me. She throws her arms around me and lets out a sound that’s suspiciously close to a squeal.
“We’ve made it, Arvelle! We’re officially novices!” When she pulls back, her eyes are wet, and she lets out a laugh as Brenin slings an arm around each of our shoulders. Clearly, our little spat is all forgiven.
I close my eyes, the relief dizzying. I’ve survived the Sundering. Somehow, I managed to stay alive through all three challenges. Thanks to our bond, Bran has to make sure Evren is healed now. He’ll finally be healthy. He’ll finally have a life.
It’s finally over. I’m leaving this place.
Just as soon as I kill Vallius Corvus.
THE EMPEROR’S BALLROOM is a love letter to Umbros.
Black marble reflects thousands of aether lamps—mounted on golden sconces along the walls and floating high above our heads.
Murals of Umbros adorn the walls, showcasing the vampires’ god in various scenes, while incense lingers in the air, mingling with the sickly sweet scent of black roses imported from Bryvios.
Musicians, stationed at the front of the room, play a lively tune at odds with the foreboding decor.
I shift out of the way as a group of mundanes walk past, dressed in black and carrying heavy platters of food.
Several also carry crystal goblets filled with thick red liquid.
From the twin marks on a couple of the mundanes’ necks, they’ve already been used as a snack tonight.
“Interesting strategy today.” Bran’s voice is a shock of cold water down my back.
Since I can’t exactly defend my actions, I stay silent. Unsurprisingly, Bran takes a step closer.
“Do you know what will happen next? You—and all the other gladians who managed to stay alive—will be trained here as novices. You’ll be presented to Senthara, and either the emperor or his sons will choose you for their service until the end of the next Sundering.
Who do you think will choose you, Arvelle?
” He taps one finger against his chin mockingly.
“Perhaps you’ll be the novice who stands at the emperor’s side when he decides which gladians live or die?
Hmm? Or maybe you’ll be one of the novices who follows Rorrik everywhere he goes.
I’m sure a few months of that will have you begging to be put out of your misery. ”
I know what he’s doing. “I won’t be here.”
“No,” he hisses. “You won’t. Because you will have completed our deal. You’ll be in the north. Not just because you want to see your brothers alive, but because such a position in this empire—which you hate so much—would slowly kill you. Wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Bran places one hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “The emperor has done what I need him to do. You will strike at the first opportunity.”
“Is my brother healed?”
Bran nods. “It’s happening as we speak. This little bond has been good for you, gladian. Thanks to me, your life has much improved.”
“I need proof.”