CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
His lips whiten. “You dare question my honor?”
“You’re working with rebels to dethrone the emperor you swore fealty to. But please, tell me more about your honor.”
Bran doesn’t deny my accusation. He simply reaches beneath his shirt and pulls a pendant free. The long, lavender-colored rock releases a faint glow, and I suck in a breath.
A truthstone.
Truthstones are incredibly rare—only three were found within the last century. Given the kind of people Bran associates with, I suppose it’s not surprising he’s forced to continually prove his word.
If I’d known about the truthstone, I would have demanded he use it when we were bargaining.
“Your brother is currently being healed. By this time a week from now, he will no longer suffer the ill effects of his poor choices that day so long ago.”
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. But the stone doesn’t glow.
“Now, lie,” I say hoarsely.
Bran narrows his eyes. “This place is safe for you.”
The stone turns a deep purple, pulsing with the aether trapped within it.
My knees turn weak. Evren truly is healed. All of it was worth it for this.
“Arvelle.”
Bran melts away as Maeva appears, a grin on her face. Dressed in white, with her fluffy eyelashes darkened, her long blond hair soft and shiny, she looks fresh, innocent, and entirely incapable of threatening to slit someone’s throat.
“I thought you didn’t have anything to wear?” she asks.
I shrug. “I was mistaken.”
She frowns at that, and I can’t blame her.
The gown I found lying on my bed isn’t forgettable in the least. The silk is a deep, mesmerizing green so dark it’s almost black, the fabric flowing gracefully from two silver pins at my shoulders before cinching at the waist. Silver cuffs encircle the sleeves, but it’s the neckline that truly sets the gown apart, tiny, polished gemstones scattered across the fabric like stars.
I know who I have to thank for it. And when I do, I’ll try not to choke on the words.
“Everyone’s talking about what you did today,” Maeva murmurs, taking a cup of wine.
I don’t need to ask her what she’s referring to. “I know. It was stupid. Thank you for having my back.”
She waves that away. “It wasn’t stupid. I think it was brave. The emperor wants you dead, though. But the people …”
I frown at her, my skin prickling. “The people?”
“They’re calling you Kelindra’s daughter.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “It’s why the emperor couldn’t strike out at you after the challenge.”
Fuck. I close my eyes, blocking the world out for a single moment. Kelindra is known as the matron of Unity and Birth. But that’s not all she’s known as. No, she’s also the goddess of forgiveness, mercy, leniency … and redemption.
The thought of someone as bitter and cynical as I am being given such a title couldn’t be more ironic. It also couldn’t be more dangerous.
“Maeva,” Neris calls.
A bright smile explodes across Maeva’s face, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Nodding, I take a cup of wine for myself—checking three times to make sure it really is wine—and wander to the edge of the room.
Despite my strange new nickname, my chest feels light, and for the first time since I arrived in this place, I feel the tiniest spark of hope.
My instinct is to stamp out that spark. And yet …
I did it. I survived. Not only did I survive, but I won.
I turned one of the worst things that ever happened to me into a chance for a new future.
Evren is healed. He’ll have a life now. The odds were against me, and I get a cut of those odds, which means enough money for a new life with my brothers.
We can have the house on the coast. We can have the education. And we can have the safety.
Strangely, some part of me will miss this place. Not the death, of course. But I’ll miss the routine of training, the privilege of not needing to worry about where my next meal is coming from. I’ll miss Maeva, too, and maybe a few of the other gladians.
I won’t allow myself to miss Tiernon.
Not again. I refuse.
But my brothers are waiting for me. And I can’t see them until I complete the last part of my bargain.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Hmm?”
Albion nods at the mural. I’ve been staring blankly at it, deep in my own thoughts.
“I paint a little,” he admits, the tips of his ears turning red. “After … after my son died, it was my only escape. Whoever painted this is incredibly talented.”
His voice is saturated in grief, and my gut twists. But his gaze is distant, his shoulders tense in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t want to talk about his loss.
Albion has so much in common with Leon. It’s not surprising they’ve become so close, drinking tea in each other’s rooms and escaping the ludus to visit the baths every few days.
I study the mural. Three gods stand side by side.
It’s clear which one is Umbros, since whoever painted the mural has made him larger than the others.
On his left, Anoxian stands, an axe in his hand—the symbol of the battle god.
On his right, the goddess Staleia holds an open book—symbolizing wisdom, communication, knowledge, and enlightenment.
I peer closer. It’s not just three gods gathered at all.
Within the mural, an intricately painted key and lock represents Nilos—god of secrets. The fire burning at Anoxian’s feet is for Ignicarus, while the bow and arrow slung over Anoxian’s shoulder is a nod to Leon’s goddess Thalunia. Ghaleros is represented by the compass pinned to Staleia’s robes.
Evren would love to see this. He’s fascinated by the history of the gods. I crane my head to see the remainder of the mural, but a crowd of vampires has gathered to my right, blocking my view.
Albion wanders away, and I meet the eyes of the petite, dark-haired woman winding through the crowd toward me. Her gown is plain, a cool linen in place of silk, and I catch several sneers as she walks closer to me. If she notices them, she ignores them, her gaze on mine.
The long sleeves of her gown cover most of her arms, but the scars peeking out above her wrists have lightened significantly, no longer red and inflamed. Someone has allowed her to see a sigilmarked healer.
The light dances over her chest, revealing smooth skin right below her clavicle.
She made it. I’d left her breathing on the platform in the middle of the arena, but hadn’t been sure the healers would get to her in time.
“You saved my life,” the woman says. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” It seems stupid to admit I saw something in her. Something that reminded me of Kassia. Her cool, calm defiance had somehow made it impossible for me to not save her.
“Well, thank you.” The words are ground out, and her lack of graciousness makes me grin. This part of her reminds me of … me.
At my grin, her mouth trembles, lips curving in the hint of a smile. “I’m Calena.”
“I’m Arvelle. Where are you from?”
“Dierna.”
I wince. “A small town on the border with Zevaris.”
She nods. “I couldn’t leave my mother. We were captured when our people lost too much ground.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I suppose I’ll see you in training.”
I pause. “What do you mean?”
“Even enemies of the empire are given the chance to win their freedom. I survived long enough to join the other novices this year.”
“Congratulations,” I mutter, my voice empty. Our eyes meet and hold. With a nod, she turns, walking away.
Across the room, I catch Bran studying Calena, a tiny smile on his face. I give him a hard stare, and the vampire merely raises his cup in a mock toast.
“Arvelle.”
Leon’s voice is low, but his cheeks are flushed. He’s holding a cup of wine in his hand—clearly not his first.
He was nowhere to be seen after the third challenge. And honestly, I can’t blame him. His life is on the line too. If the emperor decides I’m too much of an annoyance to be allowed to live, Leon could easily be killed right next to me.
“Did you talk to your brothers?” he asks.
“Not yet. But Ev … Ev …” A lump forms in my throat and Leon smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile for six years.
“He’s being healed.”
I nod, and Leon turns to face the mural, allowing me a moment to pull myself together.
“I know you didn’t want to come here,” I say, when I can finally speak. “But … I couldn’t have done this without you. So thank you.”
Our eyes meet, and emotion flickers over his face. I steel myself against whatever he’ll say next.
“You responded well today. You listened to your instincts. You’ve always performed well under pressure. When you allow yourself to truly let go.”
The words feel like a hand outstretched between us.
I don’t speak. I don’t want to ruin it.
Leon raises his cup, taking a sip. Finally, he sighs. “Kassia—”
“I know.” My eyes sting. “You don’t have to tell me what Kas—”
“She would be proud of you,” he finishes.
I stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Leon turns and walks away.
I’ll never understand him.
A hand wraps around my elbow and I jolt, my own hand slipping down. But my dagger is in my boot, hidden beneath the long folds of my gown.
“Relax.” Tiernon’s voice is filled with amusement. “No one is going to try to kill you in here.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I mutter.
“I didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you.”
“Everyone seems to want to chat tonight.”
His eyes laugh at me. “Still prefer silence to people?”
“I like some people.”
He watches me, and I wonder if he’s remembering how we used to sit in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.
I can’t help but let my eyes wander across the impeccably stitched tunic stretching across his chest. His crimson cloak is fastened at his shoulders with two gold brooches shaped into Umbros’s mark. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of his black armor and it’s disconcerting.
“Arvelle?” Tiernon’s staring down at me, his eyes dark.
I force a smile. “Thank you for the gown.”