CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #2
I hiccup a laugh at his smug smirk, and he presses into me once more. He drops kisses across my face, his hand slipping between us, and I gasp at the burst of pleasure.
He strokes me again, thrusting deep. The sudden burst of sensation makes me moan, and his eyes darken.
Tiernon’s mouth takes mine, our tongues tangling, bodies shifting together. Again and again he thrusts, his rhythm pushing me higher, his fingers guiding me toward the edge of bliss.
And still, my climax is almost unexpected. It sweeps through me, swelling over and over again as I shudder in his arms. Tiernon’s body goes tense, and he thrusts deep, stilling as he empties himself inside me.
We’re both trembling, and he slumps, resting his weight on top of me for the barest moment before rolling away. Neither of us speaks, but his hand drifts across my back as I snuggle into him.
He holds me through the night, a warm, comforting presence in my bed. And when I wake up, he’s gone.
I’M NUMB AS I take a shower, pull my damp hair back into a braid, and stare at my sigil.
If I knew how to control my power, maybe I would have a chance at the emperor’s dinner. I could use Tiberius’s water to flood the room after I kill the emperor, giving myself a few minutes to escape.
I’m not hungry, but I make my way to breakfast anyway, finding a seat next to Micah, who gives me a nod.
“The Primus isn’t here,” he says unnecessarily when I sit down.
“I noticed.”
“If he was here, he’d tell you to eat.”
I show him my teeth. “It’s a good thing he’s not here, then.”
He places his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. “The two of you are fascinating to watch—”
“Micah.” Neris’s voice is heavy with warning as she takes the empty seat next to me. She studies my face. “You look exhausted.”
I shrug, and she shakes her head at me, handing me a piece of flatbread and some fruit. With a sigh, I take a bite.
Deitra and an imperium named Dolen are murmuring down the other end of the table, while Orna sits and stares at the empty chair across from her.
Lucius’s chair.
Maeva walks into the dining hall and our eyes meet for the barest moment before she turns her head, her face carefully blank.
I can’t do this. Getting to my feet, I ignore the eyes on me as I walk toward Deitra, dropping the note I’ve written next to her.
I’m calling in my favor.
She scans the instructions and gives me a tight nod. Good. She’ll make sure Leon doesn’t go anywhere near the palace.
I’m almost at the imperius quarters, when I feel it again.
The same, all-encompassing dread. The chill, deep in my bones. The knowledge that someone—or something—is watching me.
I stop midstep, barely breathing. The skin along my arms prickles, spreading to a low thrum at the base of my neck.
“Help me.”
My stomach spirals. I should have told someone. Should have swallowed my pride, pushed past the fear, and admitted I’m hearing strange voices.
“He wants us to return.”
My heart stops, then kicks in my chest, my pulse pounding in my ears.
It can’t be. I know it can’t be. And still …
“Gradon?”
Impossible.
“He wants us to return.”
Terror claws at my throat, my mouth turning dry as dust. That was Gradon’s voice. The same voice that always had a joke, a word of kindness. I hadn’t known him well, but there was no question he was a good man.
That same pulling sensation reaches for me, and this time, I bully myself into moving, refusing to give in to the instinct to freeze.
The first step is the most difficult. And then I’m stumbling into a jog, allowing that presence to guide me toward it.
Toward him.
I don’t understand. I saw his body.
“He wants us to return.”
I tremble, ignoring the urge to slap my hands over my ears. “Who?” I ask aloud.
No reply. I follow that icy presence, until I’m almost at the imperius quarters, staring at a blank wall. I don’t allow myself to hesitate. With a deep breath, I press my hand against the wall, and it swings open, revealing a dimly lit corridor.
I step into the corridor, and the door swings shut behind me. The putrid scent of decay fills my nostrils, and I follow the corridor, taking a staircase down as the cloying reek grows stronger. I breathe through my mouth, pushing open the door at the bottom of the staircase.
Seven tables, each holding a body. Somehow, I’ve stumbled upon the morgue. But there are no other gladians here—no one who has died in the arena. These are all the people who have turned up dead in the ludus.
Three of them were discovered before I arrived, while the other gladians had already begun training. Hundreds of people could have had the opportunity to kill them—maybe more, depending on how many people know about the hidden tunnels.
I take a step closer and valiantly suppress another dry heave.
The scent is a bitter, metallic tang, undercut by a faint sour note and a hint of smokiness.
There’s a dampness to the air, like mold, tinged with the faintest hint of rot held in stasis.
The sickly undertone fills the back of my throat.
Whoever used their power to halt the decay has also trapped the scent, magnifying it until the room is saturated with the essence of death.
Gradon is the closest, and I can’t help but remember his easy grin. Now, his expression is twisted into a grimace.
“He wants us to return.”
“Help me.”
I force myself to take another step closer. My skin begins to tingle, my pulse races, and an inescapable sense of doom slides through my gut.
As one, all the bodies open their eyes.
And they glow a bright, poisonous green.
My sword is in my hand before I’m aware I moved, and I bend my knees, staying light on my feet as something cold slithers down my spine.
This is why you don’t sacrifice people to the god of ruin.
I survey my path to the door. Five steps.
The bodies don’t move. But their eyes continue to glow that eerie green.
My head spins dizzily, and I stare at Gradon’s corpse. Please tell me he’s not in there. Please tell me he’s moved on to the afterlife.
“He wants us to return.”
“Gradon?” My voice is small.
A malevolent presence suddenly fills the room, until I’m forced to my knees as the world spins dizzily around me.
“Mine.”
This is a new voice. A voice that sounds like a thousand screams all at once. I cringe, slamming my hands against my ears.
No. Whatever … whoever this voice belongs to—and I have a sneaky suspicion it’s the worst possible scenario—they don’t get to trap these people in their bodies. These people have suffered enough.
I’d like to say it’s courage that shoves me to my feet. In reality, it’s indignance. It’s the unfairness of this situation, this empire, this life.
And, if I’m honest, it’s pure impulsivity.
“No,” I hiss back, slamming my hand on Gradon’s face. “Go, Gradon. Be free.”
I push every drop of my will into my command, picturing whatever part is left of him breaking free of the corpse before me and going somewhere new. Somewhere peaceful.
The presence doesn’t leave. I get the feeling it’s watching. Waiting.
The green light fades from Gradon’s eyes. I instantly feel the difference. He’s gone.
And so is the strange, dangerous, invisible force in this room.
Shaking, I force myself to do the same for each body. I don’t know the names of all the victims, but pushing my will into the command seems to work. One by one, the eerie green light leaves their eyes.
By the time I’m done, I’m freezing cold, on the verge of either laughter or tears—maybe both. The last murder was the day of the third challenge. I’d thought that meant it was over. But there are worse things than death.
Like being trapped in your own rotting corpse.