CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“What is it?” I ask Tiernon as he leads me back to the imperius’s quarters.
It’s the third time I’ve asked, and he sends me an amused look.
I roll some of the tension from my shoulders. He’s calm. Relaxed. I can attempt to be relaxed too.
“I forgot how bad you were with surprises,” he says. And for once, the memories don’t hurt. I grin at him, and he leads me through the common room.
Neris is sitting on one of the sofas talking quietly to Dolen. They nod at us. Tiernon nods back but keeps moving.
When he opens the door to his quarters, I burst into tears.
“Velle!” Ev shoots a horrified look at Tiernon, who shrugs at him. I can count on one hand the number of times my brothers have seen me cry. Even when Bran first showed up, I didn’t fall apart.
Gerith shoves his brother aside and wraps his arms around me. “We missed you too.”
My hands are shaking as I push his hair away from his head, taking in his sigil. He gives me a proud smile.
Reaching out my other arm for Evren, I drag him close. “You’ve grown.” I sniffle. “Both of you are taller.”
Tiernon’s watching us fondly, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“How?” I ask him.
“Elva was distracted. I got lucky.”
I turn my attention back to my brothers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
They shake their heads, but there’s something in their eyes. This experience has changed them. Hardened them.
“We have to be careful,” Tiernon says. “No one can know they’re here.”
“How did you get them here without anyone seeing?” I ask.
Tiernon winks. “I have my ways.”
I study his face. He’s almost unrecognizable from the stern, rude Primus I met when I first arrived. Now he’s more like the old Tiernon. The one who learned how to laugh and play in the Thorn. The one who was my friend before he was ever my lover.
We talk for hours. Gerith shows me how he can use the wind, his sigil flaring gold, while Evren lectures us about all the things he learned while he was gone. Apparently, Elva shoved books in his hands to keep him occupied while she was teaching Gerith.
“I’ll teach you everything I know just as soon as you wake, Ev,” Gerith says.
Evren grins at him, and my heart squeezes.
My brothers are wary of Tiernon. Evren is more forgiving, but Gerith only talks to him if Tiernon asks him a direct question. If Tiernon notices, he keeps it to himself.
We fall asleep on the sofas in Tiernon’s quarters. When I wake, I have no idea what time it is, but Tiernon is leaning over me.
“You’d better go to training,” he whispers. “I ran interference with Nyrant, but a power struggle between us wouldn’t be good for anyone.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip. Evren is asleep on an armchair, his legs sprawled carelessly over the side, head at an unnatural angle. His neck is going to be stiff when he wakes up. Gerith is curled up on the sofa, the hint of a smile on his face as he murmurs something in his sleep.
My eyes fill.
Tiernon takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. He wraps his arms around me as I bury my head in his chest, tears streaming from my eyes. I feel like I’m leaking, like all the emotions I refused to feel while they were gone have hit me at once.
Safe. They’re safe.
“Shhh.” Tiernon strokes my hair and simply holds me for long moments. When I finally regain control, he tightens his hold briefly, then loosens it as I step away.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He gives me a faint smile, but something I can’t place flashes across his face. Something that looks almost like … sorrow.
THANKS TO RORRIK’S little show after the council dinner, Nyrant’s power no longer makes me tremble.
If anything, the power lashing at me—and every other novice in the training hall—speaks to a loss of control.
“Are you listening to me?” Nyrant demands. It’s the most infuriated I’ve ever seen him.
“Yes.”
“You killed two strong, powerful novices, and yet you think you don’t need to come to training? You, who would be the least powerful person in this room if not for Etaina?”
Behind him, Etaina flinches, and fury begins to simmer in my gut.
So that’s what this is about. Nyrant is displeased his pets are dead. “Baldric and Hester tried to kill Maeva,” I say. “They broke the rules.”
Nyrant narrows his eyes. “And yet Maeva is still at the healers. Three novices out of action, and one who doesn’t feel like she needs to train.”
“I apologize.” I keep my voice carefully neutral, but Nyrant’s eyes narrow further.
“Your guardant isn’t here to coddle you,” he hisses. “Instead of sprints, I think we’ll try something else.”
The idea of Leon coddling me would almost be amusing, if not for the hard glint in Nyrant’s eyes.
He gives me a humorless smile and my pulse races. “Line up,” he orders, without taking his eyes off me, and behind him, every novice falls into a tight line.
Counting Maeva, there are only twenty of us left.
“Since you clearly want to spend more time swinging your sword, I’ll oblige,” Nyrant tells me. “You’ve cost your fellow novices two well-trained, powerful members who would have stood with them through any attack on the emperor or his family. I think it’s only fair that you face each of them.”
Briona steps forward, her eyes meeting mine. I don’t know her well—but I’ve heard she’s the reason so many of her fellow gladians survived their group’s third challenge.
Briona’s half-crowned gold sigil glows against her deep, black skin, and she walks toward me with the kind of easy grace that likely translates to fluidity in the arena.
Nyrant points at the mat. “Fight.”
“Wait,” Kaeso calls. “They don’t have practice swords.”
“Unnecessary,” Nyrant says.
Briona gives me a nod and I nod back, my mouth dry.
Nyrant has chosen his timing well—none of the imperius are here and Leon is still fighting for his life. In Nyrant’s mind, I disrespected him. I’m not powerful, and my survival has been mostly grit and luck. If I die here, my death will at least be a useful lesson to the other novices.
Briona dances forward, and I lift my sword to block. She’s fast, and her wide-set shoulders and toned upper body tell me just how strong she is. Stronger than her first strike would lead me to believe.
She strikes out again and I meet it, frowning as the blow barely hits. Briona lunges forward, and I blink as she somehow trips over her own feet, slamming into me.
“You need to at least make this look realistic,” she hisses before darting away.
“What is wrong with you today?” Nyrant snarls.
“I didn’t sleep well,” Briona calls, her eyes cold.
“Get to the back of the line.”
With a nod, she switches places with Brenin. He lunges forward, but it’s an oddly awkward move, and I slam my fist into his gut. He folds in two, sucking in a deep breath, and if I wanted, I could slice my sword through his neck right now.
Nyrant is slowly turning purple with rage, and Brenin turns until his back is facing the imperium.
Then he gives me a tiny, secret smirk. “The Volkers had it coming,” he says quietly. “They were poison.”
He continues to stumble around like a lumbering oaf until Nyrant replaces him with Garet.
“You saved Maeva’s life,” he whispers, lashing out with his fist. He pulls the punch at the last moment, so his knuckles graze my cheek. I let my head snap back, stumbling dramatically, and his next exhale sounds like a chuckle.
By the time Calena replaces Garet, Nyrant has lost the color in his face. His mouth is a thin line, his eyes hard.
“That was a hell of a fight,” Calena says conversationally, clearly not concerned about Nyrant overhearing. “Seeing the emperor’s son on his knees almost made all this worth it.”
“Out,” Nyrant roars, and she gives me a grin, sauntering away.
Kaeso steps forward next. Despite our last interaction, the vampire tamps down his brutal strength, swinging his sword slowly enough that it’s almost as if he’s wearing suppression cuffs. When I fight the other vampires, they do the same.
And so it continues.
If there’s one thing every novice has learned in the arena, it’s how to put on a show. By the end of training, I’m bruised, but only bleeding in a few places, exhausted, but alive after eighteen performances.
Nyrant gives me a look filled with such retribution and disdain, I tense. His power crackles through the air, and my own sigil begins to burn in response.
No. Panic spirals through my body.
Deep breaths. Deep, calming breaths. If Antigrus’s shield appears here, I really am dead.
A muscle twitches in Nyrant’s jaw. And then he turns and walks out of the training hall.
I STOP BY my room, leaving my sword leaning against the wall next to the parma and sword Tiberius gave me. My hands tremble as I splash water on my face, but I manage to pull myself together as I make my way to the healers to check on Leon and Maeva.
Axia beams at me. “Maeva briefly woke a few hours ago. You were training so we didn’t disturb you. She fell asleep again, but this is a very good sign. If you want, you can go sit with her until she wakes again.”
The tight, knotted muscles in my stomach begin to loosen, and I nod, unable to reply. Axia gives me a gentle smile and wanders away, leaving me to slump against the wall until my knees are no longer weak.
I check on Leon first. The healers have changed the bandages around his ribs, and they’re no longer bloodstained. He’s still pale, but his breathing is deep and even.
I sit by Maeva’s bed, studying her face.
“Arvelle?” Maeva’s voice is rough, and her eyes flutter open, blurred with fatigue.
“I’ll get the healer,” I murmur, and she shakes her head, attempting to grab my arm. But Axia is already walking into the room, as if she sensed Maeva waking.
She smiles at Maeva like she’s a particularly clever puppy who has just learned a new trick. “Awake again already. Do you need a pain tonic?”
“No.”
“Yes,” I say, and Maeva shoots me a look.
Axia chuckles. “How about I return in a few minutes?”
Maeva gives her a smile. “Thanks.” She attempts to sit up, and I pick up a pillow from the dresser beside her, shoving it beneath her head.