Godsgrave

by Jay Kristoff

  Leona looked to Arkades, then to Magistrae.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “So what happens if all your gladiatii are dead and you’ve none to sell?”

  “Then I lose everything,” Leona said. “The magni. This collegium. Everything.”

  “Is your father the kind of man who murders to get his way? And would it be so hard for a man with that much money to hold sway over one of your guards? Or perhaps someone even closer to you?”

  “Impertinent wretch,” Arkades spat. “Just what are you implying?”

  “Only that there’s two kinds of loyalty,” Mia replied. “The kind paid for with love, and the kind paid for with silver.”

  “Domina, this—”

  Leona held up her hand, cutting her magistrae’s objection off at the knee. She turned to her houseguard captain, her voice cold with command.

  “Gannicus, I want every bedchamber in the keep searched. Every chest, every cupboard, every crack. You and your fellow houseguards will search by threes, and you will not search your own belongings, am I clear?”

  The captain slapped a fist to his chest. “Aye, Domina.”

  Gannicus spun on his heel, gathered the other houseguards and marched across the yard. Scowling dark, Arkades cast one last look at his murdered dog, the murdered girl, and began limping after them.

  “Where are you going, Executus?” Leona asked.

  “ . . . To assist the search, Domina.”

  “Gannicus has the matter in hand. Take Finger and gather firewood for a pyre.” She glanced briefly at Maggot’s body. “It would not do to allow them to linger in this heat. They must be sent to the Hearth, and the gentle keeping of Lady Keph.”

  Looking Arkades up and down, Mia could see his pupils were dilated, his breathing quickened. Fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.

  “ . . . he fears . . . ,” came the whisper in her ear.

  But finally, as always, the executus bowed.

  “Your whisper, my will.”

  * * *

  Mia had never smelled a burning body before.

  She’d smelled death, certainly. The noxious stench of sundered bellies. The sweet, high perfume of decay. But until she stood in the courtyard of Crow’s Nest, listening to dry wood crackle and snap over the song of the sea, she’d never smelled a funeral pyre. She’d read stories as a child—grieving lovers or orphaned children, sending their loved ones off to the hereafter atop a pillar of flame. There was a kind of romance to it, she’d thought. Something fierce and bright and enduring. But the books never talked about the smell. The burning hair and boiling blood and blackening skin.

  It was hideous.

  They’d laid Maggot atop the firewood that Arkades and Finger had gathered, Otho beside her. It wasn’t the grandest bier ever created, but they’d used all the fuel the kitchen had, stacked in neat rows over three feet high. The pair were wrapped in simple cotton shifts, faces uncovered to the sky. Dona Leona spoke quiet prayers to the Everseeing over their bodies. A wreath of flowers was placed upon their chests. A small mahogany coin beneath their tongues.1

  And then, they were set aflame.

  Most of the gladiatii held their grief back, but Bryn was weeping openly—this was the second funeral she’d attended in a week, all the wounds from her brother’s loss torn open and bleeding fresh. Sidonius was the only other gladiatii to let tears fall, those big brawny shoulders heaving up and down. Mia wondered at the riddle of him, that brand on his chest, the lecherous buffoonery, all at odds with the fellow who’d spoken with such adoration of her father, and tried to comfort her in the dark.

  The flames burned brighter, the smoke rising into the blinding sky. The crash of distant waves. The cry of circling gulls. Dona Leona’s plaintive prayer to Aa.

  With the rites spoken, Leona hung her head, walked solemnly from the pyre. Mia watched her trudge across the yard, the smoke stinging in her unbandaged eye. She knew now Leona was a product of the violence she’d grown up with, that at their hearts, the two of them weren’t so dissimilar. If Mia’s childhood had been a different one, it could just easily have been her sitting as mistress of this keep. But a part of her couldn’t help but blame the dona for this. If only this collegium didn’t exist, if only Maggot had never been sold here . . .

  No. You have no time for “if only” . . .

  Leona stepped up to the verandah, just as the guard she’d placed in command of the search returned from inside the keep. Mia watched them sidelong, Gannicus speaking softly, glancing to Arkades. He handed what looked to be a folded piece of fabric to his mistress, and Mia’s stomach turned.

  “Arkades?” Leona said, turning to her executus.

  The man looked up from the burning pyre. The same fear she’d seen in the infirmary lingered in the man’s eyes.

  “Mi Dona?”

  “Explain this,” the dona said, holding out her hand.

  Clutched in her fingers was a silken underslip, edged with fine lace.

  The gladiatii turned to stare, the pyre still blazing in the background. Arkades looked to the warriors he’d trained, his expression darkening. He could barely meet Leona’s eyes, his voice edged with shame.

  “Mi Dona, if we could speak in private—”

  “It was found in your room,” Leona said. “Beneath your mattress. Now I see why you were so eager to aid Gannicus and his guards in their search. But tell me, noble Arkades, how comes it that my underclothes are found among your possessions?”

  “Mi Dona, I—”

  “And what is this?”

  Leona held up a small phial of clear liquid, gleaming in the sunlight.

  Arkades blinked. “I have never seen that before in my life.”

  “It was found wrapped inside my underslip. Hidden among your little trove. Perfume, perhaps? Or a little liquor to make the nevernights easier?” Leona turned to Mia, held out the phial on her palm. “Crow?”

  Glancing at Arkades, seeing the fear swelling inside him, Mia took the phial from the dona’s hands. Unstopping it, she sniffed, dabbed her finger and tasted, immediately spat once, twice. Lips curling as she looked to Leona.

  “It’s Elegy, Domina. No question.”

  Leona’s glare welled with tears as she looked at Arkades, lip trembling, her entire body shaking with rage.

  “You.”

  Horror welled in Arkades’s eyes. “Mi Dona, I would never . . .”

  “Then how comes it to be in your room?” Leona demanded. “Wrapped in the underslip you stole from me? Or do you deny the keeping of that, too?”

  “I do not deny it, I fou—”

  “You have known me from a child, Arkades! I thought you a man of honor, who saw the righteousness of my cause. I thought your infatuation harmless, but now I see it turned to poison before my eyes.” She shook the silk in his face. “Now I see to the heart of you! Now I see the reason you have walked with me all these years!”

  “Infatuation?” Arkades was pale, his voice trembling.

  “How much does my father pay you?”

  “ . . . What?”

  “How much?” she screamed. “Ever I wondered at the lions you wore on your doublet, the lion’s head on your cane. I thought it simple homage to where you’d been and who you were, but now I see it for truth! You were always his man! Always!”

  Magistrae placed a gentle hand on her mistress’s shoulder. “Domina, please.”

  Leona snarled, threw off the woman’s grip. “Did he promise me to you, perhaps? Some broken trophy to hide beneath your mattress with all your other dirty little secrets? You’d poison my flock, murder an eleven-year-old girl to have your way? After what he did to my mother? Smiling like a snake and offering me your comforts?”

  Tears gleamed in Arkades’s eyes. “You think me capable . . .”

  “I think you a liar,” Leona spat. “I think you a murderer. I think you a sad old man ruled by lust and accursed drink and memory of past glory gone wrong and rotten.” Leona dragged ragged breath through grit
ted teeth. “I think you every inch the bastard my father is. I want you out of my collegium.”

  “Leona, I—”

  “Get out!” Leona roared. “Or I swear by the Everseeing and all four of his Daughters, I will show you the mercy you showed the child on that pyre!”

  The woman stood trembling, tears pouring down her cheeks. But her jaw was set, teeth bared in a snarl. Arkades hung like a broken mirror, chest heaving, his face pale. Looking among the gladiatii, he found only disdain and rage. He turned back to Leona, agony in his eyes, one final, desperate plea on his lips.

  “Please—”

  “GET OUT!” Leona screamed, launching herself at him and flailing with her fists. Scratching his face, clawing at his eyes. “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

  Arkades staggered back, and Magistrae pulled the flailing, screaming Leona off him. The guards stepped forward to separate them, hands on their swords, glowering at the executus. Gannicus placed a hand on his chest and shoved him further away, warning plain on his face. The captain obviously had no wish to draw, but the wishes of his mistress were clear, and the smell of that burning child hung heavy in the air.

  Arkades looked around the yard and found no friends. Tears brimming in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words to save him. He searched the faces of his former charges, and found none to vouch for him. Mia could see words struggling behind his teeth, but looking into Leona’s eyes, he found only hatred and rage. And with no other real choice, he turned and began limping for the gate.

  “Take this!” Leona cried, flinging the slip at his back. “May it keep you warm in the nevernight!”

  The executus paused, looking back over his shoulder. But without a word, he hung his head and simply kept walking. Mia watched him leave, uncertain what to think. Jealousy could drive a man to any lengths, and Arkades did still wear the lions of his former master on his chest. To discover the woman he so clearly loved was bedding Furian must have been an awful blow, and love could turn to cancer when watered with betrayal. But a part of Mia found it hard to believe he’d betray Leona so cruelly . . .

  Leaning on her magistrae, the dona left the yard, still weeping. Mia looked to the pyre once more, watching the flames rise higher. Heat kissing her skin. Smoke kissing her tongue. So much in the balance. So close to the end. So much to risk before she got there, and so keen to arrive.

  She couldn’t wait ’til this was all over.

  “Goodbye, Maggot,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you.”

  And she still couldn’t remember the last time she cried.

  * * *

  The bathhouse swirled with steam, the heat of it scalded her skin. Mia sank into the water with a sigh, the ache in her ribs soothed by the warmth. Slipping below the surface, she tried to shush her thoughts, silence her doubts and rage and enjoy a moment’s silence. For just a breath. Just a second.

  Bryn entered the bathhouse, walking like she were sleeping. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks red raw. Without looking at Mia, she stripped off her clothes and sank into the water, washing the tears from her skin. She stayed under almost a breath too long, Mia about to reach out toward her when Bryn finally surfaced, sodden blond framing her face. Drifting to the corner, the girl sat still as stone, as a statue, as a corpse, staring at the ripples on the surface and saying nothing at all.

  “A hard turn,” Mia said.

  “Aye,” Bryn murmured.

  “Domina spoke the service well.”

  “Aye.”

  “ . . . How are you feeling?”

  Bryn looked up a moment, eyes gaining focus.

  “How do you think?” she whispered.

  Mia hung her head, stared at the swirling steam.

  “ . . . Aye.”

  Wavewaker trudged into the bathhouse, unwrapped the cloth from his waist. Mia couldn’t remember a single turn where they’d bathed together and the big man hadn’t gifted her a song, but Wavewaker didn’t hum a note this time. His uncharacteristic silence hung heavy in the air, sorrow welling in Mia’s chest. Thinking of the water fight they’d had, here with Byern, just a few weeks ago. Thinking of that little girl burning on that pyre, and all that had been lost along with her.

  These people are not your familia and not your—

  “Four fucking Daughters . . .”

  Mia looked up, saw Sidonius stride past the guards posted on the bathhouse entrance. Shutting the door behind him, he stripped off and sank into the water, eyes wide, breathing quick.

  “You seem of a mood,” Wavewaker said.

  “There’s no ‘seems’ about it, brother.”

  “What troubles?”

  “Our fucking domina,” the big Itreyan growled. “I just heard from Milaini, one of the serving lasses. Leona has sent missive to Varro fucking Caito, invited him for evemeal tomorrow.”

  “Why does she dine with a fleshpeddler?” Wavewaker asked.

  “She’s planning to sell us to Pandemonium, why do you think?” Sidonius spat. “She’s already drawn up a list, apparently. Milaini saw it on her desk.”

  “ . . . Who’s on it?” Mia asked.

  “Bryn, for starters,” Sid said, nodding at the Vaanian girl.

  Bryn blinked, as if hearing the conversation for the first time.

  “ . . . Domina would sell me to Varro Caito?”

  “She needs coin,” Sidonius growled. “She can’t afford a new charioteer to form a new equillai team. But after your showing at Whitekeep, you’ll fetch a fortune.”

  “Who else?” Wavewaker growled.

  “Bladesinger,” Sidonius spat. “Felix. Albanus. Butcher. And me.”

  “She’s going to sell ’Singer?” Mia breathed.

  “She’s going to sell anyone with a fucking pulse,” Sid replied. “She needs three thousand silver priests, and she’s thrown all in on you winning the magni, Crow. The rest of us are just sacks of coin to her.”

  Bryn shook her head, whispering, “Shit.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?” Sidonius whispered, gobsmacked.

  “And what else would you have me say?” the girl growled.

  “Say you’ll not be sold like chaff to die in Pandemonium,” Sidonius growled. “Because by the Four fucking Daughters, I won’t be.”

  “And what choice do we have?”

  Sid cast an eye to the closed door, lowered his voice further.

  “There’s always one other choice,” he said.

  A chill ran over Mia’s skin as she looked Sid in the eye. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning Executus is gone, and his lash along with him,” Sidonius replied. “Meaning these houseguards are softer than baby shite, and we’re full-fledged gladiatii. We could beat them to death with practice swords if we’d a mind to. Especially with surprise on our side.”

  Wavewaker scowled, rubbing his chin.

  “Aye,” he muttered. “We could at that.”

  Bryn’s eyes widened, voice dropping to a furious whisper. “You speak of rebellion? Have you lost your mind? You want to end up executed at the magni?”

  “You’d rather die in Pandemonium?” Sidonius demanded. “In case you’ve no eyes to see it, sister, this house is coming down around our fucking ears. I’ve a mind to absent myself before the roof falls in.”

  “This isn’t right,” Wavewaker agreed. “Bladesinger fought with honor. Crow would be the first to admit she’d not have stood victor against the Exile if not for ’Singer, aye?”

  Mia nodded slow. “Aye.”

  “And now she’s to be sold like meat? Because her swordarm is ruined?” The big man looked to Bryn. “Your brother gave his life for this house. And this is how Leona honors that sacrifice? By hocking his sister to a bastard like Varro Caito?”

  “I’ll not stand by for this,” Sid spat. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  Wavewaker looked to Sidonius, shook his head.

  “Nor I.”

  Mia licked her lips, spoke soft. “Hold now.”

  The three gladiatii looked
to her, waiting for her to speak. After the showings she’d put in at the arena, there wasn’t a one among them who didn’t respect her. And while she could see the injustice of it, while she knew that if she were in their position, she’d almost certainly be arguing for the same . . .

  If the gladiatii of the Remus Collegium rebelled, she’d never see the magni. Never have her revenge. If she aided them, at best, she’d be a fugitive, on the run in a Republic where such rebellion was brutally punished. At worst, she’d simply be killed in the attempt. And if she didn’t participate, but allowed it to happen, she’d probably still be crucified by the administratii for belonging to a house in revolt.

  But to sit back and do nothing while Bryn and ’Singer and Sid were sold . . .

  “Hold?” Sidonius asked. “Hold for what?”

  “ . . . Let’s not speak hasty,” Mia said. “The wounds from Maggot’s funeral are fresh. I say think on it a few turns before we do anything rash.”

  “Rash?” Sidonius scowled. “We’re talking about our lives here!”

  “It may be fine for some,” Wavewaker said. “But not all of us are champions in the dona’s favor.”

  “And that favor changes like the wind, Crow,” Bryn said, seemingly warming to the idea. “Look how swift she casts Arkades aside.”

  “I only counsel patience,” Mia insisted. “Leona and Caito dine on the morrow, but no sale will be brokered for a turn or two. Domina’s blood is running as hot as the rest of us. Perhaps in time, she’ll see her folly and seek another way. Perhaps she’ll find some trick in her ledger that yet avoids anyone’s sale. I’m certain she has no wish to part with any of us.”

  “If you think that woman has a hint of loyalty inside her,” Wavewaker said, “you are the fool I never took you for. Leona thinks of her own glory, none other’s.”

  “Patience,” she begged. “Please.”

  The three gladiatii looked among each other, scowling. But it seemed there’d be no more argument for the moment, each falling into a sullen, scowling silence. And with little else to say and no comfort to offer, Mia finally climbed out of the bath and toweled herself off, tying her wraps about herself and padding softly from the room.