by Sara Raasch
“I don’t think so,” Petros said. “The Metaxas have defaulted on the payment of their debts in the past, if I recall.”
Rage hardened Madoc’s muscles. This wasn’t happening. He had to stop Petros. He’d been foolish thinking a few gold coins earned in a fight would hurt his father. The man was a monster. He needed to be destroyed.
“Stop.” Cassia glanced up to Madoc, a fierceness filling her gaze even as the guard jerked her upright. “Don’t be stupid.” She lowered her chin toward the table, where the rest of the family hid.
He couldn’t fight for one of them without risking all of them.
He couldn’t let her go.
It didn’t matter if they lived in the quarter, or if they had to eat other people’s scraps or nothing at all. They had each other—that was what Ilena always said. They could get through anything as long as they stayed together.
“These alleys are so small,” Petros complained. “We had to leave the carriage on the corner. Such a walk in this heat.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Cassia said again as the guard pulled her from the room. “I’ll be fine.”
With a smirk, the guard closed the door behind him. A moment later, the wood was sealed to the frame by a wall of clay from the outside.
“No!” Elias rammed his shoulder against the exit, but it gave only a small crack. He lifted his hands, trying to peel away the earth with geoeia, but it was solid, like Cassia’s wall bindings. Elias could chisel through it with his power, but it would take time and concentration.
Madoc wheeled on him as he shoved back the table. “What was that? Why didn’t you use your geoeia when I gave the sign?”
“And have him take you too?” Elias shot back as Madoc dropped to his knees at Ilena’s side. “You use geoeia and it proves you’re the one he’s looking for. He could have killed you on the spot!”
“Would you two shut up already?” Danon shouted.
On the ground, Ilena moaned and jerked beneath Madoc’s grip. He didn’t realize he’d touched her arm, or even how hard he was holding on to her, until he drew back, revealing the pink imprint of his fingertips.
“Are you all right?” Elias dropped to his knees at her side, worry drawing his tone tight.
Ilena blinked and prodded her forehead. “Yes . . . I . . .” She grabbed Elias’s arm and pulled herself up. “Where is Cassia?” Her unfocused gaze slid around the room. “What happened?”
Madoc’s head fell forward.
“Petros happened,” said Danon.
“What does that mean?” Ilena’s voice pitched. “Get me up!”
“She should stay down.” Seneca had hobbled over, leaning against the corner of the table as she extended a dusty towel in their direction. “That’s a nasty cut.”
Madoc took the cloth, holding it to Ilena’s head. His nerves were frayed, his blood pumping too fast. He needed to get out of this house.
He needed to bring Cassia home.
Ilena paled further as Danon explained what had happened.
“When is Cassia coming back?” Ava asked, latching onto her mother’s side.
Ilena didn’t answer. Her gaze had turned to Madoc and Elias.
“Fighting?” she whispered. Then, like a shot, she snagged the front of Elias’s tunic in her unrelenting grip. “Fighting? We don’t use energeia—or our fists, Madoc—to hurt anyone!”
Shame sliced through the jagged edges of his emotions. She didn’t want them fighting because of her husband, and they had done it anyway. He pressed his fingertips to his closed eyes. He couldn’t explain why he’d done it. He couldn’t make this okay. He’d wanted to hurt Petros, and instead, Petros had hurt him, just like always.
Elias peeled her fingers away with a muttered apology.
“I’ll talk to Petros. Tell him this was a misunderstanding.” Bracing herself against Madoc, Ilena stood, but one step had her stumbling into the side of the table.
“You need to lie down,” said Madoc.
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” she snapped, but when she wavered again, she gave a reluctant nod. “Just for a bit then.”
They helped Ilena to her room, righting the cot that had been overturned in the guard’s search. While Danon and Seneca attended to her, Madoc and Elias returned to work on the door.
“We’ll go to his house,” Elias muttered as he chipped through the clay along the jamb with his geoeia.
“And what? Ask nicely to get her back? You know what Petros will say.” With his foot Madoc cleared away the gravel that fell. “His house is a fortress, anyway. We’ll never get past the front gates.”
“Then we’ll wait until everyone’s gone to sleep. I’ll make stairs with the stones against the outer wall. We’ll climb over and find her.”
The throbbing at the base of Madoc’s skull increased, spurred now by Elias’s anxiety. Madoc wished he could shut it off—at least dull the sensitivity. Not for the first time, he wondered if something was wrong with him. As far as he knew, no one else could sense others the way he did. It had started when he was young—a flicker of anger or excitement that matched that of someone close by, a hunger in his belly when he saw Ilena hiding her tears. But each year it was getting a little stronger. Now their small house was too loud with everyone home, and big crowds like the market gave him headaches.
He blew out a stiff breath, trying to focus. “If we break in, Petros will come to the quarter, arrest Ilena and Danon, send Ava to the poorhouse, and ask for Geoxus’s blessing to run us all through with wooden spikes.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do then?” Elias threw back. “Let your father keep her?”
Madoc turned away. In all his years with the Metaxas, Elias had not once referred to Petros as Madoc’s father.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Elias groaned. “I can’t stand it, all right? I can’t sit here and do nothing.” He sent another burst of geoeia against the door, and finally the blockade shuddered, chunks of stone falling free. Madoc dropped his shoulder and rammed through, the wood splintering as it exploded into the courtyard.
The sun was setting, painting the horizon bloodred.
Your father. Your responsibility.
They needed to get Cassia back—Petros had her in shackles. But how?
There had to be a way. There was always a way.
He crouched, one hand pressed to the earth. What do I do? The Father God would guide him. He’d always come through for Madoc.
“We can’t hurt Petros.” Madoc rose as Elias joined him in the empty courtyard. “He’s Divine. He’s surrounded by guards.”
“Oh, and he’s a senator, appointed by Geoxus,” Elias added, patting the dust off his arms.
“The only option is to pay off her indenture.” Which meant they needed money. Fast. And more than they could get at the quarry.
They needed to fight. They needed to win.
Madoc’s arms dropped to his sides as an idea flickered inside him.
Elias raked a hand through his hair. “Are we thinking the same thing?”
“I doubt it,” said Madoc.
“We rob the temple offering box,” Elias exclaimed, just as Madoc said, “We become gladiators.”
“What?” Elias frowned. “That wasn’t what I was thinking at all.”
Madoc lowered his voice. “Lucius Pompino’s trainer saw me fight at South Gate last night. He wants me to train. We could sign up, earn the money we need, and free Cassia.”
“Hold on—you got invited to train at Headless Hill?” Elias checked the volume of his voice, stepping closer. No one was outside, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching and listening. “Sorry. I forgot to mention that Geoxus himself stopped me in the market the other day. He told me I could have all the olives I wanted. And that he likes me much better than you. I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it would hurt your feelings.”
“Great. Then you can ask the Father God to release Cassia.”
Getting physically close to Geoxus was i
mpossible. He was a god, surrounded by advisers and guards and half the legion wherever he went. But if Lucius really wanted to make Madoc a gladiator, he might be able to earn the money they needed to set Cassia free.
Of course, there was a good chance Lucius’s trainer would laugh him away for declining his initial offer, but Madoc couldn’t think of that now.
“I would,” Elias said. “But I wouldn’t want to steal your glory.” He frowned, then turned his eyes west, toward the Glykeria District, where Lucius Pompino’s training facility sat atop Headless Hill. “You really think this could work?”
Madoc blew out a tense breath. “We’ve beaten Petros’s best. Even just training, we’d make a hundred gold coins a week.” And stay alive. He’d seen fighters who’d trained with the sponsor around the city. Some of them had been wounded badly enough that they couldn’t continue at Headless Hill.
He’d worry about that later.
“You’re sure Lucius would let me stay with you?” Elias asked. “I don’t mean to piss on your delusions of grandeur, but you’re not exactly moving mountains on your own.”
He was right. Madoc wouldn’t have won a match without Elias using his power from afar.
“Lucius’s gladiators each have a servant to help them prepare before a fight,” Madoc said. “If anyone asks, you’re the only one I trust.”
Elias must have been nervous, because he didn’t object to being called a servant.
“Mother’s going to kill us,” he said instead.
“If the other gladiators don’t first.”
Elias nodded. He glanced back at the house. “Danon!” he shouted. When his brother’s head appeared in the hollowed door, he said, “Tell Mother we’re going to get Cassia back.”
Danon’s eyes widened.
They didn’t wait for a response. As quickly as they’d come, Madoc and Elias departed, racing out into the alley, to the streets that would lead to Headless Hill.
Four
Ash
WHEN ASH WAS younger, Char would steal her away from her tutors early. Leaving behind lessons on mathematics and letters, they would race down to the dock market in Igna, Kula’s capital. Food shortages had not yet become dire, and there were still vendors who sold luxuries like flaky pastries and cloud-soft cakes and—Ash and Char’s favorite—cacao.
One time, Char bought a paper sack filled with mango slices dipped in dark, creamy chocolate, and they played their favorite game while they ate.
“You could be a glassblower,” Char said, pointing at another vendor. “That’s what you can use your igneia for. You can create beads that will make Kula beautiful.”
“Or a baker!” Ash pointed syrup-sticky fingers at a booth, her belly full of richness. “I’ll use fire to turn dough into bread and cake.”
Char smiled. “It’s so easy to forget that there are wondrous things about fire energy.” Her smile faded. “It’s important to look for the beauty in igneia, Ash.”
These special moments always came after Char had had difficult training sessions or brutal arena matches. She wanted Ash to see beyond Ignitus’s future. She wanted Ash to want more.
And Ash did want more. She wanted her mother to smile. She wanted Tor to laugh. She wanted to not feel so alone.
When she danced, sometimes she got those things. But they never lasted, and she feared the moment when Kula would cease being beautiful forever.
That moment came as Ash stood on the blood-soaked arena sands, staring down at Char’s body. The broadsword protruded from her chest.
Ash couldn’t move. She heard the crowd shouting, someone distantly calling her name.
No, it wasn’t her name—it was a word. War.
Tor set upon her, his hands like vises on her arms. “Ash, Geoxus has declared war. Get behind me—I need to get you out of this arena.”
Awareness trickled into Ash’s mind. Tor’s eyes were bloodshot, his face rigid. Behind him, Kulan guards were charging into the fighting pit.
“Halt, Nikau!” they ordered. “Surrender!”
She wasn’t resisting them. She wasn’t moving at all. There was nothing she could do that would fix anything, nothing that would bring Char back.
She let the guards rip her from Tor’s hands and drag her out of the arena.
Ignitus’s dormant volcano palace was a dark maze of magma tunnels that connected rooms of polished obsidian, granite, and peridot—stones that were made from fire, and therefore impervious to Geoxus’s control. The air was thick with ashy smoke, which made it more difficult for the goddess of air to manipulate; there were no animals, no guard dogs or pets, to prevent Biotus from spying. Ash had heard visitors from other countries describe Ignitus’s palace as dank and eerie, but she found it lovely in the same way she loved igneia. It was something her god had made; she should hate it. But it was still hers too, part of her blood and her history she couldn’t ignore.
Ignitus’s guards hauled Ash to one of the palace’s highest floors. When they pulled her into a foyer, the opulence stunned her silent. The ceiling was several stories tall, with closed ivory doors leading to other rooms, and garnets, Ignitus’s signature gem, embedded in the molding along the floor. The walls were hardened panes of gold that reflected the light of the chandelier.
Stationed next to each door, Kulan guards stood armed with live flames in their palms. Secretaries moved in and out of a few rooms, their arms laden with scrolls and books. They eyed Ash as though she was an investment Ignitus was considering. Had they heard what had happened?
That question broke through Ash’s shock, and the bottom of her stomach dropped out.
She had interfered in an arena match. She had broken one of the rules of gladiator fights, the only things the gods held sacred. Geoxus had watched through the stones and declared war.
Ignitus was going to kill her. If she was lucky.
A vile tartness filled Ash’s mouth and she steeled herself against the urge to throw up. She should have run, Tor was right—but she couldn’t think, she could barely feel her own aching feet under her, and every blink brought back the image of her mother’s body speared through the chest.
One of the guards opened a door. Ash eyed the sliver of light that crept out.
“Touch nothing,” the guard said. “He will be here once he’s done with Geoxus.”
Ash stiffly walked into the room. It was a sitting chamber with a wall of glittering Kulan glass windows that showed the late-afternoon sky and the startling, multistory drop. Scarlet and butter-yellow tapestries covered the walls, draping in lazy sweeps between golden statues of Ignitus and furniture in dark polished wood. A red padded lounge filled the middle of the room, surrounded by stacks of paper, scrolls, and books.
The door shut with a thud behind her. She was alone.
Ash’s nerves caught up to her. Her fingers started to shake, her arms, her chest. She dropped onto the lounge and braced her hands on the edge, her curled black hair falling in straggly chunks around her face as she strained in one full breath of the smoky air.
A sob bubbled past her lips, horror and rage lashing to break free.
Ignitus had gotten Char killed. In trying to stop it, Ash had brought more death to Kula.
What had she done?
A golden bowl full of water sat on the floor next to the lounge, a damp cloth over its edge. Something was odd about the water. It rippled, but Ash hadn’t touched it—
The water bubbled, frothed like seafoam, and formed a face.
Ash jerked back on the lounge. The watery eyes shifted around the room. They landed on her, and an expression like annoyance crossed the face. “I thought my brother was in Kula.”
Hatred and fear usually overpowered any sense of wonder that Ash could feel about the gods—but being so close to this water face, watching the features ripple and glisten, she was rendered speechless. She knew Ignitus communicated and traveled in fire, and only moments ago she had seen Geoxus come to Kula through stone.
Recognition brought f
eeling into Ash’s limbs. Brother. A face appearing in water.
Hydra, the goddess of water energy who ruled the Apuit Islands.
Ash nodded. “He’s here.”
The goddess of water glanced around the otherwise empty room. An eyebrow lifted.
“In Kula,” Ash said, dumbstruck. “Not here. Yet.”
Hydra heaved a sigh, the water undulating around her face. “Who are you—a servant? Actually, I don’t care. I’m not waiting for him. Pass along my response: I received his message. I have heard no similar rumors. He should stop worrying and leave me out of his squabbles with Biotus, Aera, and Geoxus.”
Hydra sank back into the water with a parting splash.
Ash started. Ignitus had sent Hydra a message? Why? Only four of the six gods treated their people like disposable objects; two hadn’t used their arenas in so long that they were falling into disrepair. That was only a rumor—the two peaceful gods, Hydra, of water hydreia, and Florus, of plant floreia, had long ago formed a coalition against their warmongering siblings. No one other than their own people had been to their countries in decades, as any mortal who tried to cross into either Hydra’s or Florus’s lands was immediately stopped and sent away.
Ash hadn’t heard of the other gods speaking to Hydra or Florus—though that didn’t mean it never happened. What did Ignitus want with Hydra?
A flash of orange and blue filled the room.
Ash hurtled to her feet. Her foot caught on the golden bowl and sent the water spilling across the carpet, soaking books and scrolls. She lost her balance and crashed to her knees.
Ignitus appeared, grim faced and fuming. His silken robe fluttered around him, showing strands of glass beads draped across his chest. A few torches were already lit throughout the room; five more flared to life at his presence. He eyed them, then looked at Ash, merely because she was in front of him, and he would have had to make a great show of ignoring her to look elsewhere.
Ash almost told Ignitus about Hydra. But her fingers dug into the soaked carpet, and her mouth tasted like sand.
She was bowing before the creature who had murdered her mother.
