by Sara Raasch
Madoc shook the thoughts from his mind.
He needed to laugh. To regain the upper hand.
Instead he stood stone still, speechless, feeling the blood drain from his face.
She moved closer. His back came flush against the wall, but she did not stop her approach. She didn’t just look like a god—she was one. Proud and terrifying and pulsing with power.
It was no good lying now. She knew he didn’t have geoeia. Maybe she hadn’t pieced together the rest yet, but she would soon enough. He was done. He and Elias needed to break Cassia out of Petros’s villa and get as far away from Crixion as possible.
Move.
He couldn’t. He was captured by her curiosity. The fear of what she would say next.
“Ash? Ash!” A woman came careening down the tunnel. She was tall and broad and bore a strong resemblance to one of the champions Madoc had seen with Ash yesterday.
When she saw them, she stopped.
Ash took a quick step back.
“Please,” Madoc whispered. You can’t tell anyone. He couldn’t speak the words aloud.
“We’ll talk again soon,” she said quietly.
It was as much a threat as a promise. Who would she tell what had happened here? Ignitus? Geoxus? Madoc spun away, walking quickly. He left the warped corridor and entered the long hall exiting the arena. He shoved his way through the crowd outside and headed straight into the waiting carriage, where he told his family the Kulan girl was with her people, and then stared out the window, hoping they couldn’t sense his panic.
Ash had him by the throat. How long before Geoxus learned the truth about him? If he ran, he would be hunted and punished for lying to his god. Cassia would never be free. Elias would be charged with helping him. Ilena, Danon, and Ava would all be in danger.
We’ll talk again soon.
What did she want? He needed to figure out the price of this secret, and pay, whatever the cost. His family—his life—depended on it.
What are you?
He was Deiman. A good Deiman, whose prayers were answered by his god. But as much as he told himself this, he knew what had happened in the hallway with Ash had been different. More intense than it ever had been in the past. When he’d asked for help for Ilena, it hadn’t been like this. When he’d made requests of others, they hadn’t reacted like those guards.
A quake started at the base of his spine, traveling through his clenched muscles.
If his ability to sense others’ fear and pain, to draw it out of them like poison, was not pigstock geoeia, and not the work of his god, then how did he do it?
What was he?
Ten
Ash
ASH GOT TWO gold bricks for winning against Rook.
She stuffed the money into the corner of her room and threw up on the balcony.
The day after, Ignitus was occupied with his other champions, so Tor told the Kulan guards watching them that he and Ash were running drills. They cloistered themselves into the long, narrow training room below Ignitus’s wing of the palace, and Taro and Spark snuck in to join them. There, with as much privacy as Ignitus ever gave, they mourned Rook.
And Char. Ash hadn’t been allowed to truly mourn her mother.
On the stone floor of the training room, Spark lit three candles. Traditionally, Kulan dead were honored by letting fire reclaim their corpses—once souls had left, their physical bodies were no longer fireproof. But this was as close to a memorial as they could get for Char, Rook, and Lynx, even if Ignitus could be watching. He wouldn’t take this from them too.
Taro took Lynx’s candle. Tor had Rook’s. Ash lifted her mother’s candle.
Ash’s whole body felt filled with the stones of Deimos. She was exhausted to her bones and she could still feel Rook’s blood on her skin, though she had bathed twice. But her grief was . . . softer, thanks to Madoc. Like leather worked from new and stiff to used and supple.
So when she looked at Tor and saw the raw anguish on his tear-soaked face, she felt a tight pull of guilt in her belly. She hadn’t told him what had happened in the tunnel, and her excuse to Taro had been that Madoc had shown her the way out of the arena, that was all. Ash should just tell Ignitus, let him call out his god-brother for the unforgivable act of using another god’s gladiator in a war. Ignitus would be pleased at the chance to shame his brother, and he’d adore Ash for giving him that ammunition.
But what would Geoxus do to Madoc—and could Ash live with being responsible for it? She was already responsible for Rook’s death.
A violent sob tried to claw its way out of her throat. She fought it down, fist to her mouth.
If she hadn’t tried to save Char, if she hadn’t interfered in that fight and caused this war, then Rook would have been in Igna when Lynx died. He would still have been grief-stricken, but he wouldn’t have gotten himself killed trying to murder Ignitus.
Guilt was an even darker abyss than loneliness, one Ash wasn’t sure she would survive falling into.
“He was right, you know,” Tor said suddenly.
Ash stiffened. It was Taro who prodded, “Rook?”
Tor nodded and jutted his chin at the flames, a reminder that Ignitus could be watching.
“About what we owe to Char,” Tor said. The look he gave Ash was full of such intent that the sob she had been holding down broke free. “We owe it to him now too.”
What they owed to Char—pursuing the lead that could bring down Ignitus.
Ash’s brows pinched. Tor had wanted her to be cautious, to focus on immediate survival, not on long-term goals. But Rook’s death was a bitter reminder that they had no control over their lives. At any moment, Ignitus could snap his fingers and break them apart.
“You want to—” She had to speak carefully until they had finished this ceremony for Char, Rook, and Lynx. “You want to keep pursuing our lead? But Stavos is missing.” Ash had told Tor already, but she said it again.
“Everyone seems to think he’s fallen ill,” Taro offered, “and is too ashamed to make it public. Half a dozen Deiman gladiators have died of a similar plague over the past few years. People are already starting to call it the champions’ pox.”
“What are the symptoms?” Spark asked. “How does it only affect gladiators?”
“Geoxus’s gossiping servants didn’t say,” said Taro. “If you ask me, it doesn’t sound like a disease at all—it sounds like a convenient way to cover up the fact that Geoxus got fed up with some of his top gladiators and just killed them.”
Ash chewed her lip. She couldn’t deny that she was glad Stavos was gone, for however long. She hoped Geoxus truly had killed him.
But the facts they had were: Stavos and other top fighters were gone. Ignitus’s weakness was no closer to revealing itself. A squabble among Ignitus, Geoxus, Aera, and Biotus was still undetermined.
And now Madoc. He had clearly been planted in this war by a different god—it was impossible that he wasn’t involved in the brewing conflict between Ignitus, Geoxus, Aera, and Biotus, the one Hydra had refused to get involved with. What energeia did he have? Aereia, maybe? Ash’s chest had felt lighter, thanks to him. Whatever it was, Madoc could even be responsible for the disappearing Deiman gladiators, offing them to make room for spies like himself.
That sort of ruthlessness didn’t fit with the man who had lightened Ash’s grief. She barely remembered anything after Rook died except a resurgence of the agony she’d felt when Char had died in front of her. Then, a bright spot in the darkness: Madoc.
“We’ll figure it out.” Tor put his hand on Ash’s knee. “I see your mind working, Ash. We will figure it out, together. No more losses.” His lips curled in on themselves, fresh tears welling.
Ash put her hand over Tor’s. The sight of him, broken, stoked the agony in her heart. The agony that Madoc had taken away.
The real reason she hadn’t spoken of what had happened with Madoc was that she was grateful to him. If he was involved in the lies and danger surrounding Ignitu
s’s weakness, she knew that whatever he had done to alleviate her pain had likely been a trick to distract her, ease her into trusting him. But a small, bruised part of her didn’t care.
He had let her breathe again.
She would find out what Madoc’s role in all this was—and then she would tell Tor, if she needed to.
“No more losses,” Ash assured Tor, because she needed to tell herself too.
No more losses. No more guilt. She had caused this war—she would make sure everyone else she loved came through it alive.
“Char Nikau,” Spark said, pulling the focus back to the memorial. “Rook and Lynx Akela.”
“Find your warmth,” they said in unison, and snuffed the candle flames into darkness.
The first round of fights ended four days after the welcoming ceremony, once all Ignitus’s champions had arrived and gotten a chance to fight. To mark the end of the initial matches as well as the first week of the war, Geoxus held a ball on one of his palace’s outdoor terraces.
A long sheet of white and gray marble unfolded from towering doors, with the Nien River and the whole of Crixion spread out three stories below. Columns lined the area despite the lack of a roof, and in the fading sunlight, it took Ash a beat to realize that each column was a mosaic of gladiators. All Deimans—no, actually, that one off to the right was clearly a Kulan, a white flame in his outstretched hand as a Deiman gladiator planted a sandaled foot on his chest in victory.
Geoxus was not subtle. Then again, the gods rarely were.
The Kulan guards who had escorted Tor and Ash sank into the shadows by the door. Phosphorescent stones and mirrors lit the terrace as the sun set. Musicians warmed up in the corner, flutes shrieking and strings plucking, and a banquet table sat opposite them, piled with fragrant smoked pork, dried dates, peeled citrus fruits, and casks of wine. The center of the terrace floor was bare, clearly for dancing later on. For now, the other guests picked at the banquet, everyone wearing opulent togas and gilded gowns, making it difficult to guess who was a fighter and who was not. Ash assumed some of these people had to be the remaining Deiman champions, or other members of Deiman society.
She didn’t see Madoc yet.
That realization, and the corresponding pull of disappointment, itched at Ash’s mind. She told herself that she only cared whether he was here or not because of the questions she planned to ask him. She had seen the way he’d looked at her during their initial fight, and after Rook’s death. She could use that. Fluster him. Lower his defenses.
And milk out the truth about his energeia.
“Remember the plan,” Tor whispered to her. He took her arm, the two of them making a slow, circuitous route around the perimeter of the terrace.
Ash bowed her head toward him. They had plotted their own next step just that morning. “We link Rook’s attack to Stavos’s disappearance and Char being poisoned, and we push Ignitus for more information.”
“Subtly,” Tor prodded.
Ash lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’ll be subtle?”
“You like to test the limits. But now is not the time for recklessness.”
Impossibly, Ash felt herself smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Tor gave her a surprised grin, rippling the sunburst painted on his cheek. Ignitus had left explicit instructions regarding their dress for this party. Tor wore blue. The fabric started pale where it hung off one shoulder and bunched at the opposite hip before fading into a long skirt of deepest navy around his feet. Silver sunbursts covered his bare skin, and Taro had spent the better part of the day weaving silver thread into his thick black hair. He looked like one of Ignitus’s brightest flames, a streak of star fire or the mesmerizing core at the center of every fire.
“It’s good to see you smile,” Tor said. “And I must say, Char would be both brokenhearted and proud to see how grown-up you look.”
Ash’s face stilled. Self-consciously, she smoothed her skirt.
Ignitus had requested that she wear red. This gown was similar to the dancing costume she wore when she played the fire god. The skirt hung low on her hips, held in place by a gold band set with garnets, while the fabric that fell to her sandaled feet was a few layers of sheer crimson. The top cut deep across her collarbone and stopped in a point above her navel, more crimson set with gold-rimmed garnets. The straps holding it in place drooped around her shoulders, all else bare, showing off the gold bangles on her wrists, the thick gold necklace that rose and fell with each breath, her unbound waves of black curls, the way her skin glistened, the gold paint on her lips and the kohl around her eyes.
Tor was the hottest part of a flame, but Ash was the wildest. The red, pulsing fingers that sought and destroyed, grabbed and burned.
The moment Ash had put on this outfit, she’d looked at herself in the mirror and known she could get whatever information she wanted out of Madoc with one sway of her hips. She could draw a confession out of Ignitus with a spin and an arch. She would get to dance tonight, and the hum of the music mixed with the sway of other people would fill up the void of loneliness that Ash constantly teetered on the edge of.
She felt more herself in this gown than she had since Char died.
As they continued to walk, Ash turned away from Tor, her eyes skimming over the terrace. She spotted Geoxus at the edge on a cushioned chair. Ignitus stood at the banquet table with his two other remaining champions: Brand, a year older than Ash but five times as cocky; and Raya, who had traveled here from a fight in Lakhu with her own lavish entourage.
Brand wore orange; Raya wore white. Ash saw the connection between the outfits when she looked back at Ignitus, who was dressed in a flowing tunic of all those colors. Blue. Red. Orange. White. The kaleidoscopic hues all found in fire.
Suddenly, her red gown felt more restrictive.
She and Tor were nearly to the banquet table. Tor lifted his hand. “Great Ignitus,” he called.
Ignitus spotted them and turned his back on Brand and Raya.
“Steady, love,” Tor whispered.
The crowd continued their conversations, and that kept tempo with Ash’s vibrating pulse. She stopped before Ignitus and forced herself to look into his glittering eyes.
It was the first time she had seen her god since Rook’s death. That realization chased away her all-too-feeble confidence, and her mind blurred with the memory of Ignitus’s hands splayed before him. The fire blasting out. Rook falling, choking in her arms.
“What a tragedy your fight was, Ash,” Ignitus said. She was shaking. “I hope you two have had time to collect yourselves? I know you were friendly with Rook Akela.”
Ash had to wrestle the disgust off her face. “Yes. We were friendly with him.”
Tor squeezed her arm. “His betrayal shocked us, Great Ignitus.”
Ignitus kept his gaze on Ash. “You are angry,” he guessed. “Angry that he failed to kill me?”
Ash gawked and Tor stiffened next to her.
The musicians’ volume rose. Couples took to the floor, whirls of colorful fabrics and jewelry that glinted in the phosphorescent stone light. Deiman music mimicked its god in its force; even the flutes assaulted Ash’s ears, and the moves she saw were all hard stomps and cutting lurches. The instruments caught up with each other and formed a rollicking melody that made Ash’s heart crackle like a forest fire. Her soul ached to sweep onto the floor, to join the dancers, to feel like a part of something, if only for a single song.
“Great Ignitus,” Tor started, “Ash is merely—”
“Angry,” she said. She stepped out of Tor’s arm, closer to Ignitus. “Yes, I’m angry.”
She could feel tension palpitating off Tor in waves. She could feel the heat on Ignitus’s skin rise, in his eye a gleam of challenge, waiting for her to make a fatal mistake.
“I’m angry at Rook’s betrayal. He turned his back on us all when he attacked you. I’m angry that I was unable to stop him before he got so far. And I’m most angry, Great Ignitus”—Ash d
ropped her voice low beside the party hum—“that this seems to be a pattern. First my mother is poisoned. Then Stavos threatens you. Now something drove Rook to attack you.”
Ignitus jerked back. Ash reveled in the surprise that graced his fine features. “I told you,” he said, his voice wavering slightly, “there is no threat.”
“It cannot be a coincidence.” She was pushing the god of fire—she knew how dangerous a line she was walking, but she was trapped on a stampeding horse of her own driving, helpless not to ride it as far as she could. “We are your gladiators. If something’s going on, we should fight for you. Let us help.”
“My job is to protect Kula,” Ignitus said, “which includes protecting myself. I can’t have a gladiator involved again—”
“Again?” The word tasted sweeter than the finest honey.
Ignitus glowered at her. “This is the last you will speak of this.”
He turned, cutting a path through the dancing crowd without another word.
Tor swung in front of Ash to stop her from running after Ignitus. A dozen questions waited in her throat, things she wanted to scream, but she could only look up at Tor and say, “A gladiator? A gladiator is part of what he fears?”
Tor shook his head, fingers pinched on her arm in thought. His eyes went to the front doors. “Taro and Spark just arrived. I’ll get them, and we’ll discuss it. Wait here.”
He left, shaking out his hands as he walked away. Ash felt the same energy coursing through her body—she wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She wanted to move, if only to surge blood into her limbs and out of her chest, where it felt like all of it had gathered, hot and heavy.
A gladiator was part of what Ignitus feared. Could it be a gladiator and not the other gods that was a threat to Ignitus? How so?
Ash’s mind seized.
If Stavos’s threat had legitimately worried Ignitus, and a gladiator was who he feared . . . then had Ignitus gotten rid of Stavos?
She imagined Stavos burning to death in Ignitus’s flames and she trembled with an unfamiliar burst of satisfaction. The image felt like justice.
With a shake of her head, she pushed the idea away. She needed more details. She needed fact, truth, no more of this guessing and patchy information.
