by Sara Raasch
Tor intercepted Taro and Spark by the terrace’s main doors. Not far from them, a movement drew Ash’s eye—and her body flared with heat though there was no igneia anywhere nearby.
Madoc was here now. He stood with a boy about his age, and they whispered to each other, pointing at a girl a few paces to their left. She was with a man who was clearly a government official. Madoc noticeably tensed when the man grabbed the girl’s arm and barked an order. The girl gave a look that would make the fieriest Kulan proud and reluctantly poured the man a drink.
Madoc’s jaw worked, and he shook his head—in doing so, his eyes landed on Ash.
Ash froze, her hands at her sides. For a moment, the music played, and the crowd danced, and Madoc just stared at her, expressionless, calm.
Before she could take a step, he started walking toward her.
The other boy hissed his name, but Madoc ignored him.
He wore ceremonial armor, silver-plated Deiman metal over a pleated leather skirt with sandals that wrapped high up his muscled legs. The breastplate left his arms bare, showing how the muscles bunched as he clenched his hands, and Ash had an odd, disconnected thought: If he didn’t train with gladiators, how did his arms get so big?
Burn it all, what was wrong with her?
Madoc stopped before Ash. His mouth opened. Shut again.
Ash regained herself. She was in control of their interactions from now on. She had gotten information out of Ignitus; she would find out how Madoc’s energeia was part of this.
Ash folded her arms under her chest. “I was just on my way over to you.”
It threw him off. Madoc cleared his throat. “What?”
She tipped her head, looking up through her lashes with a soft grin. “You helped me after my fight. Not many gladiators would have done that.” She touched his breastplate, pretending to clear away a streak. “I never got a chance to thank you.”
Before he could protest or explain his true reason for coming over, Ash hooked her fingers in the collar of his armor and pulled him onto the dance floor. He wobbled after her, shock making him look years younger and sweet, and Ash had to fight down a laugh.
With the reluctance she had seen from him during their fight and his eagerness to help her after Rook’s death, she again found it difficult to believe that this man was part of a conspiracy of gods. He was so . . . genuine.
Ash stopped. Madoc’s surprise made him stumble, and he steadied himself on her hips. Before he could jerk away, she planted her hands over his, keeping his palms against the curve of her hips.
His fingers were callused but gentle, and she remembered the scars on his back and how the golden hue on his arms glimmered across the rest of his skin. He smelled distractingly of honey and mint, the scent fluttering effervescence down Ash’s spine. The sensation wound tighter when she settled her hands around his neck and looked up into his dark eyes.
Pressure built in her chest, something wild and terrifying.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Madoc said, but he didn’t pull away.
The hair on the back of his neck was short and slick with the oils that styled it, and Ash found herself absently stroking her thumb on the warm, smooth skin below his ear. She felt his chest constrict against her, a sudden intake of breath that shifted his breastplate.
“You might not be able to dance,” Ash managed, “but I can. I was a fire dancer before I was a gladiator.”
Madoc frowned. “I thought Stavos made that up.”
His name still plucked at Ash’s grief. The pain must have been clear on her face, because Madoc cocked his head questioningly.
She didn’t want to talk about Stavos.
The music built; couples twirled past. After tonight, when Ash was back in her room again, loneliness waited. But here, she could be united with these strangers, linked to something warm and strong.
What other chance would she have to dance during this war?
Indulgently, Ash exhaled, eyelids fluttering. She let the music slide across her body. There were more drums than in Kulan songs, less grace from note to note, but she improvised: she arched away from Madoc, swung back. She spun in a full circle without leaving his arms, sliding her body across the front of his armor.
Madoc hardly moved, but something about that felt like part of their dance. He was a stone; she was a flame. He was stillness; she was motion.
When she curved against him, pulling herself up by his neck as the melody rose, she got caught there. His mouth was cracked open, his breath bursting warm against her lips. The smallest moan escaped his throat. It struck a nerve deep in Ash’s gut.
She had wanted the unity that dancing brought, a simple connection in a world where everything else was complicated lies.
She had gotten it. Gotten it, and more, stuck with barely a handbreadth between her face and Madoc’s, his rough, warm hands splayed against the small of her back. Her heart rolled over, and she felt herself flushing a hot scarlet.
Madoc blinked quickly. “What I wanted to talk to you about—” He sounded in pain. He shook his head. “I mean—you don’t need to thank me. I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”
The way he looked at her changed. Was that fear?
Good, Ash told herself, but it felt anything but good.
Over Madoc’s shoulder, she spotted Tor. He, Taro, and Spark scowled at her. Or scowled at Madoc?
She lowered herself, gently swaying now. “What could you want to talk to me about, Madoc?”
“About what happened in the arena hall, after your fight.” He licked his lips, leaving a glossy trail. “That it will . . . get out.”
He was afraid of her. He was afraid she would tell others about his lack of geoeia.
It should have made her feel powerful, to have leverage over an enemy champion. Ash could break him with a word. But disgust twisted her stomach, the same knot she felt whenever she had to bow to Ignitus. Lies, manipulation, coercion—she hated these games.
But she would win these games. Not murderous gods. Not attractive gladiator spies.
Ash stopped dancing, but she kept her hands on Madoc’s neck. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. His shoulders relaxed. “If you help me.”
He squinted.
She made her face droop with something close to sorrow. It wasn’t hard to fake. “I think my god is responsible for Stavos’s disappearance. I think a larger threat is looming over this war.”
To his credit, Madoc looked honestly confused. “What are you talking about?”
She leaned closer, hoping she looked the part of a scared girl. “I think my god is breaking our holiest of laws by murdering your country’s gladiators. I can’t say more.” Ash sighed. “But I need proof. You can help me get a list of all the Deiman gladiators who have died of the plague that Stavos supposedly has. If they are all former victors against Kula, Ignitus may be to blame. If we can prove even that much, it may be enough to bring before Geoxus. He would be pleased, wouldn’t he? If you help uncover his brother’s treason.”
Madoc gaped, momentarily shocked. The expression receded, slowly, into a small twitch of eagerness.
She had him.
But then he frowned. “You won’t tell Geoxus or Ignitus about what happened at the arena and all you want is a list of sick gladiators? What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Ash said. “I swear on my mother.”
“Your mother.” Madoc’s eyes narrowed. “What does she think about you sneaking around behind the backs of gods?”
Ash’s hands spasmed on Madoc’s neck. She knew he felt her flinch, but she gave a small, dismissive shake of her head, as if his question hadn’t gouged her heart. “She doesn’t think anything of it. Stavos killed her.”
Understanding slid over his face. “I forgot. . . . I’m sorry.”
His sincerity stole her breath. Again. It was infuriating.
“I’ve missed something,” Madoc continued. “If your god is involved with the disappearance of your mother’s ki
ller, shouldn’t you be happy?”
Ash’s small flash of victory turned against her. She fought not to gape at him; she fought not to rage about how Stavos deserved whatever fate Ignitus dealt him.
This wasn’t the purpose of her coercion. She needed Madoc to believe her, or at least feel sorry for her.
Ash swallowed her fury. She had to tip her head back to look up at Madoc, and she thought there might be a small spark in his eyes now, curiosity overriding his wariness.
“I’m not trying to save my mother’s killer,” Ash said. “I’m trying to make sure that my god isn’t breaking our holy laws. There’s been too much of that happening lately.”
Madoc stared at her for a long, silent moment. Finally, he sighed. “My sponsor.” He nodded toward a man at the edge of the terrace. “Lucius is the best trainer in Deimos. He has a records room that his trainees can use. I’m sure there are scrolls that list things like sick gladiators in there. Would that be enough?”
Ash nodded and dropped her arms off his shoulders. Madoc wavered, then cocked his head.
“Now?”
“Yes, now.” She waved at the people around them. “Lucius is here, isn’t he? So his villa is empty. When will we have another chance?”
Madoc’s face reddened. “Fine. We’ll need a carriage to get there, though.”
He pushed into the crowd. The girl he’d watched was still with the government official, but she was looking at Madoc; and the boy he’d been talking to stared as well. He waved at them both, a signal of stay put or don’t worry.
Ash didn’t let herself look for Tor, Taro, or Spark. They’d try to stop her.
But once she got Madoc alone, she knew she could get more out of him. Though he had beaten her in their fight, she wouldn’t fear him once they were out in the city, surrounded by candle flames and fireplaces. She would play up her fearful ruse, how she wanted to stop Ignitus from holy treachery. She would even ask Madoc if he was working against Ignitus for one of the other gods and try to place herself as an ally for him.
Madoc could be the gladiator who Ignitus feared.
Ash hurried after him.
Madoc made a quick path across the terrace. Ash’s eyes drifted beyond him—the Kulan guards were gone. Deiman guards stood at the main doors.
Would they let her pass, even with a Deiman champion?
They reached the entrance. Madoc started out into the hall, Ash just behind him.
A guard cut a hand over Ash’s chest. “No Kulans are to leave.”
Madoc drew back. A pause, and his face melted into a cocky smirk. “She’s with me,” he said, reaching up to twirl a lock of Ash’s hair around his finger.
Her mind went utterly blank. She couldn’t even play into the ruse.
The guard smiled slickly at Madoc. “Be quick about it.”
Before anyone else could protest, Madoc grabbed Ash’s hand and yanked her through the door. The moment they were in the hall, he dropped his hold on her, scraping his fingers on his thigh as though she’d burned him.
Her own hand sizzled and sparked. She fought the urge to wipe it off too.
“The stables are this way,” Madoc said and started walking to the right.
Ash’s eyes lifted. Madoc was the only other person in this towering hall. And they were going to the stables, to leave the palace.
She hadn’t connected that part of what they were doing. A childish wish blossomed inside her, to just run.
Ash looked to the left, the empty hall stretching on, a beckoning hand she wanted so badly to reach out for. The temptation would be even worse once they were in a carriage, wheels clacking through silent, empty streets.
“Are you all right?”
She spun to Madoc. Behind his wariness, there was honest concern on his face.
“You haven’t been a gladiator very long, have you?” Ash swallowed the waver in her voice.
Madoc resumed walking. Ash followed a step behind, so he had to turn slightly to see her.
“A few months,” he said. “Why?”
“You’re still . . .” Ash hesitated. Madoc glanced back, and she dropped her gaze. “A decent person.”
He snorted. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be here.” He angled them down a set of stairs. “Elias and I started fighting to earn money. It sort of got away from us.”
“Elias?”
“My brother—my attendant now, I guess.”
Ash tipped her head. Was his brother part of whatever task Madoc had been sent to fulfill? “You were fighting. How? With your fists?”
She watched the muscles in Madoc’s shoulders tense all the way up his neck. “It’s complicated. We need money to get my sister released from servitude. The man who has her—” The words seemed to choke him, and he shook his head. “It was a mistake,” he finished.
Confusion rendered Ash momentarily silent. That was Madoc’s cover for being in this war? That he was trying to free his sister? It was such a simple, personal reason, and it had nothing to do with the actual war itself.
None of this information made anything about Madoc clearer.
They came to a door. Madoc pushed it open, depositing them in a wide yard lit by a high, round moon. The air hung heavy with sweet hay and dust, ripe with the first bitter twist of colder nights. To the left sat a grand marble-and-brick stable. Carriages and horses stuffed it now, a few stable hands rustling around, keeping their masters’ transports ready for whenever they deigned to leave the ball. The gates of the stable yard sat open on the right, with two centurions standing guard, leaning on spears and idly chatting in the easy assignment.
There was igneia in the stables. Ash could see it flickering in lanterns. She breathed easier seeing it so much more available. Had Madoc noticed the flames?
“And you think this war will free your sister?” Ash managed. “Is she Earth Divine?”
Is she descended from another god, like you? Which god?
What are you really fighting for?
Madoc faced her, the palace at his back, the quiet stable yard feeling expansive around them. His eyes went hard with distrust. “Yes to both. Why?”
Ash matched his stiff-backed stance. She recognized that type of reaction. Many of the other fire dancers had looked at her like that whenever she’d slipped and said something against Ignitus, their features contorting with equal parts disgust that she’d spoken against their god and uncertainty that maybe they’d heard her wrong.
But Madoc’s reaction wasn’t in relation to his god. It was about his sister, and the difference made Ash’s chest swell with the need to explain.
She bit her lips, which made his eyes drop to her mouth.
She hadn’t meant to do that.
She should have meant to do that.
She shouldn’t be worried about what he thought of her, but his eyes were dark and deep and he was standing so close, almost as close as they had been in the dance.
He was so flustering.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Ash said. “I know what it’s like for someone you love to be trapped. Not knowing what the next day will bring for them. Forced to watch them suffer. It makes you feel so—”
“Helpless,” Madoc finished, studying her.
Ash nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, though she barely heard her own voice.
Behind her, the centurions at the gate shouted. “Halt! No beggars in Geoxus’s palace!”
“Let me through!” a different voice cried. “I must—I must see—Father God, please—”
Ash whirled at the sound of a fist striking flesh. The centurions had closed together, blocking the open gate, while a lone figure struggled to pass them.
“Father—” The man coughed, gurgled. “Father God—”
Madoc lurched forward, squinting in the darkness. “No—Stavos? Stavos—let him through! He’s one of Geoxus’s champions!”
Madoc took off and Ash shot after him by instinct, sandals slapping the packed earth.
Her stomach roiled.
Stavos was here?
They got to the gate as the centurions pulled apart. Stavos fell to the ground between them.
Blood and bruises covered his body, and each breath came with a quivering gasp, vibrating his ribs, his arms—and the three arrows sticking out of his back.
A knot twisted in Ash’s gut. She had wanted Stavos to suffer, but she couldn’t muster any satisfaction about this. Only nausea.
A lantern hung in the gate’s archway over them, casting the barest light. She grabbed for some of the igneia and flared it into a ball in her hands, bringing brighter light to the ground.
The centurions gasped. One snapped, “Damn Kulans.”
Madoc knelt and eased Stavos onto his side. “You, get help!” he shouted at a centurion. “Find him bandages, something!”
One of the guards bolted for the palace, the other for the guardhouse.
Ash moved the ball of fire closer. Her body ached as blood dripped from Stavos’s lips. She wanted to pull the igneia from her hands into her heart, infuse herself with strength. That desire grew when Madoc looked up at her and she realized he was just as scared as she was.
If Madoc was part of the plot against Ignitus and the gladiator her god feared, how did he manage to fill his eyes with such raw, honest horror?
Ash balanced the fire in one hand as she dropped to her knees and grabbed Stavos’s sweat-stained collar. Her resolve was fraying. If Madoc wasn’t part of this, and Stavos was dying—she had no leads. She had nothing.
Her mother’s murderer was here, bleeding out in front of her. He was dying at her feet, as she had wanted, as she had ached for.
It didn’t feel like justice.
It felt like a frayed knot.
Ash bent closer to him, the light in her free hand stabbing into Stavos’s bloodshot eyes, widening his pupils. “Did Ignitus do this to you?” she demanded.
Stavos coughed. His eyes spun in their sockets. “No, no, not—” He coughed, blood splattering Ash’s knees. “She took it. She took it from me. Stop—”
And as more centurions came from the palace in a swell of noise and light and party guests, Stavos seized and went limp on the ground.
