Set Fire to the Gods

by Sara Raasch

  Eleven

  Madoc

  STAVOS OF CRIXION was dead.

  Madoc stared at the body, his gaze darting from the arrows protruding out of Stavos’s broad back to the raised welts on his chest and face to his dull brown eyes, open and unblinking. The giant of a man who had threatened Madoc and taunted Ash only days before looked small now, incapable of the many victories he had accrued as a gladiator.

  As the ground began to rumble, Madoc jolted upright. Stavos’s blood was slick on his arms and hands, and the more Madoc tried to wipe it away, the more it spread, smearing crimson across the bottom of the white tunic that peeked out beneath his armor. It reminded him of the time Ava had spilled honey—by the end of the day it had somehow transferred to Ilena’s hair, and Madoc’s and Danon’s clothes, and Cassia’s and Elias’s faces. The memory of that laughter was as foreign now as it was sharp, and Madoc hated himself for even thinking of it.

  “Be still.”

  Madoc turned to find Ash staring at a white marble statue near the gate. The figure’s chiseled form seemed to be twisting, the stone of his outstretched arms rippling, swelling, as if a hundred snakes were moving beneath stretched silk. The figure’s face became distorted, the jaw spreading while the mouth opened in a silent scream. The waist grew thick. The legs divided to make a monster with four sandaled feet.

  Madoc fought the urge to scramble back; he’d never seen anything so horrible or exhilarating. His heart pounded with new terror. Around him, the guards had dropped to their knees; in fear or reverence, Madoc didn’t know.

  Then, before he could draw another breath, the statue split, and Geoxus shed his marble skin, leaving the figure behind him as flawless as it had been moments before.

  Madoc gaped. He’d heard that Geoxus could move through stones, but he’d never seen it for himself until tonight. He nearly forgot Stavos lying dead on the ground until the Father God veered toward Madoc and Ash, his black toga rippling in his wake.

  “How did this happen?” Geoxus roared, his hands open with lethal intent, the thunder in his voice making the stone wall around the gate vibrate. He crouched beside the body. Behind him, a sea of guards rushed from the palace, the clap of metal and leather armor filling the night. They surrounded the area, blocking the guests who had come to see what had happened.

  Madoc trembled, glancing back to the statue Geoxus had emerged from. The god of earth was every bit as powerful as the stories people told, and even though Madoc had had nothing to do with Stavos’s death, he felt a sharp bite of shame, as if he should have somehow saved the gladiator, or tried harder to deter Ash from her odd mission.

  But he’d wanted to help her. She knew something about the plague that had killed the gladiators before the war—a pox, Remi had told Elias. She wanted Deiman gladiator records—not to use against them in the arena, or so she said. Whatever her true motives were, their goals could align. If he could help her prove Ignitus had something to do with the gladiators who’d fallen ill, surely Geoxus would want to know. He might be able to win the Father God’s favor and ask him to set Cassia free.

  She was playing a dangerous game, and if nothing else, they had that in common.

  He glanced in her direction and found her scowling through the line of soldiers now positioned between them and the body on the ground. He could feel the warmth coming from her, even more than the heat of her skin beneath his hands when they’d danced. Lit torches lined the perimeter walls, the paths, even the entrance to the stables. The phosphorescent stones from the palace did not extend to this area of the grounds—Geoxus must not have thought one of his brother’s gladiators would venture so far from the party.

  Or that one of his own would have led her here.

  They needed to get their story straight before someone asked.

  “Honorable Father God!” A centurion, his belt lined with black onyx to denote his high rank, knelt at Geoxus’s feet. “Stavos was already wounded when he approached the gates. My centurions did not recognize him. If Madoc had not been here to identify—”

  “Your centurions could not identify an honored son of Deimos?” Geoxus bellowed, nearly knocking the centurion sideways with only the strength of his voice. “One who had been missing for three days?” Geoxus made a fist, and for one terrifying moment, Madoc thought he meant to pummel his own guard. Then his hand dropped, and the wrinkles around his eyes, which Ilena had claimed were from smiling too much, pinched with something close to regret. “His life was not meant to end this way.”

  Madoc’s brows drew together. What would happen to Stavos now? Would he still be granted a champion’s funeral, his body returned to the earth to become geoeia?

  She took it from me.

  Stavos’s last words plagued Madoc’s mind. He didn’t know who Stavos could have meant. The warning just as easily might have been the ramblings of a man on the edge of death.

  “Apologies, Honorable Geoxus,” the centurion said quickly, his forehead now pressed to the ground. “I will find those who denied him entry to the palace and see that their punishment matches the crime.”

  A shiver crawled between Madoc’s shoulder blades. If the centurions were put to death for failing to protect Stavos, what would happen to his actual killer? He didn’t want to think of what that would mean for him and Ash, who had found Stavos in a place they had no right wandering off to by themselves.

  A nearby guard narrowed his gaze to Ash’s hands, fisted at her sides. It suddenly occurred to Madoc that Ash might not have wanted to see Lucius’s records at all. She could have been trying to get him alone.

  She might have done the same to Stavos before he’d been abducted. Her curiosity about him might have been a lie—if he’d killed her mother, she had a clear enough reason to want him dead.

  But she’d had an opportunity to kill him when they’d been talking, and she hadn’t done it.

  He couldn’t get a clear feel of her emotions. The air was too charged with anxiety, all swirling about the cold void of Stavos’s body.

  “Who would dare harm one of my gladiators, a hero of Deimos?” Geoxus’s voice suddenly fell away. His fingers rose to his temples, and his eyes fluttered closed. When he spoke again, it was no more than a strained whisper. “Where is my brother?”

  “I’m here, Honorable Geoxus.”

  Madoc’s teeth clenched at the sound of Ignitus’s voice. Stavos had told Ash that Ignitus hadn’t had anything to do with his murder, but how else could the gladiator’s death have stayed hidden from the watchful eyes of Geoxus? Everything in this city was stone. Stavos had to have been kept in wood or water for Geoxus not to hear his pleas.

  Why someone would go to such great extents to hide his murder, Madoc didn’t know.

  He turned to find Ignitus standing behind the centurions, leaning against the side of a marble fountain. People from the party gathered in his wake, some Deiman, some Kulan, all straining to get a look at what had garnered so much attention.

  With a sigh, Ignitus pushed off the fountain, the V-cut collar of his tunic dipping down to his waist, leaving his smooth chest bare to the belt. As he sauntered toward his brother and the body, the torches along the perimeter wall throbbed with light and heat.

  Madoc glanced again to Ash and found her gaze had dropped sharply to the ground. She was afraid, and he didn’t blame her. Her god had killed one of his own gladiators.

  Cringing, Ignitus motioned to the body at Geoxus’s feet. “It looks like one of your gladiators might be a bit ill. Is this the pox rumored to be going around?”

  “You of all gods should know that it is dangerous to meddle in the rules of war, Ignitus.” Geoxus’s hands lowered, but as they did, the ground began to rumble, then quake, causing the fire god to stumble and catch himself just before falling. A scream from the crowd slapped off the walls as dozens of voices began talking at once. Sand shifted across the ground, stones from the path pushing out of place. The fountain Ignitus had been leaning against just moments before cracked, an
d the top half of the stone statue within fell into the water with a splash.

  Madoc’s pulse stumbled, and he widened his stance in attempt to stay upright. Half the crowd held fast, watching the show, while others shoved past them in an attempt to flee to the palace.

  Ash gripped Madoc’s arm to steady herself, her palm hot against his clammy skin.

  “That was one of my most prized gladiators,” Geoxus growled as half the crowd continued to race for safer ground.

  “Then for your sake, brother, I hope you have a backup.” Ignitus scowled at the ground, as if this would stop the earth from shaking.

  Geoxus’s lips curled back. His hand twitched, but Ignitus spread his fingers, and every torch from the wall to the palace suddenly went black, the only glow emanating from the blue flames that warped around his long body.

  “Yes,” the god of fire murmured as more screams erupted. “I can play these games too.”

  Madoc could hear Ash breathing beside him. Her hand slid down his forearm, the sharp heat of her skin centering him.

  “The lights, Ignitus,” growled Geoxus.

  “Will you be nice?”

  A beat passed. Ash gripped Madoc tighter, flooding warmth up his arm into his chest.

  With one final groan from the perimeter wall, the ground stilled.

  Light rose from darkness, revealing Ignitus, no longer wrapped in blue flames, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

  “I didn’t do this, nor did any of my people. We know how to dispose of a body.”

  All that would be left was a smoldering pile of bones, Madoc realized grimly.

  Ignitus’s bright eyes shifted across the stable yard, his gaze turning Madoc back to what remained of the crowd from the party—a few pale patrons, the other champions snarling at each other from either side of the broken fountain, and two elegantly clad figures who had shoved through to the front.

  Lucius and Petros.

  Madoc’s gut twisted.

  He did not want to be seen here by his trainer—to give Lucius any reason to think he might have had something to do with this, or to question his position in the Honored Eight or the money he’d won by forfeit. Especially not after Petros had embarrassed him in front of Geoxus by claiming Madoc was his son.

  “Why should I believe you?” Geoxus asked. “Stavos defeated your best champion in Kula. If anyone holds a grudge, it’s you.”

  Beside Madoc, Ash stiffened. He remembered Stavos taunting Ash during their fight. Again, it occurred to him that she could have had something to do with his death. Ignitus might not be the only one holding a grudge.

  “Even so,” said Ignitus, “I would not risk losing this war over the life of some Deiman with a knack for throwing pebbles.”

  Geoxus flinched at Ignitus’s casual dismissal of his fallen hero.

  Madoc’s gaze fell to Stavos—to his dead eyes and his bloated, pale-blue skin—and again felt the urge to clean the blood off himself.

  Ignitus folded his hands gracefully behind his back, his sandaled feet barely making a sound as he circled Geoxus and the body. “If I were you, brother, I would question this man’s competition. Who stood to gain the most from his fall?”

  Ash’s grip pumped around Madoc’s hand—he hadn’t realized they were still touching until that moment—and then she drew back, eyeing him with the same suspicion he’d turned her way.

  “You think I . . .” Madoc scoffed. “I’ve been with you half the night.”

  Her wary stare was all the answer he needed, and as he looked across the grounds to the other Deiman champions now glaring his way, one word entered his mind: advancement.

  Stavos was a trained champion. Everyone knew Madoc didn’t have a chance at beating him in the arena. Since the forfeited match, speculation had flown that Madoc had poisoned him or delivered some threat that had made the other man run. While the city had cheered the dramatic twist, the gladiators at Lucius’s villa had begun to whisper behind his back.

  Madoc had kept his head down, focusing on his next chance to earn more coin. But now the missing gladiator could no longer be ignored. He had been found by Madoc, and died in his arms.

  Madoc swallowed, his throat making an audible click as more stares turned in his direction. His gaze darted to Geoxus, only to find the Father God already looking his way, his stare as hard and gleaming as quartz. Madoc’s bones quaked. He felt the bile climb up his throat.

  “How very interesting,” said Ignitus, raising one brow at his brother. “Your dead gladiator was discovered by the same man he was meant to battle.” Ignitus hummed thoughtfully. “Tell me, Geoxus, how is it that Madoc found your fallen hero? It couldn’t be possible that he strayed from the party to clean up his mess, would it?”

  Madoc gritted his teeth.

  “He wasn’t alone,” said the centurion captain, now rising to his feet. “He was with a Kulan gladiator.”

  Ignitus’s pointed glare turned to Madoc and Ash, a wisp of blue flame licking over his skin as fury smoldered in his dark eyes.

  Ash’s sharp intake of breath sent a spike through Madoc’s spine. Now everyone was staring at them. The gods. The centurions. The gladiators. Every servant and citizen who remained. Desperately, he searched for Elias, or even Cassia, but if they were here, he couldn’t find them.

  Fear pounded through his blood. Ash knew he didn’t have geoeia—that he had something else. Would she tell the gods now in order to clear herself? If she did—if Geoxus found out Madoc was lying about who he was—all remaining trust in him would be invalidated. They would never believe he wasn’t linked to Stavos’s death.

  Madoc straightened his back. “We had nothing to do with this. I was as surprised as anyone else when Stavos didn’t show at our match.”

  She took it from me.

  Who took what? If he knew, he could tell Geoxus. But without any other information he would come off as desperate, hopelessly trying to deflect the blame.

  “Liar,” snapped one of the Deiman gladiators—Raclin, a woman with a shaved head and a vicious scar through her lips. Her hate slid through the people between them, a stream bending insidiously around stones.

  “I swear it,” Madoc said. “I did nothing to that man.”

  “And the enemy you were keeping company with?” Now it was Jann who had spoken, a gladiator Madoc had seen in practice who could move walls with the flick of a finger. He was taller than the rest, and lanky, right down to the spindly braid over his right shoulder.

  A centurion stepped closer, the glint of his knife catching Madoc’s eye. Another guard joined him, this one stepping in front of Ash. Madoc was suddenly thrust back into the makeshift arena in South Gate, when Petros’s bookie had called him a cheat, only now there was nowhere to run.

  “Is it against the law for enemies to keep each other company here?” Ash asked, the low, sultry timbre of her voice catching Madoc by surprise. She slid closer, tucking herself beneath his arm. The heat of her skin pressed through the thick cloth of his tunic. Each curve of her body fit against him with scalding familiarity, his arm and chest adjusting to her without thought.

  Her gaze met his through long, dark lashes, and his heart lodged in his throat.

  “We have no such laws in our land,” she said. She had the power to destroy him—to let the Father God crush him in front of a despising crowd—but she stayed by his side. There was honor in that, even if she did it only to further her own cause.

  Madoc managed a curt nod.

  “We do not,” Ignitus agreed. “Though Deimos stinks of mud, there are some things it can still offer. Let’s leave my gladiator out of this, shall we?”

  Madoc looked away as Jann’s and Raclin’s sneers cut deeper.

  “My apologies for leaving the party,” said Madoc, searching for whatever words would free him from the Father God’s questioning stare. “My loyalty remains to you despite certain . . . fascinations.”

  He could feel a bolt of heat cut through his side from Ash’s fingertips. Luci
us’s glare intensified, and Madoc knew he would be punished for stepping out of line and upsetting their god, however unintentionally. Still, chuckles rose from the crowd, and Geoxus’s gaze softened.

  “Centurions,” the Father God said, “I want to know what happened to Stavos as soon as possible. Have my servants prepare his body for burial. He’ll receive a hero’s service.”

  “Yes, Honorable Geoxus,” said the captain.

  The guard watching Madoc drew away, and the other centurions followed. Without another look, Geoxus swept back toward the palace, Ignitus trailing him after an amused smile in their direction.

  Madoc had to force his hand to uncurl from Ash’s shoulder. He sucked in a breath as he detached from her side, the air between them suddenly cold against his tingling skin.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Stavos.” He didn’t know why he told her this, only that he needed her to know.

  “I didn’t either,” she said quietly. Her lips pursed in a worried frown, and his eyes dipped to them, lingering too long.

  “If it wasn’t Ignitus, who do you think did it?” he asked.

  She shook her head, brows pinched in worry.

  “Ash.” A large Kulan gladiator approached. His gaze remained on Madoc, as leveling as the god of earth’s. Madoc stepped closer to Ash’s side.

  “Come,” the gladiator said to her, his jaw tight. “You shouldn’t be so far from our people.”

  Wariness worked through Madoc’s bones. He didn’t like the idea of her getting in trouble for being caught with him.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked quietly as she took a step toward her fellow champion.

  She hesitated, close enough to hide the brush of her wrist against the backs of his knuckles. Warmth streaked up his arm, knotting behind his collarbones. It was all the answer she could give, and it left a realization he was unprepared to face.

  He didn’t want her to go. Not just because he didn’t want her to be punished, but because he liked talking with her. Being around her. Dancing with her.