by Sara Raasch
Ash’s mouth dropped open. Taro had never snapped at her before. She was usually the one who winked at Ash when Tor or Char reprimanded her.
But she knew Tor had been furious with her. He hadn’t let her out of his sight for the past two days. Mornings of drills in the training room, afternoons running laps through Geoxus’s gardens.
“When you fight Brand,” Tor had told her, “you must be ready. You won’t get lucky again.”
Brand was the only other champion to outrank Ash in blood. He was young, and virile, and brutishly confident, with a reputation for only being satisfied with a win if it ended in death.
You won’t get lucky again.
Tor hadn’t meant her fight with Rook and how she had won because he got himself killed; Tor would never speak ill of Rook like that. He had been talking about Madoc.
“Madoc wouldn’t hurt me,” Ash fumbled now. The statement burst out of her, so obvious that she didn’t hear its stupidity until Taro’s eyebrows went up.
“Ash.” Taro’s voice was heavy with exasperation. “Every move that fighter makes in this war, he does at the behest of his god. We don’t even know what god that is, do we? Maybe Aera. Maybe someone different entirely. We don’t know what kind of energeia he used on you. And we have no idea who killed Stavos. That’s exactly the point—we don’t know. We’re in this together, the lot of us, and you’re young, but I’d have thought you’d learned not do something so stupid as to get tangled up with an enemy.”
Ash shot closer to Taro. “I am not tangled up with him.”
Taro’s face went red, but she straightened, her broad shoulders stretching. “Take a second to center yourself. You can’t go into a fight like this.”
She stomped across the room, threw open the door, and slammed it behind her.
Ash stood in Taro’s wake, her mind thudding. She knew Taro was right—she wasn’t in this alone. Each day she felt the weight of guilt of this war, the chafing horror that she had caused this conflict. Rook was gone—because of her.
Which made her try harder, fight longer, beat herself ragged to figure out the riddle of Ignitus’s weakness. The actions she took to bring down Ignitus would ripple out to Tor, Taro, Spark, and others back in Kula if she failed, or if Ignitus found her out beforehand. And in a few moments, she would have to fight Brand. She couldn’t afford distraction. She couldn’t—
The door to the preparation chamber opened. Ash closed her eyes with a soft sigh.
“Taro, I’m not ready for—”
“We need to talk.”
Ash’s eyes flew open. A girl stood inside the room, her back to the door. When Ash looked at her, she threw the bolt, locking them in.
Ash’s muscles hardened, but she didn’t move.
The girl’s lips flickered. “I’m Cassia. Madoc’s sister. I don’t have a lot of time. My guard is right outside—I told him I needed to use the facilities.”
She pulled a scroll out of the pocket of her linen shift and tossed it into the air. Ash caught it, the aged parchment crinkling in her hand.
“I’m in the household of Crixion’s tax collector,” Cassia said. “He’s also a senator. I grabbed this out of his office—it’s one of the records all senators have. ‘Results of Wars with Kula.’”
Ash’s confusion didn’t abate. “Did Madoc tell you to bring me this?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here, but he did manage to tell me that you wanted him to get you a list of gladiators who’ve fought against Kula and have the champion’s pox. This lists those gladiators and what became of them.” Cassia bristled. “You aren’t going to blackmail my brother. You aren’t going to drag him into some conspiracy against your god. This is all you’ll get from us, and now you’re going to forget about him.”
The emphasis she put on the last word was heavy with all the things unsaid.
“He isn’t a spy, is he?” Ash asked, her voice soft. “He isn’t working against Ignitus.”
Cassia’s face contorted with honest confusion. “What? Of course not.”
Ash’s heart squeezed. In her mind, she heard Taro chastising her. If associating with Madoc made Taro fume, then so would being here with Cassia. So would trusting Cassia.
Ash unrolled the parchment. Sections had been added to it over time, with the ink at the top a faded brown while the entries at the bottom were vibrant black.
Kepheus Ptolamy, one record started:
FIRST WAR, YEAR 894:
STAKES: FISHING RIGHTS OVER VORES BAY, WESTERN KULA
FINAL WAR MATCH: FOUR-HOUR FIGHT, GEOXUS VICTORIOUS
SECOND WAR, YEAR 895:
STAKES: KULA’S CLOTH TRADE WITH LAKHU
FINAL WAR MATCH: NINE-HOUR FIGHT, GEOXUS VICTORIOUS
TITHED: YEAR 898
DEATH: YEAR 899
Ash squinted. “What does it mean when a gladiator is tithed? We don’t have that in Kula. Is it some sort of donation they get?”
Cassia pursed her lips. “I’ve heard people say it’s like retiring.”
“Retiring? Gladiators don’t retire. They die.”
“Maybe in Kula. In Deimos, Geoxus lets gladiators retire when they’ve fought for him well. He’s benevolent.”
Ash’s skin prickled. Benevolent.
Before Ash could ask more, Cassia snatched the scroll back from her. “That’s enough. These records are yours only if you promise to forget what you know about Madoc.”
Ash’s eyes dropped to the scroll. Would this information be useful?
I can’t have a gladiator involved again, Ignitus had said.
Maybe the other Deiman gladiators who had disappeared in the past were connected to Kula. She could still look for those ties. She could still find something that could help.
Ash sighed, defeated, and took the scroll. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone about Madoc.”
She scanned the parchment with bleary eyes. She didn’t know how she would begin to—
Amyntas Fulvius, another entry said.
FIRST WAR, YEAR 886:
STAKES: TWO HARVESTS OF KULAN WHEAT
FINAL WAR MATCH: TWO-HOUR FIGHT, GEOXUS VICTORIOUS
SECOND WAR, YEAR 888:
STAKES: THREE YEARS OF KULA’S MEAT TRADE WITH CENHELM
FINAL WAR MATCH: NINE-HOUR FIGHT, GEOXUS VICTORIOUS
TITHED: YEAR 894
DEATH: YEAR 898
More—
STAKES: KULAN LUMBER EXPORTS. GEOXUS VICTORIOUS.
STAKES: KULAN MEDICINAL IMPORTS FROM LAKHU. GEOXUS VICTORIOUS.
More and more. The stakes, Kula’s dwindling assets; the victor, Geoxus.
At the very bottom, outlined from old faded ink to crisp black, was a record of Kula’s resources, laid out like a shopping list that a servant might take to a market. Some items had notes beside them—Won by Aera; Won by Biotus—while more than a dozen items had lines through them, all the things Geoxus now owned from Kula.
Ash had never seen Kula’s losses laid out so succinctly before. It was infuriating, her country’s reality scratched on parchment as though it was just some footnote in history.
But three items were not yet struck through. Kula’s rights to the Telsa Channel; their two remaining fishing ports; and their glass trade.
All the resources that were at stake in this war.
Ash’s chest seized. “They’re bleeding us dry,” she breathed.
“Who?”
“Geoxus.” Ash frowned up at Cassia. “Biotus. Aera. The other gods.”
Leave me out of his squabbles with Geoxus, Biotus, and Aera.
This wasn’t a squabble. This was a targeted effort to strip Kula of resources.
Cassia made a noise like a laugh. When Ash didn’t relent, she squinted like she had thought Ash was telling a joke. “Geoxus is a peaceful god. Or he would be, if he wasn’t surrounded by warmongering siblings. Ignitus has caused all the wars Geoxus declares against him, and the other ones were started by Aera and Biotus. Ignitus deserves everything he gets.”
&nbs
p; “Yes,” Ash said by instinct. But—
She glanced over the entries again. She remembered a few of these wars. One, Ignitus had definitely caused—he stole a cargo of goods bound for Deimos. But years ago, a fleet of passing centurions raided a coastal village in Kula, and when people fought back, Geoxus declared war for the offense of murdering his elite soldiers. In a second instance, a landslide decimated a mountain town in northern Kula—while Geoxus just happened to be in Cenhelm, Kula’s northern neighbor. When Ignitus had accused Geoxus of causing it, Geoxus had declared war, aghast at the offense to his reputation.
Ash would have been able to reason it away like she always did, the gods just being petulant children. But her eyes went back to the list.
When Ash went to Lakhu, Cenhelm, and Deimos for arena fights, those countries were prosperous, their people cared for, even though warmongering gods also ruled them. Why were Kula’s resources the only ones running out?
She thought again of Hydra’s message. Leave me out of his squabbles.
Was it possible that Ignitus had been asking Hydra for help?
Ash dropped to a seat on the bench, the scroll held limply, horror stabbing her in the stomach so hard she gagged.
A horn bleated through the arena. Her fight would be starting soon, another bloody match she would have to devote herself to in order to please Ignitus, to get close to him—to destroy him.
From the look of it, Geoxus, Biotus, and Aera were trying to destroy Ignitus too. But their version of destroying Ignitus meant destroying Kula.
Could there truly be a larger conspiracy that Geoxus, Biotus, and Aera were playing out against Ignitus that could actually kill him? Or was there only a mystery woman killing Deiman gladiators, a rumor that made Ignitus tremble, and a gladiator he had mentioned offhandedly?
Ash let her head loll between her slumped shoulders, her chest deflating. Dead end after dead end. She was so tired.
The bench groaned as Cassia eased onto it. Ash jumped. She had forgotten Cassia was even here.
“We’re done,” Ash said to the floor. “You brought me the records. You should go.”
The crowd erupted above them. The warm-up matches must have been ending.
“Is your country struggling?” Cassia asked.
Ash huffed. “You could say that.”
“You blame your god for these wars,” Cassia said. “That’s why you tried to get Madoc to help you pin Stavos’s disappearance on Ignitus.”
Ash whipped a look up at Cassia. No one else had been able to so easily see through her lies before—the default with most people was devotion to the gods. No one would think to accuse someone else of disloyalty.
Curiosity surged through Ash’s veins.
After a long pause, Cassia spoke again. “My father got sent to debtor’s jail, but when he couldn’t keep up with the work, the tax collector who arrested him sold him off to an arena. A gladiator killed him. In a practice fight.”
Ash’s knee bounced.
“I was so angry,” Cassia whispered. “I blamed Geoxus for the longest time. But my mother took me to one of his temples, sat me down before his statue, and asked if I knew what Geoxus was thinking at that moment. Of course I didn’t. She said we can’t know what the gods are thinking, but we have to believe they know best. The gods aren’t to blame.” Cassia landed a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “People are to blame. Every choice the gods make, they do so trying to give us a good life. Corrupt people are the ones who mess it all up.”
Like Stavos.
Ash’s body heat spiked, and she knew Cassia felt it when she drew away with a jerk.
Ash was glad Stavos was dead for what he’d done to Char—but it was Ignitus who had caused Char’s death. Ignitus who bore the most blame.
And no matter what Cassia thought, it was Geoxus who had caused her own father to die in an arena. Geoxus, like the other warmongering gods, was the one who kept the arenas active.
Ash felt a line draw between herself and Cassia, like it always did, a stark reminder of her fate: to be alone in a world where most people worshipped the gods instead of hating them.
“Thanks,” Ash managed, her teeth welded together. “I’ll try to see it that way.”
Another horn blasted. Cassia stood. “I’ll need the scroll back. I should be at the next war celebration. Get it to me then.” Her voice was softer now. “And . . . good luck today.”
She opened the door. It squealed against its frame, letting in a rush of cheers before it shut in her wake.
Ignitus didn’t make decisions to try to give Kula its best life. Ash was holding a list of all the resources he had gambled away. For every instance where Ignitus might have been justified in dragging Kula into a war, there were a dozen where he had done so frivolously and lost greatly. Char had died because of his choices, because of his selfishness and manic pride and petty temper.
And he was responsible for Char’s death. Her blood was on his hands. Rook’s blood, too.
These records changed nothing. Cassia’s devotion to her god was no different from the loyalty Ash had seen in the other Kulan fire dancers, and in other gladiators, and in everyone else besides Tor, Taro, and Spark.
She shouldn’t have felt disappointed, but the flicker of hope that had lit at Cassia’s words now smoldered angrily in Ash’s belly. Between Madoc and now Cassia, the Metaxas seemed determined to reignite the void in her soul, the loneliness that ached and throbbed. She had almost managed to drown it out with grief, with guilt, with focus, with a dozen other things she’d stuffed into her mind.
Like why it looked so much like Geoxus, Aera, and Biotus were trying to drive Ignitus into destitution.
Ash rubbed the scroll, her jaw working.
Why had they targeted him? It made her feel the smallest, dimmest flicker of solidarity—with Ignitus.
Body coiled, she launched herself to her feet and hurled the scroll at the door.
Thirteen
Madoc
“JANN’S BEEN FAVORING his right side since the first match.” Elias fastened Madoc’s breastplate, pulling the metal flush to his chest. “When you make your move, go for those ribs.” Elias jabbed him in the spot he meant, which reminded Madoc too much of Stavos’s body and the puckered wounds around the arrows in his back.
Madoc focused on the slashes of light streaming through the small barred window farther down the stone wall. The breeze that swept through the corridor from the arena carried the harsh bite of woodsmoke.
Ash was fighting outside. He’d heard the announcement before they’d made their way to the corridor near the south entrance. Her opponent was someone named Brand, and it had taken extreme force of will not to go to the window to see who was winning.
Ash’s fight was her business. The Metaxas’ lives didn’t depend on her advancement.
“He’ll see it coming,” Madoc said, rubbing the side of his unshaven jaw, where Narris had landed a punch in training that had knocked Madoc on his back just yesterday. One of his heels bounced against the floor.
“It won’t make a difference if you can get there faster,” Elias told him, moving to the other side for the final adjustments to his armor. “He’s from Arsia—the ground is softer there, so he’ll think that he’ll be able to pull up more of it than he can.”
Madoc pictured the northern province, circled on the map pinned to the wall in the barracks by Jann. Arsia has the finest dirt and the finest lovers, he’d declared all week. Madoc hadn’t thought that information would actually prove useful.
More smoke wafted in on the breeze as, outside, the crowd erupted in cheers. Had Ash pinned her opponent or had Brand defeated her? Madoc didn’t know if he wanted her to win or lose. A victory might secure her safety a little while longer, buy her favor with Ignitus. But her victory also meant that Madoc might have to fight her in the final battle.
And Madoc had to win that final battle.
A high cry stabbed through his concentration, weakening his resolve not to watch the
event outside. Pulling away from Elias, Madoc stalked to the window. Please let her fight be over, he found himself thinking, even as he wished it would go on forever, just so he wouldn’t have to face Jann.
He spotted Ash immediately. Her armor was charred on her left hip and her long hair was slicked back with sweat. She’d lost her sword in the sand and her hands were open, pulsing with deadly balls of orange flames. With another cry, she launched herself across the arena toward Brand—a young, thick-shouldered gladiator carrying a shield and a spear. Fire hurtled from Ash’s hands, barely blocked by Brand’s shield. Just before she reached him, she dropped to the ground, kicking out his feet in a spray of sand.
Madoc’s pulse tripped as Brand fell to his knees. The spear landed just out of reach, and as Brand stretched for it, Ash pounced on his back.
“Good,” Madoc whispered.
Brand rolled, releasing his shield. Ash straddled his chest, hands curling around his throat. Her face and arms glistened with sweat. Even from outside the fighting pit, Madoc could see the hard planes of her shoulders.
Brand shoved at her forearms, but Ash didn’t falter.
“You have him,” Madoc muttered. Now that he was watching, he wanted Ash to win. She was more skilled. Faster. She deserved this victory.
“Having a good time?” Elias asked beside him. Madoc had been so consumed with the fight that he hadn’t noticed his brother approaching. “If it’s not too much trouble, maybe you could stop drooling and get your head in your own match.”
He wasn’t drooling—he was a fighter watching another fighter, that was all. But when the announcer called Ash’s name, Madoc’s fist pumped against his side, and his lips curled into a small smile.
Elias pulled sharply on the breastplate belt, and Madoc’s breath exhaled in a huff. He turned away from the window as Ash raised her hands in victory.
He had bigger things to worry about than Ignitus’s gladiators.
“Jann’s got it in for you,” Elias said, returning his focus to the match. “He, Stavos, and Raclin were close. They’ve trained together for ten years.”
Ten years ago, Elias and Madoc were eight. While they’d been nothing more than skinny boys catching lizards and playing pranks on Cassia using Elias’s geoeia, Jann had been learning to kill.
