by Sara Raasch
Rocks clacked, shifting in the pile, and though Ash couldn’t see them, she scrambled forward, elbows dragging through the unstable grit.
A stone crashed into the back of Ash’s head. She rolled over, clutching the spot, pain like white lightning shooting down her spine.
Madoc or Elias—it didn’t matter who was attacking her. She couldn’t fight either of them. She wouldn’t.
She had gotten their sister killed.
Just like she had gotten Rook killed.
She had failed in so many ways, and this felt like that reckoning, all of her mistakes come to demand recompense here, now.
Ash sobbed and shifted upright, one hand braced behind her, the other holding her blood-dampened head. “Elias,” she begged. “Stop—please—”
“Stop? Stop?” Elias bent double, the remainder of the rock pile rising behind him like a wave of death. “You have no right to ask me for anything!”
He flung out his hands.
Dizzy, Ash managed to get to her feet.
The crowd was wild with bloodlust. Jeers of Kill the Kulan! echoed across the stands. Ash wanted to look at the viewing box for some burst of support, but the images beyond the fighting pit were a blend of color and shape, movement and fog.
She ran. She ran and ran, and when she tripped, she hit the ground with a jolt of memory.
Char, looking at her across the arena’s pit in Igna.
Mama, don’t do this. Mama, he’ll kill you.
Rook, his body smashing into the fighting pit.
Please, Rook, hold on—
Shadows speckled the sand around Ash. She stiffened and looked up.
A dozen stones hovered over her, poking holes in the morning sunlight.
The crowd bleated. “Kill her! Kill her!”
The first stone dropped with a jarring thud onto her spine. Something cracked in her chest, and she cried out—behind her, Elias pushed the rock deeper, harder. It twisted, cutting into skin and muscle.
Ash screamed. She tried to claw her way out, but the rock anchored her, and she knew—she would die here.
Let me take your place, Mama.
She had begged her mother to let her be a gladiator. I can handle it, Ash had thought.
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t handle this pain—she wanted to cleave her body apart to escape it as the rock burrowed into her back.
Another rock dropped, smashing into Ash’s head, pinning her skull to the ground. She had been helpless many times throughout her life, but this type of helplessness broke her. She whimpered and writhed, half hearing the muffled pleas spilling out of her mouth. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to die like this.
The sand wavered in the heat; the crowd’s noise was a dull roar. Ash was fading, flickering, a candle pulsing in a raging storm.
Across from her was an archway. Far away, too far for her to reach, someone staggered out under it.
Madoc?
The stone on her head pushed down, down—
There was light.
Bright, all-encompassing light, as though the sun had dipped down to escort one of its daughters to the afterlife. It flooded every space in Ash’s body, expanding her broken ribs, soothing her cracked skull.
Ash fell into it. If this was how life ended, she didn’t know why she had ever feared death.
Death was calm. Death was safe.
Death felt strangely like energeia.
Ash’s eyes flew open. She was standing, her body humming with power and might and burn it all, she had never felt this good. Every muscle stretched and relaxed, ready for use; every bone was whole and strong; every nerve tingled with alertness.
Her body reacted, moving as more stones descended. Speed let her dodge left, right, left, cutting around the rocks as Elias jutted his arms to direct the geoeia.
“No!” Giant tears tumbled down his face. “No—I have to do this!”
Behind him, through Ash’s tunnel, Kulan guards stormed the fighting pit. They sped toward Elias, who didn’t notice their approach.
The first guard hurtled into him, taking him to the ground. His hold on the geoeia dropped and the remaining stones crashed to the sand around Ash like so many raindrops.
The noise of the stands came back to her. Someone—Ignitus?—was shouting, “Arrest him! He interfered with this war—arrest him!”
Others: “How did she survive? What energeia is this?”
Ash whirled toward the archway.
Madoc stood there, his hands out to her, palms up.
He swayed and dropped to his knees.
The Kulan guards wrestled Elias into submission. He sobbed, heaving against them.
“I’m so sorry,” she told him.
Ash sprinted away, toward Madoc.
He leaned against the sandstone bricks, sweat sheening his face, his eyes closed.
Above them, the crowd’s cheering became murmurs of confusion—had the war ended? What had happened to Geoxus’s real champion?
Ash threaded Madoc’s arm around her shoulders. It was far easier than it should be to support him.
“You came back.” It was both a question and a statement.
He lifted hooded eyes to her before he nodded down the hall. “Preparation chamber. Before—”
Footsteps pounded on the stands, through the tunnels. At any moment, centurions would storm after them, following the orders of two no-doubt-furious gods.
Ash dragged Madoc for the closest room. She kicked the door shut and heaved her hip into the bolt to lock it. It would only buy them a little time.
This preparation chamber wasn’t for public use—it was opulent and pristine, worthy of a final war match. Ash had been vaguely aware of the gaudiness of her own that morning, the blue silk covering the walls, the padded chaise and table spread with food and drink.
This one looked just the same, only with heavy onyx silk accented by white lace. Phosphorescent stones glowed in the walls, but for once Ash didn’t seethe with the lack of igneia—her body was awash with color and light from Madoc’s anathreia.
In the corner a cushioned pallet sat on a raised dais, and Ash eased him onto it before turning to the supplies spread on the table. She poured minted water from a pitcher into a ceramic bowl. There was a sponge too—she dipped it and turned back to find Madoc lying on the pallet, one arm thrown over his forehead, his eyes split open enough to watch her.
His attention immobilized her. Water dripped down her fingers, splashed on her feet, perfuming the air with the sharp, cool scent of mint.
“What happened?” she whispered.
Madoc’s arm slid off his forehead. “I tried to leave.” His voice wavered. He sat up, legs folded under him, looking down at his hands in his lap. “But I heard the crowds in the arena. People running past said that Geoxus’s champion hadn’t shown—and his attendant had taken the ring.” Madoc glanced up at her, unspeakable sadness in his eyes. “Elias blamed you for Cassia. Why?”
Ash tossed the sponge to the floor and dropped to sit at the end of the pallet. She gave Madoc a brief summation of what she had overheard in the arena’s tunnel after she’d left him at the temple, Petros admitting to Geoxus that he had killed Stavos. She told Madoc how she had looked for him, how Elias had looked for him too. And how they had decided to free Cassia—and that when Elias had been unable to find Madoc, they had all feared Petros had taken him.
“I was with Geoxus,” Madoc said quietly. He winced, rubbing the skin between his brows. When he spoke again, his voice was thin with tears. “I was trying to get him to free her.”
Ash twisted one leg between them on the silk blanket. Tears pricked her eyes as she grabbed his wrist. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have gone into Petros’s villa at all.”
Her words tumbled into themselves.
“Seneca was there,” she forced herself to say. The final missing piece. The mysterious she Stavos had mentioned. “She can control anathreia too. She took Cassia’s divinity.”
Madoc whipped
a horrified look to her, bloodshot veins running through his eyes. “Seneca is Soul Divine?” He paused, gaping. “That’s how she knew so much about it.”
Or she’s something far worse. But Ash couldn’t say more without disintegrating.
A brittle sob racked her. “Everything’s so wrong,” she managed. “It’s too much. You shouldn’t have come back. You were right—you should’ve just run while you had the chance.”
“But then you’d be dead,” Madoc whispered.
Ash thanked the blur of tears in her eyes that she couldn’t see the look on his face. She didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.
“You should know,” Ash started, “that Cassia saved my life. She was so strong, and she fought so well. She died protecting me.”
Madoc gave a weak chuckle. “That sounds like her. She was our protector—kept us in line, at least. She always did what was right. If Petros had wanted Elias or me, she’d never have let us get taken in the first place.” He scrubbed the heel of his palm into his eye.
Ash’s heart cracked. “I’m so sorry.”
She was still touching his other wrist; she could feel his pulse beating under her fingertips. And when he twisted his hand to grab her arm, gripping her imploringly, Ash couldn’t breathe.
Madoc kept his head bent. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Ash jolted, relief trying to push its way through the heaviness of sorrow and the intensity of sitting here next to him. But she had carried guilt for so long in other forms—she didn’t know how to peel it off, even with his absolution.
She started to stand. “Thank you for saving me. We should—”
Madoc’s fingers tightened around her arm. They were callused on the tender skin of her wrists, and that touch kept her seated. “You didn’t fight back. Against Elias.”
“Of course not.”
“He would have killed you.” His eyes lifted to hers, intent, heavy. “I thought he had.”
Ash felt timid under his gaze, though she was covered in dried blood and sweat and sand. “I’m an enemy gladiator. Losing me shouldn’t matter to you.”
“If it didn’t matter to me”—Madoc’s voice was husky—“I wouldn’t have stood in that entrance hall, watching Elias hurt you, thinking, Not her, too.”
Ash’s body vibrated so fast it hummed. It seemed impossible that he was saying this to her, that he cared, after everything that had happened.
But he wanted her.
He had seen all her truths and scars and failures, and had still rushed back to save her life.
Ash’s lips parted, her eyes darting over his, searching for some sign that this was all a ruse. But his sincerity was as pure as it had always been.
After a lifetime of fighting to keep herself out of the yawning chasm that was loneliness, Ash let it rise up over her. She didn’t have to fear it.
A dam broke in her chest. Madoc’s hand was around hers, but suddenly that small touch of his fingers on her skin wasn’t enough. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted to feel his body’s warmth against her own heat. She wanted to comfort him and let him comfort her and feel something good in all this bad.
“Madoc.” His name tumbled out of her mouth, a plea, a promise.
His eyes fell to her lips. Light spun through Ash’s mind.
But footsteps stampeded up the hall, breaking her out of the spell.
She flew to her feet. Madoc pushed himself up beside her and gave her a firm look.
Unable to speak, she took his hand. He squeezed her fingers.
A heartbeat later, centurions kicked in the door and backed away to reveal—Geoxus.
Unease roared in Ash’s chest. But he wasn’t alone. As he stepped across the threshold and his guards retreated, two figures followed him into the room. Petros, and—
Ash’s blood went cold. “Seneca.”
Twenty-One
Madoc
MADOC’S GAZE SHOT from the god, in his sweeping black silk, to Petros’s jewel-studded robes, to the hunched woman in the baggy gray tunic who clung to his father’s arm for support.
What was Seneca doing here? Ash had said she was Soul Divine. Maybe the old woman was here against her will—Geoxus had been interested in Madoc’s anathreia as well. But that didn’t explain why Petros was touching her so gently.
“Well done, Madoc!” Geoxus stepped over the shattered door and placed his heavy hands on Madoc’s shoulders. “I admit, I was surprised to see your attendant try to step in and take the glory, but you put a stop to it, didn’t you? I assumed you wanted to kill the Kulan yourself, but I see that’s not the case!” His low chuckle rumbled in the room. “The things mortals will do for love never cease to surprise me.”
Wariness churned in Madoc’s stomach. Geoxus wasn’t upset that Elias had taken his place. He was praising Madoc.
“Rumors are already circulating that the Metaxa boy was tired of living in his champion’s shadow,” said Petros, petting Seneca’s hand. “That his jealousy became uncontained. The drama has only built the people’s anticipation—they’re calling for the true main event now. We’ll delay, of course, for another day or two. Make them purchase a new ticket in order to see my son.”
My son. The words chafed Madoc’s skin.
Nothing about the scene before him made sense. He hadn’t fought, and still Geoxus was delighted. Petros had threatened to kill Madoc’s family if he didn’t win the final match, and yet he seemed relieved. Seneca’s smile appeared more pleased than confused, and no one seemed to notice Ash at all.
With a lurch, the wrongness of the situation caught up with Madoc, and everything within him screamed to tear the man who’d killed Cassia limb from limb. The rage was so intoxicating, he could barely breathe.
Ash’s grip on his hand held him steady.
“Madoc is the hero Deimos needs,” Geoxus said proudly. “The time of gladiators is ending. The old crone said you’d be worth the wait, and she was right!”
The old crone must have been Seneca, but why Geoxus was calling Madoc a hero didn’t make sense. The last time he had seen the Father God, he’d been sure Geoxus wanted him to use soul energy to win this war, but now he seemed just as pleased that Madoc had used his power to save the enemy.
Geoxus’s smile, lit by the pale green phosphorescent glow of the stones in the walls, filled Madoc with dread. “The Kulan was as good as dead, but you used anathreia to bring her back. Do you know what this means? Do you have any idea what you’re truly capable of?”
Madoc slid back another step, trying to put more distance between them. “No, but I’m guessing you do.”
Geoxus’s laugh was booming. “I’m talking about a world with no war. Where the wealth of our great capital city will spill out into the neighboring countries, and nowhere, not even Kula, will suffer under the greedy hands of my siblings.” The god began to pace, a strange, frantic energy crackling off him.
Ash had warned him of this. Geoxus is just like Ignitus, only he hides it behind wealth and prestige.
“Madoc, we have to get out of here,” she hissed, her wary eyes still locked on the old woman.
But Madoc couldn’t focus on Seneca, or even on Ash’s concern.
“How?” Madoc heard himself asking. It felt wrong—Geoxus’s words were slick, his meaning hard to grasp. How did any of this have to do with his saving Ash in the arena?
Geoxus threw his arms wide, not seeming to notice the way the stones in the walls on either side of the room were punctured by the force of his geoeia. “If you can bring her back from the brink of death, think of what you can do for our people—for all people. What mortals could accomplish without the lines drawn between them.”
Wariness clenched Madoc’s shoulder blades together. “Are you talking about the Divine and Undivine?”
Geoxus waved a hand, as if batting the worry from Madoc’s mind. “Forget the Undivine. They need much and give little.”
Madoc almost laughed. This had to be a joke. The Undivine were the backbo
ne of Deimos. The city wouldn’t stand without their labor, their farming, their taxes. If he hadn’t mixed mortar at the quarry, the Divine architects might actually have had to use their own muscles. If he and Elias had been paid the same wages as those working jobs requiring geoeia, they would have had the coin to pay off Cassia’s indenture. Madoc never would have joined this war in the first place.
There was no humor in Geoxus’s eyes, only a wild, greedy light.
“Think bigger, Madoc. Imagine a Deimos where these petty wars were a thing of the past. Where Air and Water and yes, even your little Fire Divine, could live equally, peacefully, under a single god.”
“How exactly would that work?” Madoc managed, his eyes flicking to Ash. “The gods have fought for hundreds of years. You’re going to stop now?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” said Geoxus. “With your help.”
“Impossible,” Ash said. “Ignitus will never submit to you.”
For the first time since entering the room, Geoxus’s gaze shifted to Ash.
Icy spindles of dread filled Madoc’s lungs. He edged in front of her. He could not shield her from a god, but if it came to it, he would try.
“He won’t have a choice,” Geoxus answered, his stare returning to Madoc. “Just like Jann didn’t have a choice when you defeated him in the arena.”
Madoc pulled at his tunic, now stuck to his chest with sweat. He could still see the fear in Jann’s eyes as Madoc took control of his mind. How easy it had been to make the stronger, more seasoned gladiator succumb to his wishes. “You want me to control Ignitus with anathreia.”
It was almost what Ash and Tor had asked him to do, and Madoc couldn’t help thinking that Ash must have hated having that in common with Geoxus, now that his true nature had been revealed.
He felt as if everything he knew had been turned upside down. Geoxus, Petros, Seneca. They were all in on this together—part of some grand plot to overthrow the gods using a power he’d only just discovered.
Geoxus’s smile cut through Madoc like knives. He stepped closer, forcing Madoc to raise his chin and meet his stare. “I want you to strip the fire from my brother’s veins. Then I want you to give it to me.”
