“You’re a lying cunt is what you are.”
“There’s an obsidian vault inside the Revered One’s chambers,” Ash spat. “And inside that vault, they keep a ledger of every offering the Church has undertaken. All their patrons. All their shit. When I poisoned the Ministry at the initiation feast, I stole the ledger, Mia. That’s the reason they’ve been hunting me and my da for the past eight months. Not because we betrayed them. Because we knew all their dirty little secrets.”
Ashlinn turned her head a little, despite the blade at her throat. Just so she could look into Mia’s eyes.
“Including the one about you and your father.”
Ashlinn fell silent as Mia pressed her blade back against her throat. Ash killed Jessamine. She’d killed Tric. Mia knew she’d do anything, say anything to avoid being taken back to the chapel.
“You’re a liar,” Mia said.
“I am at that. But not about this, Mia. If you take me back to the Church, they’re going to kill me, and you’ll never know the truth of what they did.”
“And I’m just supposed to take you at your word on all this?”
“You can see for yourself.”
“ . . . You have the ledger?”
“Something tells me names on a page aren’t going to sway you. But I can tell you exactly where you need to go to find proof written in something more than ink.”
“O, aye? And where would that be exactly?”
Ashlinn looked up at Mia, blue eyes glittering like broken sapphires.
“Back to Church.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” Furian spat.
Mia was still sprawled underneath the Champion of the Remus Collegium, his forearm against her throat. Muscle rippling in his arm, across his chest. She pressed her fork into Furian’s ribs again, hard enough now to break the skin.
“I’m not sure about the other women you’ve known,” she said softly, “but I don’t much fancy it on my back. Let me up.”
“I should knock your teeth out for even talking to me. How did you get in here?”
“Let. Me. Up. Fucker.”
Furian glanced to his now unlocked door. Mia had no idea of the consequences if they were discovered in each other’s company, but she doubted they’d be pleasant. She could hear the guard patrol, slowly coming closer.
With a curse, Furian twisted off Mia, pushed the door closed. He listened for a moment, ear to the wood as the guards passed by. Mia looked the champion up and down, skin prickling in spite of herself. She’d never seen a man quite like him, all hard tanned skin and rippling muscle. But there was a speed to him, also. Lithe and fierce, like a big cat. His body was utterly hairless—shaved, she supposed, to show off his physique to the adoring crowds. His jaw was strong, the rivers and valleys of his abdomen leading her eyes down, chewing her lip as she drank in the sight of him.
She’d no idea what had come over her. Though she’d found Lord Cassius attractive, her reaction to his presence hadn’t been quite as . . . carnal. Perhaps because she’d never been quite this close to the Lord of Blades? Perhaps because she’d been younger? Whatever the reason, looking at Furian now, she found her breath coming quicker. Thighs aching. Waves of butterflies thrilling her belly.
His chamber was sparsely adorned. A small barred window looked out over the ocean, a simple bed stood against the wall, a practice dummy and wooden swords in another corner. A small shrine to Tsana, First Daughter of the Everseeing and patron of warriors, sat beneath the window, and the three interlocking circles of Aa’s trinity were scribed on the wall in charcoal. Though it was only trinities blessed by Aa’s truest believers that made her feel ill, the sight of the holy symbol was still a little unsettling.
All in all, Furian’s accommodations were hardly a marrowborn villa. But compared to the barracks, they were positively palatial. And better, private.
When the guards had passed beyond earshot, the champion turned to Mia. His jaw was clenched. Long dark hair framing those delicious chocolate eyes.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Mia breathed.
Furian stalked across the room and snatched up a strip of gray linen from the bed, wrapped it around his waist to make himself decent.
“Feel what?”
Mia pulled herself up off the floor, dragged her hair behind her ear. She saw movement from the corner of her eye, glanced to the shadows cast on the wall by the shrine’s candlelight. Hers. His.
“Maw’s teeth,” she breathed. “Look . . .”
Their shadows were moving of their own accord.
Hair blowing as if in some hidden breeze, ebbing and flowing toward each other like waves on a lonely shore. Mia’s shadow reached toward Furian’s, though in the flesh, the girl hadn’t moved a muscle. The Unfallen reached out and touched the wall, as if to test if his shadow were real. But his shadow didn’t move as he did, instead reaching out toward Mia’s.
The champion stumbled back, held up three fingers—Aa’s warding sign against evil. And at that, the shadows fell still, trembling only for the candleflame.
“You’re like me,” Mia said.
Furian blinked, turned away from the shadows to look at Mia.
“I am nothing like you,” he growled. “I am gladiatii.”
“I mean you’re darkin,” Mia said. “Just as I am.”
“I say again, I am nothing like you, girl.”
“Where is your passenger?”
“ . . . My what?”
“Your daemon,” Mia said. “I have two who live in my shadow. Usually, anyway. What shape does yours wear? And where is it?”
“I know of no daemon,” he growled, “save the one standing before me now.”
He looked her up and down, something close to disgust on his face. But she could see goosebumps rising on his skin, just as they did on hers. He was breathing harder, his pupils dilated—all the telltale marks Shahiid Aalea had taught her to recognize in a man. Or woman.
Want.
“How did you escape your cell?” he demanded.
Mia shrugged. “I Stepped between the shadows.”
“Witchery,” he spat.
“It’s not witchery. It’s what we are. Can you not do the same?”
“I’ll hold no truck with the darkness.” Furian raised the warding sign again.
“But you already did,” she said, stepping toward him. “This very turn on the sands, when I fought Executus. You stopped me from—”
“Get out of here, girl. I am champion of this collegium, and a god-fearing son of Aa. Gladiatii do not mix with chaff, and I do not mix with heretics.”
Mia glanced at the shrine to Tsana, the trinity of Aa on the wall.
Could it be?
“ . . . You’re of the faithful? How can you—”
“Get out,” he hissed. He dared not raise his voice lest the guards overhear, but Mia could see the fury in his clenched fists, the tendons taut at his neck. “If the guards find you in my cell, Executus will see the skin peeled off both our backs. And I’ll not bleed for the likes of you. Now begone before I snap your neck and take my chance with the domina’s mercy.”
His shadow seethed across the wall, hands extended toward her own shadow’s throat. Mia stepped back, but her shadow remained unmoved, its hair twisting and coiling like a nest of snakes. The hunger surged inside her again, the sickness, mixed now with a dull, seething anger.
This man didn’t know anything about darkin. Didn’t know anything about himself. There were no answers here. Only more questions.
And the longer she stayed in his room, the more likely she’d be caught.
Mia retreated slowly, not turning her back, listening for the guards at the door. Hearing nothing, she opened it without a sound, checking that the corridor beyond the chamber was clear. Satisfied, she looked back over her shoulder to the champion of the collegium, his shadow flickering upon the wall.
She reminded herself of why she was here. To stand as victor in the magni, she’d have to best this man
, darkin or no. And whatever dark kinship she might have with him came second to the knowledge that he stood between her and victory.
Her and vengeance.
So be it.
“This is a nice room,” she noted, looking about the chamber.
“What of it?” Furian spat.
Mia shrugged.
“I’d not get too comfortable in it if I were you.”
The girl slipped out the door, closing it behind her.
It took a few heartbeats for her shadow to follow.
* * *
Crack!
“Gladiatii fear nothing, save defeat!”
Crack!
“Gladiatii thirst for nothing, save victory!”
Crack!
“Gladiatii live for nothing, save glory!”
Such was the tune of Mia’s hours, sweltering beneath the blistering suns. Executus’s voice was the verse, the snap of his whip the beat, and the grunts and sighs and curses of the men and women around her the chorus.
A week had passed since she’d arrived at Crow’s Nest, but those seven turns had seemed long as years. Executus showed no mercy, drilling her and Matteo and Sidonius in every weapon, every fighting form, every trick and twist his years in the games had taught him. They sparred in the circle, on the uneven levels across the yard, in their sleep. Every stumble was met by his whip. Every misstep. Every slight.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
They’d been kept apart from the gladiatii, bathed and fed last. Butcher had spoiled at least three more of their evemeals, twice with piss, and once with a handful of dogshit he’d fetched after Fang had done his business in the yard. Mia had stolen food every nevernight in shadow jaunts to the kitchens, once had even managed to sneak some bread to Sidonius and Matteo with the excuse she’d found it in the mess hall. But she was still worn thin. Her fellow recruits were in even worse shape.
“You worthless whorespawn!” Executus roared at the trio. “In a few turns, you step onto the sands of the venatus under the colors of this collegium. If you think the crowd will not howl for more when they see the first drop of your blood, you are greater fools than I gave credit for. Now, attack with purpose!”
“Executus?” came a call from above.
Mia looked up, saw Dona Leona standing on the broad balcony above. She was dressed in rippling white silk, gold at her wrists, auburn hair plaited down her back.
“Attend!” Executus roared.
The gladiatii fell still, thumping fists to chest.
“Domina?” Executus asked.
The woman crooked a finger and beckoned.
“Your whisper, my will,” the big man bowed.
He turned to Mia and her fellows.
“Sidonius, work the woodmen.” He glared at Mia and Matteo. “You two, spar in the circle. You still carry a shield like a parcel of posies, girl. And Matteo wields a sword like a three-year-old swings his pecker. If you want to keep those pretty heads on your shoulders during the Winnowing, the pair of you had best get to toiling.”
Executus stroked his beard, limped away into the keep. Sidonius set to work on the training dummies, Maggot fetched Mia and Matteo some wooden swords and shields, and they set to sparring, clashing in the dust and dancing around the circle.
“Get to toiling?” Matteo spat. “What the ’byss does he think we’ve been doing all week?”
Mia made no reply, intent on training. Despite being an utter bastard, now that she knew the executus was Arkades, she hung on his every word. If the Red Lion told her to work her shield arm, then Black Mother, she was going to work her fucking shield arm.
“Strike harder,” she growled. “Press me.”
“I am!” Matteo spat, stabbing at her with his blade.
Mia fended off his blows with ease, and a flurry of strikes sent the boy skipping back across the sand. She battered his shield again, spitting dust off her tongue.
“’Byss and blood, you’re swinging at me like I’m made of glass. Hit me!”
Matteo blocked another blow, countered with a weak riposte. Wooden blades cracked against wooden shields, their feet dancing to the frantic percussion.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Crow,” Matteo said.
“And why not? Because I might hurt you back?”
“Because . . . you’re a girl,” he said.
Mia’s eyes widened at that. Gritting her teeth, she wove past Matteo’s strike, sandals scuffing in the dust. Spinning on the spot, she smacked him hard across his shoulder blades, sent him staggering. As he turned to face her, she clocked him in the face with her shield, blood spraying as he toppled onto the dirt.
Mia stood over him, pressing her wooden blade to his throat.
“Take hold of your fucking jewels,” she said. “Maybe your mother raised you to treat us all as delicate flowers, maybe you’re just thinking with your cock. But there are no girls on the sand. No mothers or daughters. Sons or fathers. Only enemies. You spend a moment worrying about what’s between your opponent’s legs you’ll find your head parted from your body. And what good will your fool cock do you then?”
The boy wiped the blood from his face, swallowing thick.
“Forgiveness,” he muttered. “I d—”
“Gladiatii! Attend!”
Mia turned from Matteo’s bloodied face to the balcony. She saw Executus Arkades, Dona Leona beside him. The woman smiled like the suns, spoke with a loud, clear voice.
“My Falcons! Tomorrow we set out for Blackbridge and the grand games held in honor of Governor Salvatore Valente! This is the second official event of the venatus season, and all eyes will be upon it. Remus Collegium now stands in high regard, thanks to the victory of our champion in Talia last month.”
Here she took in Furian with a wave of her hand. The gladiatii roared his name, pounded swords upon shields.
“But Furian’s triumph has not assured our berth in the magni!” Leona continued. “The crowds are ever hungry for blood, and the editorii seek only the finest for their grand spectacle. We must have victory. We will have victory!”
“Victory!” they cried.
“The following gladiatii have earned the right to attend the Blackbridge venatus and fight for the Falcons of Remus. Step forward, Butcher of Amai!”
The Ruiner of Porridges stepped forward with his dropped-as-a-babe smile, raising the knuckles to the men behind him.
“Bladesinger, the Reaper of Dweym!”
The woman with the full body tattoos stepped forward and bowed.
“Our equillai, Byern and Bryn, shall once again thrill the crowd!”
The blond Vaanian siblings bowed low. Looking closer at the pair side by side, Mia marked them for twins—they were simply too alike to be otherwise.
“Our legend of the sands, the mightiest Falcon in this collegium, victor of Talia, Furian, the Unfallen!”
The champion strode forward to the cheers of his fellows, twin blades in hand. His eyes were fixed on the balcony as he bowed deep, long black hair spilling around his high cheekbones, his square jaw. Mia looked to his shadow and saw nothing of note. But her own rippled slightly, like still water when a stone is dropped into it.
“And finally,” Leona called. “Our three new recruits will wager their lives in the Winnowing, earning their place among you or perishing in the attempt. Pray that Aa grants them favor, that Tsana guides their hands to victory.” Leona looked among her flock, opened her arms. “Sanguii e Gloria!”
“Sanguii e Gloria!” came the cry.
Mia listened to them call, fists raised high, crying out for blood and glory. In truth, she wanted nothing to do with the latter. Blood was her intent, her dream, her only prize. Cardinal Duomo and Scaeva within arm’s reach on the victor’s podium. But to stand before them, she needed to accrue victories enough to secure a place in the magni. And somehow, in the midst of that bloodbath and butchery, she had to win.
The gladiatii around her looked to the sky, called to Aa and h
is firstborn to bring them victory. But Mia had no use for the Everseeing, nor his warrior daughter. Aa had only ever proved her enemy, and Tsana had never helped her before.
Why would she start now?
And so, Mia turned her eyes to the sand. To the shadow, black and pooled around her feet. Wondering if the goddess would answer after all she’d done.
All she’d undone.
Wondering if prayers would help her at all.
“Black Mother,” she whispered. “Give me strength.”
11: thunder
Mia emerged from Adonai’s pool with a gasp.
Blood in her eyes and on her tongue, thudding in her temples. Standing naked in the pool, she looked at the speaker at its apex. Pale skin and paler hair, his lips twisted in a small smile. He opened his eyes, the whites slicked with red.
“Thou hast returned, Blade Mia. Thy quarry dead, thy offering complete?”
“Not yet.”
Adonai tilted his head, smiling wider. “Missed me then, didst thou?”
Mia turned her back, waded up out of the pool, feeling the speaker’s eyes roaming her curves. Dripping red on the stone, she headed to the baths to wash the gore off, sinking below the water with a sigh.
“ . . . i do not like this, mia . . .”
Mister Kindly sat at the corner of her bath, watching with his not-eyes.
“Nor I. But what choice do I have?”
“ . . . ashlinn is a liar, and we are fools to trust her . . .”
“We don’t trust her. Eclipse is watching her.”
“ . . . i do not trust eclipse, either . . .”
She dried off, wrapped herself in black leathers and velvet, picturing Ash as she’d left her; chained to a four-poster bed in a cheap Godsgrave inn, a wolf made of shadows poised over her, translucent fangs bared. Eclipse couldn’t actually touch the girl, of course. But Mia didn’t feel any particular need to tell Ashlinn that . . .
“ . . . she is leading you by the nose, mia . . .”
“You think I don’t suspect that? I’m not a fucking idiot, Mister Kindly. But what if she’s telling the truth?”
“ . . . then we will find ourselves in interesting waters . . .”
“I have to know . . .”