But Ash straightened, fighting to ignore them, and adjusted a curl here, a bead there. She had prepared her mother this way dozens of times. As a child, she had begged Char to let her wear the makeup and clothes too, just to play. But these weren’t toys.
This Kulan armor, made from reeds dipped in gold—it was ceremonial and dense.
These wrapping sandals fit with garnets at the intersections—they weighted Ash’s feet, made her feel unable to walk or run.
The weave of even more reeds that stretched across her thighs—her legs ached at the bulk.
The iron curlers that had styled her thick black hair. The sparkling garnets and golden picks that held it off her face. The sweeps of makeup: kohl to highlight her dark eyes, shimmering gold on her lids and across her cheekbones, sticky scarlet on her lips. This all made her a gladiator now. She had to be strong.
She had to be emotionless.
Ash glared into her own eyes.
“You and Rook. I heard Ignitus mention Brand and Raya.” Ash shifted her gaze to Tor in the mirror. “I don’t know the other fighters Ignitus named as champions.”
A few of Ignitus’s lesser-known gladiators had been selected to fill the other champion positions, leaving slots for gladiators like Brand and Raya who were currently in other countries, fighting battles over minor offenses. They were on their way to Crixion now.
For a moment, Ash thought Tor might not respond. But after a long pause, he sighed.
“The lesser-known gladiators are strong but unpracticed in wars. Ignitus is hoping their loyalty will compensate.” He didn’t look at Ash, as if refusing to admit that he was giving her this advice. “He will select the first fight pairings after the opening ceremony. Rook and I will help if you’re paired against us, but if Brand gets here in time, you’ll likely be pitted against him. He’s the only one who outranks you by blood, so Ignitus will be curious to see which of you fares best.”
Tor looked up at her reflection. “Brand loves making Ignitusproud, and he will only consider it a victory if he kills or maims you. When you fight him, you must intend the same.”
Ash felt the world shift with Tor’s bluntness. She wasn’t a child, deserving of softened half-truths. She set her hands into fists, hoping the action hid her fear. What had she said to comfort Char?
Let me fight for you, Mama. Let me take your place.
Ash chuckled bitterly. She had gotten what she wanted after all. She would wind through Crixion in a grand parade and begin the painstaking work of murdering people for Ignitus.
To earn Ignitus’s favor, Ash reminded herself,and destroy him.
“Let’s get this over with,” Rook said as Spark put away her paints. His chest was covered in dozens of golden sunbursts. “The sooner we start this, the sooner we get back to Kula.”
“The war will last two weeks no matter what we do,” Tor said. If he meant to sound comforting, it came out short. He stood and added, “It will pass quickly. It always does.”
“And they make those clay marbles here,” Ash added. “For that game Lynx loves?”
A smile puckered Rook’s cheeks. It didn’t reach his dark eyes, rimmed with kohl and gold. “When I dropped him off at the infirmary, the nurses said he was so ill he’d have to be confined to his bed.”
Tor put his hand on Rook’s shoulder. Spark cast a sullen glance at Taro, the room sobering.
“For Lynx,” Ash whispered, dipping her gaze to the floor.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Rook’s hand rise, dabbing at his face.
For Char, Ash added to herself.For Thorn.Tor and Taro’s Undivinecousin, and his two children, also Undivine.For Wisteria. A woman who ran one of the orphanages in Kula, and had been helping Taro and Spark work to find a child.For all the other fire dancers.
A bell tolled above deck. Silently, Taro left, followed by Rook and Spark. Tor lingered.
“You look just like her,” he offered. “Her fuel and flame.”
Heat welled in Ash’s chest and tears rose, threatening to streak kohl down her cheeks.
Tor offered her his arm and led her through the ship, up into the high, burning light of day.
Crixion’s main port, Iov, was a bay with a narrow opening to the Hontori Sea. At one side of the entrance, the lighthouse rose in a jut of ivory; a military fort stood at the other.
Hilly and steep, Crixion unfurled around Iov as if for inspection. Igna’s buildings were all black, volcanic materials, but these structures were shining and white. Old trees had made themselves comfortable among the buildings instead of being burned to the roots. The air was rank with city grime and body odor and the salt of the sea, but not with charcoal or sulfur.
