Geoxus was looking right at him.
No, that wasn’t right. Geoxus must be looking at the stage, or something in the distance. Why would he be staring at Madoc?
Unless he knew Madoc didn’t belong. Unless the rumors about sensing divinity weren’t rumors at all.
During the inspection at Headless Hill, Madoc had felt this same awareness rooting in his bones—the sensation of being watched, evaluated, measured for worth. It was ten times stronger now in Geoxus’s physical presence—so intense, Madoc could hardly breathe.
Another fighter, two down from where Jann of Arsia had stood, stepped forward and took his place on the stage. Madoc hadn’t even heard the man’s name called.
One name left. One last fighter. Then the trainees would march back into the corridors beneath the arena. He and Elias would find Cassia, and they would figure out what to do next.
“Our last position, as always, is reserved for a trainee,” said Geoxus. “A hungry young fighter, ready to prove their worth to Deimos.”
“Finally,” muttered Narris, stretching taller. Madoc gritted his teeth, imagining this meathead bringing home a thousand coins. He’d probably buy himself a chariot, like Elias had wanted.
Madoc could do a lot more with that coin.
Though the chances were slim, he found himself hoping to be chosen.
“Madoc of Crixion.”
Madoc didn’t move.
The crowd quieted. The gladiators looked to each other in confusion.
“You?” Narris swore.
It couldn’t have been him. Hope or not, Madoc hadn’t expected his name to actually be called. He was new. He’d come on three days ago. This was impossible. Narris had misheard.
The entire stadium had misheard.
He sucked in a hard breath. Geoxus was still staring at him, only now he was smiling. It was the smile of the statue in Market Square. It was the smile that had calmed Madoc when he was a child, alone on the streets and afraid. That had convinced him to pray for help.
Geoxus’s chin dipped as if to say,Yes, you.
“Go.” Narris’s hard whisper made him jump. “Madoc! Go now!”
Madoc tentatively stepped forward.
The crowd began to cheer again as he took another step through the line of gladiators.
One of the seasoned fighters sneered at him, and he sidestepped into another, then stumbled, catching himself before he hit the ground.
The crowd laughed and cheered harder.
All the while, Geoxus smiled.
He knows, Madoc thought.He’s angry. This is my death sentence. As soon as I step onto that stage, someone’s going to ram an iron spear through my heart.
But how did he know Madoc’s name?
Because he knows all. Because he saved your miserable life when you were a child, and he gave you to the Metaxas. Because he is agod.
But if that was true, why was he making Madoc, who had no geoeia, one of his Honored Eight?
Madoc could feel the Kulans watching him as he made for the stage, could feel the curious, pointed gaze of the girl with the wild hair. Would he have to fight her? Would he have tokillher?
Somehow, he made it onto the stage. On numb feet, he walked across the smooth, shaped earth, passing the other champions, who barely acknowledged his presence. Past a curious, appraising Lucius, to the end of the line, where Petros waited with eyes that gleamed with deceit.
