A long sheet of white and gray marble unfolded from towering doors, with the Nien River and the whole of Crixion spread out three stories below. Columns lined the area despite the lack of a roof, and in the fading sunlight, it took Ash a beat to realize that each column was a mosaic of gladiators. All Deimans—no, actually, that one off to the right was clearly a Kulan, a white flame in his outstretched hand as a Deiman gladiator planted a sandaled foot on his chest in victory.
Geoxus was not subtle. Then again, the gods rarely were.
The Kulan guards who had escorted Tor and Ash sank into the shadows by the door. Phosphorescent stones and mirrors lit the terrace as the sun set. Musicians warmed up in the corner, flutes shrieking and strings plucking, and a banquet table sat opposite them, piled with fragrant smoked pork, dried dates, peeled citrus fruits, and casks of wine. The center of the terrace floor was bare, clearly for dancinglater on. For now, the other guests picked at the banquet, everyone wearing opulent togas and gilded gowns, making it difficult to guess who was a fighter and who was not. Ash assumed some of these people had to be the remaining Deiman champions, or other members of Deiman society.
She didn’t see Madoc yet.
That realization, and the corresponding pull of disappointment, itched at Ash’s mind. She told herself that she only cared whether he was here or not because of the questions she planned to ask him. She had seen the way he’d looked at her during their initial fight, and after Rook’s death. She could use that. Fluster him. Lower his defenses.
And milk out the truth about his energeia.
“Remember the plan,” Tor whispered to her. He took her arm, the two of them making a slow, circuitous route around the perimeter of the terrace.
Ash bowed her head toward him. They had plotted their own next step just that morning. “We link Rook’s attack to Stavos’s disappearance and Char being poisoned, and we push Ignitus for more information.”
“Subtly,” Tor prodded.
Ash lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’ll be subtle?”
“You like to test the limits. But now is not the time for recklessness.”
Impossibly, Ash felt herself smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Tor gave her a surprised grin, rippling the sunburst painted on his cheek. Ignitus had left explicit instructions regarding their dress for this party. Tor wore blue. The fabric started pale where it hung off one shoulder and bunched at the opposite hip before fading intoa long skirt of deepest navy around his feet. Silver sunbursts covered his bare skin, and Taro had spent the better part of the day weaving silver thread into his thick black hair. He looked like one of Ignitus’s brightest flames, a streak of star fire or the mesmerizing core at the center of every fire.
“It’s good to see you smile,” Tor said. “And I must say, Char would be both brokenhearted and proud to see how grown-up you look.”
Ash’s face stilled. Self-consciously, she smoothed her skirt.
Ignitus had requested that she wear red. This gown was similar to the dancing costume she wore when she played the fire god. The skirt hung low on her hips, held in place by a gold band set with garnets, while the fabric that fell to her sandaled feet was a few layers of sheer crimson. The top cut deep across her collarbone and stopped in a point above her navel, more crimson set with gold-rimmed garnets. The straps holding it in place drooped around her shoulders, all else bare, showing off the gold bangles on her wrists, the thick gold necklace that rose and fell with each breath, her unbound waves of black curls, the way her skin glistened, the gold paint on her lips and the kohl around her eyes.
Tor was the hottest part of a flame, but Ash was the wildest. The red, pulsing fingers that sought and destroyed, grabbed and burned.
The moment Ash had put on this outfit, she’d looked at herself in the mirror and known she could get whatever information she wanted out of Madoc with one sway of her hips. She could draw a confession out of Ignitus with a spin and an arch. She would get to dance tonight, and the hum of the music mixed with the sway of other people would fill up the void of loneliness that Ash constantly teetered on the edge of.
She felt more herself in this gown than she had since Char died.
As they continued to walk, Ash turned away from Tor, her eyes skimming over the terrace. She spotted Geoxus at the edge on a cushioned chair. Ignitus stood at the banquet table with his two other remaining champions: Brand, a year older than Ash but five times as cocky; and Raya, who had traveled here from a fight in Lakhu with her own lavish entourage.
Brand wore orange; Raya wore white. Ash saw the connection between the outfits when she looked back at Ignitus, who was dressed in a flowing tunic of all those colors. Blue. Red. Orange. White. The kaleidoscopic hues all found in fire.
Suddenly, her red gown felt more restrictive.
She and Tor were nearly to the banquet table. Tor lifted his hand. “Great Ignitus,” he called.
Ignitus spotted them and turned his back on Brand and Raya.
“Steady, love,” Tor whispered.
The crowd continued their conversations, and that kept tempo with Ash’s vibrating pulse. She stopped before Ignitus and forced herself to look into his glittering eyes.
It was the first time she had seen her god since Rook’s death. That realization chased away her all-too-feeble confidence, and her mind blurred with the memory of Ignitus’s hands splayed before him. The fire blasting out. Rook falling, choking in her arms.
“What a tragedy your fight was, Ash,” Ignitus said. She was shaking. “I hope you two have had time to collect yourselves? I know you were friendly with Rook Akela.”
Ash had to wrestle the disgust off her face. “Yes. We werefriendlywith him.”
Tor squeezed her arm. “His betrayal shocked us, Great Ignitus.”
