Another horn blasted. Cassia stood. “I’ll need the scroll back. I should be at the next war celebration. Get it to me then.” Her voice was softer now. “And... good luck today.”
She opened the door. It squealed against its frame, letting in a rush of cheers before it shut in her wake.
Ignitus didn’t make decisions to try to give Kula its best life. Ash was holding a list of all the resources he had gambled away. For every instance where Ignitusmighthave been justified in dragging Kula into a war, there were a dozen where he had done so frivolously and lost greatly. Char had died because of his choices, because of his selfishness and manic pride and petty temper.
And hewasresponsible for Char’s death. Her blood was on his hands. Rook’s blood, too.
These records changed nothing. Cassia’s devotion to her god was no different from the loyalty Ash had seen in the other Kulan fire dancers, and in other gladiators, and in everyone else besides Tor, Taro, and Spark.
She shouldn’t have felt disappointed, but the flicker of hope that had lit at Cassia’s words now smoldered angrily in Ash’s belly. Between Madoc and now Cassia, the Metaxas seemed determined to reignite the void in her soul, the loneliness that ached and throbbed. She had almost managed to drown it out with grief, with guilt, with focus, with a dozen other things she’d stuffed into her mind.
Like why it looked so much like Geoxus, Aera, and Biotus were trying to drive Ignitus into destitution.
Ash rubbed the scroll, her jaw working.
Why had they targeted him? It made her feel the smallest, dimmest flicker of solidarity—with Ignitus.
Body coiled, she launched herself to her feet and hurled the scroll at the door.
Thirteen
Madoc
“JANN’S BEEN FAVORING his right side since the first match.” Elias fastened Madoc’s breastplate, pulling the metal flush to his chest. “When you make your move, go for those ribs.” Elias jabbed him in the spot he meant, which reminded Madoc too much of Stavos’s body and the puckered wounds around the arrows in his back.
Madoc focused on the slashes of light streaming through the small barred window farther down the stone wall. The breeze that swept through the corridor from the arena carried the harsh bite of woodsmoke.
Ash was fighting outside. He’d heard the announcement before they’d made their way to the corridor near the south entrance. Her opponent was someone named Brand, and it had taken extreme force of will not to go to the window to see who was winning.
Ash’s fight was her business. The Metaxas’ lives didn’t depend on her advancement.
“He’ll see it coming,” Madoc said, rubbing the side of his unshavenjaw, where Narris had landed a punch in training that had knocked Madoc on his back just yesterday. One of his heels bounced against the floor.
“It won’t make a difference if you can get there faster,” Elias told him, moving to the other side for the final adjustments to his armor. “He’s from Arsia—the ground is softer there, so he’ll think that he’ll be able to pull up more of it than he can.”
Madoc pictured the northern province, circled on the map pinned to the wall in the barracks by Jann.Arsia has the finest dirt and the finest lovers, he’d declared all week. Madoc hadn’t thought that information would actually prove useful.
More smoke wafted in on the breeze as, outside, the crowd erupted in cheers. Had Ash pinned her opponent or had Brand defeated her? Madoc didn’t know if he wanted her to win or lose. A victory might secure her safety a little while longer, buy her favor with Ignitus. But her victory also meant that Madoc might have to fight her in the final battle.
And Madoc had to win that final battle.
A high cry stabbed through his concentration, weakening his resolve not to watch the event outside. Pulling away from Elias, Madoc stalked to the window.Please let her fight be over, he found himself thinking, even as he wished it would go on forever, just so he wouldn’t have to face Jann.
He spotted Ash immediately. Her armor was charred on her left hip and her long hair was slicked back with sweat. She’d lost her sword in the sand and her hands were open, pulsing with deadly balls of orange flames. With another cry, she launched herself across the arenatoward Brand—a young, thick-shouldered gladiator carrying a shield and a spear. Fire hurtled from Ash’s hands, barely blocked by Brand’s shield. Just before she reached him, she dropped to the ground, kicking out his feet in a spray of sand.
Madoc’s pulse tripped as Brand fell to his knees. The spear landed just out of reach, and as Brand stretched for it, Ash pounced on his back.
“Good,” Madoc whispered.
Brand rolled, releasing his shield. Ash straddled his chest, hands curling around his throat. Her face and arms glistened with sweat. Even from outside the fighting pit, Madoc could see the hard planes of her shoulders.
Brand shoved at her forearms, but Ash didn’t falter.
“You have him,” Madoc muttered. Now that he was watching, he wanted Ash to win. She was more skilled. Faster. She deserved this victory.
“Having a good time?” Elias asked beside him. Madoc had been so consumed with the fight that he hadn’t noticed his brother approaching. “If it’s not too much trouble, maybe you could stop drooling and get your head in your own match.”
He wasn’t drooling—he was a fighter watching another fighter, that was all. But when the announcer called Ash’s name, Madoc’s fist pumped against his side, and his lips curled into a small smile.
