She wanted to stop having to hideeverything.
“Fighting on behalf of Kula,” the announcer began, “is Char Nikau, granddaughter of Ignitus, beloved of the fire god.”
Ash braced at her mother’s title. Though every mortal, Divine or Undivine, was descended from the gods, the Divine with the closest connection to their god were thought to be the most powerful. It was absurd, of course—Tor was just as skilled with igneia as Char, and he was so far removed from Ignitus’s direct descendants that he couldn’t trace the relatives.
Char covered Ash’s fingers with her own and squeezed. “After the fight, we’ll practice making fire orbs. You could do wondrous things with them in the Great Defeat dance, I bet.”
Ash managed a brittle smile. If she had been more selfish, she would have begged Char to run. But there was nowhere to go—Ignitus and his immortal god-siblings ruled each of the six countries and wouldn’t risk offering asylum to Kula’s best gladiator.
This was their fate. This choking monotony of blood.
Ash let Char stand, her hand falling limply to her lap as her mother walked toward the wide, waiting glitter of sand.
The moment Char passed into the sunlight, the crowd howled with excitement.
Tor was already at the edge of the pit, just within the hall’s shadow. Ash joined him there, her body vibrating.
“She’ll be fine,” Tor assured her. He gave a firm nod, but his eyes were tense.
“She’d listen to you,” Ash whispered, “if you told her to let me fight.”
Tor frowned. “What makes you think I want to see you in an arena any more than I want to see her out there?”
“What you want; what she wants. I don’t get a choice at all?” The question cut Ash’s tongue. She knew the helpless answer.
“No,” Tor told her, bittersweet affection in his eyes. “Not when it means risking your life.”
Ash turned away, knowing it was childish to sulk, but what else could she do?
Her own father had been an arena worker from Lakhu—not an uncommon thing, for people from two different gods to be together. If they were both Undivine, where they lived was of little consequence—but if they were Divine, that caused more difficulty, as both gods had claim to their powers. The only reason Ignitus had allowed Char to keep Ash was that her father had been Undivine, so there was little chance of her being Air Divine or even Undivine, with Char as her mother. But her father had died long ago, before she had even gottento know him, and she couldn’t remember a time when Tor hadn’t been in her life.
“To the glory of the gods,” the announcer shouted. “To the death. Fight!”
At the proclamation, Stavos stepped in front of the rock pile that had been provided for him. He was tall and bare chested—a bold choice to sacrifice protection just to show off his muscles—and his shaved head made his large eyes appear feral. He stretched out a hand over the rocks and they shriveled into a great puff of dust. All of them, gone.
Ash hissed through her teeth. Some gladiators chose to harness their energeias externally—Animal Divine could control creatures; Earth Divine could move stones and rocks. Others chose to absorb energeia into their bodies, letting it add speed, strength, and endurance to their physiology. Though the arena boasted other sources of stone, the gods’ firm rules limited each gladiator to what energeia sources had been provided. Stavos had taken all his geoeia at once.
A wash of nausea pinched Ash’s stomach. She had seen gladiators infused with smaller amounts of geoeia cleave through stacks of logs with a single blow. She imagined that fighting one powered on so much of it would be like fighting a landslide.
A firepit sat opposite the former rock pile, near a weapons rack. Char stood before it, eyes closed.It sharpens my other senses, Char had said, but seeing her mother defenseless froze Ash’s lungs.
The crowd roared encouragement. Stavos drew a broadsword from the weapons rack that sat near his tunnel and took a step forward. Char still didn’t move.
“Come on,” Ash whispered.
Tor was rigid beside her. “Patience,” he said tersely.
Stavos took off at a sprint. The arena was large enough for him to be winded by the time he reached Char, which had to be her intention. His broadsword was aloft, glinting in the sunlight.
Ash’s attention went to Ignitus. He gripped the box’s railing, his lips quirked. He knew Char would turn the fight. He knew she wouldn’t fail him.
The broadsword came down over Char, and finally,finally, she moved.
The firepit sputtered as she pulled on igneia. She cartwheeled to avoid the broadsword and got in a solid kick to Stavos’s jaw before her feet planted back on the ground. Stavos reeled, his sword thundering against the earth and giving Char another opening: she chopped her leg against his hands, dislodging his grip. She kept going, pulling more igneia—but this time the fire came in a hypnotic arc of gilded scarlet, swooping through the air on Char’s command. She twisted, and the ribbon washed into Stavos, slamming him onto his back as he gave a bark of pain. The fire knotted into a ball to sit heavy and hot on his chest, keeping him down, pinned, as the bare skin on his sternum began to crackle and burn.
Stavos shrieked.
Ignitus pulled back, arms crossed, grinning. Geoxus’s senator shouted something at his gladiator that Ash couldn’t hear. Her eyes, her focus, her soul, were fixed on her mother.
