A platform in the center holds a pile of shields. Shields we’re going to need.
Baldric takes up an oar on the other side of the boat, and Maeva nods at me. We’re both keeping a careful eye on him.
Silence overtakes the jubilant screams of the spectators. When I look up, I find the emperor smiling down at us. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say a word. He simply waves his hand, and both boats are pushed away from the arena entrances.
His little push doesn’t last for long. Within a moment we’re floundering, all of us attempting to understand how to work the oars.
The galley rocks dangerously.
Kaeso’s oar hits Sisenna’s and she lets out a frustrated curse. I wrestle with my own oar, arms already aching as I lift the heavy wood.
The other boat is making its way closer. I squint into the sun, and realization dawns on me.
Our boat holds gladians—legitimate citizens of the empire who either won the Sands in their region or trained their entire lives to be here.
The other boat holds enemies of the empire. Those the emperor has designated as criminals. Battered and bruised, crushed but not conquered.
Unlike us, they already row in unison.
“Row,” one of them roars, and their boat slices through the water.
“Row!” Hester echoes at our stern, and we all attempt to wrangle our oars, cursing and straining and splashing.
Something flies toward me and I duck, crouching low on my bench. An arrow slams into the side of our boat.
My pulse thunders and I scan, searching for shields. But they’re all piled in the center platform.
Our boat tips precariously to the right. The crowd jeers.
Placus lets out a scream, ducking down. An arrow juts through his bicep. Tolva leans over to help, almost losing her own head. Someone in the other boat is an excellent shot.
“We need shields,” I yell to Maeva.
“What?”
“Shields!” I point to the platform and she shakes her head.
“Don’t do it.”
We don’t have a choice. Either we get shields, or we die.
I haul myself onto the side of the boat.
“Arvelle!” Maeva gestures at one of the men in the other boat. He’s unkempt, with a long, scraggly beard, and it’s obvious that he has been starved, his skin lax on his body, ribs jutting out like the sun-bleached bones of a shipwreck.
The man dives from the boat with the form of someone who has lived near water for most of his life.
No time to hesitate. I dive in after him, salt stinging my eyes. Mybrain struggles to understand the depth of the water. Where did the bottom of the arena go?
A large, black shadow swoops toward me. I dodge, barely avoiding the dark form as it sweeps past.
I don’t stick around. I’m already kicking harder, swimming faster. Light glimmers through the water above my head near the platform. Triumph flashes through me as my hand breaks the surface.
Yes. There.
My upward motion halts. I sweep my arms up, stretching toward freedom. Towardair.
No. No!
