Stupid, stupid, stupid.With one impulsive act, I’ve managed to infuriate the other gladians—again—and I’ve drawn more of the wrong kind of attention from the emperor.
Maeva crouches low, lifting her shield. But the arrows are slowing now. I squint at our boat. “Numbers?”
“Titus, Sisenna, Placus, and Tolva are dead,” she says.
My chest tightens. “What happened to Tolva?”
Maeva’s eyes fire. “Garet was supposed to be covering that side of the boat. He hid, pulling his shield over himself when they were under heavy fire. She took an arrow to the heart.”
Fury gives me a fresh hit of energy, and I reach for a crossbow, aiming at the other boat. Both sides have suffered heavy losses, although theirs seem heavier. Counting the unconscious woman on our platform, there are only around six of them left.
Beneath us, a kelpie slams into the platform, jostling it beneath our feet. I bend my knees, struggling to stay balanced. Is this what will happen next? Will the emperor force us to fight more trapped maginari?
But the crowd is going quiet, and I turn to face the emperor. Here, he is our god.
“Congratulations, survivors,” he says, his voice booming through every inch of the arena. “Each of you stands here today not just as a testament to your own strength, but as a beacon of hope and power for our great republic. The trials you have endured, the blood you have shed, and the courage you have shown will fortify the very foundations of our empire.”
His cold gaze lands on me and I tense, but he’s already turning away, strolling back toward the priestess. Cheers break out, the gladians who survived whooping and slapping each other on the back.
Someone grabs my shoulders, and I find Maeva beaming at me. She throws her arms around me and lets out a sound that’s suspiciously close to a squeal.
“We’ve made it, Arvelle! We’re officially novices!” When she pulls back, her eyes are wet, and she lets out a laugh as Brenin slings an arm around each of our shoulders. Clearly, our little spat is all forgiven.
I close my eyes, the relief dizzying. I’ve survived the Sundering. Somehow, I managed to stay alive through all three challenges. Thanks to our bond, Branhasto make sure Evren is healed now. He’ll finally be healthy. He’ll finally have alife.
It’s finally over. I’m leaving this place.
Just as soon as I kill Vallius Corvus.
THE EMPEROR’S BALLROOMis a love letter to Umbros. Black marble reflects thousands of aether lamps—mounted on golden sconces along the walls and floating high above our heads. Murals of Umbros adornthe walls, showcasing the vampires’ god in various scenes, while incense lingers in the air, mingling with the sickly sweet scent of black roses imported from Bryvios.
Musicians, stationed at the front of the room, play a lively tune at odds with the foreboding decor. I shift out of the way as a group of mundanes walk past, dressed in black and carrying heavy platters of food. Several also carry crystal goblets filled with thick red liquid. From the twin marks on a couple of the mundanes’ necks, they’ve already been used as a snack tonight.
“Interesting strategy today.” Bran’s voice is a shock of cold water down my back.
Since I can’t exactly defend my actions, I stay silent. Unsurprisingly, Bran takes a step closer.
“Do you know what will happen next? You—and all the other gladians who managed to stay alive—will be trained here as novices. You’ll be presented to Senthara, and either the emperor or his sons will choose you for their service until the end of the next Sundering. Who do you think will choose you, Arvelle?” He taps one finger against his chin mockingly. “Perhaps you’ll be the novice who stands at the emperor’s side when he decides which gladians live or die? Hmm? Or maybe you’ll be one of the novices who follows Rorrik everywhere he goes. I’m sure a few months of that will have you begging to be put out of your misery.”
I know what he’s doing. “I won’t be here.”
“No,” he hisses. “You won’t. Because you will have completed our deal. You’ll be in the north. Not just because you want to see your brothers alive, but because such a position in this empire—which you hate so much—would slowly kill you. Wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Bran places one hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “The emperor has done what I need him to do. You will strike at the first opportunity.”
“Is my brother healed?”
Bran nods. “It’s happening as we speak. This little bond has been good for you, gladian. Thanks to me, your life has much improved.”
“I need proof.”
His lips whiten. “You dare question my honor?”
“You’re working with rebels to dethrone the emperor you swore fealty to. But please, tell me more about your honor.”
Bran doesn’t deny my accusation. He simply reaches beneath his shirt and pulls a pendant free. The long, lavender-colored rock releases a faint glow, and I suck in a breath.
