He pushed the door wider as his gaze flicked up to my brow. “With a sigil like that, any gold family would be more than happy to pay for your training if you married one of their sons.”
I didn’t really understand marriage. Few people in the Thorn were married. But I knew golds married golds, silvers strived to marry golds, and bronzes would give almost anything to marry either golds or silvers and offer their children a chance at more power.
And yet … my mother was a gold. She hadn’t benefited from it in any way.
Perhaps … perhaps my father was also a gold. Maybe if I found him, I wouldn’t have to marry into one of the gold families to train as a healer.
“Arvelle.”
I blink, staring up at the ceiling. Now I know that dream was nothing but a childhood fantasy. I don’t fix people. I kill them.
“Arvelle.” Maeva’s voice is a low whisper as she climbs the ladderleading to my bunk. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for training with the imperius?”
I shrug, pulling the blanket higher over my shoulders.
“Well, you’ll need to get up. Everyone has been called to the arena.”
“I’ll be up soon.”
Maeva hesitates. “Are you …”
“I’m fine.” Even I can hear that my voice is dead, but I force myself to sit up.
“You look like you haven’t slept at all.”
Because I haven’t. Maeva gets the hint, dropping down from my bunk. Within a few days, we’ll be moving into novice quarters. Which means we’ll finally get our own rooms. I’ll be free to marinate alone in my own self-loathing.
“The emperor is in the arena,” someone calls out. “Nyrant says we have to go. Now.”
This is it then. This is when I die.
Slowly, I pull on my training clothes, numbly sheathing my weapons. Maeva doesn’t say another word as we walk together down the long corridor from the ludus to the arena. But she flicks concerned looks my way.
The air is damp and cold. The emperor stands in the middle of the arena, healthy and strong. I’ve had his hateful face memorized since the moment I arrived in this place. And it’sthisface I saw last night.
Rorrik stands by his father’s side. I know exactly how he did it. He got into my head. He used his power to make me see Tiberius as the emperor. What else could he make me see? What else could he make medo? Nausea sweeps through my body, making my head spin.
Rorrik smiles at me, and I hear someone’s breath catch behind me. “Gods, he’s beautiful.”
The nausea engulfs me, until I’m forced to gulp breath after breath. I wrap my fingers around the hilt of my dagger. If I’m going to die, I’ll do it with a weapon in my hand.
Tiernon moves to the emperor’s other side. Seeing him here, standing next to the emperor … now that I know he’s hisson… I rip my gaze away, my stomach swimming.
I was a stupid child who grew into a stupid adult. Tiernon has been benefiting from that stupidity since the day we met.
And now, so is his brother.
I’ve never seen so many people gathered on the sand before. Along with all of us who survived the Sundering, hundreds of guards stand in line behind us, their heads bowed.
Behind the guards, I catch a glimpse of the guardants, the healers, the novices, and even Jorah. His eyes are wet.
To the right of the emperor, the Sigilmarked Syndicate has gathered—the thirteen of them now just twelve. All of them are wearing black robes, their sigils darkened with black ink as a tribute to Tiberius.
“Something terrible has happened.” The emperor speaks in a low hiss. “Someone dared to strike out at this empire, killing Tiberius Cotta. His death is a devastating loss for our empire. I don’t need to tell you that it was also the greatest failure of palace security in history.”
He sweeps the rest of us with his attention. “While there were many failures that led to Sigilkeeper Cotta’s death, the assassin was ultimately able to succeed because this guard was not at his post.”
Several enforcers drag a Praesidium guard forward. He’s still wearing his uniform and I recognize him by his curly, white-blond hair. I feel sick to my stomach. He’s one of the guards Rorrik had promised would be distracted when I escaped.
