The pain is agonizing. But keeping them alive means letting them go. At least temporarily.
One day, I will make Bran pay for every moment of fear and anguish he has caused my brothers.
My eyes burn, and I grimly fix my gaze to the stone floor, following Bran down the corridor leading to the ley line traveling in our direction.
I’m so focused on keeping my emotions in check, I almost miss the commotion.
A mundane woman breaks away from the sigilmarked she was trailing and drops to her knees in front of Bran, her eyes wild, face twisted.
“Please,” she begs.
Leon lets out a low hiss, but the corner of Bran’s mouth curves up.
Understanding trickles through me.
A blood addict. Lost to the craving. To the agony.
A wide circle has opened up around us, those passing by intent on ignoring the scene of a woman begging for relief from her pain. Several people wrinkle their noses, while most carefully ignore her.
Bran glances over his shoulder at me. “Somepeople understand the gift of vampire blood.” Without another word, he strides past the woman, ignoring her strangled sob.
Her hollow, despair-filled eyes lock with mine, and a lump rises in my throat. Leon clamps a hand around my elbow and yanks me back into step, releasing me the moment I fall in line behind Bran.
Unsurprisingly, Bran leads Leon and me past the line of people already waiting for the ley line we need. He flashes a document at the ley warden, and the bronze sigilmarked immediately nods, stepping aside.
With a jerk of his head, Bran gestures for us to step into the tiny cabin.
It’s a little bigger than a carriage, but the pale wood has been heavily adorned with silver.
If that silver weakens Bran in any way, it’s impossible to tell by his placid expression. When the door of the cabin clicks shut, he nods once to the ley warden. And we’re suddenly moving.
Leon turns green, closes his eyes, and fists his hands. My own stomach churns as the world turns blurry outside the small windows.
Within moments, the world solidifies once more, and my stomach hollows out.
Outside the window, the arena rises from the heart of the city, the black stone glimmering with gold in places. Towering spires pierce the sky, adorned with banners that flutter in the wind, covered in the emperor’s personal sigil—the two interconnecting triangles stark black against the purple banners.
Six years ago, Kassia squeezed my hand as we both stared at this arena, torn between excitement and dread.
Something cracks deep within my chest as grief and bitterness chew through the numbness I’ve embraced like a lover. A thousand memories of Kassia slam into me all at once, until all I can do is breathe through it, the sound of her last, choked gasp echoing through my ears.
The pain of loss never ends. It never gets better. Anyone who says otherwise is lying. The agony of “what if” eats at you hour by hour, minute by minute, until you’d give almost anything for it to finally put you out of your misery. And then, just when you start to function again, it waits, silently, before slamming into you full force when you least expect it.
Leon’s face is no longer green. No, it’s now almost gray, his eyes anguished as he stares at the arena.
There’s a spot waiting for me in the underworld, carved out by everything I’ve done to Leon. He would never have returned to this place if I hadn’t brought him here.
Get up, Velle. Don’t let the vampire see you hurt.Kassia’s voice echoes in my head. And I’d give anything for her to be sitting beside me once more.
“Arvelle.” Bran’s voice is stern, the impatience on his face making it clear he’s been attempting to get my attention. A group of silver-crowned women wait for our cabin, and I get to my feet.
“Yes?”
“Gladians live beneath the ludus on one side, with guardants on the other. You will be able to train in the days leading up to the tria proeliis.”
My lips turn numb. “When is the first challenge?”
“Maius.”
