It’s already the second week of Aprilis, which means I have less than a month before I’ll walk into the arena for the first time.
The back of my neck breaks out in a cold sweat, and Bran frowns at me. “I would not have chosen you if I thought you would be unsuccessful.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
“It would be an incredible waste of time and energy,” he continues as if I haven’t spoken.
Leon drags his gaze away from the arena and gives Bran a look filled with dark retribution. Thankfully, Bran is too busy glowering at the ley warden who trudges over to us as if he’s half asleep.
“Well then,” Bran says as the cabin doors finally open. “Let’s go.”
Multiple roads lead to the arena, but the road from the ley line station is crawling with vampires. Their powers press against me until I want to claw at my own skin.
It’s difficult to believe we’re just a few miles from the damp of the Thorn. The cobblestones are clean and dry, and even the air is warmer. Here, vampires, sigilmarked, and mundanes mix in groups. We pass a mundane man standing on a stool, a drawing of a gladian in one hand. A young boy takes bets next to him, his nose scrunched in concentration. Vendors and merchants line the streets, their licenses hanging above their carts. The smell of cooking meat makes my mouth water, and an elderly mundane woman grins at me, offering roast beef on a stick.
Bran waits for an oxcart to rumble by and then waves his hand, gesturing for us to follow him across the street. An imposing stone archway looms over the street, casting it in shadow. The entrance is adorned with intricate carvings and reliefs, depicting scenes of combat.
Tall stone columns enclose what I’m sure is a sprawling structure. The columns are etched with scenes of Umbros creating his vampires—the god standing tall and battle-worn as he bares his oversize fangs. Below the vampires, maginari crawl at his feet. Pixies with their wings crushed, mer with spears through their tails, centaurs with their legs broken.
We approach from the right at a diagonal, and I catch a glimpse of greenery peeking out over the tiles from somewhere within the ludus.
I open my mouth, but Leon sends me a warning glare before turning his attention back to the greenery and shaking his head.
Bran waves a hand, gesturing for us to follow him into the ludus.
The vestibule is dim, leaving me vulnerable for the few seconds ittakes for my eyes to adjust. Inside, the entrance is flanked by statues of gladians so lifelike, I wouldn’t be surprised if they stepped down from their pedestals and swung their swords.
Nerves riot inside my stomach, but I force a placid expression onto my face.
Keep your head down, your eyes open, and fight for your life.Carrick’s words run through my mind.
I can survive here. I just need to ensure I don’t draw any attention. My best chance of survival is to be just another gladian. Someone who doesn’t stand out in any way.
Bran immediately leads us down a set of stairs to our right. It’s not surprising the emperor built beneath the ludus for his guard. He may be forced to work with the sigilmarked, but this place has been created entirely with the comfort of vampires in mind.
No windows. Lights that could easily be doused—leaving the sigilmarked as prey while the vampires’ eyes seamlessly adjust to the dark. Narrow corridors trapping our scents. Making it easy for them to hunt.
Gladians may be both sigilmarked and vampires, but there’s no question who the emperor favors.
“The guardants’ living quarters are that way,” Bran tells Leon, pointing to a corridor on our right. “A room has been set aside for you.”
Leon turns and lumbers away without another word. I swallow around the lump in my throat as Bran’s gaze flickers over my face.
Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a note. “This is your background, and the reason you’re here. I will be your sponsor. I originally hailed from this district, and it won’t be seen as strange for me to take an interest in a gladian. I have sponsored … others in the arena before.”
Others. He means criminals sentenced to fight and die as part of the emperor’s entertainment. The wealthiest citizens in Senthara bet on everything that happens in the arena.
I take the note and Bran points down the corridor. “Continue walking until you come to the next junction, and then turn left. Your bedroom is four doors down on the right.”
I turn and walk away, repositioning my heavy satchel on my shoulder.
It’s almost time for dinner, which likely explains why it’s so quiet. The scent of cooked meat and baked bread becomes stronger as I follow Bran’s directions, and my stomach rumbles.
Already, I loathe this place and its lack of windows. But there aremore lights along the walls closer to the living quarters, highlighting murals that were likely painted on the walls long before my great-grandparents were born.
In one mural, a woman kneels at the feet of Anoxian, her gold-crowned head bowed. One hand is wrapped around the hilt of a silver sword, her other hand held up beseechingly to the battle god.
The next mural shows her slaughtered in the arena, Anoxian nowhere to be found, the woman’s own sword thrust through her chest by a vampire who wears a ruthless grin.
