My mind immediately pictures Hester and Baldric, but Leon is still speaking.
“Never assume your opponent is just aiming for first blood. You know exactly what happens when—”
His voice cuts off, and suddenly all I can see is Kassia, her eyes wide with the realization that she’s about to die.
Silence gnaws at the air between us. I open my mouth, but Leon is already walking away, gesturing for me to follow him. We walk past thick ropes hanging from the ceiling, past the mats laid out for wrestling, and past the targets for archery.
Some of the gladians have already broken into groups, while others are training solo or with their guardants. Maeva is standing with her own guardant, her expression serious as she nods at whatever the man is saying.
Already, the musty scent of sweat hangs in the air, mixing with the scent of oiled leather. I catch the coppery tang of blood and slice myeyes toward a vampire training on one of the ropes. Every so often, his eyes flare, and he bares his fangs, head craned as he looks toward the source of the bleeding. But he keeps moving.
I suppose even vampires don’t survive within the ludus without exceptional self-control.
Several gazes turn my way, and I ignore them, focusing on the wall at our right … and the gold plaques lining the wall, names of past victories carved into the gold.
My stomach tumbles.
Since Lysoria is the empire’s capital, residents of our city arefortunateenough to fight in the Sands in the emperor’s own arena.
Arvelle Dacien.
My own name screams at me, the plaque at eye level, as if placed exactly here to taunt me.
My palms are suddenly slick with sweat.
I can’t do this.
“Arvelle.” Leon’s gaze sweeps past me to the plaque, and he swallows, his eyes turning blank. “We’re this way,” he says and turns without another word, forcing me to trot after him or be left behind.
Praesidium guards are posted every few feet along the walls in the training hall. All of them wear black body armor made from aetherweave—a relatively new invention. Six years ago, the material was all Leon would talk about. Kassia had teased him mercilessly about his obsession.
The guards’ chest pieces are embossed with the emperor’s mark—the two interlocked triangles highlighted with glowing silver accents. Deep purple cloaks are fastened at their shoulders with ornate silver clasps, and even their gauntlets and greaves have been crafted from aetherweave and reinforced steel.
All of the guards are armed with finely crafted swords, daggers sheathed at their sides, and likely several other weapons hidden on their person. And all of them are watching the gladians carefully, as if preparing for one of us to suddenly attack.
Leon has claimed a corner to the right, at the far end of the hall. Wooden sparring swords are waiting in a pile, along with several shields. I’ve never fought with a shield before. They weren’t allowed in the Sands.
Leon nods toward the closest shield. “Pick it up.”
The shield is large and rectangular, curved at the edges to offer increased protection. It’s huge, reinforced with bronze, and so heavy it takes the use of both my arms to lift it.
“These are called scutums,” Leon says. “The Guard uses them in battle, but so do the stronger gladians. Not only does this kind of shield provide the best protection, but it makes an excellent weapon in the arena as well.” His mouth thins as he watches my arms shake, and he takes a practice sword, swinging it at me.
I’m losing the battle to keep the shield high before he even finishes the swing.
“Put it down.” Leon’s voice is somehow both sharp and empty at the same time.
Something in my chest wrenches. I knew he hated me, and I told myself I’d accepted that years ago. But …
I drop the shield on the ground, and a snigger sounds to my left. A woman strolls past, effortlessly holding a scutum of her own. I recognize her as the woman who looked at Rorrik like he was everything she’s ever wanted directly after he murdered someone in front of us.
“You can’t lift it?” Her voice is purposefully loud, and she ignores Leon, turning to stroll away, but several other gladians nearby have heard her, and I can feel their eyes on me. My skin turns hot.
So much for not showcasing my weakness.
I turn back to Leon. Silence hangs between us as he studies my face. I’m not sure what he sees, but he leans down and picks up another shield.
“Your skill has always been your speed,” he says gruffly. “You’ll use the parma. Yes, it’s smaller,” he continues as I gaze at the round wooden shield. “And no, it won’t provide you with as much protection. But you’ll be more mobile, and you can train with it while working on your upper body strength.”
