For the first time, true fear flashes across Hester’s face.
I give her a long look.
Yes, I do.
But that, more than anything, would make me a target for every other gladian here.
“No.”
The guard says nothing, merely nods and walks away.
Leon leans closer to Hester. “Stay the fuck away from my gladian.”
Hester’s own guardant strides toward her, takes her arm, and hauls her away.
Leon and I stare at each other for one long moment. His gaze drops to my hands. I don’t want to look. But I do.
My palms are a deep red, speckled with darker patches where my skin was scraped away. Thin lines of deeper abrasions run along my fingers and down my forearms where the rope twisted and rubbed during my uncontrolled descent. My hands feel as if they’ve doubled in size, already swelling.
I won’t be holding a sword or shield today. Or any time soon if I don’t find a good healer.
Something flickers through Leon’s eyes, but I turn away, a hot ache burning up my throat. I shouldn’t feel this sense of betrayal. But I do. Maeva approaches, her gaze dropping to my hands.
“I saw what she did.” Her eyes snap with fire, and she scowls at the gladians still watching us.
The training hall suddenly goes quiet, and I crane my neck.
A vampire enters, several guards trailing behind him. He’s wearing the emperor’s colors, and he must be hundreds of years older than Bran, because goose bumps rise on my skin as he walks past.
“His name is Nyrant,” Maeva murmurs next to me. “He’s a member of the imperius and the ultimate authority for us gladians.”
I study him. His features are unremarkable, his build average, and his face seemingly designed to blend into a crowd. His hair is a common shade of brown, and there’s absolutely nothing about him that catches the eye or lingers in the memory. If not for the power I sensed when he walked past, I wouldn’t hesitate to pass him on the street.
Maeva shrugs one shoulder. “The most powerful vampires tend to conceal their power, ensuring their enemies never know the full extent of their strength.”
“Obviously Nyrant doesn’t care about that.”
“Attention, gladians,” Nyrant says. “The Sundering begins three weeks from today. You’ll find a schedule on each of your beds with the date of your first fight. Train well, and you’ll impress both the emperor and potential sponsors who may provide you with superior weapons and shields.”
Murmurs break out, and Nyrant raises a hand until silence reigns once more. “Tonight, you will meet some of the most powerful people in this empire. For those who are still interested in finding a sponsor, this is your opportunity to impress them. For those who already have sponsors, this is your opportunity to ensure they reach into their pockets when it’s your turn to fight. Remember, winners will receive a percentage of all bets taken.”
He’s talking about the Sigilmarked Syndicate.
But I’m more interested in getting my first glimpse of the emperor.
Several gladians break out into grins. Maeva, on the other hand, ischewing on her lip, a deep line etched between her delicately arched brows.
Not my business.
“Training will end early today,” Nyrant says. “The emperor wants you to look your best.” His nostrils flare. “I suggest those of you who are bleeding get your wounds seen to.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’m almost at the healers when I suddenly feel myself being watched. Stalked. Hunted.
It’s already a familiar feeling, and I sigh. “I know you’re there.”
The Primus steps out of the shadows, and even knowing he was watching me, his sudden presence makes me flinch.
