I count down in my head.
Three.
Two.
One.
I launch to my feet, pivoting with the motion.
My ankle twinges and I stumble. But I’m already grasping for the handle.
A snarl cuts through the air behind me. And it didn’t come from the wyvern.
My shoulders curl, and I brace myself for the blast of heat. For the scent of my own skin burning to ash.
Cool air. Darkness. The quiet solitude of the corridor embraces me like a lover. But I don’t wait for the vampire on the other side of the wall to follow me.
Slamming the door behind me, I bolt.
THE EMPEROR HASarranged for the sponsors to visit us in the ludus.
According to the healer who treats my hands, this is somewhat of a treat for the sponsors, who rarely get to visit the place where gladians train for their entertainment.
The healer is short and plump, her white robes swirling around her feet. She introduces herself as Axia, chatting as she drifts around the room, pouring pungent liquid from brown glass bottles and flicking through a thick book, the pages stained and yellow. She nods at whatever she sees, reaching for a handful of herbs, and I close my eyes, blocking out the view of the future I once thought I’d have.
“You shouldn’t have waited so long. Your hands will ache for the next few days, and you’ll need to be careful with them, or you’ll be visiting me again.”
I nod, wordlessly, opening my eyes. My hands are still trembling from my encounter in the strange, hidden garden, and they shake while Axia covers them with salve, her sigil glowing with silver light as she chants.
“You haven’t been here long,” she remarks, her dark eyes narrowing on my unsteady hands. “There’s no shame in admitting you made the wrong choice.”
My laugh sounds almost hysterical. Oh, if only Icouldtake it all back. Could turn back time and earn enough money to stock up on lung potions. Could tell Bran to find someone else for his schemes.
Axia merely shakes her head at my laughter. “Be careful not to do more damage while these are healing.”
“I’ll try.”
She smiles, and a dimple appears next to her mouth. “I have a feeling that’s the most I can hope for with you. Now you better go before you’re late.”
I have just enough time to run a damp cloth over my body and change into a linen tunic. The bedroom is empty, and I attempt to sheathe my dagger in the hidden scabbard in my boot.
But my hand is still shaking so much, I risk stabbing my own foot.
I’m suddenly viciously cold, my mouth dry, heart racing. Leaning over, I suck in deep, unsteady breaths.
How exactly do I convince Rorrik not to kill me?
Maybe … maybe if I just stay out of his way, he’ll forget what happened. Maybe he won’t even recognize me. It’s not as if he pays attention to individual gladians.
And maybe he’ll kill me on sight.
It takes longer than it should for me to regain control of my body, and I’m the last to arrive. Maeva shoots me a look over her shoulder, but she’s standing closer to the start of the line, and I shake my head at her as I step into my place behind Kaeso—the tall, wide-shouldered vampire who fought with such incredible speed during training. He gives me a friendly nod, and we all walk in step, marching through the wide doorway one by one.
Unlike the spartan training hall, this room has clearly been designed for nobles to enjoy. Intricately painted tiles have been laid fromwall to wall in the long, narrow room. Alcoves punctuate the edges of the room with elegant wooden chairs offering a place to rest.
Nyrant waves his hand, silently commanding us to move until we’re positioned directly across from the guardants who line the longer wall in front of us. Leon attempts to catch my eye, but guards are already stepping into place, flinging the wide gold doors open. Thirteen men and women stroll into the room.
I know little of politics, but even I can feel the weight of their power—both literal and metaphorical.
