I frown at that. Ti doesn’t really talk all that much.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he says. “I couldn’t come back. My father took an interest in my training for a few weeks. My brother warned me to be on my best behavior.”
I want to ask more. I’ve always been hopelessly curious about what it’slike to grow up with a father. Or an older brother who would have looked out for me.
But Ti has gotten that closed expression on his face. The one that says he doesn’t want to talk about that subject further. So I leave it alone.
“What would you do if you could do anything?” he asks me suddenly.
“I’d be a healer.”
Surprise flashes through his eyes and I frown at him. “You don’t think I could be a healer?”
“No, I do. It’s just … most people I know aren’t interested in helping people. They’re only interested in themselves.”
It’s mostly the same in the Thorn. But sometimes, there are good people too. Like our neighbor, who took pity on my mother and left us a round of bread in the middle of winter a few years ago when my brothers were first born. Or the butcher, who sometimes gives her a little extra meat when he sees me standing next to her, as skinny and unkempt as I am.
I’d thought Ti’s life was easier than mine. It’s clear he’s used to getting what he wants. But he’s not cruel. He just needs to be taught.
I’ll teach him. And one day, he’ll be a kind noble. Maybe, when he grows up, he will raise his children to be kind too.
“What are you thinking?”
Ti hates when I’m quiet without him initiating it. He often demands access to all my thoughts. And I usually give it to him. But something tells me he wouldn’t be happy with these thoughts.
No one wants to feel like they’re a project.
IFALL INTOa rhythm. Swords and sand and sweat. Steaming skin and straining muscles, all underscored with an incessant fatigue that burrows into me night and day.
Leon’s lips, thin with frustration; my palms, blistered and swollen … it all blurs together throughout the next two weeks, until suddenly, the first challenges of the Sundering are just one week away.
More guards fill the ludus, keeping a careful eye on all of us. To say the emperor was displeased by the sudden appearance of a dead gladian is an understatement. According to Maeva, he spent the next day overseeing executions within the arena until even the most hardened Lysorian resident found it difficult to watch the torture—a problem the emperor solved by ensuring the city wardens handed out extra bread and fruit to the populace.
I manage to avoid Rorrik by spending most of my time within the gladian barracks. Vampires can’t enter unless personally invited, and despite the raging lack of intellect among some of the other gladians, even they wouldn’t be stupid enough to allow vampires who aren’t already gladians access to where we sleep.
Each night, I dream of Tiernon. Each day, I have to block out memories of Kassia. It’s as if being in this place has unlocked something inside me, and everything I’ve suppressed for six years is flooding out. For six years, I’ve attempted to forget the most painful moments of my life. Now, I’m assaulted by them.
This morning, I only have a few minutes to talk to my brothers before I need to meet Leon.
Leaning forward, I study them. Gerith’s green eyes are filled with suppressed excitement, while Evren’s hold a sadness he’s attempting to hide.
“What happened?”
Gerith smiles at me and lifts a hand. A piece of parchment floats up to meet it, his gold sigil flaring. The ends of the sigil have lengthened slightly, curling up. My heart trips. “You woke.”
He nods. “Last night. But it’s not a big deal.” He says this quickly, his eyes moving to his brother.
“Congratulations, Ger.” I smile, and he beams at me.
My heart wilts in my chest. The awakening can be dangerous. And even when it’s not, it’s a huge moment. The kind of moment I should have been there for.
“Do it again,” Evren says, and Gerith lifts the parchment. Evren laughs, elbowing his brother, and they tussle.
“I don’t have long,” I say, and Gerith unwraps his arm from around his brother’s neck. “How’s the tutor?”
“Good,” Evren says, and the shadows leave his eyes. He’s always been obsessed with learning. When his lungs were particularly bad and he was confined to his bed, Ger and I would bring him as many books as we could, borrowed from anyone who would give them up.
“We’re learning about Mortuus.” Evren’s voice is low, but I still glance around, ensuring no one can hear our conversation.
