My hand tightens on the hilt of my dagger. Typical of a vampire to discover exactly what I need the most and then offer it to me under the pretense of benevolence. This isn’t the first time someone has tried tobribe me to fight. But it hasn’t happened for years. And no one has attempted to make me swing my sword for theemperorbefore.
Making it through the Sundering is the entry point to the Praesidium Guard—formed to protect the emperor, his vicious family, and the Sigilmarked Syndicate.
To conquer the Sundering, gladians must enter the emperor’s arena three times in what is known as the tria proeliis. I wouldn’t survive the first. I haven’t fought for six years. I’m slower, and my ankle …
I shake my head, taking in the vampire in front of me. This doesn’t make sense. Thousands of people train day and night for a chance to be one of the one hundred gladians to enter the Sundering each season.
“Tell me what you really want.”
Bran smiles, carefully hiding his fangs. A nice, nonthreatening vampire.
“You will make it through the Sundering, and then—when the time is right—you will kill someone very important.”
“Who?”
Hatred glitters in Bran’s eyes. “Vallius Corvus.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can prevent it. This has to be someone’s idea of a terrible joke.
“Theemperor? The most powerful, well-protected man on this continent?”
“I will help you achieve this task.”
“Oh, that’s fine then,” I say. “Sounds like a plan.”
He gives a short nod and then narrows his eyes. “Sarcasm.”
“Look. I’m not an assassin. I’m sure you know many people far more qualified for such atask.”
He smiles, but his eyes remain hard. “Believe in yourself, and you can achieve almost anything.”
“Your motivational speech could use some work. You want me to conquer the Sundering, join the Praesidium Guard, and kill the most powerful man in this kingdom in exchange for a lung tonic?”
He frowns at me. “Of course not. Fight for the emperor, kill him when it is time, and not only will I give you these tonics, but I will send your brother to the healers in Nesonias.”
Rolling up his sleeve, Bran holds out his arm, displaying his wrist. Two interlocked triangles. The emperor’s mark.
My fists clench before I can control them, and I have no doubt Branhas noticed. Nesonias is my brother’s only chance for a cure. It’s why every move I make is with the goal of moving all of us north. Bran’s mark proves that the vampire can easily ensure Evren is healed. All it would take is a simple order.
Bitterness floods my mouth. It’s been a long night. The next few days are likely to be worse. And the vampire taunting me with my brother’s life is like a handful of salt rubbed in an already festering wound. “I won’t even get close to the emperor. I step foot in that arena, and I’ll die.”
“I don’t think so,” Bran says. “I saw you fight once, champion.”
“I was younger then.”
“Give yourself some credit.”
My head aches. I want nothing more than to go inside, check on my brothers, and take a short nap before breakfast.
“I attempt to spy for you, attempt to kill the emperor, and I’ll wish I was dead. If I die, what happens to my brothers?”
“I’ll make sure the sick one is healed. Completely. As soon as the emperor is dead, I’ll free your brothers and you may join them. With enough money from your time in the arena to start a new life.”
“Good night, Bran.”
Black eyes narrow, and a chill crawls up my spine at the malevolence in his eyes. I can practically feel his years pressing on me. Three hundred at least.
“That’s not how negotiations work.”
