“Weapons,” Nyrant says, and Leon hands over my shield and sword. Except … they’re not my shield and sword.
Leon leans close. “Tiberius Cotta sponsored both you and Maeva.” He gestures toward the parma, which gleams bronze in the dim light. “Reinforced.”
Another enforcer steps forward, sweeping his own hands over the weapons, ensuring they haven’t been illegally charmed. When he nods, Nyrant gestures, and they’re handed to me.
I wrap my hand around the hilt of the sword. It’s not that I’m not grateful. This sword is lighter, likely sharper.
But my own sword is as familiar to me as my hand.
“Three minutes,” Nyrant says, and then he’s gone.
Leon pins me with a sharp look. “Listen to me, Arvelle, you need to put away everything you just saw out there. Grieving is for later, when you’re alone in your bed where no one can hear you cry.”
“I know.”
He reaches out and gives my shoulders a shake. I don’t blame him. My voice is dead.
The enforcer nods at me. “It’s time.”
He gestures toward the elevator to our left and I step inside. The aether stone glows, and the elevator slowly begins to rise.
Leon turns, making his way up to the arena.
And then all I see is darkness, and it’s just me and my terror, trapped in this elevator.
Last time, Kassia was here with me.
I can’t remember exactly what we said. I remember a bad joke, the squeeze of her sweaty palm in mine. Wide eyes, pale faces, even as we were certain that both of us would walk out of the arena and into our new lives.
But only one of us did.
The roar of the crowd hits me before the light does. Time seems to speed up, and the elevator spits me into the arena.
I step out.
From here, the crowd is mostly just a blur of faces—although I can see the emperor’s pulvinar—so heavy with gold it must be held in place by aether—positioned over the main entrance at the northern side of the arena. The box is elevated above the rest of the seating areas, providing him with the best possible view of the carnage.
Deep-purple silk panels drape from the pulvinar in long, regal swaths, the fabric swaying in the gentle breeze. Two imperiums stand on either side, intimidating in their black armor. From the wide shoulders and angle of his head, I’m guessing one of them is Micah. The other imperium is slighter in build, shoulders back, head high in a stance that reminds me of Neris. Inside the pulvinar, city wardens stand near the emperor, hands on their swords.
Within the arena, vampires and gold-crowned naturally enjoy the best seats—with the Sigilmarked Syndicate and Vampire Council positioned closest to the emperor. The imperiums are dotted within them, standing at attention, and my gaze lands on the Primus, positioned in the stands above the pulvinar. His body is still, tense, and I’m sure he’s scanning any who approach the pulvinar.
One wrong step today, one poorly timed maneuver, one moment of inattention, and I could die.
Maximus takes his place. He stands barely two inches taller than me. But he’s much wider, his meaty arms thick with muscle. His hand is clenched around the hilt of his sword as he gazes up at the emperor, his mouth set in a hard, determined line.
He’s standing just feet away from the spot where Kassia took her last breath.
The emperor is saying something, his voice a dull whine. Louder whines sound—the crowd reacting to something. But I can barely breathe.
All I can see is the knowledge dawning on Kassia’s face. The pain and the fear.
My fault. I know, Leon. It’s my fault.
“Arvelle!” Leon screams, and I’m suddenly back in the present, Maximus stalking toward me.
Leon stands to the side of the arena, his face twisted with fury.
I take a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, lifting my own swordas I let Maximus come to me. I still don’t have the stamina for this to be long. So I have to fight smart and get it over with quickly.
