It’s over. I get to my feet, ready to file out of this place and make my way down below, where I’ll beg one of the healers for some sleeping berries and fall into blessed unconsciousness. But Maeva takes my arm, pointing.
And my heart kicks in my chest.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Centaurs.
The emperor has found centaurs.
I’d heard rumors, of course. Rumors of the maginari the emperor’s guards hunt down and drag back to his prisons. Rumors about how the emperor has almost decimated the population within Senthara as those creatures either fled or bled and died in his arenas. And rumors about the way he sweeps into conquered lands, taking the maginari.
But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the centaur, his muscular upper body straining, torso slick with sweat and body wrapped in chains. Four strong, sinewy legs end in hooves, his coat a sleek chestnut brown, seamlessly transitioning into the tan skin of his upper body.
Blood stains his beard and neck, dripping from his mouth as he bares his teeth. Both of his biceps are encircled with silver, ensuring he can’t access even a wisp of power. Still, he holds his head high, dark blue eyes finding the emperor, who wears a nasty little smile, evident even at this distance.
“Why?”
I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until Maeva leans close, her voice thick. “The centaurs have fought for Zevaris for years now, preventing the emperor from making gains as his armies work their way north. When they’re captured, they’re brought back here.”
Four enforcers step into the arena. One of them waves his hand, and the centaur’s chains fall away.
The enforcers are armed. The centaur is not. He puts up a good fight, sharp hooves stomping down on the foot of a particularly vicious attacker, before kicking his leg out and shoving another hoof straight into his gut. But the others take advantage of his distraction, aiming for his unarmed back.
The enforcers are allowed to use their powers. It’s not a fight, it’s a slaughter. But I force myself to watch, even as my blood sears my veins.
Finally, the centaur lies broken on the sand. His expression is lost, but his eyes are defiant. The arena goes silent as the emperor stands.He holds out his hand, and I know what’s about to happen before he turns his thumb.
One slice of a sword, and the centaur’s head rolls free of his body.
Maeva lets out a choked sound, her face crumpling, cheeks suddenly wet. I swallow around the aching lump in my own throat and sweep my gaze around us.
An enforcer posted in the aisle next to us is leaning against a stone column, his expression dark as he watches Maeva. Fear punches into me and I take her arm, ruthlessly squeezing.
“Stop crying.”
She casts me a look filled with shock and betrayal, her breath hitching.
I squeeze tighter. “Stop it.”
She yanks at her arm, eyes glittering. “Don’t you even care?” she hisses. “You’re so … cold. Does life truly hold such little meaning to you?”
The accusation stings. It shouldn’t. Iamcold.
Leaning close, I lower my voice to the barest whisper. “You want to be arrested, Maeva? You want to be the next one down there, killed asentertainment? Wipe your fucking face.”
I release her arm, and Maeva glances around, noting the watching enforcer. She wipes a hand over her face, fixes her expression into what might pass for boredom, and pins her gaze to the arena.
I turn my attention back to the red sand. My throat is burning now, my chest so tight I can barely breathe.
The emperor walks out of his pulvinar. That’s our signal. We can finally leave. Rising quickly to my feet, I begin to weave my way past those who are too slow, heading back toward the ludus.
Tiernon stands at the top of our section, his eyes unerringly finding mine. Ripping my gaze away, I stalk down the steps, my entire body hot.
I have to train. Because it’s only a matter of weeks before I’m walking back into that arena again. And I refuse to be slaughtered like that centaur.
TIERNON STANDS BEFOREme, his mouth caught in a crooked smile. In the time since we met he seems to have grown a foot, turning tall and lanky. But his wide shoulders hint at the man he will become. He holds out his hand, three buttons waiting in his palm.
He no longer pulls the buttons from his clothes, but he still brings them with him. It’s become something of a joke between us. A joke that has occasionally been the only reason my family goes to bed with full bellies.
