You’re so … cold. Does life truly hold such little meaning to you?
Tolva sits at the edge of the room, her arms crossed tightly, head bowed. Gradon sits next to her, murmuring something in her ear. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a dark beard, which he keeps neatly trimmed. Laugh lines fan out from the corners of his eyes, although I’ve never seen him smile.
Hester turns her poisonous attention to Tolva, and Gradon gives her a narrow-eyed stare.
An enforcer appears. “Hester Volker and Turran Pinarius.”
Turran may be a vampire, but he’s young—and with those suppression cuffs around his wrists, he’s as weak and powerless as we are. His mouth thins into a grim line and he swallows, following Hester out of the room.
“Dead vampire walking,” Baldric calls after him, and Maeva’s face turns another shade paler.
I shouldn’t distract myself with Maeva’s problems. I have more than enough of my own.
And yet …
She just defended me to Hester. It’s something Maeva does a lot, even though I can tell she has no expectation that I’ll do the same.
“You’re not sleeping,” I murmur.
She shrugs. “Every time I close my eyes I see the criminals forced to fight. I see that centaur …”
“You’ve never seen the emperor have his fun before? I thought your father …”
“He never brought me here. Too ashamed.” She touches her sigil.
“I guess that was a good thing.”
“I guess so.” She contemplates me, and a hint of something I can’t place flickers across her face. Leaning close, she drops her voice until it’s little more than a whisper. “I did some research. I know where the centaurs are kept. And the other maginari the emperor has caged.”
“Where?”
She casts a look down at her feet. And then nods her head when I don’t immediately get it.
Oh.
Beneath us. In the bowels of the arena.
I close my eyes. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about doing anything stupid.”
When I open my eyes, her pale, stricken expression tells me she’s doing more than thinking about it. She’s actively making plans.
“I need your help,” she says.
I let out a bark of laughter that has several gladians turning our way. “You want to die? You’re on your own.”
Her expression falls, but I’m already walking away.
“Maeva Virnia and Cassius Ruso,” a guard calls.
I whirl, my last words to her already looping through my mind.
“Maeva.”
She turns her head, and her eyes are wet. My chest aches.
“You’re going to win this.”
A single sharp nod, and then she’s gone.
