He studies me for a long moment, eyes searching my face. “The Furnace … I’ve heard stories. It’s an old trial used in Conclaves past – ancient tech that can simulate a dying star. If it’s true, the heat alone could kill most people in minutes. It’s hotter than any heat wave on Mars…”
I lean against the doorframe, my legs suddenly unsteady.
If something happens to him tomorrow, if he’s badly injured, or worse … what will happen to me? If anyone found out my heritage, I’d be alone in a place full of people who want me dead, with no protection, no allies, no way home.
Yet underneath that selfish fear is something more uncomfortable – genuine concern for him as a person. The thought of watching him suffer, of potentially being powerless to heal severe heat damage, makes my chest tight in ways that have nothing to do with my own survival.
“You could die,” I say quietly, the words feeling strange and too intimate coming from someone who’s supposed to be just his healer.
He studies my face, and I realize I’ve revealed more than I intended. “Concerned about losing your patient?” he asks, but there’s something searching in his tone.
“We can plan,” I say, quickly changing the subject. “You can outlast them if you play it smart. We know how to survive heat storms, better than any other planet – you don’t need to fight like a brute – you just need a strategy.”
He gestures to the table stacked with arena specs and combat analyses. “Will you help me? It looks like the Cardinals gave us records of old trials from past Conclaves. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.”
I quickly close the door behind me, and approach the table.
“First, we need to understand what we’re up against,” Zevran says, pulling up holographic profiles of each House leader. “Every competitor will approach this differently.”
He gestures to Lord Castor’s image. “Jupiter will rely on brute strength. Castor’s built like a siege engine – he’ll try to overpower everyone through sheer physical dominance.”
“What about Commander Kaelix?” I inquire.
“Uranus specializes in unconventional tactics. Kaelix isunpredictable, which makes them dangerous,” he says. There’s an edge to Zevran’s voice.
The hologram shifts to show Saturn. “Evander will study every rule, every precedent, looking for loopholes or technicalities. He’ll conserve energy while others exhaust themselves, then strike when they’re weakest.”
“And Lady Tavia?” I ask.
Zevran’s expression grows thoughtful.
“Mercury’s greatest strength is communication and diplomacy, but that’s useless in this trial. Tavia will probably try to form temporary alliances, convince others to work together against bigger threats. But alliances in gladiator combat tend to be … short-lived.”
Silence surrounds us as we take it all in.
“There’s also Neptune,” Zevran continues. “The wild card. Nerida’s mystical abilities might be more than just theatre – water magic could be incredibly valuable in a heat-based trial. I have no idea what her strategy will be beyond that,” he admits.
I lean forward, studying the tactical displays.
“So, your biggest threats are Lord Castor’s strength, Commander Kaelix’s unpredictability, and Lord Evander’s patience?”
“And technically … Isolde’s intelligence,” Zevran adds grimly. “Venus knows things about all of us that we probably don’t know about ourselves. If anyone’s going to have advanced knowledge of the trial’s specific mechanics, it’s her.”
“Is that why she told me about the Furnace? To help us … or to manipulate us?” I ask.
Zevran grimaces. “With Isolde, it’s usually both.”
We spend the rest of the night hunched over datapads and simulation charts, lit by the cold glow of artificial starlight. I trace potential pathways through gladiator scenarios while he calculates endurance requirements and heat tolerance. Somewhere between the fire simulations and combat strategies, our hands brush over the same display. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through me, but I don’t move my hand. His fingers are warm, calloused from sword work, and for a moment I’m acutely aware of how close we’re sitting, how his sleeve brushes my arm when he reaches for another datapad.
“This projection shows potential thermal zones,” he says, his voice slightly rougher than usual. “If I stay in the blue areas…”
I nod, trying to focus on the strategic information rather than the way his proximity makes my skin feel hypersensitive. When he leans closer to trace a route through the arena layout, my heart skips a beat. For a split second, the buried hunger stirs, mistaking proximity for an invitation to heal his pain. I push it down … tonight can’t be about feeding the need. Tonight has to be about keeping Zevran alive.
As dawn approaches – artificial light gradually brightening through the arena’s windows – we sit back, exhausted but prepared.
“Thank you,” Zevran says quietly.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I reply. “Thank me when you win.”
