C HAP TER EIGHTEEN
swim down, down, down into the murky depths.I Malevolent gazes burn into me from all directions. Here, I’m nothing but prey.
Maybe I have a death wish after all. Now that I’m faced with the reality of this decision, I have to fight the urge to turn around and swim toward the safety of the platform.
There.
The woman is sinking like a stone. She’s still alive, her eyes open, dazed. But somehow, she must know I’m not here to kill her, because she reaches her hand out for mine. My hand slides into hers and I kick, pulling her higher.
A tug on my arm. She’s suddenly shaking her head, eyes wide and horrified.
Dread slices through me like a blade and I begin to turn, releasing her hand.
The kelpie slams into me, rolling us through the water. I roll with it, and continue rolling, until I’m sitting astride its back. It bucks, rears, attempting to throw me off. But my hands find the slippery seaweed of its mane and I clutch it with all my strength, my legs floating behind me as I pull myself even closer.
Holding on with my left hand, I use my right to fumble for the dagger in my boot, tightening my grip on the hilt until my hand aches. If I don’t get us out of the water soon, the woman won’t need to worry about the bolt in her chest.
The kelpie bucks, violently throwing its head. I hold on relentlessly, my veins flooding with cold rage. I’m not dying down here. And neither is the woman behind me.
I catch a single glimpse of her as she attempts to kick weakly for the surface, her blood darkening the water like a pool of ink. The kelpie tosses its head once more, but this time I’m ready. My lungs ache, begging me for air, but I kick furiously.
Reaching out with one hand, I grab the silver bridle, and a furious red eye glares back at me.
But the kelpie goes completely still for one precious moment. As if it knows what I’m planning next.
The silver bridle is connected with several dark pieces of leather. I slice through the browband. The cheek piece. The throatlatch.
The kelpie tosses its head, but it’s no longer attempting to kill me. No, it’s attempting to shake the bridle off. One more slice that comes precariously close to the kelpie’s nose, and it’s free, tossing its head. I release the bridle, turning to swim toward the woman still floating nearby.
Another kelpie approaches, galloping through the water toward us, and my stomach sinks. The kelpie I freed is suddenly in front of me, kicking out at the attacking kelpie with its front legs.
My lungs burn like fire. The woman turns toward me and I latch onto her arm, both of us kicking furiously. The kelpie appears once more, galloping through the water until it’s beneath us.
And then it begins lifting up.
I widen my legs until I’m sitting on the kelpie’s back. The woman struggles weakly. I don’t blame her. This is crazy. Tiny black spots are darkening the edges of my vision, the need to inhale almost impossible to ignore.
The kelpie beneath us rears, throwing hooves at another approaching dark shadow. Both of us scramble for its mane, holding tight. And then we’re practically flying upward, the water nothing but a blur. We break the surface of the water and I let out a sob, sucking in precious, life-giving air.
Silence. So much silence.
A chill ripples through me.
Who else is dead? Are we the last ones left?
Frantically, I scan the arena, my hands clutching at the kelpie’s mane. But everyone is looking at us.
Understanding slams into me.
They’re seeing a kelpie, red-eyed and glaring—a gladian on its back.
They’re seeing a criminal slumped in front of a gladian, when she should be dead in the water.
Uh-oh.
Someone lets out a wild laugh, and then the crowd is screaming, clapping, roaring. I catch a woman near the first row of seats wiping tears from her eyes. But Vallius Corvus is stone-faced.
An invisible weight pushes on the back of my head, forcing me to bow. I lower my head, glancing up in time to catch the emperor’s tight smile.
The pressure releases and the kelpie sidles up to the platform. I roll us both onto the wooden boards and the kelpie disappears, sliding smoothly back beneath the water.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Hester snaps.
I ignore her. Leaving the arrow in the woman’s chest—to pull it out would only hasten her death—I drag her to the side of the platform, out of the way.
She’s unconscious, but she’s still breathing. Relief sweeps through me and I stumble to my feet.
I gave her a chance. Whether she lives or dies now is up to her.
“We’re supposed to kill them, you idiot.” Brenin storms toward the woman, and I pick up the closest crossbow.
“Do it and die.”
He gapes at me. “We’re on the same side.”
“You heard her,” Maeva says. “Touch her and I’ll slit your throat.”
Brenin’s mouth hangs open. So does mine. Meanwhile, Maeva moves closer to the woman, more arrows thunking into her
shield.
“Look at her, Brenin,” I demand.
He does, but his gaze quickly flickers away.
“She’s probably going to die anyway,” I mutter. “But she won’t die in that water.”
Shaking his head, he stomps away. But not without a last, lingering glance toward the unconscious woman at our feet, and the arrow jutting from her chest.
Maeva gives me a wide-eyed look. But her eyes are dark with pity.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. With one impulsive act, I’ve managed to infuriate the other gladians—again—and I’ve drawn more of the wrong kind of attention from the emperor.
Maeva crouches low, lifting her shield. But the arrows are slowing now. I squint at our boat. “Numbers?”
“Titus, Sisenna, Placus, and Tolva are dead,” she says.
My chest tightens. “What happened to Tolva?”
Maeva’s eyes fire. “Garet was supposed to be covering that side of the boat. He hid, pulling his shield over himself when they were under heavy fire. She took an arrow to the heart.”
Fury gives me a fresh hit of energy, and I reach for a crossbow, aiming at the other boat. Both sides have suffered heavy losses, although theirs seem heavier. Counting the unconscious woman on our platform, there are only around six of them left.
Beneath us, a kelpie slams into the platform, jostling it beneath our feet. I bend my knees, struggling to stay balanced. Is this what will happen next? Will the emperor force us to fight more trapped maginari?
But the crowd is going quiet, and I turn to face the emperor. Here, he is our god.
“Congratulations, survivors,” he says, his voice booming through every inch of the arena. “Each of you stands here today not just as a testament to your own strength, but as a beacon of hope and power for our great republic. The trials you have endured, the blood you have shed, and the courage you have shown will fortify the very foundations of our empire.”
His cold gaze lands on me and I tense, but he’s already turning away, strolling back toward the priestess. Cheers break out, the gladians who survived whooping and slapping each other on the back.
Someone grabs my shoulders, and I find Maeva beaming at me. She throws her arms around me and lets out a sound that’s suspiciously close to a squeal.
“We’ve made it, Arvelle! We’re officially novices!” When she pulls back, her eyes are wet, and she lets out a laugh as Brenin slings an arm around each of our shoulders. Clearly, our little spat is all forgiven.
I close my eyes, the relief dizzying. I’ve survived the Sundering. Somehow, I managed to stay alive through all three challenges. Thanks to our bond, Bran has to make sure Evren is healed now. He’ll finally be healthy. He’ll finally have a life.
It’s finally over. I’m leaving this place.
Just as soon as I kill Vallius Corvus.
THE EMPEROR’S BALLROOM is a love letter to Umbros. Black marble reflects thousands of aether lamps—mounted on golden sconces along the walls and floating high above our heads. Murals of Umbros adorn the walls, showcasing the vampires’ god in various scenes, while incense lingers in the air, mingling with the sickly sweet scent of black roses imported from Bryvios.
Musicians, stationed at the front of the room, play a lively tune at odds with the foreboding decor. I shift out of the way as a group of mundanes walk past, dressed in black and carrying heavy platters of food. Several also carry crystal goblets filled with thick red liquid. From the twin marks on a couple of the mundanes’ necks, they’ve already been used as a snack tonight.
“Interesting strategy today.” Bran’s voice is a shock of cold water down my back.
Since I can’t exactly defend my actions, I stay silent. Unsurprisingly, Bran takes a step closer.
“Do you know what will happen next? You—and all the other gladians who managed to stay alive—will be trained here as novices. You’ll be presented to Senthara, and either the emperor or his sons will choose you for their service until the end of the next Sundering. Who do you think will choose you, Arvelle?” He taps one finger against his chin mockingly. “Perhaps you’ll be the novice who stands at the emperor’s side when he decides which gladians live or die? Hmm? Or maybe you’ll be one of the novices who follows Rorrik everywhere he goes. I’m sure a few months of that will have you begging to be put out of your misery.”
I know what he’s doing. “I won’t be here.”
“No,” he hisses. “You won’t. Because you will have completed our deal. You’ll be in the north. Not just because you want
to see your brothers alive, but because such a position in this empire—which you hate so much—would slowly kill you.
Wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Bran places one hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “The emperor has done what I need him to do. You will strike
at the first opportunity.”
“Is my brother healed?”
Bran nods. “It’s happening as we speak. This little bond has been good for you, gladian. Thanks to me, your life has much
improved.”
“I need proof.”
His lips whiten. “You dare question my honor?”
“You’re working with rebels to dethrone the emperor you swore fealty to. But please, tell me more about your honor.”
Bran doesn’t deny my accusation. He simply reaches beneath his shirt and pulls a pendant free. The long, lavender-colored rock releases a faint glow, and I suck in a breath.
A truthstone.
Truthstones are incredibly rare—only three were found within the last century. Given the kind of people Bran associates with, I suppose it’s not surprising he’s forced to continually prove his word.
If I’d known about the truthstone, I would have demanded he use it when we were bargaining.
“Your brother is currently being healed. By this time a week from now, he will no longer suffer the ill effects of his poor choices that day so long ago.”
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. But the stone doesn’t glow.
“Now, lie,” I say hoarsely.
Bran narrows his eyes. “This place is safe for you.”
The stone turns a deep purple, pulsing with the aether trapped within it.
My knees turn weak. Evren truly is healed. All of it was worth it for this.
“Arvelle.”
Bran melts away as Maeva appears, a grin on her face. Dressed in white, with her fluffy eyelashes darkened, her long blond hair soft and shiny, she looks fresh, innocent, and entirely incapable of threatening to slit someone’s throat.
“I thought you didn’t have anything to wear?” she asks.
I shrug. “I was mistaken.”
She frowns at that, and I can’t blame her. The gown I found lying on my bed isn’t forgettable in the least. The silk is a deep, mesmerizing green so dark it’s almost black, the fabric flowing gracefully from two silver pins at my shoulders before cinching at the waist. Silver cuffs encircle the sleeves, but it’s the neckline that truly sets the gown apart, tiny, polished gemstones scattered across the fabric like stars.
I know who I have to thank for it. And when I do, I’ll try not to choke on the words.
“Everyone’s talking about what you did today,” Maeva murmurs, taking a cup of wine.
I don’t need to ask her what she’s referring to. “I know. It was stupid. Thank you for having my back.”
She waves that away. “It wasn’t stupid. I think it was brave. The emperor wants you dead, though. But the people …”
I frown at her, my skin prickling. “The people?”
“They’re calling you Kelindra’s daughter.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “It’s why the emperor couldn’t strike out at you after the challenge.”
Fuck. I close my eyes, blocking the world out for a single moment. Kelindra is known as the matron of Unity and Birth. But that’s not all she’s known as. No, she’s also the goddess of forgiveness, mercy, leniency … and redemption.
The thought of someone as bitter and cynical as I am being given such a title couldn’t be more ironic. It also couldn’t be
more dangerous.
“Maeva,” Neris calls.
A bright smile explodes across Maeva’s face, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Nodding, I take a cup of wine for myself—checking three times to make sure it really is wine—and wander to the edge of the room.
Despite my strange new nickname, my chest feels light, and for the first time since I arrived in this place, I feel the tiniest spark of hope.
My instinct is to stamp out that spark. And yet … I did it. I survived. Not only did I survive, but I won. I turned one of the worst things that ever happened to me into a chance for a new future. Evren is healed. He’ll have a life now. The odds were against me, and I get a cut of those odds, which means enough money for a new life with my brothers.
We can have the house on the coast. We can have the education. And we can have the safety.
Strangely, some part of me will miss this place. Not the death, of course. But I’ll miss the routine of training, the privilege
of not needing to worry about where my next meal is coming from. I’ll miss Maeva, too, and maybe a few of the other gladians.
I won’t allow myself to miss Tiernon.
Not again. I refuse.
But my brothers are waiting for me. And I can’t see them until I complete the last part of my bargain.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Hmm?”
Albion nods at the mural. I’ve been staring blankly at it, deep in my own thoughts.
“I paint a little,” he admits, the tips of his ears turning red. “After … after my son died, it was my only escape. Whoever painted this is incredibly talented.”
His voice is saturated in grief, and my gut twists. But his gaze is distant, his shoulders tense in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t want to talk about his loss.
Albion has so much in common with Leon. It’s not surprising they’ve become so close, drinking tea in each other’s rooms and escaping the ludus to visit the baths every few days.
I study the mural. Three gods stand side by side. It’s clear which one is Umbros, since whoever painted the mural has made him larger than the others. On his left, Anoxian stands, an axe in his hand—the symbol of the battle god. On his right, the goddess Staleia holds an open book—symbolizing wisdom, communication, knowledge, and enlightenment.
I peer closer. It’s not just three gods gathered at all.
Within the mural, an intricately painted key and lock represents Nilos—god of secrets. The fire burning at Anoxian’s feet is for Ignicarus, while the bow and arrow slung over Anoxian’s shoulder is a nod to Leon’s goddess Thalunia. Ghaleros is represented by the compass pinned to Staleia’s robes.
Evren would love to see this. He’s fascinated by the history of the gods. I crane my head to see the remainder of the mural, but a crowd of vampires has gathered to my right, blocking my view.
Albion wanders away, and I meet the eyes of the petite, dark-haired woman winding through the crowd toward me. Her gown is plain, a cool linen in place of silk, and I catch several sneers as she walks closer to me. If she notices them, she ignores them, her gaze on mine.
The long sleeves of her gown cover most of her arms, but the scars peeking out above her wrists have lightened significantly, no longer red and inflamed. Someone has allowed her to see a sigilmarked healer.
The light dances over her chest, revealing smooth skin right below her clavicle.
She made it. I’d left her breathing on the platform in the middle of the arena, but hadn’t been sure the healers would get to her in time.
“You saved my life,” the woman says. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” It seems stupid to admit I saw something in her. Something that reminded me of Kassia. Her cool, calm defiance had somehow made it impossible for me to not save her.
“Well, thank you.” The words are ground out, and her lack of graciousness makes me grin. This part of her reminds me of … me.
At my grin, her mouth trembles, lips curving in the hint of a smile. “I’m Calena.”
“I’m Arvelle. Where are you from?”
“Dierna.”
I wince. “A small town on the border with Zevaris.”
She nods. “I couldn’t leave my mother. We were captured when our people lost too much ground.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I suppose I’ll see you in training.”
I pause. “What do you mean?”
“Even enemies of the empire are given the chance to win their freedom. I survived long enough to join the other novices this year.”
“Congratulations,” I mutter, my voice empty. Our eyes meet and hold. With a nod, she turns, walking away.
Across the room, I catch Bran studying Calena, a tiny smile on his face. I give him a hard stare, and the vampire merely
raises his cup in a mock toast.
“Arvelle.”
Leon’s voice is low, but his cheeks are flushed. He’s holding a cup of wine in his hand—clearly not his first.
He was nowhere to be seen after the third challenge. And honestly, I can’t blame him. His life is on the line too. If the emperor decides I’m too much of an annoyance to be allowed to live, Leon could easily be killed right next to me.
“Did you talk to your brothers?” he asks.
“Not yet. But Ev … Ev …” A lump forms in my throat and Leon smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile for six years.
“He’s being healed.”
I nod, and Leon turns to face the mural, allowing me a moment to pull myself together.
“I know you didn’t want to come here,” I say, when I can finally speak. “But … I couldn’t have done this without you. So thank you.”
Our eyes meet, and emotion flickers over his face. I steel myself against whatever he’ll say next.
“You responded well today. You listened to your instincts. You’ve always performed well under pressure. When you allow yourself to truly let go.”
The words feel like a hand outstretched between us.
I don’t speak. I don’t want to ruin it.
Leon raises his cup, taking a sip. Finally, he sighs. “Kassia—”
“I know.” My eyes sting. “You don’t have to tell me what Kas—”
“She would be proud of you,” he finishes.
I stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Leon turns and walks away.
I’ll never understand him.
A hand wraps around my elbow and I jolt, my own hand slipping down. But my dagger is in my boot, hidden beneath the long folds of my gown.
“Relax.” Tiernon’s voice is filled with amusement. “No one is going to try to kill you in here.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I mutter.
“I didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you.”
“Everyone seems to want to chat tonight.”
His eyes laugh at me. “Still prefer silence to people?”
“I like some people.”
He watches me, and I wonder if he’s remembering how we used to sit in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.
I can’t help but let my eyes wander across the impeccably stitched tunic stretching across his chest. His crimson cloak is fastened at his shoulders with two gold brooches shaped into Umbros’s mark. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of his black armor and it’s disconcerting.
“Arvelle?” Tiernon’s staring down at me, his eyes dark.
I force a smile. “Thank you for the gown.”
Tiernon’s eyes widen slightly. Likely, he’s surprised my words weren’t dripping in sarcasm or bitterness. After a moment of hesitation, he swallows. “Will you dance with me?”
I nod, no longer caring what the other novices think. I’ll be out of here in a matter of days, one way or another. Which means this may be the last time I truly talk to Tiernon.
He pulls me into his arms, effortlessly leading me in the complicated footwork. When I step on his foot, he laughs. “Clearly all those lessons I gave you didn’t help.”
“It has been years since we danced,” I hiss. “I’m out of practice.”
I’d never been sure why Ti had insisted on teaching me to dance. I was twelve years old when our lessons started. And he bribed me by telling me every hour I spent learning to dance would equal an hour he’d teach me to fight.
By then, I was deep in my training with Kassia and Leon, and I’d known Tiernon could teach me things Leon couldn’t.
I’d been right. Those lessons had kept me alive, while Kassia had died.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs.
I tell him. Sorrow fills his eyes, but he lifts his head, pulling me closer. “I know you’re still mourning, Arvelle, but choosing rage over grief will only work for so long.”
I wish I could argue but I know he’s right. Kassia’s death is a wound that refuses to heal. It festers and fevers and spreads
infection throughout the rest of me.
“What do you want, Tiernon?”
He pulls me closer. “I want the old Velle. The one who threw her head back and laughed like this world was an endless source of joy and amusement. I want the woman who was relentlessly, furiously alive. And I won’t stop until I find her again.”
I look him square in the eye. “That woman is dead.”
“We’ll see about that.” He raises his hand to my forehead, his fingers stroking my sigil, and I know he’s noticed the tiny growth.
When he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, I sigh, nestling my face into his hand.
“I’m still not happy you’re here,” he says. “I’d carry you to the city walls and throw you out myself if I could.”
“We both know how that worked out.”
“Yes. I’ve been asking around. Finding out which vampires have been seen near the Thorn.”
“Ti—”
“I know you need to be here to protect your brothers, but I’m going to find out who sent you and why. And I’ll make sure
you can leave.” He leans closer. “Even though you can only be here for incredibly dangerous reasons … I’m glad I got to see you, Velle.”
My eyes sting and I pull away, staring up at his breathtakingly handsome face. So familiar, and yet so different. Hunger flickers in his eyes, and my toes curl at the way he looks at me with such … need.
I raise my hand, stroking over the scruff of his jaw. “Are you ever going to tell me why you left?”
The music stops, and silence claims the room.
As one, everyone lowers their heads, and Tiernon backs away from me like I’m suddenly poisonous. I bow, canting my head to watch the emperor enter. His gaze finds Tiernon, who instantly strolls toward the front of the room.
Rorrik skulks to the emperor’s other side, his black tunic eating the light, while ornate silver buttons reflect it. Not many vampires would actually wear silver. Even brushing their hand against one of those buttons would cause them pain.
The emperor begins to speak, his voice a low drone in my ears. I tune it out, until his gaze flickers over the crowd, pausing briefly on me before moving on. My heart slams against my ribs.
Finally, the music begins to play again, and I wander back toward the edge of the room, drawn to the mural. Tiernon was close to telling me why he left. I know he was.
“Interested in the forbidden?” Rorrik purrs the word forbidden like it’s something filthy.
A chill ripples through me and I stare at the emperor’s son. He appeared without warning, my senses failing me. He directs a single glance at the novices trailing after him, and they melt away into the crowd.
Rorrik takes my hand and my stomach sags with dread. What if I accidentally … mindpath to him again? Could he use that link to get inside my mind? I didn’t ask him if it was possible, and I don’t trust him to tell me the truth.
“Trembling,” he muses. “I thought you were braver than that. Dance with me.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Why would I dance with you?”
“Because you’re curious. You’re impulsive. And you can’t help but wonder what it is I want with you.”
I hate that he’s right. Shaking my head, I let him lead me away from the wall.
The atmosphere has turned darker while I was dancing with Tiernon. Rorrik twirls me, and everywhere I look, vampires feed on mundanes—and the occasional sigilmarked. A bulky vampire sits on a chair near the door, a sigilmarked in his lap, his hand buried beneath her long gown as she writhes, her head thrown back. His dark eyes meet mine as he drinks from her, eyes blurred.
Near the wide, open doors, Orna presses a novice to the wall, her fangs buried in his neck. He clutches her to him as if he’s worried she’ll escape, his eyes squeezed closed, mouth hanging open.
“Like what you see?” Rorrik’s voice is a caress. It’s sweat-dampened skin and tangled silk sheets.
“Of course not.”
He lets out a mocking laugh, which I valiantly ignore.
“I know why you’re here, little novice.”
Novice. The word is startling. I keep forgetting that’s what I am. For now. “What do you mean?” Maybe … maybe he knows I’m bonded to Bran. If so, maybe I can convince him to tell Tiernon.
“I know you’re planning to kill my father.”
My mouth falls open and he smiles, pressing one finger to the bottom of my chin and tipping it back up.
“I know everything.”
“Are you going to kill me?” My words are the barest whisper.
“No. Your goals currently align with mine.”
“You want your father dead? … Oh.” Of course he does. If the emperor dies, Rorrik will take the throne.
His eyes pin me in place, and a strange sense of anticipation fills me. There’s nothing casual about Rorrik. Everything he does is filled with intent. And when he looks at me like this, it’s as if he’s looking deep within my mind. Deep within my soul.
It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous.
Dangerous enough that I shouldn’t trust him. This could all be a trap.
“Still suspicious?” Rorrik’s eyes gleam. “Do you know what the emperor was doing directly before this ball, little
rabbit?”
Of course I don’t.
“My father was attending a consilium, where he removed me as his chosen heir, allowing him to deprive me of my birthright if he chooses.”
And that would mean the throne would revert to his younger brother—currently at the front. I may not know much about Rorrik, but it’s evident he’s not a man who would release his grasp on power without a fight.
“What are you suggesting?” I ask.
He expertly turns us with the music, steering me toward a darkened corner.
“I’m suggesting we work together,” Rorrik murmurs in my ear, pulling me close. His breath drifts across my skin and I shiver. “I’m suggesting I show you exactly where to hide and wait so you can kill my father, while I will be in clear sight of
numerous witnesses. As will all of my most trusted people.”
“And after?”
“I’ll create a distraction, which will allow you to flee. You’ll hear bells ringing for the guards.”
“If your father changed the law of succession, you won’t necessarily become emperor.”
A languid shrug. “Now that is to be determined. He may have changed the law, but he hasn’t named a new successor.” A manic gleam enters his eyes. “At the very least, it will be interesting. And you’ll have achieved your goal.”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth. Giving him all my trust would be stupid, but it’s clear he will do almost anything to secure his chance at the throne. Perhaps I can use that to my advantage.
It’s an opportunity. One I might not get again.
I suck in a shaky breath, my stomach coiling into knots. But despite the impulsiveness of Rorrik’s plan, it’s not a bad one.
I’m already in the emperor’s territory. Half of my biggest problems have been solved.
Rorrik lifts one dark eyebrow, already guiding me toward the door.
It’s simple: I do this, and I get to my brothers.
I’m going to kill the emperor. Tonight.
