“Gladiatii!” Arkades barked. “Attend!”
The assembled warriors straightened, fists to their chests. Leona and Anthea marched out from the verandah, the dona one step ahead of her magistrae.
Leona looked tired, but at last she’d dressed in a manner more like her usual self. She was clad in a flowing white dress, the fabric rippling about her sandals as she took her place on the burning sands. Her hair was plaited about her brow like the victor’s laurel she held in her right hand.
“My Falcons!” she called, raising the laurel high. “Behold!”
The assembled gladiatii cheered, but circumstances being what they were, Mia felt their enthusiasm rang a little hollow.
“Though the tithe we paid was steep, we have the victory we have so long sought. With this laurel comes a berth in the Venatus Magni, five weeks hence. Freedom is within your reach, and soon, the City of Bridges and Bones shall ring with the name of the Remus Collegium!”
A second cheer rang in the yard, much louder than the first. It seemed no matter how deep they ran, the promise of liberty could make any gladiatii forget their sorrows. Wavewaker clapped his hand on Sid’s shoulder, Butcher slapped his thighs and roared. The thought of fighting in the magni was enough to thrill their hearts, and Mia found her blood quickening along with the rest. Picturing Scaeva and Duomo in her mind’s eye.
Soon, bastards …
“Three among you stand tall,” Leona declared. “The best and bravest yet trained within these walls under the careful eye of our noble Executus.”
Leona inclined her head to Arkades, who responded with a stiff, formal bow.
“And yet,” she continued, “there was only one who struck the killing blow against the Exile. Only one whose valor and skill have paved our way to glory.”
Leona looked to Mia.
“Crow, step forward.”
Mia glanced to Bladesinger, but did as she was bid, bowing before her mistress. Leona fixed her in that glittering blue stare.
“Kneel,” she said, curtly.
Mia grit her teeth at the reminder of her station, but did as commanded, wincing at the pain of her broken ribs. Taking care not to snag her bandaged brow, Leona placed the silver laurel on Mia’s head. And reaching inside the folds of her dress, she held out Furian’s silver torc on her open palm. It was slightly melted, the metal discolored from the kiss of Ishkah’s venom.
“This is yours now,” Leona said.
Mia frowned toward the infirmary, looking up into the dona’s eyes.
“If we are to have victory in the magni,” Leona continued, “if the Falcons of Remus are to claim the glory that is rightfully ours, I think it shall be by your hand, no other. But in all truth, regardless of what comes, you have earned this, Crow.”
Leona fixed the torc about the girl’s throat.
“My Champion,” she declared proudly.
Sidonius roared, and the other gladiatii followed suit, stamping their feet and pounding their hands together. Mia looked once again to Bladesinger, struck by the injustice. ’Singer and Furian had fought just as hard as she, risked just as much—she’d not have triumphed over Ishkah without them. But only Mia was being named in the glories. Only Mia was being called Champion.
This is what you worked for, she reminded herself.
You only need play the game a few weeks longer.
She bowed her head, her voice soft.
“You honor me, Domina.”
“You honor us, Crow. And you will continue to do so in the City of Bridges and Bones. But you’ll not do it clad in leather scraps and offcuts of steel, no. You fight beneath our banner a champion now. And you should look the part.”
Leona clapped her hands.
“Behold.”
Two of the dona’s houseguards wheeled out a wooden dummy from inside the keep, out onto the verandah. The figure was wearing one of the suits of armor that had stood in the entry hall, but Mia realized it had been refitted to her size.
The iron was almost black, polished to a dark luster. The breastplate was engraved with a soaring falcon, and the greaves and spaulders were also crafted like falcons in flight. The breastplate was trimmed with a pleated skirt and sleeves of plated iron, and a cloak of blood-red feathers was draped about its shoulders. The helm was fashioned in the likeness of the warrior goddess Tsana, her expression fierce and merciless. Twin blades were sheathed at its belt; Liisian steel, by the look. A double-edged gladius and a long razored dagger, ideally suited for fighting Caravaggio style.
It was one of the finest suits of armor Mia had ever seen, sure and true. But it must have cost a fortune. A fortune Leona could ill afford.
“You fight beneath our banner a champion now.”
Mia glanced at Leona, holding back her sigh.
“And you should look the part.”
“I thank you, Domina,” Mia said.
“You may thank me in the magni,” Leona replied. “By bringing me the vic…”
The dona’s voice trailed off as a houseguard marched into the yard, a young boy in a feathered cap beside him. The lad’s cheek was branded with the single circle, but he wore expensive livery, a little dusty from the road. His doublet was embroidered with the Lion of Leonides.
“Messenger, Mi Dona,” the guard said. “The boy claims the matter urgent.”
“I bring missive from my master, your father, gracious Dona,” the boy said bowing low. “I am instructed to read it aloud, under pain of the lash.”
“Speak, then,” Leona commanded.
The boy produced a sheaf of parchment set with Leonides’s seal. He glanced at the assembled gladiatii, clearly unnerved. But with a loud, clear voice, he began to speak.
“Beloved Daughter,
“It is with a happy heart that I congratulate you upon your victory at Whitekeep. I confess surprise that you did not seek audience to gloat afterward, and it gladdens me to think that the humility I sought to teach you in your childhood has begun to take root. Would that I had…”
The boy faltered, glancing up at Leona and swallowing thickly.
“Continue,” she demanded.
The boy stammered a moment before he found his voice.
“… W-would that I had beaten you harder, and more often.”
Several of the gladiatii stirred, glowering at the boy. Mia felt her fingernails cut into her palm, her eyes on the dona. Leona’s expression didn’t change at all.
This is why she hates him so …
The lad was sweating now, pawing at the collar of his doublet as if it choked him. Desperate to finish, his cleared his throat and plunged on.
“I have been reliably informed by my business acquaintances that Remus Collegium is in serious arrears with its suppliers. To spare myself the humiliation of seeing a daughter of my line dragged before the debtor’s court, I have taken the liberty of purchasing all debts from your creditors, and consolidating them into a single sum, which is now owed to Leonides Collegium and accrues points weekly.”