“… do you really…?”
Mia grit her teeth and ran, cursing herself again. Mister Kindly was right. Ashlinn, too. She was growing soft. The Mia she knew had been driven. Single-minded. Burning with desire for one thing, and one thing alone. She couldn’t afford these kinships anymore. The risks they made her take, all that would be undone if she failed here …
A safe distance from the Nest, she slung on her mantle of shadows, Stepping across the portcullis as she’d done a dozen times now and feeling her way down to the barracks. Reaching out to the dark, she Stepped across to the shadows of her cell, falling to her knees and clutching her burning chest. Her breath was fire, head swimming, skin filmed with sweat. But after her desperate dash, all seemed quiet—if Furian had woken, it seemed Leona or her guards hadn’t yet seen a need for her.
Goddess, that could have been bad …
She threw aside her mantle, faded into view there in the dark of the barracks, amid the sighs and snores and sounds of sleep. Lying in one straw-lined corner, Sidonius slowly opened his eyes—the man seemed to have an uncanny knack for sensing when she’d returned. Or perhaps when she’d left.
“Trouble sleeping?” he murmured, pawing at his lashes. “I’ve just the cure.”
Mia scowled and didn’t reply, not feeling like another lesson on the benefits of a clear conscience. She heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, the keys being turned in the mekwerk beside the barracks gate. Sidonius sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowed as three guards approached, fully armed and armored.
“Rest easy,” she said. “They’re here for me.”
“I rest easy enough, Mia,” he whispered. “And I’ve faith you will too.”
The trio of guards arrived at her cell, led by Captain Gannicus.
“The Unfallen has woken,” the guard said. “He is in pain. Dona Leona left orders you were to be roused if he did, and afforded all courtesy. With Maggot gone…”
“Aye, I’ll see to it,” Mia sighed. “Take me to him, if it please you.”
The guards unlocked her cell and Mia stood. Sidonius watched as she was marched out through the barracks, up into the keep and out to the infirmary. Her mind was still whirling, trying to ponder what to do about Sidonius’s budding rebellion, the right and wrong of it all. Ashlinn’s and Mister Kindly’s words swimming in her head. Her heart was torn—the vengeance that had driven her all these years weighed against the thought of allowing Sid and the others to die.
What was more important?
Revenge for a mother and father it turns out she barely even knew? Or the lives of folk who, try as she might to deny it, had become her friends?
The hour was late, but as she approached, Mia could hear choice cursing from within. Stepping inside, she saw Furian on his slab, damp with sweat. His arms and legs were strapped down, the bandages around his chest spotted with blood.
“Fool tried to tear off the dressings,” Gannicus muttered. “We had to bind him.”
“There’s fucking maggots crawling on me!” Furian moaned.
“Leave me with him,” Mia told Gannicus. “I’ll see to his hurts. If you could tell Finger to set some vinegar boiling, I’d be indebted.”
“Aye, Champion,” the guard said.
Nodding to his cohorts, Gannicus left a pair stationed outside the infirmary door, and strode off to wake the cook. Mia walked into the infirmary, noted that Bladesinger wasn’t lying on her slab. She must have been moved back down to her cell sometime in the nevernight—it was still too soon for her to have been sold off to Caito. Which meant she and Furian would be alone …
The man looked her up and down, a dark scowl on that handsome brow. The hunger in her surged as it always did when he was near. He still looked on the south side of awful, his long hair lank with sweat, his skin sallow. But he was awake, alert, dark eyes fixed on the silver torc around her neck.
“She named you champion?” he whispered.
“I didn’t ask her for it,” Mia replied. “But truthfully, none knew if you’d awaken.”
“So she gives away my torc before I’m even cold, and leaves me here to rot?”
“You’re not rotting,” Mia sighed.
“I’ve fucking flyspawn crawling all over me!”
“The maggots are removing flesh turned septic by the Exile’s venom. They saved your life. And if you don’t calm down and stop thrashing against those straps, you’re going to start yourself bleeding again.” Mia poked among the shelves, collecting ingredients. “The pain can’t be pleasant, though. I’ll fix you something for it.”
Furian’s head sank back against the slab, voice heavy with fatigue. “Has Domina named you nursemaid, as well as champion? Where is Maggot?”
Mia pressed her lips together, grinding the ingredients with a mortar and pestle.
“Maggot’s dead.”
Furian’s scowl softened, bewilderment in his eyes. “How?”
“Arkades slipped a dose of Elegy into everyone’s evemeal. Maggot and Otho both succumbed before I could brew an antidote.”
“… Arkades?”
“Aye.”
“Horseshit,” Furian whispered. “Arkades was gladiatii. A man like him looks his enemies in the eye and delivers them with a sword, not a bitter mouthful.”
Mia shrugged, and carefully sniffing a cup of water, mixed her powder into it. Carrying the cup to Furian, she put it to his lips, watching his shadow tremble and ripple about its edges. Her own shadow edged closer, like iron to a magnet. All the questions swimming in her mind. What am I? What are we? Why? Who? How?
“It’s only fadeleaf and a bit of ginwort,” she said. “It will ease the pain.”
The Unfallen stared with narrowed eyes.
“You saved my life, Furian,” Mia said. “That’s a debt not soon forgot. If I wanted you dead, I could have fixed it so you never woke. Now drink.”
The former champion grunted assent, and swallowed the draft as Mia poured. His head drifted back to the slab and he sighed, staring at the ceiling and flexing his wrists against his restraints.
“I remember … after the match … you took my pain away.”
“A home remedy,” Mia shrugged. “Easy enough to brew.”
“No,” Furian said, shaking his head. “Before you gave me the sleeping draft. When I was on the slab, screaming. When your … when our shadows touched.”
Mia frowned, remembering that moment beneath Whitekeep arena. As her shadow had darkened, she’d felt more pain, not less—Furian’s agony mixed in with her own. She supposed that she might somehow be sharing his burden, but apparently she’d lessened his pain by taking it upon herself?
Why?
Who?
How?
“I didn’t know I could do that,” she confessed. “I’ve never done it before.”
Furian said nothing, watching her with those dark, pretty eyes. She could see the draft she’d given him taking effect, smoothing the lines of pain away from his face.
“I … wanted to thank you, Furian,” Mia said. “For calling the dark in the arena. The Exile would have ended me and ’Singer if not for you.”