It was a lot to risk on a single girl.
Sidonius’s belly was a knot of raw nerves, his appetite a distant memory. Five turns had passed since Mia proposed her plan in the gloom of their cell, and Sid hadn’t slept much since. Instead, he’d paced back and forth in his cage through the nevernight, staring at the mekwerk lock on the door and counting the hours until it began.
Mia had been moved into her champion’s quarters three turns back, so Sid found himself alone for the first time since moving to Crow’s Nest. Alone with the fear of what was to come, the risk they were all taking, the fate that awaited them if they failed. He was placing so much faith in Mia, and so much rode on her shoulders. He’d served Darius Corvere faithfully, saw the traits he’d admired in the man looming large in his daughter. Courage. Intelligence. Ferocity. But Mia had lost her father when she was only a child, and since then, fallen into the company of shadows and killers.
Sidonius liked her. But could he truly say he knew her?
Could he trust her?
Dona Leona had met with Varro Caito three nevernights back, and skulking beneath their table as they drank and dined, Mia’s daemon had overheard their every word. Leona had apparently plied the fleshpeddler with honeyed words and honeyed wine, brokering sale of Bryn, Butcher, Felix, Albanus, Bladesinger, and Sidonius himself. The price was a rich one, and Leona would be able to meet the first of her father’s repayments, but the cost was steep. The collegium would be gutted, with only Mia, Wavewaker, and Furian remaining. Leona would risk all on one final throw at the magni. But she hadn’t reckoned on her Falcons throwing dice of their own.
Evemeal had been quiet, the gladiatii subdued. Whispers of the plan had been passed on in the bathhouse, around the practice dummies. All agreed the chances of success were so thin they’d fall through a crack in the cobbles, and Sid could smell fear in the air. It was one thing to risk death in the arena, another thing entirely to pit yourself against the Republic. The administratii. The Senate itself. Every one of them knew this was a step that could never be taken back. The brands on their cheeks would begin to fade only a few minutes after their deaths, so there was no hiding who and what they were if they wanted to keep breathing. To be an escaped slave in the Republic was to be forever on the run.
Still, better to run than die on your knees.
Even with the few extra turns’ rest, Bladesinger was still wounded, her back and arm wrapped in heavy gauze. Mia’s ribs were yet bruised, but at least she could use both eyes again. Wavewaker and Sidonius had yet to fully recover from their last arena bout, and Butcher was still limping—they weren’t the most fearsome fighting force ever arrayed, to be sure. But they’d have surprise on their side if all went well, and they were trained gladiatii, each and every one.
Their sale was set to happen on the morrow.
Caito had already paid the deposit.
Truth told, it was now or never.
Nevernight had fallen, cool winds kissing ochre walls, dust devils dancing in the yard. After Arkades’s betrayal, Dona Leona had doubled the patrols around the house, and the guards were omnipresent. But still, whispers and secret nods were exchanged among the gladiatii, and all seemed in readiness.
But Daughters, the waiting …
They sat in the dark, no one speaking, no one moving. Watching the arkemical globes slowly dim, the sounds of the keep above gradually fading. Sid could hear Bladesinger chanting inside her cell—some final prayer to Mother Trelene for good fortune, no doubt. Looking at the cell across the passage, he saw Butcher on his haunches, rocking back and forth and raring to go.
He was reminded of his time in the legion. The nevernight before a battle was always the worst. He’d had his faith in Aa to sustain him back then. His loyalty to his justicus. The solace of his brother Luminatii, and the certainty that what they did was Right. All that was gone now—just a clean conscience and a coward’s brand upon his chest to show for it. Instead of brother Luminatii, he had brother and sister gladiatii. Instead of faith in the Everseeing and the commands of his justicus, he was placing all his faith in his seventeen-year-old daughter.
It was a lot to risk on a single girl.
Sidonius heard a soft thud, the faint ring of metal on stone. Butcher heard it too, rising to his feet, hands wrapped around the bars of his cell. Mia had two options to break them free once she stole out from her room; either somehow brute force the mekwerk controls to release the inner cell doors, or acquire the master key from the guard patrol. Sid had no idea which way she’d go. But his stomach thrilled as he saw a silhouette creeping down the stairs to the cellar antechamber, a wooden truncheon clutched in one hand, and what looked to be an iron key in the other.
“’Byss and blood, she did it,” Butcher grinned.
Twisting the key in the mekwerk, Mia unlocked the cell doors, raised the portcullis, Sidonius wincing at the soft grinding of stone on iron. The gladiatii stole out of the barracks, gathering in the antechamber, all fierce grins and bundled nerves. Sidonius gave Mia a quick embrace, his voice a whisper.
“No trouble?”
Mia shook her head. “Four guards down. The other two are in the front yard.”
“Let’s be about it, then,” Wavewaker whispered.
“Aye,” the girl nodded. “And quietly, for fucksakes.”
Mia led the group up the stairs, where the bodies of four of Leona’s houseguards were laid out on the tile. The men were armored in black leather, falcon feathers pluming their helms, Captain Gannicus among them. Each had been bludgeoned into unconsciousness. The gladiatii quickly stripped their armor, Sidonius, Wavewaker, Butcher, and Felix donning the garb instead. Not only would the boiled leather protect them if things turned ugly, but the high cheek guards would do a fine job of covering the brands on their cheeks.
Weapons were handed out—wooden truncheons and shortswords. In the far distance, Sid heard fourbells being rung down in Crow’s Rest, the crash of waves upon a rocky shore. The garish light of the two suns streamed in through the open windows, silken curtains rippling as the rebel gladiatii stole through the keep.
They moved quietly as they could, down the entrance hall to the locked front doors. Butcher and Wavewaker lifted the bar aside, the gladiatii gathering in a small knot at the threshold.
“Ready?” Sidonius asked.