“Citizens of Itreya!” cried the grand editorii. “The Senate and Iron Collegium of our glorious Republic are proud to present to you, the battle of Seawall!”*
The water was fifteen feet deep now, growing deeper. A great plinth rose in the center of the arena, a stone keep atop it—presumably representing the mighty fortifications at Seawall itself. Mia could see mekwerk catapults atop the crenelated walls, loaded with burning pitch. And looking down into swirling eddies below, Mia saw dozens of dark shapes cruising around their hull.
Furian peered over the railing, squinting at the serpentine shadows.
“Are those…?”
The crowd roared as one of the shapes breached the surface, all blunt snout and dead black eyes and row upon row of razored teeth. Almost fifteen feet long, it cut the water with its massive forked tail before disappearing below the surface.
“Stormdrakes,” the Unfallen breathed.
Mia shook her head. Catapults ahead. Enemy ships around. Monsters below.
And as she looked to the sigils on breastplates and shields on the gladiatii around them, she realized she and Furian were surrounded by Lions of Leonides. At least a dozen, all as big as houses and hard as the iron at her chest.
“Well,” Mia murmured. “Isn’t this cozy.”
“Foes on all sides,” Furian whispered.
“At least my life is consistent.”
“If it comes down to you and I…”
“I know.”
“But until then?” He glanced to the blades in her hands, still stained with the blood of those who’d called her friend. “You had duty enough to defend the collegium, put those who betrayed it in the ground. I am hoping perhaps I was wrong about you. That you have learned something of honor, and the way of the gladiatii. Need I worry about your blade at my back?”
Mia looked at him sidelong, the water about them rising ever higher.
“There’s only one way this ends,” she said. “And you and I both know it. But I’ll come at you frontways. I can promise you that, at least.”
The Unfallen nodded, tightened his grip on his blade.
“So be it. Sanguii e Gloria.”
Mia shook her head. “You can keep the glory, Furian.”
She turned her eyes to the consul’s chair.
“I’m just here for the blood.”
*
Down in the arena’s belly, Mercurio finished loading the wheelbarrow, dragging the heavy bucket into the tray with a wince. Truth was, he was too old for this kind of rot. His bloody arthritis was playing up again, and walking about down here dressed in rags for the past two turns wasn’t helping his shingles any, either.
“Next time, I get to dress up in the guard’s kit,” he growled.
Ashlinn rolled her eyes.
“Who the ’byss is going to believe you’re a guard, you grumpy old prick?”
The girl was lurking by the antechamber door, eyes on the hallway outside. She was still dressed in her stolen armor, black leather breastplate and skirt, a plumed helm to cover her face. Mercurio could hear the audience roaring above his head, belly filling with ice and butterflies as he realized the magni was under way.
Though she kept her face like stone, J?rnheim’s daughter seemed to share his concern. She looked to the arena above their heads, sighing.
“I should be up there,” she whispered.
“This is important to her,” Mercurio replied.
“Be that as it may, this whole plan is fucking lunacy.”
Mercurio sighed. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet, girl, but Mia Corvere and lunacy go together like cigarillos and smoke.”
Ashlinn smiled. “O, aye, I noticed.”
The bishop of Godsgrave joined her by the doorway, peered out into the corridor.
“I realize this isn’t the time or place,” he muttered. “But just know, if you hurt her, there’s no place under the suns you can hide that I won’t find you.”
Ash raised an eyebrow, looked the old man up and down.
“You know, you really are very sweet for a grumpy old prick.”
“Fuck off,” Mercurio growled.
“Sounds like a plan to me. Shall we?”
“Aye. But as you’re so fond of noting, I’m a senior citizen.”
“So?”
“So you push the bloody wheelbarrow.”
Applause echoing on the stone about them, Ashlinn pushing a barrow before them, the pair stole off into the dark.
*
The crowd thundered as the trumpets rang, every man, woman, and child on their feet. After five turns of slaughter, five turns of blazing sunslight, five turns of blinding spectacle, the Venatus Magni was under way.
Leona watched as the catapults in the Seawall keep loosed their barrels of flaming pitch. The first rounds were simply warning shots, tumbling through the air before plunging into the water with a vicious hiss. But the threat of immolation was enough to send the gladiatii scrambling, chaos breaking out on the decks as brief struggles for command got under way.
Ragnar of Vaan quickly took leadership of the Gold ship, the crowd thrilling as he ended a brief mutiny from another Wolf of Tacitus by putting his sword through the man’s throat and kicking him over the side. The water beneath the railing turned to foaming red as at least four stormdrakes tore the man to screaming pieces. Roaring to the oarsmen, Ragnar took the helm and steered his ship for the keep.
Worldeater of the Phillipi took command of the Blue ship soon after, the crew also bending their oars for the fortifications. The deck of the White ship had broken into complete chaos, with the Drakes of Trajan fighting for dominance with gladiatii from three other collegia. The crowd roared as the vessel became a slaughterhouse, blood slicked over the boards.
Looking to the Reds, Leona saw their galley was under way, the Bloodhawks of Artimedes at the helm. She could see the Crow and Furian at the bow, blades drawn, their ship headed for the fortifications. But as she watched, she saw more than a dozen Lions of Leonides forming up at their backs. Not content to wait until they’d reached the keep, Leonides’s gladiatii looked set to end Leona’s hopes of victory here and now.
The dona looked to her father, found the man staring back at her, smiling.
“Just business,” he whispered.
*
“They come,” Furian murmured.
“I know,” Mia replied.
“Don’t die before I can kill you.”
“This is not where I die.”
The Lions charged without ceremony, and Mia and Furian turned to meet them, steel crashing against steel. The crowd thrilled at the sudden and bloody betrayal, Mia and Furian forced across the deck until their backs were to the figurehead at the bow.
Though outnumbered, they’d chosen their battleground well—the prow was narrow, bottlenecking the Lions and making their numbers count for less. Mia reached out to the shadows at a charging Lion’s feet, but simply couldn’t hold them with all three suns blazing overhead. She was forced to rely on her speed instead, the training she’d endured under Mercurio, Solis, and then Arkades, the turns, weeks, months she’d spent with some kind of blade in her hands.