Mercurio peered at Mia over his spectacles, his expression sour.
“Blade Mia. Godsgrave is the only Red Church chapel we’ve managed to rebuild in the eight months since the Luminatii attack. Thanks to Grand Cardinal Duomo and his god-bothering shitheels, I’m one of two bishops servicing the whole fucking Republic, in fact, and with Scaeva running for a fourth term as consul and Godsgrave politics all aflutter, there’s no end of bastards who need killing. So, given that I’m busier than a whorehouse running a two-for-one special, do me the honor of saying thank you, and taking what you’re bloody given.”
Mia looked her former mentor in the eye. She recognized his tone—the same one he’d use when she was a little girl and he’d caught her stealing his cigarillos. She glanced over her shoulder at Jessamine. Softly sighed.
“Thank you, Bishop.”
“My fucking pleasure.”
“May the Moth—”
“Aye, aye, black kisses all around. Now sod off, will you?”
Mia backed out of the room with a bow, trying not to take Mercurio’s mood too personally. He’d always been a sour old cur, and running the Godsgrave Chapel at a time like this couldn’t be doing his humors any favors.
Jessamine led Mia down a twisting passage, the Blade following close on her heels. Once they were safely out of the bishop’s earshot, Mia took Jessamine by the arm, turned the Hand to face her.
“Are we going to have problems, you and I?”
“Whatever do you mean, Corvere?”
“I mean it’s no secret we hate each other like fucking poison. But you’re my Hand now. I need to be able to trust you, Jess.”
The redhead’s green eyes sparkled as she spoke.
“I don’t like you, Corvere. You think you’re clever. You think you’re special. You poisoned Diamo and cheated me out of my spot as top of Songs. But I serve the Mother, I serve the Ministry, same as you. Don’t question my devotion again.”
The redhead turned and stalked off into the dark.
The shadows at Mia’s feet rippled, a cold whisper in her ear.
“… you always had a talent for making friends…”
“… WELL I AM QUITE FOND OF YOU, IF THAT MAKES A DIFFERENCE…”
“… thank the mother i am not actually capable of vomiting…”
“… SHUT UP…”
“… such a witty riposte…”
“… WIT IS WASTED ON THE WITLESS…”
“If you two are quite finished?” Mia asked.
“… mongrel…,” came a soft whisper.
“… CUR…,” came a softer reply.
Mia folded her arms, tapping her toe on the stone. Silence fell in the corridor, punctuated only by Jessamine’s receding footfalls.
“Hurry up, Corvere,” the Hand called. “The hourglass isn’t getting any fuller.”
Thumbs in belt, Mia had no choice but to follow Jessamine down the hall.
*
Darkin …
Mia stared across the courtyard at the gladiatii called Furian. The man met her stare, warm breeze blowing his long dark hair about his face. His eyes burned right through her with an intensity that …
Well, truth told, without Mister Kindly at her side, it frightened her.
But Black Mother, what might this mean? Mia had only met one of her kind before now, and Lord Cassius had died before he gave her any answers about who or what she was. Perhaps Furian knew something more? Perhaps he held all th—
The executus cracked his whip.
“Gladiatii! Return to training!” He turned to Mia, Sidonius and Matteo. “You three. Attend me.”
The gladiatii fell out, holding perfect formation as they marched down to the courtyard at the building’s rear. The executus limped after them, leaning on his lion-headed cane. As Mia followed, she saw him take a sip from a metal flask at his belt.
In the rear yard, where Mia’s father had once kept a stable of proud horses, she saw the grounds had been completely refitted. The ochre sands were set with training dummies, racks of shields and wooden weapons. The ground was uneven, scaffolds and pits dividing the space into different levels, from ten feet high to ten feet deep. A broad circle was marked with white stones, and sigils of the Familia Remus flew proudly upon the battlements.
The gladiatii paired off to spar. Mia saw different combinations of weapons, different fighting styles. The Vaanian girl hefted an ironwood bow and began peppering targets at the other end of the yard. Furian took up twin swords, began beating one of the training dummies as if it had insulted his mother.
The executus limped to the verandah, greeting a huge dog sitting in the shade. It was a mastiff, male, with dark fur and a studded collar. The dog was clearly overjoyed, and the big man knelt with a wince so it could slobber on his face.
“Good to see you again, old friend,” he murmured, patting the dog. “Been guarding the collegium while I was gone?”
Mia and her fellows sweated in the boiling suns while Executus finished making a fuss of the dog. It was the first time she’d seen the bastard smile in a month, though with that scar at his face, it was still a little hard to tell. Once he was done, Executus limped out into the stone circle, snapped his fingers.
“Maggot,” he barked. “Sword and board.”
Mia caught movement from the corner of her eye, saw a girl dash out from the shade of a small building in the corner of the yard. She was Liisian; skinny and tanned, with dark hair growing wild. She couldn’t have been more than twelve, but three arkemical circles branded on her cheek marked her as the highest tier of slave.
What skill is a girl that age prized for?
The girl ran to the weapon racks, picked up a wooden practice blade and a broad oaken shield, fetched them to the executus. The big man pointed the blade at Matteo.
“Come. Show me what you’re made of, boy. Maggot, fetch the lad a cock and something to hide behind.”
The girl nodded, ran back to the racks and returned with another wooden sword and shield. Matteo squared up, adopted a halfway-decent fighting stance.
“Attack!” Executus roared.
Matteo swung his wooden blade with a cry, but the executus blocked the assault with ease.
“I didn’t ask for a fucking kiss, I said attack!”
The boy scowled, launching a series of blows, head, chest, belly. The executus was strong as a bull, but he moved slow on that iron leg of his, and Matteo’s footwork proved surprisingly good. The boy pushed the older man back, sword cracking against sword, dust rising from their shields as they clashed. Mia noted the gladiatii were only sparring half-heartedly, watching the bout with interest.
Matteo grew more aggressive—like Mia, he’d obviously expected the executus to be a master bladesman. But in the face of the boy’s furious attacks, Executus was on full defense. Matteo landed blow after blow against the big man’s guard, utterly dominating, until the executus was pressed against the circle’s edge.
And then, like a bear too early from its slumber, the man came awake.