“I know of no daemon,” he growled, “save the one standing before me now.”
He looked her up and down, something close to disgust on his face. But she could see goosebumps rising on his skin, just as they did on hers. He was breathing harder, his pupils dilated—all the telltale marks Shahiid Aalea had taught her to recognize in a man. Or woman.
Want.
“How did you escape your cell?” he demanded.
Mia shrugged. “I Stepped between the shadows.”
“Witchery,” he spat.
“It’s not witchery. It’s what we are. Can you not do the same?”
“I’ll hold no truck with the darkness.” Furian raised the warding sign again.
“But you already did,” she said, stepping toward him. “This very turn on the sands, when I fought Executus. You stopped me from—”
“Get out of here, girl. I am champion of this collegium, and a god-fearing son of Aa. Gladiatii do not mix with chaff, and I do not mix with heretics.”
Mia glanced at the shrine to Tsana, the trinity of Aa on the wall.
Could it be?
“… You’re of the faithful? How can you—”
“Get out,” he hissed. He dared not raise his voice lest the guards overhear, but Mia could see the fury in his clenched fists, the tendons taut at his neck. “If the guards find you in my cell, Executus will see the skin peeled off both our backs. And I’ll not bleed for the likes of you. Now begone before I snap your neck and take my chance with the domina’s mercy.”
His shadow seethed across the wall, hands extended toward her own shadow’s throat. Mia stepped back, but her shadow remained unmoved, its hair twisting and coiling like a nest of snakes. The hunger surged inside her again, the sickness, mixed now with a dull, seething anger.
This man didn’t know anything about darkin. Didn’t know anything about himself. There were no answers here. Only more questions.
And the longer she stayed in his room, the more likely she’d be caught.
Mia retreated slowly, not turning her back, listening for the guards at the door. Hearing nothing, she opened it without a sound, checking that the corridor beyond the chamber was clear. Satisfied, she looked back over her shoulder to the champion of the collegium, his shadow flickering upon the wall.
She reminded herself of why she was here. To stand as victor in the magni, she’d have to best this man, darkin or no. And whatever dark kinship she might have with him came second to the knowledge that he stood between her and victory.
Her and vengeance.
So be it.
“This is a nice room,” she noted, looking about the chamber.
“What of it?” Furian spat.
Mia shrugged.
“I’d not get too comfortable in it if I were you.”
The girl slipped out the door, closing it behind her.
It took a few heartbeats for her shadow to follow.
*
Crack!
“Gladiatii fear nothing, save defeat!”
Crack!
“Gladiatii thirst for nothing, save victory!”
Crack!
“Gladiatii live for nothing, save glory!”
Such was the tune of Mia’s hours, sweltering beneath the blistering suns. Executus’s voice was the verse, the snap of his whip the beat, and the grunts and sighs and curses of the men and women around her the chorus.
A week had passed since she’d arrived at Crow’s Nest, but those seven turns had seemed long as years. Executus showed no mercy, drilling her and Matteo and Sidonius in every weapon, every fighting form, every trick and twist his years in the games had taught him. They sparred in the circle, on the uneven levels across the yard, in their sleep. Every stumble was met by his whip. Every misstep. Every slight.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
They’d been kept apart from the gladiatii, bathed and fed last. Butcher had spoiled at least three more of their evemeals, twice with piss, and once with a handful of dogshit he’d fetched after Fang had done his business in the yard. Mia had stolen food every nevernight in shadow jaunts to the kitchens, once had even managed to sneak some bread to Sidonius and Matteo with the excuse she’d found it in the mess hall. But she was still worn thin. Her fellow recruits were in even worse shape.
“You worthless whorespawn!” Executus roared at the trio. “In a few turns, you step onto the sands of the venatus under the colors of this collegium. If you think the crowd will not howl for more when they see the first drop of your blood, you are greater fools than I gave credit for. Now, attack with purpose!”
“Executus?” came a call from above.
Mia looked up, saw Dona Leona standing on the broad balcony above. She was dressed in rippling white silk, gold at her wrists, auburn hair plaited down her back.
“Attend!” Executus roared.
The gladiatii fell still, thumping fists to chest.
“Domina?” Executus asked.
The woman crooked a finger and beckoned.
“Your whisper, my will,” the big man bowed.
He turned to Mia and her fellows.
“Sidonius, work the woodmen.” He glared at Mia and Matteo. “You two, spar in the circle. You still carry a shield like a parcel of posies, girl. And Matteo wields a sword like a three-year-old swings his pecker. If you want to keep those pretty heads on your shoulders during the Winnowing, the pair of you had best get to toiling.”
Executus stroked his beard, limped away into the keep. Sidonius set to work on the training dummies, Maggot fetched Mia and Matteo some wooden swords and shields, and they set to sparring, clashing in the dust and dancing around the circle.
“Get to toiling?” Matteo spat. “What the ’byss does he think we’ve been doing all week?”
Mia made no reply, intent on training. Despite being an utter bastard, now that she knew the executus was Arkades, she hung on his every word. If the Red Lion told her to work her shield arm, then Black Mother, she was going to work her fucking shield arm.
“Strike harder,” she growled. “Press me.”
“I am!” Matteo spat, stabbing at her with his blade.
Mia fended off his blows with ease, and a flurry of strikes sent the boy skipping back across the sand. She battered his shield again, spitting dust off her tongue.
“’Byss and blood, you’re swinging at me like I’m made of glass. Hit me!”
Matteo blocked another blow, countered with a weak riposte. Wooden blades cracked against wooden shields, their feet dancing to the frantic percussion.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Crow,” Matteo said.
“And why not? Because I might hurt you back?”
“Because … you’re a girl,” he said.
Mia’s eyes widened at that. Gritting her teeth, she wove past Matteo’s strike, sandals scuffing in the dust. Spinning on the spot, she smacked him hard across his shoulder blades, sent him staggering. As he turned to face her, she clocked him in the face with her shield, blood spraying as he toppled onto the dirt.