Mia stood over him, pressing her wooden blade to his throat.
“Take hold of your fucking jewels,” she said. “Maybe your mother raised you to treat us all as delicate flowers, maybe you’re just thinking with your cock. But there are no girls on the sand. No mothers or daughters. Sons or fathers. Only enemies. You spend a moment worrying about what’s between your opponent’s legs, you’ll find your head parted from your body. And what good will your fool cock do you then?”
The boy wiped the blood from his face, swallowing thick.
“Forgiveness,” he muttered. “I d—”
“Gladiatii! Attend!”
Mia turned from Matteo’s bloodied face to the balcony. She saw Executus Arkades, Dona Leona beside him. The woman smiled like the suns, spoke with a loud, clear voice.
“My Falcons! Tomorrow we set out for Blackbridge and the grand games held in honor of Governor Salvatore Valente! This is the second official event of the venatus season, and all eyes will be upon it. Remus Collegium now stands in high regard, thanks to the victory of our champion in Talia last month.”
Here she took in Furian with a wave of her hand. The gladiatii roared his name, pounded swords upon shields.
“But Furian’s triumph has not assured our berth in the magni!” Leona continued. “The crowds are ever hungry for blood, and the editorii seek only the finest for their grand spectacle. We must have victory. We will have victory!”
“Victory!” they cried.
“The following gladiatii have earned the right to attend the Blackbridge venatus and fight for the Falcons of Remus. Step forward, Butcher of Amai!”
The Ruiner of Porridges stepped forward with his dropped-as-a-babe smile, raising the knuckles to the men behind him.
“Bladesinger, the Reaper of Dweym!”
The woman with the full-body tattoos stepped forward and bowed.
“Our equillai, Byern and Bryn, shall once again thrill the crowd!”
The blond Vaanian siblings bowed low. Looking closer at the pair side by side, Mia marked them for twins—they were simply too alike to be otherwise.
“Our legend of the sands, the mightiest Falcon in this collegium, victor of Talia, Furian, the Unfallen!”
The champion strode forward to the cheers of his fellows, twin blades in hand. His eyes were fixed on the balcony as he bowed deep, long black hair spilling around his high cheekbones, his square jaw. Mia looked to his shadow and saw nothing of note. But her own rippled slightly, like still water when a stone is dropped into it.
“And finally,” Leona called. “Our three new recruits will wager their lives in the Winnowing, earning their place among you or perishing in the attempt. Pray that Aa grants them favor, that Tsana guides their hands to victory.” Leona looked among her flock, opened her arms. “Sanguii e Gloria!”
“Sanguii e Gloria!” came the cry.
Mia listened to them call, fists raised high, crying out for blood and glory. In truth, she wanted nothing to do with the latter. Blood was her intent, her dream, her only prize. Cardinal Duomo and Scaeva within arm’s reach on the victor’s podium. But to stand before them, she needed to accrue victories enough to secure a place in the magni. And somehow, in the midst of that bloodbath and butchery, she had to win.
The gladiatii around her looked to the sky, called to Aa and his firstborn to bring them victory. But Mia had no use for the Everseeing, nor his warrior daughter. Aa had only ever proved her enemy, and Tsana had never helped her before.
Why would she start now?
And so, Mia turned her eyes to the sand. To the shadow, black and pooled around her feet. Wondering if the goddess would answer after all she’d done.
All she’d undone.
Wondering if prayers would help her at all.
“Black Mother,” she whispered. “Give me strength.”
CHAPTER 11
THUNDER
Mia emerged from Adonai’s pool with a gasp.
Blood in her eyes and on her tongue, thudding in her temples. Standing naked in the pool, she looked at the speaker at its apex. Pale skin and paler hair, his lips twisted in a small smile. He opened his eyes, the whites slicked with red.
“Thou hast returned, Blade Mia. Thy quarry dead, thy offering complete?”
“Not yet.”
Adonai tilted his head, smiling wider. “Missed me then, didst thou?”
Mia turned her back, waded up out of the pool, feeling the speaker’s eyes roaming her curves. Dripping red on the stone, she headed to the baths to wash the gore off, sinking below the water with a sigh.
“… i do not like this, mia…”
Mister Kindly sat at the corner of her bath, watching with his not-eyes.
“Nor I. But what choice do I have?”
“… ashlinn is a liar, and we are fools to trust her…”
“We don’t trust her. Eclipse is watching her.”
“… i do not trust eclipse, either…”
She dried off, wrapped herself in black leathers and velvet, picturing Ash as she’d left her; chained to a four-poster bed in a cheap Godsgrave inn, a wolf made of shadows poised over her, translucent fangs bared. Eclipse couldn’t actually touch the girl, of course. But Mia didn’t feel any particular need to tell Ashlinn that …
“… she is leading you by the nose, mia…”
“You think I don’t suspect that? I’m not a fucking idiot, Mister Kindly. But what if she’s telling the truth?”
“… then we will find ourselves in interesting waters…”
“I have to know…”
The shadowcat sighed.
“… i know. and i am with you, mia. do not be afraid…”
She checked the gravebone blade at her belt, the other in her sleeve.
“Not with you beside me.”
She stole out from the bathhouse, into the Red Church’s gloom. The hymns of the ghostly choir hung in the air as she made her way up winding stairs and down corridors of black stone, carved with patterns of endless spirals. Naev had once told her the patterns in the walls were a song about finding her way in the dark. Thinking about all Ashlinn had told her, she found herself wishing she knew the words. If the girl had spoken true, Mia would be utterly lost.
It can’t be true.
On through the hungry dark.
It can’t be …
Up coiling stair and down twisting spiral until she reached it.
The Hall of Eulogies.
She looked up at the towering statue of Niah, her sword and scales in hand. It might have been a trick of the light, but the goddess looked grimmer than usual.
Mia’s footsteps echoed in the silent hall as she walked the periphery, brushing her fingertips over the empty tomb marked with Tric’s name. She thought of her friend then. The counsel he’d given. The comfort she’d found in his arms. He’d been a rock in a world growing more uncertain by the nevernight …
“You miss him,” came a voice.
Mia turned, saw Shahiid Aalea standing in the archway, dark eyes glittering. She was dressed in sheer, bloody red, the same color as her lips. Black curls tumbled about her shoulders, her skin alabaster pale. A woman like her could have seemed cold as wintersdeep in the wrong light. But Aalea’s smile was as warm as a glass of goldwine.