“Blood we shall remain.”
A rousing cheer went up around the circle. Executus motioned for Mia and Sidonius to rise, and the gladiatii closed in. Bladesinger smiled at Mia, and the Vaanian girl Bryn crushed her to her breast, whispering, “You fought well.” Butcher slapped her on the back so hard she almost fell over, the others offering their bloody hands or giving her friendly thumps on the arm. Only Furian held himself apart—but whether out of his lofty status as champion or the enmity between them, Mia had no idea.
“My Falcons,” came a voice from the balcony.
“Attend!” snapped the executus, and all eyes turned upward.
Dona Leona smiled at them like a goddess upon her children, arms spread wide. “Our victories at Blackbridge earn us yet more renown, and berth at the venatus four weeks hence in Stormwatch!”
The gladiatii cheered, and Sidonius wrapped his arm around Mia’s neck, squeezing as he bellowed. Mia laughed and pushed the big man off, but she couldn’t help but find her voice caught up among them.
“The contests shall only grow fiercer as we approach the magni. On the morrow, you return to training. But for now, never let it be said your domina does not reward your valor, or the honor you do her each time you take to the sands!”
Leona clapped her hands, and three servants wheeled a large barrel out among the tables and chairs on the verandah.
“Is that wine?” Sidonius breathed.
“Drink, my Falcons!” Leona smiled. “A toast to your new brother and sister. A toast to glory! And a toast to our many victories to come!”
*
Three hours later, as she lay down in her cell, Mia’s head was swimming.
She’d tried to drink frugally, but Sid had bellowed every time she slacked her pace, and every one of the other gladiatii seemed to drink as though their lives depended on it. It made perfect sense, she supposed—for folk who owned nothing, their lives at risk every time they took to the sands, a moment of respite and a full cup must seem like a paradise. And so, she’d done her best to play her role, drinking hard with her new familia and smiling at their praise.
The Dweymeri woman, Bladesinger, seemed to have taken a particular liking to her, though most of the collegium had a kind word. Her ploy in the arena—wearing the enemy’s colors and playing wounded to get close enough to bring them down—had struck most of her new kin as a stroke of small genius.
Bryn, the blond Vaanian girl, had raised her cup in toast.
“A fine ruse, little Crow.”
“Aye,” her brother Byern replied. “When I saw you clutching those guts and realized what you were up to, I almost shouted loud enough to give the game away.”
“Crow my arse,” Butcher had grinned. “We should call her the bloody Fox.”
“The Wolf,” Bladesinger smiled.
“The Snake,” came a voice.
All eyes had turned to Furian, glowering at the head of the table. Mia had met his stare, watched his lip curl in derision.
“Gladiatii fight with honor,” he’d said. “Not with lies.”
“Brother, come,” Bladesinger had said. “A victory won is a victory earned.”
“I am champion of this collegium,” the Unfallen had replied. “I say what is earned. And what is stolen.”
Bladesinger had glanced at the torc around Furian’s neck, the laurel at his brow, nodded acquiescence. The Unfallen returned to his cup, speaking no more. Festivities ended soon after, and in truth, Mia had been thankful. She wasn’t accustomed to so much wine, and a few more cups and she’d have been painting the walls.
She sat in her cell now, the bars slowly spinning. She’d heard that same singing from Bladesinger’s cell before the lights died, supposing it might be some sort of prayer. But now darkness had descended, all she could hear was the sound of sleep.
Sidonius was on his back snoring like a dying bull, pausing only long enough to fart so loud Mia felt it through the floor. She scowled and kicked the big Itreyan, who rolled over with a grumble.
“Fucking pig,” she cursed, covering her nose. “I need my own bloody cell.”
“… i seldom find myself ungrateful that I do not need to breathe…”
Mia’s eyes widened as she heard the whisper.
“… at this moment, doubly so…”
“Mister Kindly!”
“… she cried, loud enough to wake the dead…”
Two black shapes coalesced from the shadows at the other end of the cell.
“… IF THIS LUMP’S SNORING HASN’T DONE SO, NOTHING WILL…”
Mia grinned as the pair of daemons bounded up to her, diving into her shadow as if it were black water. A rush of soothing chill washed over her, rippling down the length of her body, leaving an iron calm in its wake. She felt Mister Kindly stalking across her shoulder, weaving among her hair without disturbing a single strand. Eclipse curled around Mia’s back, put her insubstantial head in the girl’s lap. Mia ran her hands through both of them, their shapes rippling like black smoke. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed them until she had them back.
“Black Mother, it’s good to see you two,” she whispered.
“… I MISSED YOU…”
“… o, please…”
“… I MISSED THE MOGGY LESS…”
Mia ran her hands down the length of the shadowwolf’s body. There was no sensation of being able to touch her, but petting Eclipse was like petting a cool breeze.
“When did you arrive?”
“… YESTERTURN. BUT YOU WERE NOT YET RETURNED FROM THE VENATUS…”
“… things went well, i take it…”
“I’m not dead, if that counts for anything.”
Mister Kindly nuzzled against her ear, and Mia’s skin tingled. It felt like being kissed by cigarillo smoke.
“… everything…,” he whispered.
The trio sat in the gloom for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. Mia curled her fingers through their gossamer bodies, felt any trace of the fear she’d felt over the past weeks fading to nothing. She’d done it, she realized. The first step toward Duomo’s and Scaeva’s throats was complete. And with her passengers beside her, the remaining steps seemed not so far at all.
“… lovely as this is…”
“… ALWAYS WE CAN COUNT UPON YOU TO SPOIL THE MOOD…”
“No, he’s right,” Mia sighed. “Is she waiting?”
“… AYE…”
“Take me to her, then.”
Her passengers faded into the black. Mia felt them coalesce in the shadows of the antechamber, and just as she’d done the nevernight she visited Furian, she closed her eyes, reached into the dark. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps the practice she’d had, but she found the Step a little easier this time, the sudden rush, the vertigo. Opening her eyes, she found the room spinning wildly, but she was in the shadow of the stairwell beside them.
Bending double, she retched a few cups’ worth onto the stone, covering her mouth to stifle the sound. She felt a few gladiatii stirring in the barracks, sinking back into the shadows and fighting the urge to vomit again. She clutched the wall to help it stop spinning. Wiped her hand across her lips, and spat onto the stone.
“Black Mother, remind me not to do that when I’m half-drunk again.”
“… COME…”