Leona stared at the big man, blue eyes shining. But with a glance at the dapper man beside her, her gaze became hard as the red stone beneath her feet.
“I am no longer your domina,” she said. “But you still have no right to question me. Know your place, slave, lest I have Executus gift you a parting reminder.”
The big man lowered his gaze, bewilderment swimming in his eyes.
“Apologies,” he grunted.
Leona’s cold blue stare fell on Arkades. “Executus, see to his transfer. The rest of you, back to training.”
Arkades bowed. “Your whisper, my will.”
Though he hid it well, Mia could still see the confusion in the executus’s eyes. Whatever the nature of this “sale,” Leona clearly hadn’t consulted him about it.
The big man straightened, looked at Mia, down at her wounded hand.
“You’ll not spar for the next three turns, girl.” He nodded to the blond Vaanian twins, working the training dummies across the yard. “Accompany Bryn and Byern to the equorium amorrow. You can help them with their practice, at least.”
Turning on his heel, the Red Lion limped across the yard. Matilius was speaking swift goodbyes among the other gladiatii in the few moments he had left. He grasped Furian’s forearm, squeezed tight. Bladesinger wrapped him in a crushing hug, Butcher and Wavewaker and Otho clapped him on the back. Matilius looked across the yard to Mia, nodded once, and she nodded in reply. She’d not known him well, but he seemed a decent sort. And it was clear he had friends here among the collegium; brothers and sisters he’d fought and bled with, and was now being forced to farewell.
Mia cruised over to the training dummies, slipped up beside Bryn and Byern. The Vaanian girl was short, almost pretty, her long topknot drenched in sweat. Byern was taller, better looking, his jaw square and his shoulders broad. His training sword hung limp in his hand as he watched Matilius say his goodbyes. The Vaanians were around Mia’s age, but each seemed older somehow.
Something in the eyes, maybe.
“Who is Varro Caito?” Mia asked softly.
The twins startled—they’d not heard Mia’s approach. With a scowl, Bryn turned back to the farewells, shooting a poison glance to the dapper Liisian on the balcony.
“A fleshmonger,” she replied. “He runs Pandemonium.”
Mia raised an eyebrow in question.
“A fighting pit,” Bryn explained. “Underground. Not sanctioned by the administratii. But the battles are bloody. And popular. Former gladiatii fetch a fine price.”
“So it’s a kind of arena?”
Byern shook his head. “No honor there. No rules. No mercy. Pandemonium is closer to a human dogfight than the venatus. And the contests, ever to the finish. Most warriors perish in a few turns. Even the best only endure a month.”
Mia watched Matilius, now being manacled by Executus and handed over to the Liisian fleshpeddler. The bodyguards checked the irons, nodded once. And with one final glance, the man was marched from the yard in the keeping of his new master.
Bryn sighed, shook her head. “He walks to his death.”
“Then why does he walk?” Mia asked.
“What else would he do?” Byern replied.
“Run,” she said fiercely. “Fight.”
“Fight?” Bryn looked at Mia as if she were a child. “There was a slave revolt down in Crow’s Rest. Maybe seven, eight months back. Did you hear tell of it?”
Mia shook her head.
“Two slaves fell in love,” Byern said. “They wished to wed, but their domini forbid it. So the pair slit their master’s throat in the nevernight and fled. They made it to Dawnspear before they were caught. Do you know what the administratii did?”
“Crucified them, at a guess,” Mia said.
“Aye,” Bryn nodded, smoothing back her topknot. “But not just them. They flogged and crucified every slave in their domini’s house beside them to set example. The only one they spared was the slave who told the administratii where the murderers could be found. And for her loyalty to the Republic, that slave was forced to wield the lash during the floggings.”
“Such, the price of defiance in Itreya,” Byern said.
Mia’s lips curled at the thought. Sickness in her belly. She’d known the life of a slave in the Republic was cruel, often short. She knew punishment for those who rebelled was horrific. But Black Mother, the brutality of it …
“Did you see?” she asked softly. “The executions?”
Byern nodded. “We all did. The administratii commanded every slave from every household in the Rest come and bear witness. The youngest boy they strung up couldn’t have been more than eight years old.”
“Four Daughters,” Mia breathed. “I never imagined…”
“As gladiatii, your lot is better than most,” Bryn said. “Blood. Glory. Be grateful.”
Mia peered at the girl sidelong. “Are you grateful?”
Bryn looked at the wooden sword in her hand. Her brother, Byern, standing tall beside her. She looked to the sky above her head, down to the sand at her feet.
“We endure,” she finally replied.
Mia watched Matilius being marched to the front gate. He paused before the portcullis, throwing one last glance back at his brothers and sisters, raising his hand in farewell. Bryn waved in reply, Byern closed a fist, placed it over his heart. And with a shove in Matilius’s back, the man was gone.
Mia shook her head, wondering what she would do in his place. Fight in some futile gesture of defiance and get her brothers and sisters killed? Or march quietly to her death? How would it feel if life in this collegium was truly her lot? If instead of being able to Step outside the walls whenever she chose, she was actually trapped here? No control. No say in her own future?
“How?” she asked. “How do you endure the unendurable?”
“We have a saying in Vaan,” Byern replied. “In every breath, hope abides.”
Bryn turned to Mia.
A quick smile to cover her pain.
A slap on Mia’s back to break the ugly stillness.
“Just keep breathing, little Crow.”
CHAPTER 15
RIGHT
Evemeal was sullen that nevernight, none of the bawdy jokes or friendly banter that usually marked dinner around the long verandah tables. All minds seemed turned to Matilius’s sale. Thinking about the fate that awaited the man in Pandemonium, Mia found herself without appetite, and instead of the usual scraps she gave when Fang came snuffling around, she gave over almost her entire meal.
The big mastiff licked her wounded fingers, his stubby tail all a-wag. She ruffled his ears and tried her best not to dwell on it. To think instead of the contests to come, the revenge awaiting her at the end of them. She was here for one reason, and one alone. And vengeance wouldn’t be served by getting too close to any she fought beside. No matter how crushing the thought of it all was.
As if echoing her thoughts, she felt a cool breeze on the back of her neck. Fang whined softly and scampered away from Mia, ears pressed flat, tail tucked. Mister Kindly entwined himself in the shadows of her hair and whispered, soft as shadows.