“… these people are not your familia, and not your friends. all of them are only a means to an end…”
The other gladiatii seemed in no mood to speak on it, chewing their food in silence. Butcher was dark, though, muttering to himself and shaking his head. And near the meal’s end, he could keep his tongue in his head no longer.
“This is horseshit,” he growled, pushing his bowl aside.
“’Tis beef, I think,” Wavewaker said, picking his teeth.
“I mean Mati, you bleeding cunt,” Butcher said, glaring at the bigger man. “Selling him to that devious shitbag Caito? He deserved better than the damned pit.”
“Mind your language, brother,” Wavewaker waved a warning finger, his baritone growing deeper. “There are ladies present.”
Bladesinger raised her eyebrow. “Where?”
“Enough,” Furian growled. The champion stared hard, dark eyes burning. His jaw was set. Muscles taut. “Eat your food, Butcher.”
“It’s not right, Furian.”
The Unfallen slammed a fist down on the table, and all eyes turned to stare.
“It is Domina’s will,” he said. “She is mistress of this collegium. You seem too apt to forget that. But remind me, brother, what were you, before she and Executus dragged you up from the shit?”
“A bodyguard,” Butcher said, squaring his jaw.
“A bloody mule is what you were,” Furian spat. “Carrying bags to market for some wrinkled old dona, and fucking her on command. And what of you, Wavewaker?”
“I was a thespian,” the big man replied proudly.
“Thespian? You were a damned doorman in a two-beggar theater, bouncing drunks and mopping shit out of the privy between shows.”
Wavewaker looked a little crestfallen. “I was set to play the Magus Ki—”
“Byern was headed for an Ashkahi copper mine.” The Unfallen gestured about the room. “Bryn, a Liisian brothel. Aa’s bleeding cock, Bladesinger was set to be fucking hanged! And Domina raised all of us up and forged us into gods!”
The champion’s dark glare roamed the mess, inviting dissent.
“Domina feeds us,” he said. “Shelters us. Gives us the chance to fight for glory and honor in the venatus instead of living on our knees or on our backs. And you name it not right? We all owe our lives to her. Including Matilius. That makes it right.”
Mia sat in silence, listening to the Unfallen’s tirade. None in the room voiced disagreement. She wondered at the man again; who he was, what made him breathe. She was a good judge of character, but Furian was a mystery. He fought like a daemon in the arena, true enough. And yet, he seemed perfectly content to bend his knee to this life of blood and servitude, and deny the truth of what he really was.
Why, just once, can’t I meet a darkin who’s not a bastard or a fool?
Evemeal ended, the gladiatii were marched to the barracks and bathed, four at a time. She was often thrown in with Sidonius, Butcher, and Bladesinger, though she preferred bathing with Wavewaker best. The man had a beautiful voice, and he often sang as he washed—songs learned from his brief spell in the theater, apparently.
Mia had already abandoned any notion of decency, what with walking about all turn wearing two strips of padded cloth and a pair of sandals. She found it strange, how easily she was becoming accustomed to life in the collegium. No privacy. No modesty. And when she closed her eyes, she could still hear the sound that had lingered in her mind since the games at Blackbridge. The roar, lifting her up on wings of thunder.
The crowd.
Her skin thrilled to think of it, despite herself. The memory burned in the black behind her eyes. Still, she reminded herself she was here for a reason, and that reason was the magni. Leona had sold Matilius without discussing the matter with Arkades. If there was some jeopardy for the collegium, she’d best learn the truth of it.
Sid seemed of a mood when Mia returned to their cell after her bath, and she didn’t press him. Instead she lay against the bars and snoozed, wondering how she might turn the big Itreyan’s allegiance to her father to some kind of advantage. There in the dark, she listened to the soft murmuring under Bladesinger’s door, sitting in silence until she was certain the rest of the gladiatii were asleep. She whispered Sid’s name, but he didn’t stir. Feeling a cool whisper on back of her neck.
“… where do we go…?”
“You tell me,” she whispered in reply.
“… i have been roaming the house since evemeal…”
“So tell me a story.”
“… arkades requested a meeting with leona. he was told to come after she had bathed…”
Mia nodded. “Lead the way.”
Her shadow rippled and Mister Kindly was gone, flitting over to the portcullis, now locked tight for the nevernight. Mia reached out to the shadows in the antechamber, just as she’d done yestereve. They were no easier to grip, her hold slipping for a moment as she scowled in concentration and drew a long steady breath and
Stepped
into
the shadow
beyond the portcullis.
The world turned on its head and she almost fell, biting down on a curse as she steadied herself with her wounded hand. Head hung low, long dark hair draped over ink-black eyes.
“… come…”
The not-cat flitted ahead, keeping watch for the houseguards. Slipping through her old home like a knife between ribs, Mia passed the rows of armor, up the wide stairway to the first floor. Her mind swimming with memories of her childhood here.
She remembered her father working his horses in the yard. Her mother reading by the bay windows in her room. She remembered the nevernight her brother Jonnen was born, under this very roof. Her father had wept as he held the babe in his arms.
She could recall him so clearly. The way he smelled. The way he kissed her mother, first on one eyelid, then the other, then finally upon her smooth, olive brow.
A good man.
A loving husband.
A faithful soldier.
What kind of king would he have made?
Mia shook her head, cursing herself a fool. It didn’t matter. Her father’s kingdom was two feet wide and six feet deep, and two of the men who’d killed him were still talking and breathing. That was all that mattered. That was all she should care about.
Up to the fourth floor. The level had been used for storage when Mia’s parents had owned the Nest, but with her Falcons kept secure in the basement, the upper level now belonged to the mistress of the house. Quiet as a whisper, Mia stole down the long hallways toward soft voices coming from the bathhouse.