One thing was certain—she could not be sold.
Leona chewed her lip, blinking as she woke from her reverie. She looked to the open door, stilled herself as if listening, The hour was late, the villa was quiet. Finishing her wine, Leona stood, gathered her robe about herself and, almost on tiptoe, quietly stole out into the corridor.
Mia frowned, narrowed her eyes.
Leona was mistress of this place.
Why creep about like a thief in her own house?
Mia slipped from behind the curtain and crept to the doorway, silent as death. Peering beyond the frame, she saw Leona at the stairs leading down to the third level. She ducked out of sight as the dona looked about, then stole quickly downward.
“… perhaps we have risked enough this eve, mia…”
Ignoring the shadowcat’s warning, Mia followed on whisper-soft feet. Moving like a shadow, she followed Leona down to the third, then second level. Here the dona paused, waiting for Captain Gannicus and another houseguard to walk past, murmuring among themselves. When the guards were gone, Leona crept on, Mia following like a wraith until she reached the first floor.
Mia watched from the stair above as the dona peered about, listening in the still for the guards. Sneaking out from the stairwell, Leona crept to a single wooden door at the far end of the corridor. Out of sight. Out of earshot.
Ah. It makes a kind of sense now.
The tirade at dinner. The insistence that their domina’s will alone was what mattered, despite the sale of Matilius. The fervor in his eyes when he spoke of his mistress, his devotion to these walls.
Furian.
Leona reached into a pocket for an iron key, unlocked the door. The Unfallen was waiting on the other side, long dark hair framing his beautiful face, the smile that curled his lips as he saw his mistress. With one last glance the way she’d come, Leona threw her arms around Furian’s neck, dragged him down into a hungry kiss. And stepping inside, the dona of the house shut the door behind her.
“… interesting…,” came a cool whisper at her ear.
“Aye.” Mia scowled in reply. “But just once, I’d like to look about and find my life was a little less interesting.”
“… o, what fun would that be…?”
Mia raised the knuckles to the shadowcat. Mister Kindly only chuckled in reply. And without another sound, the pair stole off into the shadows they so loved.
CHAPTER 16
HONEY
Wsssshhthunk.
The arrow struck the strawman, close to his heart.
Wsssshhthunk.
Another struck closer than the first.
Wsssshhthunk.
A third struck the target, right in its featureless face.
Mia lowered her bow, the fingers on her right hand throbbing.
“Fine work,” Bryn said beside her. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
“Read about it in a book,” Mia growled. “When I was done fucking your father.”
The Vaanian girl chuckled, lifting her own bow and drawing back the string.
“Rough nevernight, little Crow?”
Mia set her bow aside, wincing at the pain. “I’ve had better.”
“Not with my poor old da, I’ll wager,” Bryn grinned.
The blonde let half a dozen arrows fly in quick succession. Three punched through the strawman’s heart, two into its throat, the last in its head.
“Maw’s teeth…,” Mia breathed.
“You should see her shoot with her good hand,” Byern said, walking past the pair with a bunch of leather tackle slung over his shoulder.
“Ah, that’d just be showing off,” Bryn replied.
The twins had left Crow’s Nest early that morning, just as they did every second turn. Per Executus’s command, Mia had accompanied them, trailing behind like a dog with no bone. Arkades limped with them to the gates of the keep, Mia trying to keep the scowl from her face as she remembered how the man had spoken about her the nevernight before. Arkades had made no mention of her impending sale, the sword hanging over her head. It wasn’t as if he were offering a chance to prove herself, no. It was clear Executus simply wanted her gone.
It stung her pride, truth told. More than it should have. Mia didn’t know why she wanted his approval. But in the intervening hours, hurt pride had turned to burning rage. She didn’t have time to waste anymore—being sold to another master was a risk she simply couldn’t take. She needed to prove herself. Not to Arkades, but to Dona Leona.
The fact that she was bedding Furian aside, Mia suspected the dona still saw some measure of value in her. Mia had ignited the audience at Blackbridge, and the crowd’s reaction had set some small ember of respect burning in Leona’s breast. Mia needed a way to coax that spark into flame.
The venatus at Stormwatch would decide her future, in this collegium, and in the arena. Her plan to murder Duomo and Scaeva hung in the balance.
She’d no idea, yet, how to tip the scales.
Mia, Bryn and Byern had been escorted by four of Dona Leona’s houseguards into the rough scrubland behind Crow’s Nest. After half a mile, they’d reached an oblong track, perhaps a mile long, marked in the ochre sand with flat stones. A stable stood to one side, and Byern marched inside with his harness and tackle while Bryn loosed quiver after quiver of arrows into the three strawmen targets.
The houseguards stood in the shade, paying no mind. Mia realized how easy it would be for Bryn and Byern to escape—a few arrows into each guard’s chest, two horses, and the pair would be dust on the horizon. But, even if they somehow made their way in the Republic with brands on their cheeks, the twins would be condemning every other gladiatii in Leona’s stable to execution in the arena.
She had to hand it to the administratii—the heartless bastards knew their trade.
Mia’s fingers were bruising badly, and it hurt to hold the bow for long, so she mostly contented herself watching Bryn’s form. The girl could shoot blind, left-handed as well as right. After emptying another quiver, she took off her boots, clutched her bow between her toes. And, in what might have been the most astonishing display of dexterity Mia had ever witnessed, slowly stood on her hands, arched her spine and loosed a shot with her feet, skewering the strawman in the heart.
“Speaking of showing off…,” Mia said.
Bryn curled smoothly over and stood, brushing the dust off her palms.
“It’s child’s play when you and the targets aren’t moving,” she shrugged. Turning to the stable, she called to her brother. “’Byss and blood, Byern, are you rigging those horses or asking them to marry you?”
“I’ve asked before, they both said no,” came the reply.