“… THE DARKIN…”
“Is he going to be a problem?”
Mia shook her head. “Nothing you need worry yourself with.”
“But I do worry.”
“Because without me, you don’t get the Church, aye?”
Dark eyes stared into glittering blue. Looking for the lies behind them.
“Look, I know we’ve blood in our past,” Ashlinn said. “But there’s more than just red between us. I’m not just here for the Church. And I’m surely not cooped up in this dingy little shithole for the glamor of it. And you must know that, or you’d not be here with me, no matter how many shadowwolves you have watching over my shoulder.”
Mia stared. Ashlinn’s eyes. Ashlinn’s hands. Ashlinn’s lips. The girl simply stared back, letting the silence ask her questions for her.
Mia ignored them all.
“Good luck in Stormwatch,” she finally said. “Keep an eye on the harbor. Send Eclipse when we arrive and let me know the lay of the games.” She stood swift, dragging her hair over her shoulder and avoiding Ashlinn’s stare.
“You’re leaving already?”
Mia nodded. “I’d best be off before I’m missed. Sidonius is a decent sort, but I’ve no wish for anyone else to find out what I am.”
Ashlinn said nothing, watching Mia walk to the window, climb over the sill and disappear from sight. Without a final word. Without a parting glance.
Shaking her head, Ash dropped another grape into her mouth.
“That much is obvious, Corvere,” she sighed.
CHAPTER 17
STORMWATCH
Mia paced back and forth in her cage, eyes fixed on the sand.
She, Sidonius, Bladesinger, Wavewaker and Butcher were all locked in cells at the edge of Stormwatch arena, sunken beneath the floor. Small barred windows let them watch the venatus while they waited for their turn before the crowd, Mia stalking about the cage and pondering the events that led her here.
Just as she’d told Ashlinn, the gladiatii of the Remus Collegium had trained another week in the sweltering suns before setting out for Stormwatch. Mia’s hand was mended enough to go back to practice after a few turns, though for all the attention Arkades gave, she mightn’t have bothered—it was clear all hopes were being pinned on Furian, Bryn, and Byern to win their berth in the Venatus Magni. Eavesdropping on Dona Leona and the magistrae, Mister Kindly had learned inquiries were already being made about Mia’s sale. There were a few interested parties—a pleasure house in Whitekeep, a local magistrate in need of a bodyguard he could occasionally slip his cock into, and of course Varro Caito and his Pandemonium. Not a real sanguila among them.
Mia’s entire plan hung upon victory at Stormwatch.
They’d traveled to the city via the Gloryhound, arriving a few turns before the venatus was set to begin. The port was abuzz with excitement, and folks had journeyed from miles about for the games; every inn, bedsit and outhouse was filled to bursting.* Ashlinn had sent Eclipse to visit Mia in her cell, and the shadowwolf had spoken of all she and Ashlinn had learned about the upcoming games. Over the next few nevernights, passing messages via the daemon, Mia and Ashlinn had formulated their plan.
Now, all that remained was to execute it.
Mia watched the equillai roar around the track, the percussion of their horses’ hooves vibrating through the stone walls. Bryn and Byern were doing well—placed second with five laps to go. But if Mia thought the Vaanians were skilled, she was amazed watching Leonides’s team in action. Leona’s father fielded only the best, and his equillai were no exception; a Dweymeri sagmae whose lion-crested shield seemed impenetrable, and a pretty Liisian flagellae whose bowmanship was equal to Bryn’s, if not better.
“Stonekiller and Armando,” Bladesinger murmured, standing at the bars beside Mia. “The b-best equillai in the Republic. The … crowd adore them.”
Despite a stunning kill shot from Bryn on another team’s sagmae, the Lions of Leonides simply proved the better, and after nine laps, they stood the victors. Stonekiller and Armando dismounted their chariot together, fingers intertwined and hands held aloft in victory as the crowd around them thundered. It was well known that the pair were lovers, and their astonishing skill coupled with the affection they showed each other made them crowd favorites. The fact that they were undefeated didn’t hurt either.
Mia felt bad for Bryn and Byern, worse that the Remus Collegium was still absent its third laurel. But, in truth, her mind was elsewhere. She looked sidelong at Bladesinger, the ghastly greenish hue of the woman’s skin beneath her tattoos.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Think s-so,” the woman nodded. “The w-worst seems…”
Bladesinger’s eyes widened and she fell to her knees, once again vomiting all over the floor. Sidonius lay where he was, barely able to groan as the puke spattered his sandals. Butcher rolled away from the splashback, his own cheeks ballooning.
“At least empty your g-guts outside … the cell, sister,” he moaned.
“Fuggoff,” Bladesinger groaned, a long string of drool and puke dangling from her lips. “Before I s-slap your ugly…”
Another fountain of vomit exploded from Bladesinger’s mouth, this time hitting Wavewaker, who in turn lunged up onto his knees and aimed a spray of puke out through the bars. The stench rolled over Mia in warm, cloying waves and she stood on tiptoes, pressed her lips between the bars and breathed deep of the comparatively pleasant aroma of blood and horseshit outside.
“Four fucking Daughters,” she swore.
“Pray all you like,” came a growl. “I fear they’re not listening.”
Turning, Mia saw Executus Arkades, standing outside the cell with hands on hips. Surveying the puke-soaked straw, his best gladiatii lying about like wounded after a war. Maggot stood beside him, nose screwed up at the stench as she looked the fallen gladiatii over. Dona Leona hung back, wearing a gown of beautiful scarlet silk and a thoroughly disgusted expression.
“Blessed Aa,” she said. “All of them?”
“Save Bryn and Byern,” Arkades replied, glancing at Mia. “And the Crow. Even Furian is bursting at both ends. Everseeing only knows what caused it.”
Mia kept her face as stone, met Arkades’s eyes with an expression innocent enough to shame a sister in the Sorority of Flame.* Of course, she knew exactly what had caused the bout of intestinal distress among her brothers and sisters of the collegium. Ashlinn had snuck rather more Mishap into their evemeal than Mia would have liked—the results didn’t need to be quite so explosive, truth told. But Ash had never been Spiderkiller’s finest student.
“Food poisoning,” Maggot declared, kneeling by a puddle of vomit. Reaching through the bars, she pressed her palm to Butcher’s sweat-filmed brow. “Not fatal, I think. But they’ll wish they were dead before the ending.”
“F-far ahead of … you, my d-dear,” Wavewaker moaned, stifling a belch.
“How is it you’re not ill?” Dona Leona asked Mia.