“I didn’t eat yestereve, Domina,” Mia replied. “Too nervous about the games.”
“’Byss and blood,” Leona spat. “I should have that cook flogged. We’re three laurels shy of the magni, this is the first venatus me and my father pit gladiatii against one another, and my sharpest blades are all sick as sailors with no sea legs?” Her eyes narrowed with a sudden thought, and she turned to Arkades. “You don’t think he orchestrated this, do you?”
Executus rubbed his chin in thought. “Possible, thou—”
Sidonius leaned back against the wall as a spray of puke erupted from his gut, Maggot and Leona both skipping back in disgust. The dona fished a scented kerchief from her dress, pressing it to her mouth as the big Itreyan groaned an almost-indecipherable apology, and promptly shit his loincloth.
“They can’t fight like this, Domina,” Maggot said softly.
“Aye,” Arkades nodded. “It’ll be a slaughter. Not a one of them can stand.”
“I can stand,” Mia replied.
The trio looked to her silently. Leona’s eyes narrowed.
“I can win,” Mia swore.
Arkades shook his head. “Set eyes through those bars, girl. Does anything about this arena strike attention?”
Mia peered out to the sands, eyes scanning the walls, the crowd. The remains of the equillai match were being packed up, targets broken down, markers removed. The crowd were stamping their feet, impatient for the next match to begin.
“Broken glass,” Mia said, turning to look at the executus. “And firepots. On the wall skirting the arena’s edge.”
“And that tells you what?”
“Either the editorii don’t want the crowd getting onto the sand, or they don’t want whatever they’re about to release on the sand getting into the crowd,” Mia replied.
“Menagerie,” Arkades said. “The theme for this venatus. Beasts from all corners of the Republic, set to do battle with each other and gladiatii for the crowd’s amusement.” The big man folded his massive arms, the scar on his face deepening as he scowled. “Do you have any idea what you’d face out there?”
Mia shrugged, feigning ignorance.
“Whatever the ’byss it is, it can’t smell worse than in here.” She looked at Leona, her jaw set. “Your equillai just lost to your father’s men, Domina. And only one of your gladiatii can lift a sword. If you’ve a thirst for a victor’s laurel at all, or anything to prove, it seems you’ve but one choice.”
Leona’s eyes had narrowed at the words “anything to prove.” But Mia spoke truth—there was only one way Leona would see a victor’s purse this venatus. Only one way she might recoup some of her costs, win some glory, accrue another laurel for her collegium’s berth at the magni.
Mia and Ashlinn had orchestrated it that way, after all.
Part of Mia still didn’t trust her coconspirator. She was still waiting for the hammer to drop. But Ash had spoken truth; Eclipse had confirmed it. She’d dosed the other gladiatii, left Mia on her feet, all the better to convince Leona that Mia was the only hope she had of winning the victory she so desperately needed. But still …
But still …
“Executus,” Leona said, eyes never leaving Mia’s. “Tell the editorii our Crow will fight for Remus Collegium in the Ultima. We will field no other gladiatii this turn.”
“Mi Dona, Furian was slated for the Ultima. A change at this final hour—”
“I paid for berth at this venatus,” Leona snarled. “I will be damned if fate’s cold hand robs me of my victory. If the editorii take issue with my arrangements, tell them they can bring them to me personally. But, by the Everseeing and all four of his holy fucking Daughters, you’d best warn them to bring an extra pair of balls, because I’ll be ripping off the first and wearing them for earrings.” She indicated her gown with a sweep of her hand. “The red should complement my dress nicely.”
Maggot grinned, and Arkades tried to hide his smile in his beard.
“Your whisper, my will,” he murmured.
With a hand-to-heart bow, the executus limped off in search of the editorii, and Maggot in search of some water to wash away the mess. Leona remained behind in the damp, the stink, staring at Mia through the bars with glittering blue eyes.
“I risk much on you, little Crow.”
“It’s only a risk if I don’t win, Domina,” Mia replied. “And in all truth, you’ve nothing to lose.”
“I’ll not forgive it,” Leona warned, “if you fail me.”
Putting her hand to her heart, Mia bowed low.
“And I trust you’ll not forget it,” she replied, “when I don’t.”
*
The matches had been brutal, bloody, beautiful. The crowd were drunk on it—the wine, the slaughter, their roars reverberating through the stone above Mia’s head. The guards were already proclaiming the venatus the finest that Stormwatch had ever seen, that the editorii had outdone themselves again.
Spectators had thrilled as a mob of gladiatii hunted a three-ton saberwolf through a sea of long grass that had grown up from the sands upon command. They’d howled in delight as gladiatii from the collegia of Leonides, Trajan, and Phillipi clashed upon a web of shifting wires hung over the arena, while a pack of Vaanian whitebears prowled below, tearing any warrior who fell into bloody pieces. Prisoners of the state had been tied to stakes and executed by a flock of starving Ashkahi bloodhawks; gladiatii with tridents and nets had fought an actual live sand kraken before the bellowing mob.* And now, as nevernight winds blew in from the ocean and the turn drew near its close, they were ready for the Ultima.
None knew what could possibly top the sand kraken, though all were salivating at the prospect. They stamped their feet in time, the rhythm echoing down into the mekwerk pits beneath the sands. And then, as if in answer, rumbling up from the depths, came a shuddering, spine-chilling roar.
“Citizens of Itreya!” came the call across the arena horns. “Honored administratii! Senators and marrowborn! We give thanks to our honored consul, Julius Scaeva, for providing the funds for the Ultima to close this most glorious venatus!”
The crowd roared approval, and Mia grit her teeth to hear them chanting Scaeva’s name. She pushed thought of the consul from her mind, focusing only on the task ahead. None of the fighters in the staging cell around her had an inkling, but Mia knew exactly what awaited them beneath the floor. And even with the advantage she’d bought herself, she still knew this would be a fight for her very life.
She wore a sleeve of mail rings on her right arm, iron spaulders and greaves to protect her shoulders and shins, a leather skirt and breastplate. The armor would count for next to nothing against the foe she’d face, but still, it was better than fighting bare-arsed with a grin on her face. Her helm was plumed in red—the color of her domina’s standard. Remus’s standard. The thought chafed, but again, she pushed it aside. No place for pride here. No place for pain. Only steel. And blood. And glory.