Mia knew Quintus Messala had served as governor of Stormwatch for six years—he’d been appointed soon after the Kingmaker Rebellion. As a childhood friend of Consul Scaeva and a scion of one of the twelve great familia of the Republic, his wealth and power were the envy of everyone who met him, and it seemed Messala lived to stoke that envy. Mia couldn’t recall an affair as lavish, or a house quite as opulent. The antechamber she sat in was decorated with intricate stucco reliefs, gold leaf, and Dweymeri crystal chandeliers. The man who served her meal was dressed in clothes most marrowborn dons would envy.
She’d sat in the room brooding about her argument with Ashlinn until Arkades had come to fetch her. He was dressed in his finery, falcons and lions on his doublet. Mia was dressed in the armor she’d worn yesterturn, though it had been polished to within an inch of its life. They’d not given her helmet back, but there was little she could do about that. The chances of a Red Church servant being at the feast were low, but still, walking toward the banquet hall, Executus in front and two guards at her flanks, Mia felt as if she were buck-naked and strolling into a scabdog’s den.
“Hold,” Arkades told her, stopping at the door to the dining hall.
The big man turned to look at her, raised a finger in warning.
“Do not speak unless you are spoken to. Remember that all eyes are upon you. You may never have seen the like before, but the people in this room are serpents, girl. They slay with a whisper. Bestow fortunes or end reputations with a word. If you shame your domina’s name, I swear by the Everseeing, I’ll see you suffer for it.”
Black Mother, the torch he’s carrying for that woman could light up truedark …
Truth was, Mia knew the machinations of the marrowborn all too well—she’d seen her mother play their power games for years. The Dona Corvere could reduce men to hollow shells and women to tears when she put her mind to it. But Mia wasn’t about to let Arkades know that. Instead, she simply bowed her head.
“Aye, Executus.”
Satisfied, the man opened the door to the dining hall and limped inside. Mia waited, hands clasped. She could hear string music, voices in the room beyond.
“Fine match yesterturn,” one of the guards beside her murmured.
“Aye,” another said. “Bloody spectacular, lass.”
Mia nodded thanks, grateful word of her victory was still spreading. If there had been any chance of Leona selling her off before the venatus, it was as dead as that retchwyrm now. Her domina would have to ponder some other way to pay her creditors—though if all went well this eve, that should prove no difficulty. Wealthy marrowborn often offered patronage to favored collegia, and with the Falcons of Remus the toast of the city, Leona should have no trouble securing investment.
The future of the collegium was assured.
All that remained was securing her place at the magni.
Mia soon heard the clinking of a ring upon a crystal goblet, a lull in conversation. A voice called out in the room beyond; a silk-smooth baritone Mia guessed must belong to Governor Messala.
“Esteemed guests, honored friends, I thank you for visiting my humble home this nevernight. It gives me and my good wife no end of pride to see so many of you here. May the Everseeing watch over you, and the Four Daughters bestow their blessings.”
Messala waited for the polite applause to die before continuing.
“We hold this feast every venatus, to give thanks to friends who grace our city but rarely, and yet, leave their mark indelibly on the hearts and minds of our citizens. It is with no hyperbole that I declare yesterturn’s venatus the greatest seen in our fine city, and I thank each and every sanguila here present who toiled to make it so!”
Messala paused again for applause. It was a rarity for sanguila to be invited to a governor’s home—blood masters could never hold the status of the true marrowborn. But Mia could see Messala’s acumen in arranging it. The sanguila were popular with common folk, and the love of the citizenry had seen Julius Scaeva flout all convention and sit in the consuls’ chair for three terms. It made sense for Messala to court the men who owned the favor of the mob.
A snake this one, sure and true.
“Now,” Messala continued. “Each sanguila has brought their champion, that we may marvel. But for you, dear friends, I’ve arranged a gift more marvelous still. Through the generosity of Dona Leona of the Remus Collegium”—Mia heard a murmur ripple through the guests—“I am pleased to present the victor of yesterturn’s Ultima, and one of the finest warriors to set foot upon the sands … Crow, the Savior of Stormwatch!”
The doors were flung wide, and Mia looked out into a sea of curious faces. Hundreds of people were in attendance—the cream of society, gathered in pretty knots or lying on divans around the vast room. The hall was marble, frescoed, tall windows thrown open to the let in the cool nevernight breeze. Plates were laden with food, goblets overflowed with wine, wealth dripping off the walls.
Mia recognized this world. She’d grown up in it, after all. Daughter of a marrowborn familia, raised in opulence just like this. So much wealth held in so few palms. A kingdom of the blind, built on the backs of the bruised and the broken.
And nobody born to it ever questioning a thing.
Governor Messala stood at the center of the room—a handsome Itreyan man with dark, piercing eyes. The divans were arranged about his own, and guests were seated according to their status. Mia saw Dona Leona at a place of honor on Messala’s right side, Arkades beside her. Furian loomed behind, dressed in a breastplate of iron, bracers and shin guards crafted like falcon’s wings. The champion was practically seething, staring at Mia with hatred in his eyes.
But when she looked at him, still … that hunger …
That want.
Mia noted other sanguila around the room, recognizing their sigils. A heavyset man wearing the sword and shield of the Trajan Collegium. A one-handed man that could only be Phillipi, a former gladiatii who’d started his own stable. And there among them, Mia saw an overweight man wearing a frock coat embroidered with golden lions. She recognized him immediately—the man who’d offered to buy her for a thousand silver priests, and been bested by a single coin.
Leonides.
He was still sat close to Messala, Mia noted, even though he hadn’t fielded a fighter in the Ultima. She wondered again at that, and at Leona’s revelation that the governor had long favored the Lions of Leonides. Looking about the room, another might have seen a simple banquet. But Mia saw a spiderweb, sticky strands spun among the guests, vibration thrumming to the center of the web. And at the heart of it was Dona Leona, a goblet to her lips, sitting blithely at the spider’s right hand.
Leonides himself seemed unremarkable in many ways. Too fond of his food and drink perhaps, but no kind of monster. He sipped his wine and affected a yawn, pretending not to notice Mia had entered. But she saw how he watched, the glittering blue eyes he’d gifted his daughter not missing a thing.
Thus, the greatest monsters get their way, she realized.
By looking just like the rest of us.
Beside Leonides stood his hulking bald executus, Titus, the girth of his arms straining his silken shirt. And behind Titus, Mia saw an ominous figure, at least seven feet tall, cloaked and cowled despite the heat.
… His champion?
“Good Crow.”
The governor’s voice snatched Mia from her reverie.