“Come forward,” he beckoned. “Let Stormwatch see its savior.”
Mia marched into the room as commanded, the guards in step beside her. The guests weren’t so crass as to applaud her presence—Mia was property, after all, and quality didn’t clap when a pet successfully performed a trick. But she could feel an arkemical current in the air nevertheless; curiosity, admiration, even desire. Just a turn ago, she’d had tens of thousands of people on their feet, roaring her name. That gave her a kind of gravity, she realized. The same kind of magnetism Arkades wore like armor, the other gladiatii in the room fought to attain. Primal, perhaps. Steeped in blood.
But power nonetheless.
“I commend you, good Crow,” Messala said, “and give thanks on behalf of the citizens of our city. Not only did you treat us to a spectacle unlike any other, but through skill and courage, the lives of no few of our citizens were rescued from calamity.” The governor raised his goblet, joined by the many guests around the room. “Aa bless and keep you, and Tsana ever guide your hand.”
Mia bowed. “You honor me, Governor.”
“You honor us, as does your domina.” The governor turned with a smile to the woman at his right, raised his goblet to Leona. “My thanks to you, gracious Dona, for allowing opportunity to see our savior up close.”
Leona inclined her head. “I am your humble servant, Governor.”
“She is quite magnificent, aye?” Messala said to his guests, walking around Mia and admiring the view from every angle. “The goddess Tsana made flesh. ’Tis one thing to bear witness from the boxes, quite another to see her here, neh?”
Leona smiled. “Who’d have thought one so fair could be so fierce?”
“I’d wager she could best any three of my houseguards.”
Leona smiled wide, basking in the adoration. She shot a poison glance at her father, Mia noting Leonides’s face was flush with anger. And as a thought seized her, Mia saw the dona look to her executus, lips curling in a devious smile.
“Perhaps you and your guests desire a demonstration, Governor Quintus?”
The man tilted his head, playful. “Would you indulge us, Mi Dona?”
“It would be my honor to pit my Crow against your finest man,” Leona said. “E navium, of course.”*
Messala raised an eyebrow, looked among his guests. “What say you, friends?”
Arkades frowned at the suggestion, obviously displeased. Mia herself didn’t much fancy the thought of performing for the elite’s amusement—she was black and blue from her battle against the retchwyrm yesterturn. But the marrowborn were well charmed with the dona’s suggestion, and impressing with a simple bout did seem a sensible way for Leona to secure the patronage she so needed.
Still …
Mia looked to Leonides. Back to Messala. Trying to shake the ill feeling crawling on her skin.
The governor turned to one of his guards—a burly lump with biceps as thick as his neck. “Varius, perhaps you’d be kind enough to oblige?”
The big man nodded, took a gladius from the guard beside him, and tossed it to Mia. Snatching it from the air, she looked to Dona Leona, who simply gave an encouraging nod while Furian—obviously incensed at being overshadowed—glowered in the background. Space was cleared by the governor’s servants in the center of the room, and Mia took up her place, sword raised, trying to shake her misgivings. The guard drew his own blade and bowed to the governor, set his eyes on Mia.
“I beg pardon, honored Governor,” came a voice. “If I might interject?”
All eyes turned to Sanguila Leonides, standing by his divan and bowing low.
“Good Leonides?” Messala asked.
“Gracious host, I mean no offense to your man,” Leonides said. “But if we are to see the Savior of Stormwatch at her finest, might I suggest she cross steel with one trained in the arts of the sand?” Leonides turned glittering eyes to his daughter. “Unless the Crow’s sanguila feels she is not fit for the task?”
Leona stared at her father across the crowd, her face a mask of perfect calm. But Mia’s hackles were raised. She could see the trap now. With a few buttered words, Messala had manipulated Leona into putting a sword in Mia’s hand, and Leonides could make his daughter look the coward if challenge was refused. And yet, Mia knew the man wasn’t fool enough to propose a match without some advantage.
It seemed finally the dona had a sense of the danger herself now, eyes flickering to her host, back to her father, remaining mute a moment too long.
“She hesitates?” Leonides smiled to the other guests. “Understandable, of course. Remus Collegium has only three laurels to its name, and our Crow here is but a babe upon the sands. Perhaps our savior needs a few turns to rest her wings before she is fit to fight again, neh?”
Mia saw Arkades whisper in his dona’s ear. But Leona raised her hand in annoyance, and the man fell silent. She glanced once more about the room, the faces of the assembled marrowborn—folk she might have sat among as an equal were she still married to a justicus. Patrons she now needed to keep her collegium afloat. Mia could see that desperate need to impress in her eyes. The same desire that saw her bid at the Gardens without thought, spend beyond her means, dress as if she were attending a gala every turn. And as Mia’s heart sank to see her so easily goaded, warning trapped behind her teeth, Leona inclined her head and smiled.
“I thought only to spare you embarrassment, Sanguila Leonides. But I gratefully accept your offer. My bloody beauty will meet any man from your stable, steel to steel.”
“Man? O, no, my dear, you misunderstand.” Leonides motioned to the robed and hooded figure looming beside him. “I’d thought to keep my Ishkah here in lieu until the next venatus, as I’ve only just secured her purchase. But in honor of good Governor Messala, and fighting e navium, I see no risk in a small preview to whet appetites now.”
He turned to the figure, speaking softly.
“Be gentle with her, my lioness.”
A murmur of excitement rippled across the room as Leonides’s fighter stepped forward into the sparring space. This was a treat no one had expected—to see champions cross blades for the marrowborn’s own private amusement. The guests smiled wide, teeth stained dark with wine, pulses quickening at the thought of blood in the water. Mia raised her sword, sunslight glinting on the edge.
“Ladies and gentlefriends, honored hosts,” Leonides said with a dramatic sweep of his hand. “May I present the latest addition to my pride. A foe fiercer than the Black Mother herself, a terror among her kind, whose very name means ‘death’ in the tongue of the Dominion. It has taken me years to secure a prize like her, but in all my time beside the sand, I have never seen her equal. I give you my next champion, and the next victor of the Venatus Magni … Ishkah, the Exile!”
Leonides dropped his hand. And as the crowd gasped in wonder, his challenger sloughed off its robe to reveal the figure beneath.
“Four Daughters…,” someone breathed.
“Almighty Aa…,” another whispered.