“Our equillai could win us a laurel. Bryn and Byern ran a close second t—”
“Aye, and if they lose?” Leona asked. “Even with victory in the Ultima after that, we’d find ourselves a laurel short. We wager twice by refusing challenge against my father. We wager but once if we accept. The only way we can be assured of fighting in Godsgrave is to best that fucking silkling.”
“Language, Domina,” Magistrae warned.
“Aye,” Leona sighed. “Apologies.”
The older woman’s brow creased in thought as she went back to work on Leona’s hair. “Beg pardon, Domina, but even if you win contest against your father’s champion, will the editorii honor the wager?”
“Precedent has long been set,” Arkades replied, toying with the handle of his walking stick. “Well-established collegium often lure more inexperienced sanguila to compete in one-sided matches with the promise of a seat at the magni.”
Leona aimed a withering glare. “Well, that was unusually tactful.”
“He is playing you, Mi Dona,” Arkades replied. “This berth the bait, and those games the noose. Not content with denying you patronage, your father wants you to send your three best gladiatii to be butchered, and with them, this collegium’s future.”
“Without the magni, we have no future!” Leona snapped. “Our Crow was flogged in front of every marrowborn in Stormwatch! No one with a purse will touch us now!”
Silence rang in the room, broken only by the creak of timbers, the incessant pounding of waves upon the hull. Mister Kindly yawned and licked his paw.
“Furian, then,” Arkades sighed.
“Aye,” Leona nodded. “And the Crow beside him.”
Executus leaned forward, shaking his head. “Mi Dona—”
“Unless the next words to leave your mouth are ‘that’s a splendid notion, Mi Dona, and by the by, your hair is looking magnificent,’ I do not wish to hear them, Arkades.”
Executus scratched his beard, tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile.
“Ah, he can still laugh,” Leona preened. “I thought perhaps you’d forgot how.”
“All due respec—”
“She is the Savior of Stormwatch,” Leona sighed.
“That silkling almost cracked her fucking skull open!”
“Language!” Magistrae scowled.
Arkades mumbled apology as Leona continued.
“She was bested in Messala’s palazzo, aye, but the common folk don’t know that. The citizenry will expect to see her draw steel under our banner. Four Daughters, Arkades, she butchered a retchwyrm almost single-handed. You yourself declared the match against the silkling unbalanced. Crow won a laurel for this collegium, and did honor to my name in front of the entire arena. She deserves some credit, surely?”
The big man hung silent a moment, finally gave a grudging nod.
“She can’t lift a shield to save herself. But her Caravaggio was … passable.”
“Such praise,” Magistrae sighed. “Pray, don’t let the girl hear you sing like that, she’ll never get her head through the door.”
Leona and Arkades shared a smile as the older woman began a new braid.
“So,” the big man finally sighed. “Furian and the Crow. Who shall be our third?”
Leona pouted, tapping her lip.
“… Butcher?”
“He plays badly with others.”
“Wavewaker?”
“He’s a fine blade, but I fear he’s too much the brawler.”
“If you’ll permit me an opinion, Domina?” said Magistrae.
“O, aye, here’s a turn,” Arkades sighed. “Advice from the nurse. And who shall we seek counsel of next? The cabin boy?”
Leona shot him a withering glance. “Speak, Magistrae.”
The old woman raised one graying eyebrow at Arkades before continuing. “Granted, I am no expert. But the Crow’s strength seems to lie in her speed. It seems you need someone to bridge the gap between her pace and Furian’s brawn.”
Leona and Arkades looked at each other, spoke as one.
“Bladesinger.”
Arkades leaned back in his chair, staring into space.
“She has the reach Crow lacks, the speed Furian needs. It could work.”
Leona leaned forward, squeezed his hand.
“It must work,” she replied.
Arkades looked down at her hand in his. Her skin was pale, her fingers tapered and delicate, soft as silk. His hand was browned by the suns, cracked like old leather, callused from sword grips and the press of life on the sands.
He swallowed thickly. Pausing, as if gathering his nerve. And wrapping her hand in his own, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.
“It will work, Mi Dona,” he murmured. “I vow it.”
Leona blinked, hand trapped at Arkades’s lips, uncertain where to look. Magistrae simply looked aghast. But without giving his dona a chance to respond, Arkades released his mistress and stood, took up his cane, and limped toward the door. Stopping at the threshold, he turned toward Leona.
“Your hair is looking magnificent, by the by.”
Executus turned on his heel and left the room.
*
“No!”
The practice blade slammed into Mia’s side, sending her to her knees. Bladesinger lunged with a fierce cry, but Arkades was already twisting aside, bringing his second blade down on the woman’s forearm. She stumbled back into Furian, and a riposte from Arkades sent the pair of them sprawling.
The trio lay panting in the dirt, drenched to the bones in sweat.
“You listen, but you do not hear!” the executus bellowed, limping back and forth between them. “The Exile is unlike any foe you have faced. Six blades wielded with a single purpose. Eight eyes to track your every move. I have but a pair of each and you cannot best me. How in the name of the Four fucking Daughters do you hope to stand the victors against her?”
They had been drilling all turn, every turn since they’d arrived back at Crow’s Nest. The other gladiatii trained around them, but in truth, all eyes were on the four in the circle, watching Arkades kick his opponent’s arses up and down the sand. The two suns hung heavy in the sky, blistering with all the heat of summersdeep, burning gold and bloody red. And if one looked hard enough, a subtle hint of brighter blue could be seen on the horizon, heralding the slow arrival of the third eye of Aa.
Truelight was approaching, and with it, the magni. And the Falcons of Remus Collegium were only a little closer to those sands than they’d been three months ago.
“Get up,” Arkades barked. “Move with resolve and strike as one.”
“A difficult task,” Bladesinger growled, “when two of us attack at cross-purpose.”
Mia wiped the sweat from her brow, glowered across the sand at Furian. The Unfallen stared back at her, black eyes gleaming like obsidian. He dragged himself to his feet and offered his hand to Bladesinger, pulling her up from the dust. Ignoring Mia completely, he gathered his sword and shield and took up a ready stance.
Mia stood, practice blades in hand.