She wanted Bryn and Byern to triumph. Despite knowing better than to think of them as friends, she knew them. She liked them. She didn’t want them to die. But she was surprised to realize she didn’t want Stonekiller and Armando and all their hopes and dreams and fears to die either. Just for the sake of a laurel that didn’t matter anyway?
The Lions were closing on the finish line. The crowd, all open mouths and shapeless howls. Rounding to the final straight, Stonekiller leaned down to scoop up another coronae. The Falcons flew around the corner behind, running so hard their chariot went up on one wheel. Bryn fired through the dust and smoke and flame—a miracle shot, slipping past the man’s shield and into his arm. Stonekiller slipped in the blood, dragging the reins. The chariot slewed sideways, the crowd bellowing as it collided with a barricade, smashing the equillai inside like glass. The axle shattered, one wheel snapping loose from the ruin and bouncing back down the track.
Right at the Falcons of Remus.
Byern hauled on the reins, trying to steer his horses left, but their momentum was too much. The tumbling wheel sheared through Briar’s legs, the mare screaming as she toppled. The chariot’s crossbeam struck the sand, and as Mia and her comrades gasped
O, no …
the whole rig crumpled like dry vellum and flipped high into the air.
Bryn and Byern were tossed like rag dolls, the crowd groaning as the twins crashed to earth. Bryn landed shoulder first in the sand, but her brother wasn’t as lucky. Byern flew headfirst into one of the burning barricades, Mia wincing at the wet crackle of shattering bone. The Vaanian crashed clean through the obstacle and tumbled to a rest twenty feet down the track, lying in a tangled heap just beyond their cell window.
“Mother of Oceans,” Bladesinger breathed.
The crowd was stunned—both equillai teams had crashed before the finish line. Stonekiller and Armando lay motionless in the wreckage of their chariot, the young archer’s back twisted at a ghastly angle, his partner motionless beside him. But in the ringing aftermath, the mob soon began to cheer.
“Almighty Aa, look!” Sidonius cried.
Mia squinted through the smoke, realizing that Bryn was moving. Slow at first, the girl stirred, pushing herself up onto her knees and slinging off her plumed helmet. As Mia watched, as the crowd began roaring again, the archer swayed to her feet.
Bryn stood perhaps fifty feet from the finish line. All she needed to do was walk across, and the Falcons would have their victory. She began limping toward it, holding her ribs and hobbling, stumbling, the mob began chanting, “Bryn! Bryn! Bryn!” The young archer spat blood onto the sand, face twisted, eyes locked on the line.
Until she caught sight of her brother.
Mia held her breath as the girl stopped, the entire arena falling still. Confusion flitted across Bryn’s face. And then she was stumbling, limping, gasping toward Byern. He lay facedown, just a stone’s throw from where Mia and the others were caged. Bryn fell to her knees beside him, rolling him over gently.
“Byern?” Bryn asked, her voice trembling.
Mia saw blood at his lips. Blue eyes open wide to the burning sky above. Bryn reached out with bloody hands to shake him.
“… B-brother?”
“O, Daughters…,” Sidonius breathed.
“Keep breathing,” Mia prayed.
Bryn leaned close, pressed her ear to her brother’s lips. Hearing nothing, she shook him again, face twisting as she screamed.
“Byern?” she cried, shaking him. “Byern!”
Guards marched into the arena, arrayed all in black. As they checked the bodies of the fallen Lions, Bryn gathered her twin up in her arms and started wailing, weeping, howling. Mia felt her heart aching, tears slipping down her cheeks. Sidonius was as still as a statue. Wavewaker hanging his head as Bryn screamed.
“BYERN!”
The guards marched to where the girl knelt in the dust, dragging her up by the arms. Coming to her senses, Bryn fought back, kicking and screaming, “No! NO!” It took four men to drag her off the sand, thrashing and howling her brother’s name.
“Citizens of Itreya!” came the call across the arena horns. “We regret to declare … no victor!”
Mia closed her eyes. After all that, it was for nothing. No laurel. No glory. Just nothing. And then, as her belly burned, a chill creeping across her skin, she heard the crowd begin to boo. Staring out through the bars, she saw the mob on their feet, throwing food and spitting on the sand. That sand stained with the blood of eight men and women, seven of whom had just died for their amusement. Seven people with hopes and fears and dreams, now, nothing but corpses.
And the crowd? They cared not a drop.
All they wanted was a victory.
Mia took a deep breath. Clenched her jaw. Sidonius and the others remained at the bars, but Mia turned her back, walked away. Stare fixed on the stone at her feet. The path before her. The vengeance awaiting her at the end of it.
“… i am sorry, mia…”
“You?” she whispered. “Why?”
“… he was your friend…”
“They’re not my familia, remember?” she replied. “They’re not my friends.”
She looked down at her hands. Blurred almost shapeless by her tears.
“All of them are only a means to an end.”
CHAPTER 24
OBSIDIAN
Hollow.
That’s how Mia felt inside. Listening to the mob stamping impatiently on the bleachers as Byern’s corpse was dragged away. Long hair hanging about her eyes, she busied herself strapping the leather breastplate to her chest, the iron greaves about her shins. Every movement cold.
Methodical.
Mekanical.
“… ARE YOU WELL…?”
A whisper in her ear, beneath the shadows of her hair.
“… mia…?”
Guards arrived at their cell door to collect them, dressed all in black. Furian stood behind them in his gleaming armor, a Falcon helm on his head, his silver champion’s torc glittering around his neck. Arkades limped beside the Unfallen, his face a masque. Dona Leona walked before all of them, resplendent in a long, sky-blue gown, tears smudging the kohl about her eyes. As the guards unlocked the cell door, Mia met her domina’s stare, trying to weigh her grief.
Was it sincere? Or as hollow as her chest felt at that moment?
“Domina?” Bladesinger asked quietly. “Is Bryn…?”
“She is with Maggot,” the dona murmured. “She is … not well.”
“Her brother died out there, Domina,” Sidonius said. “How else should she be?”
“I…”
“Enough,” Arkades growled. “Byern died with honor, as gladiatii. Set your mind to the match and troubling thoughts aside. Your foe will not be hindered by them.”
Mia still stared at Leona. Pondering all she knew of the woman. The dona had grown up around the violence of the arena. But though she kept a stable of men and women to fight and die for the amusement of the mob, some humanity might remain in her breast. She’d seen hints of it in the bathhouse with the magistrae, even perhaps in her backward affections for Furian. There was more to her than a simple thirst to best her father. Would the dona show true grief now, or urge them to “avenge their fallen brother,” and just happen to win her berth at the magni besides?
Leona took Mia’s hand. Bladesinger’s also.
“I…”
She shook her head, trying to speak. Tears welling in her eyes.