If she lost, Kula would slip even further into poverty.
Madoc’s life or fishing ports. Madoc or Kula.
Cassia.Saving Ash’s life. Once—by pulling her away from Petros.A second time—by shoving Ash aside and taking the weight of the boulder meant for her.
Because of Seneca.Ash still couldn’t process what she had seen. Hints of connections threatened to tie the remaining pieces of the mystery together, but she refused to think about them now. She couldn’t unravel yet.
The look of disgusted shock that had paled Madoc’s face in the villa’s main room would forever be branded in Ash’s mind. Where had he been? Petros obviously hadn’t captured him.
Ash wanted to talk to Madoc. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to bear the weight of the blame she knew that she deserved from him.
She and Tor had failed. Not just failed—they had gotten an innocent girl killed.
Just like Rook. My fault, my fault, all of it—
Ash gagged, her fist to her mouth. She had lost count of how many times she had vomited since centurions had locked her in a chamber in Geoxus’s palace last night. Getting to this moment—the roar of the crowd and the heat of the sun and the wide, waiting glitter of sand—had been a blur of grief.
Drums rumbled across the arena. The crowd thundered, pushed to hysteria by the unorthodox detour from the usual structured wars. They wouldn’t have more parades and parties; they wouldn’t get the final audition fights. This was it. This fight would end the Kulans’ stay in Deimos.
This would end everything.
“Ash Nikau will fight on behalf of Kula,” an announcer bellowed.
Ash hobbled out of the tunnel. Sand slid over her feet, velvet soft and warm, and she lifted her eyes to the cheering crowd. People wore elaborate costumes, mock armor and full body paint and signs that readDeath to Kula!,Geoxus Prevails, andGlory, Glory.
To her right, bodies packed the grandest viewing box. Untouched food weighed down a table while around it, upper-class Deimans mingled with Kulans.
Ash spotted Tor, Taro, and Spark. They were at the edge, watching her, faces gaunt with sleeplessness and strain. They had prepared her for the battle, but centurions had kept a close watch the whole time and escorted them out as soon as they’d finished. She hadn’t gotten a chance to ask what she should do.
In the viewing box beside Tor, clutching the railing just as tightly, stood their god.
Ignitus hadn’t spoken to them until they’d returned to the palace. There, Ash had been too grief-stricken to say more than that Petros was plotting against Ignitus—Your god has no idea what’s coming for him.
Tor had scrambled to apologize. Geoxus had every right to execute them for what they had done.
But Ignitus had shaken his head. “Tell me what happened tomorrow,” he had said, “after you defeat my brother’s champion.”
He had shown restraint. He had shown—dare Ash even think it?—kindness.
Ash lifted her hand to the viewing box. Tor nodded at her, solemn.
Ignitus lifted his hand in return. “Ash!” he cheered, though there was no joy in it.
Tor glanced at him, then caught the cheer. “Ash! Ash!”
Soon, all the Kulans in the box were chanting her name. Beating it alongside the heavy drums.
Ash dropped her head, tears welling, heat streaking through her in stabs of sorrow.
“Fuel and flame,” she whispered. “I am fuel and flame.”
“Madoc Aurelius,” the announcer said, “will fight on behalf of Deimos.”
The crowd, being mostly Deiman citizens, made such a noise that Ash fought to keep from covering her ears.
She turned, slowly, and faced the archway where Madoc would emerge.
It was empty.
