Remi pounded a fist against his trainee’s breastplate. Narris’s mouth tightened into a sneer.
Elias’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t trip. I don’t want to see what you look like without skin.”
The attendants moved to the side. A brief moment of panic cut through Madoc when he realized Elias wouldn’t be going with him. What would he do if they were forced to demonstrate their skills? It would be immediately obvious that Madoc was not who he claimed to be. He’d be given to the real gladiators toplay with, cut down faster than Elias’s father.
Elias must have been thinking the same thing, because all color had drained from his face.
“Move along!” A centurion shoved Madoc from behind. “Come on, keep in line!”
Madoc followed Narris’s lead, shoulders back, chin high. He’d faked his way through fights; he could fake his way through this. Still, his doubt grew with every step he took toward the mouth of the tunnel.
Geoxus would know.
The Father God could have seen Madoc in his youth through the stone of Petros’s villa or the brick of the Metaxa home. Rumor was he could sense divinity in his mortals, and though Madoc had been sure he’d never get close enough to the Father God for that to matter, he’d counted on Elias’s presence beside him just in case. Now he wouldn’t even have that.
He was a dead man, and Elias along with him. Cassia would be broken down by Petros’s will, and the rest of the family, dependent on their income, would be thrown to the streets.
The scaffolding of his plan was buckling. What was he doing? This was a war, not some street fight. The fate of Deimos was resting on the shoulders of the men and women around him.
Four more steps and he would be outside.
He had to turn back. There was still time. They could still think of a new plan.
Three.Two.
He crossed the threshold into the light, blinded by the brightness of the sun and its reflection off the hundred pounded gold mirrors encircling the arena’s upper deck. The roar of the crowd shook through his bones and stole the breath from his lungs. He trained his eyes on the back of Narris’s shaved head but could still see the stadium behind it, rising four magnificent stories skyward, every seat filled with cheering Deiman citizens.
It was as if he’d missed a step going down the stairs. For a moment, he wasn’t thinking about Geoxus, or Cassia, or even his own skin. The crowd was cheering for them. He was wearing the armorof a gladiator and marching with Lucius Pompino’s fighters as half of Crixion screamed his praises.
It was a rush unlike any he’d ever known.
Mounted centurions were posted around the arena floor, each carrying the silver and black flag bearing Crixion’s city seal. The Father God’s artists must have been hard at work all night, because a stage Madoc had never seen before had been erected in the center of the arena, massive onyx spires twisting skyward at each of its four corners. Mosaics of white, black, and silver braided across the front like a river of metal, while the supporting stones were carved in the shapes of ferocious Deiman gladiators.
Lucius Pompino, wearing a fine white toga and a crown of turquoise, stood atop the stage beside two other senators in white and red robes. A few lesser sponsors joined him, but none stood as tall, or as proud, as Geoxus’s favored great-grandson. People said he was the most beloved descendant of the Father God since the gladiator Galitus, son of Geoxus, had lived seven hundred years ago.
On the opposite side of the stage stood Petros, wearing thick opal bracelets and black powder in his hair. His presence made Madoc’s stomach twist—Petros knew exactly what he was and wasn’t capable of, and if he spotted Madoc, he would surely inform Geoxus.
Across the yellow sand, the other line of trainees snaked toward them. Both groups slowed as they neared the center of the arena. Madoc sighed in relief as his line crossed in front of the other to create two layers of trainees who faced Geoxus’s private box in the center of the stands, blocking him from Petros’s view.
As the crowd thundered on, the trainees stopped, and Madocbecame as acutely aware of Petros at his back as he was of the Father God himself, just before them. Geoxus was standing at the edge of his box, his thick chest and arms bare and glistening in the sun, his black, fringed toga hanging neatly off one shoulder. The crown of opal and onyx encircling his head caught the light and shone in Madoc’s eyes, forcing him to look away.
Not just because his being here was a lie, but because he was here at all. This wasn’t like the inspection at Headless Hill. The Father God was present now, and there was no denying that he could see Madoc.
A movement beside Geoxus lifted Madoc’s gaze again, and a surge of anger ripped through him at the sight of Ignitus, whose cheating gladiator had caused this war. Madoc had seen him before, from much farther away, during the last war with Kula. Geoxus’s brother hadn’t changed a bit. His face bore no lines of age or hardship. Only a single stripe of grayish hair graced his otherwise black locks. But where Geoxus was sturdy and muscled, Ignitus was thin and lithe. He moved like the flames he so loved, like he had too many joints and not enough weight. He slouched against the railing, keeping to the opposite side of the box.
Maybe Madoc wouldn’t be the champion to send him home defeated, but Ignituswouldbe defeated, as he had been at their last war.
Madoc’s gaze flicked to the tunnel entrance, searching for Elias, but there were only shadows.
“Eyes ahead,” muttered Narris. “You want to get us in trouble?”
Madoc’s head snapped forward.
The crowds screamed louder, their excitement pressing against Madoc’s temples as the gladiators of the top Deiman sponsors emerged. Each was taut with muscle, from the cuts on their forearms to the bulging knots of their thighs. Their chosen weapons hung from their belts or were carried in their fists—knives, hammers, even long, gilded swords. Sneers pulled at their mouths. There were fifteen of them, and Madoc was relieved that they were on his side.
The cheers in the arena suddenly plummeted into boos as a small group emerged into the box behind Ignitus and gathered near the railing beside him. They did not march in formation, or brandish any weapons. They wore gold and red Kulan armor and glared down at the Deiman gladiators they would soon face off against.
Chills whispered down Madoc’s spine.
