Ash regained herself. She was in control of their interactions from now on. She had gotten information out of Ignitus; she would find out how Madoc’s energeia was part of this.
Ash folded her arms under her chest. “I was just on my way over to you.”
It threw him off. Madoc cleared his throat. “What?”
She tipped her head, looking up through her lashes with a soft grin. “You helped me after my fight. Not many gladiators would have done that.” She touched his breastplate, pretending to clear away a streak. “I never got a chance to thank you.”
Before he could protest or explain his true reason for coming over, Ash hooked her fingers in the collar of his armor and pulled him onto the dance floor. He wobbled after her, shock making him look years younger and sweet, and Ash had to fight down a laugh.
With the reluctance she had seen from him during their fight and his eagerness to help her after Rook’s death, she again found it difficult to believe that this man was part of a conspiracy of gods. He was so... genuine.
Ash stopped. Madoc’s surprise made him stumble, and he steadied himself on her hips. Before he could jerk away, she planted her hands over his, keeping his palms against the curve of her hips.
His fingers were callused but gentle, and she remembered the scars on his back and how the golden hue on his arms glimmered across the rest of his skin. He smelled distractingly of honey and mint, the scent fluttering effervescence down Ash’s spine. The sensation wound tighter when she settled her hands around his neck and looked up into his dark eyes.
Pressure built in her chest, something wild and terrifying.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Madoc said, but he didn’t pull away.
The hair on the back of his neck was short and slick with the oils that styled it, and Ash found herself absently stroking her thumb on the warm, smooth skin below his ear. She felt his chest constrict against her, a sudden intake of breath that shifted his breastplate.
“You might not be able to dance,” Ash managed, “but I can. I was a fire dancer before I was a gladiator.”
Madoc frowned. “I thought Stavos made that up.”
His name still plucked at Ash’s grief. The pain must have been clear on her face, because Madoc cocked his head questioningly.
She didn’t want to talk about Stavos.
The music built; couples twirled past. After tonight, when Ash was back in her room again, loneliness waited. But here, she could be united with these strangers, linked to something warm and strong.
What other chance would she have to dance during this war?
Indulgently, Ash exhaled, eyelids fluttering. She let the music slide across her body. There were more drums than in Kulan songs, less grace from note to note, but she improvised: she arched away from Madoc, swung back. She spun in a full circle without leaving his arms, sliding her body across the front of his armor.
Madoc hardly moved, but something about that felt like part of their dance. He was a stone; she was a flame. He was stillness; she was motion.
When she curved against him, pulling herself up by his neck as the melody rose, she got caught there. His mouth was cracked open, his breath bursting warm against her lips. The smallest moan escaped his throat. It struck a nerve deep in Ash’s gut.
She had wanted the unity that dancing brought, a simple connection in a world where everything else was complicated lies.
She had gotten it. Gotten it, and more, stuck with barely a handbreadth between her face and Madoc’s, his rough, warm hands splayed against the small of her back. Her heart rolled over, and she felt herself flushing a hot scarlet.
Madoc blinked quickly. “What I wanted to talk to you about—” He sounded in pain. He shook his head. “I mean—you don’t need to thank me. I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”
The way he looked at her changed. Was that fear?
Good, Ash told herself, but it felt anything but good.
Over Madoc’s shoulder, she spotted Tor. He, Taro, and Spark scowled at her. Or scowled at Madoc?
She lowered herself, gently swaying now. “What could you want to talk to me about, Madoc?”
“About what happened in the arena hall, after your fight.” He licked his lips, leaving a glossy trail. “That it will... get out.”
Hewasafraid of her. He was afraid she would tell others about his lack of geoeia.
It should have made her feel powerful, to have leverage over anenemy champion. Ash could break him with a word. But disgust twisted her stomach, the same knot she felt whenever she had to bow to Ignitus. Lies, manipulation, coercion—she hated these games.
