For a moment, the urge stole every bit of his concentration.
His strange perceptions were getting stronger. He’d been convinced after what had happened with Ash in the hallway that they had some kind of connection, that he was more aware of her emotions because of her igneia, or even because of the way she commanded his focus. But it wasn’t just her. He was becoming more aware of everyone—Elias, the other gladiators, even Lucius, who’d worked him twice as hard since Stavos had been found dead.
Something was changing, or maybe he was losing his mind. It didn’t matter if worries about it felt like a closing fist around his throat—he couldn’t deal with it now.
“We need to go to Petros,” said Elias. “Give him the thousand coins and tell him we’ll make good on the rest.”
Madoc blinked, steadying himself. “We can’t go back to Petros.”
Elias’s chin shot up. “Why not?”
Because I tried talking to him and it didn’t work. Because if I don’t do what he says and win this war, he’s going to kill you and the rest of the family.
“Because he’ll report us to Geoxus for cheating—you know that.”
Elias kicked at the ground. “Are you sure it has nothing to do with those crowds cheering your name?”
Madoc’s hands fisted. How could Elias think this was about glory? It was aboutsurvival. If Madoc told Elias that the Metaxas’ lives depended on Madoc winning this war, Elias would do something stupid, give Petros an excuse to react.
Madoc refused to have his family’s blood on his hands.
Outside, the crowd had begun to chant for Jann. He must have just been announced.
“It’s time,” Madoc said.
Elias crossed his arms. “Well. Don’t die.”
Madoc flinched. Elias’s narrow gaze turned toward the bright afternoon sky beyond the window.I’m sorry, Madoc wanted to tell him, but the words were locked behind his chattering teeth.
This was no time for nerves. No time for weakness.
He had to defeat Jann to advance. To save Cassia, and Elias, and everyone he loved.
Madoc took his place at the mouth of the arena, just as Arkos had told him to. Jann, his breastplate glowing gold, was already standing by his rack of weapons on the far end of the sand oval. The grand arena might be vast, but Jann was close enough for Madoc to see his brows lift in amusement.
“Madoc of Crixion!” the announcer called.
Madoc’s throat knotted.
“I mean it,” said Elias, just behind him in the shadows. “Don’t die.”
Madoc nodded and then stepped onto the sand. Heart galloping, he raised his right hand. The audience, seated on steep steps two stories high, screamed in delight. Sweat dripped down his brow, and the breath he swallowed tasted of fish.
Beat Jann.
Madoc spotted Lucius and Arkos in a box in the center of the stands—no doubt ready to tear apart his performance. They moved down the row as two figures slid in beside them.
Petros, in a fine white toga, and Cassia.
His blood surged at the sight of her. Petros had brought her here to taunt him. To remind him of what he could lose if he failed in today’s match.
Her gaze met his across the arena, and all he could think of was her as a child, taking his hand.Let’s go home.
Madoc looked away; he must not be distracted now. He made his way toward the weapons rack and grabbed the gladius—a short, curved blade halfway between a knife and a sword—that he’d begun to favor. His father wanted to see him fight? Fine. He would get this victory, and all the rest, if that’s what it took for Petros to leave him alone.
Madoc glanced once more back at the arena exit, but Elias was not standing there as planned. Nerves rose in his chest as he turned back toward Jann. Elias was nearby. He had to be. Madoc couldn’t see him, that was all.
Instead, he spotted a girl who had changed into a simple white tunic, her long, dark hair knotted at the base of her neck. She stood just above the exit in the first row of stands, her arms folded across her chest, a few bandages pressed to her fresh wounds. Her stare was as steady as Geoxus’s had been when he’d chosen Madoc to fight in this war.
