Madoc’s frantic gaze shot from Jann to the shadowed south entrance of the arena, to Ash, now leaning over the edge of the railing, to the box where Lucius, Arkos, Cassia, and Petros sat. But Elias was nowhere to be seen.
He shook his head, sweat burning his eyes. His family depended on him. He might not be a gladiator by training, but he was a fighter at heart.
As Madoc’s vision dimmed, he clung to Jann’s hate. As with Ash’s pain, Madoc breathed it in, gulping it like bitter wine. He grasped it with both hands and climbed out of the pit of his own failing body.
The Metaxas were his family, and no one would harm them.
He blinked up at Jann, but the rage in his eyes had turned to white-ringed fear. Madoc could feel Jann’s hands scratching at his throat, butthere was no longer pressure—it was as if Jann was trying to choke a stone column using only the strength of his fingers.
With a heave, Madoc twisted, and Jann fell to the dirt at his side. This time he was the one scrambling away, and Madoc pursued—Jann was no longer the gladiator who’d beaten him in training but an obstacle between him and his family.
Jann was just like Petros.
Madoc felt his muscles swell with power. He focused on the glistening sweat on his opponent’s brow, and the tick of the vein in his forehead. Jann’s fear was hot, and sweet, and Madoc wanted it the way he thirsted for water after a long day at the quarry. He imagined drinking that terror the way he would a bowl of broth, swallowing it down until his stomach felt like it would burst, and Jann was no more than a shell.
You are weak, Madoc thought at him.
Jann dropped to his knees. His mouth gaped. He looked down at his legs, as if shocked they could no longer support his weight. He fell forward onto his forearms, quaking.
Madoc had done that. Just as he’d turned away the guards with Ash. He’d failed with Petros, but he wasn’t failing now.
You are nothing, Madoc thought.
Jann gave a cry, and when he looked up at Madoc, fear pulled his features taut.
Madoc stepped closer.
You can’t hurt me. You can’t hurt my family. You won’t hurt anyone ever again.
Jann curled into a ball at Madoc’s feet, a giant man, whimpering. Rocking.
The dust from his attack was beginning to settle, but Madoc hardly noticed. His skin felt cleaner than it had ever been.
Beat Jann.The words echoed in his head, but now seemed inconsequential. Jann wasn’t a difficult opponent. He was a stone in the road that needed to be kicked aside. His hatred had been fuel, and Madoc had drunk it up.
Surrender, Madoc thought.
Jann raised one shaking hand, and over the quiet in his ears, Madoc registered the announcer’s voice.
“The victory goes to Madoc of Crixion!”
Madoc blinked. The air rushed from his lungs, and he staggered to one knee. The arena was spinning, or maybe he was falling. He couldn’t distinguish up from down.
Before him, Jann gasped, staring at him in terror. He crawled away, then rose and sprinted toward the edge of the arena.
Madoc’s thoughts were muddled. He searched for Elias but still didn’t see him in the mouth of the tunnel.
Ash.
She was at the edge of the stands, watching him with wide eyes and parted lips. He clung to her gaze, desperate for something to steady himself. The rest of the crowd would see the dust and assume he’d used geoeia, but Ash knew what he’d done.
She could go to the gods, now with proof that he was different.
No. She wouldn’t do that. She’d stood by him when Stavos haddied. She’d pressed herself against his side, unafraid of this strange power lurking inside him.
Would she fear him now?
It didn’t matter. He’d won. He’d saved his family, at least for one more day. But as he rose unsteadily, he felt no joy or even relief.
