We Who Will Die by Stacia Stark - 10

I lean over and close my eyes, instantly rejecting this new, unwelcome reality.

Tiernon has the gall to sigh, placing his hand on my shoulder. I launch myself backward, landing on my ass.

He freezes, and Bran’s confidence in me suddenly makes sense.

He knows about my history with Tiernon. With the Primus . And the Tiernon I knew would never hurt me. Maybe Bran figured I was his best chance to get beneath Tiernon’s guard and close to the emperor. And that’s why he made me swear not to warn the Primus.

Just days ago I vowed to find the Primus’s weakness.

Six years ago, I was that weakness.

But Tiernon’s eyes meet mine, and I remember one cold fact: this isn’t the Tiernon I knew.

The Tiernon I knew would never have abandoned me.

My next breath comes out like a sob, and Tiernon’s expression tightens. “What are you doing here?” he asks again.

My eyes burn, but I won’t let him see me cry. “What are you doing here?” My voice rises hysterically.

Nothing. He crosses his arms, as if he has all the time in the world. I force my voice to steady. “You’re the Primus .”

It’s not a question, but he nods. His eyes are still so cold, I can barely look at him. “You never wanted this. You wanted to be a healer,” he says. “So what are you doing here? How could Kassia let you—”

“ Don’t you dare say her name! ”

Shock flickers across his face. “Arvelle.”

“Kassia is dead ,” I hiss.

Shock turns instantly to stunned grief. “How?”

“How?” I let out another hysterical laugh. When he says nothing, I take a step forward, getting into his space for once.

“She bled out next to me in the arena above us. I’m surprised you didn’t see it—after all, you must have been here somewhere.”

“Arvelle.” My name is half plea, half command.

“I waited for you. I waited for months .”

Years. That’s the real truth. I waited for years.

What little color Tiernon had in his face is gone. “I’m sorry. Kassia—”

“I said don’t speak her name.” My throat is suddenly so thick it hurts to speak. “She would have killed you for what you did to me.”

He stares at me for long moments, and we fall into a stiff silence. Finally, he picks up his helmet, stepping back. “I will see you here tomorrow.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This changes nothing. You’ll still be here tomorrow morning. You’ll train with the imperius.”

“No, I fucking won’t.”

He curls his lip, displaying sharp, white fangs. “You will.”

There’s no or in that sentence. I no longer know this man. I don’t know how far he’ll go to keep me in line.

All those lessons I so painstakingly taught him over the years—about how people have the freedom to make their own choices … those lessons clearly didn’t stick.

When I don’t reply, he gives me a gentle shake. “Listen to me. You have no idea how long some of these gladians have been training for this. Their families want nothing more than for their children to be close to the emperor. Close to power . They will do whatever it takes, even if it means killing you in that arena. So you don’t hesitate. You don’t show mercy.”

I attempt to shake him off, but he doesn’t relent. “I will find out why you’re here,” he promises. “But until I get you out of here, you have to stay alive.”

Despite the rasp in his voice, for the first time, he sounds like the man I knew. The man I loved.

And that hurts even more.

“Let me go.”

His hand loosens, and he thrusts it into his hair.

“Arvelle—”

“Stay away from me.” Turning, I stalk from the training hall, leaving what’s left of my heart lying dead on the ground behind me.

U NSURPRISINGLY , T IERNON DOESN ’ T stay away from me. Instead, I’m forced to train with him every single day, before I meet Leon to train with the other gladians. Leon follows through with his threat, adding a training at night as well.

For the next week, I train three times more than everyone else. I’m still slow, my muscles constantly aching, but there’s one good thing about losing myself in physical activity. By the time I climb into my bunk each night, I’m too tired to dream.

And I have to admit … something is enjoyable about all the training, even though each time I see Tiernon’s face a wound opens up in my chest.

Focusing only on improving my sprint times and upper body strength is freeing, despite Leon’s bad attitude and my own demons.

I worry about my brothers relentlessly, but for once, I’m not forced to choose between new shoes for Gerith or aether for the lamps. I’m not forced to calculate if there’s enough bread left to get us through until my next job or if I’ll need to take a loan from a moneylender.

Instead, I’m obsessing over how I’ll kill the emperor when it’s finally time. And when I’m not doing that, I’m forced to confront the fact that Tiernon has been here for six years—just a few miles from me.

In my darkest moments, I thought he was dead. I would lie in my bed sobbing, convinced he’d never returned because he’d been murdered while leaving the Thorn, or some other calamity had occurred. And I’d never know, because he was so careful to never reveal anything about his family. I’d never pushed. Not once.

When he was in the Thorn, he was mine, and that had been enough.

“What is wrong with you today?” Leon hisses at me.

It’s the day of my first challenge. We’re sitting in the lower stands in the arena. For the first challenge we’re allowed to watch and support our fellow gladians before we step onto the sand ourselves.

Leira walks into the arena, carrying her sword and shield. She’s wearing a thick silver bracelet around her wrist, and I squint, attempting to study it further.

“The emperor wants blades and fists only,” Leon says. “The suppression cuffs block your use of power. And they dampen vampire speed and strength to even the score.”

Something in my chest relaxes. I have such little power that this is good news for me. I don’t know who I’m fighting, but at least it will solely come down to physical strength and skill.

Titus steps out into the arena, waving his sword in the air with a roar. He slams his sword against his scutum, and the crowd roars with him.

My heart skitters in my chest. I like Leira. She’s one of the few people here who hasn’t taunted me for my lack of training. Titus’s brother is already a member of the Praesidium Guard, and I know he has been giving him extra training.

Just as I’ve been having extra training.

My fight is directly after Titus and Leira’s, and yet all I can think about is Tiernon.

“Arvelle,” Leon snaps. “Do I need to explain to you how important it is for you to focus?”

“No.” I keep my gaze on Leira. Her expression is grim, but she flicks her long braid back over her shoulder and nods at Titus, raising her parma. Like me, she has chosen the smaller shield.

Titus gives her a nasty smile.

“Fight!” the enforcer calls out.

Titus attacks like a storm, swinging his sword again and again. But Leira is fast, gliding out of reach, avoiding his blade unless she has no choice but to allow him to hit her shield. I catch her grimace as his blow strikes her parma, and she’s forced to duck and roll, leaving the shield on the ground behind her.

Titus throws his own shield to the ground and sprints across the arena after her, teeth bared in a vicious grin.

“Come on, Leira,” I mutter.

“Arvelle …” Leon’s tone gets my attention. “What happened?”

I take a deep breath. “Tiernon is the Primus. Th-the Primus is Tiernon,” I say, tripping over my words.

Leon stares at me uncomprehendingly. “He … what?”

I nod. “He’s been here the whole time. He wants to know why I’m here. You can’t tell him about my bargain with Bran, Leon.”

Leon’s mouth thins. “You know I wouldn’t risk your brothers,” he snaps.

I just nod, my stomach roiling.

“You can’t think about this now,” he says. “Listen. I know who you’re fighting. I heard one of the guards talking.”

That catches my attention and I meet his eyes. “Who?”

“Maximus.”

Maximus’s face flashes in front of my eyes and I attempt to remember his weaknesses during training. He’s fast. Brutally fast. I know that much.

My lungs constrict, and Leon narrows his eyes at me. “Yes, he’s fast,” he says. “But he doesn’t have good instincts. He second-guesses himself. Something you’ve also begun doing for some reason I can’t comprehend. But if you can drown out that fear and self-doubt and lean into your instincts, you can take him.”

I nod, but I’m not sure I believe him. I’m not sure Leon believes himself.

A woman behind me lets out a yelp and I snap my gaze to the ring.

No.

Leira slumps to her knees, her eyes dazed. Her mouth hangs open, blood coating the side of her face.

She lowers her head in a bow to the emperor. A plea for mercy.

But it’s too late. With a victorious roar, Titus approaches her at a run, spearing her with his sword.

“Healers,” I shout, but the word is lost in the exultant cheers of the spectators surrounding us.

Leira is choking on her own blood. Titus pulls his sword free and she slumps to the ground. His hands are in the air and he waves his sword as the crowd screams for him.

The emperor smiles.

I launch to my feet. I’ll drag her to the healers myself if I have to.

“Arvelle.” Leon’s voice is low, his face pale. “Arvelle.” He catches my wrist. “It’s too late.”

A guard steps into the arena, wraps his hand around Leira’s limp arm, and drags her body toward the exit. The sand beneath her is bright red, clumped together …

Leon tugs on my wrist until I’m sitting once more. “Arvelle.”

He waits until I pull my gaze from the arena, where new sand is being spread over Leira’s blood.

Leon scans the spectators around us, but no one is paying any attention. When he leans close, his voice is so low, I can barely hear him.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

I stare at him, and he attempts a reassuring smile. It sits on his craggy face like an ill-fitting mask and he immediately trades it for a frown.

“The only way to get you out of here is to kill Bran.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I can.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “But first, I need to do some research.”

Hope stirs in my gut. “Research?”

He leans even closer, dropping his voice to the barest whisper. “I don’t know much about vampire bonds. But there’s a chance that killing Bran could kill anyone bonded to him as well. Newly turned vampires often die when their sires die. So we need to know you won’t suffer from any … repercussions.”

I don’t want him going up against a vampire as old and powerful as Bran. “Leon—”

“Tell your brothers to be prepared in case they need to run. If we succeed, they’ll need to flee before Elva learns Bran is dead.”

My heart jumps at the thought. Evren and Gerith are clever, and I know both of them will have been watching for any chance to escape.

I want Evren to be healed. But if I die here, both of my brothers will be at Elva’s mercy.

“Arvelle Dacien,” a voice calls. “Your turn.”

Leon gives me a gentle push in the back, and I stumble, tripping over my feet as we follow the enforcer back toward the stairs into the waiting area beneath the arena.

“Wait here,” the enforcer says, leaving us next to the elevator. The aether stones glow a deep purple, lighting up Leon’s face.

“Medical check,” someone sings out, and Axia hurries toward me. “Hello, Arvelle. May I?”

She doesn’t wait for permission, merely holds her hands a couple of inches from my sigil. Tingling pricks my skin as she sweeps her hands over my head, down my neck, across both shoulders. She hums, moving her hands over my torso, hips, then crouches, using that same sweeping motion down my legs. When she gets to my left ankle, she meets my eyes, and I know she can feel the grinding pain I’ve learned to ignore.

“I wouldn’t say you’re in perfect health,” she says after a long pause, “but you’re cleared to fight.”

I nod. “Thank you.” This little check isn’t because the emperor cares about our health. It’s to prevent any kind of cheating.

Nyrant appears, his expression harried. “Suppression cuff,” he snaps at one of the guards, who steps forward. I hold out my arm, and he clicks the cuff around my wrist.

Immediately, I feel … wrong. If this is the loss I feel when I have such little power, it must be torture for those who are truly powerful.

“Weapons,” Nyrant says, and Leon hands over my shield and sword. Except … they’re not my shield and sword.

Leon leans close. “Tiberius Cotta sponsored both you and Maeva.” He gestures toward the parma, which gleams bronze in the dim light. “Reinforced.”

Another enforcer steps forward, sweeping his own hands over the weapons, ensuring they haven’t been illegally charmed. When he nods, Nyrant gestures, and they’re handed to me.

I wrap my hand around the hilt of the sword. It’s not that I’m not grateful. This sword is lighter, likely sharper.

But my own sword is as familiar to me as my hand.

“Three minutes,” Nyrant says, and then he’s gone.

Leon pins me with a sharp look. “Listen to me, Arvelle, you need to put away everything you just saw out there. Grieving is for later, when you’re alone in your bed where no one can hear you cry.”

“I know.”

He reaches out and gives my shoulders a shake. I don’t blame him. My voice is dead.

The enforcer nods at me. “It’s time.”

He gestures toward the elevator to our left and I step inside. The aether stone glows, and the elevator slowly begins to rise.

Leon turns, making his way up to the arena.

And then all I see is darkness, and it’s just me and my terror, trapped in this elevator.

Last time, Kassia was here with me.

I can’t remember exactly what we said. I remember a bad joke, the squeeze of her sweaty palm in mine. Wide eyes, pale faces, even as we were certain that both of us would walk out of the arena and into our new lives.

But only one of us did.

The roar of the crowd hits me before the light does. Time seems to speed up, and the elevator spits me into the arena.

I step out.

From here, the crowd is mostly just a blur of faces—although I can see the emperor’s pulvinar—so heavy with gold it must be held in place by aether—positioned over the main entrance at the northern side of the arena. The box is elevated above the rest of the seating areas, providing him with the best possible view of the carnage.

Deep-purple silk panels drape from the pulvinar in long, regal swaths, the fabric swaying in the gentle breeze. Two imperiums stand on either side, intimidating in their black armor. From the wide shoulders and angle of his head, I’m guessing one of them is Micah. The other imperium is slighter in build, shoulders back, head high in a stance that reminds me of Neris. Inside the pulvinar, city wardens stand near the emperor, hands on their swords.

Within the arena, vampires and gold-crowned naturally enjoy the best seats—with the Sigilmarked Syndicate and Vampire Council positioned closest to the emperor. The imperiums are dotted within them, standing at attention, and my gaze lands on the Primus, positioned in the stands above the pulvinar. His body is still, tense, and I’m sure he’s scanning any who approach the pulvinar.

One wrong step today, one poorly timed maneuver, one moment of inattention, and I could die.

Maximus takes his place. He stands barely two inches taller than me. But he’s much wider, his meaty arms thick with muscle. His hand is clenched around the hilt of his sword as he gazes up at the emperor, his mouth set in a hard, determined line.

He’s standing just feet away from the spot where Kassia took her last breath.

The emperor is saying something, his voice a dull whine. Louder whines sound—the crowd reacting to something. But I can barely breathe.

All I can see is the knowledge dawning on Kassia’s face. The pain and the fear.

My fault. I know, Leon. It’s my fault.

“Arvelle!” Leon screams, and I’m suddenly back in the present, Maximus stalking toward me.

Leon stands to the side of the arena, his face twisted with fury.

I take a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, lifting my own sword as I let Maximus come to me. I still don’t have the stamina for this to be long. So I have to fight smart and get it over with quickly.

Maximus’s eyes are cold and clear. He sweeps his gaze over my body, his eyes lingering on my ankle.

Either someone told him about my little weakness, or he has been paying excruciatingly close attention.

My heart rattles my ribs, and the rest of the world falls away.

“Fight!” someone roars, and Maximus launches himself at me.

I dodge and he swipes at me again, but his second strike is just for show. The crowd screams, and he grins, already caught up in the thrill of his performance.

I keep my grip loose on the hilt of my own sword, watching his chest.

His shoulder twitches forward, and I lunge left. His sword swings wide.

“Fight me!” he shouts, slamming his sword against his parma. Smart choice. He doesn’t have Titus’s bulk, and he knows I don’t have enough strength to justify him needing a larger shield.

When he swings his sword once more, I’m forced to meet it with my own parma, the force thundering down my arm and into my shoulder.

My training parma would have cracked like an egg beneath that blow. Tiberius Cotta just saved my life.

Maximus was expecting me to dodge once more, and he’s off-balance, his side unprotected. I snap my foot out, kicking him in the stomach, and he stumbles back with a pained grunt.

I follow him, but he recovers instantly, baring his teeth as he raises his shield.

“I know a little about you, you know,” he calls to me.

“I’m not here to chat.”

“I know you fought in this arena not all that long ago. And I know your friend died. How did that feel?”

So it’s not just my physical weaknesses he’s taken the time to learn. Taunting me about Kassia in this arena is clever, I’ll give him that.

Keeping my expression blank, I tilt my head. “How do you think it felt?” I ask him curiously.

He blinks, his jaw tightening as our eyes lock. A moment of perfect understanding stretches between us.

“Fight!” someone roars again.

“You know, I could’ve liked you,” Maximus says. “But I’ve got too much on the line.”

“I could’ve liked you, too, but you fight too dirty.” Bringing Kassia into this was underhanded.

Shame flickers across his expression. “Fair enough.”

His face is tight with resolve now. Resolve and determination.

We’ve worked our way toward the south end of the arena. Just steps from where Kassia … where—

Maximus slices at me. I dodge, but Kassia is standing in the arena, staring at me, her eyes fractured.

All I can hear is the sound of Leon’s scream—as if he’s the one who has been run through—his voice louder than even the jubilant roar of the crowd. But then I hear more sounds.

Galia Voker’s low laugh. And her own screams as she realizes she’s also dead.

Kassia’s blood bubbles from her lips as Leon claws at his tunic, ripping it from his body and pressing it to her chest.

Her eyes meet mine.

Leon holds her to him and rocks, howling like a wounded animal.

“Arvelle! Move!” A feminine voice cuts through my memories.

My heart stops. Kassia?

But it’s Maeva leaning over the edge of the stadium. I catch a single glimpse of her, eyes wide, mouth open …

And then I’m stumbling, squatting, screaming as Maximus’s sword sweeps past my shield and cuts into my unprotected back.

Pain erupts, blood rolls down my spine, and I let out a choked cry. I don’t know how deep the wound is, but I make it to my feet.

My ankle screams at me. I came down on it awkwardly, and now I’m in deep shit.

Maximus stalks toward me. “Give up.” His voice is low, almost kind. “You shouldn’t be here. I know it, you know it, everyone knows it. Throw down your sword, bow to the emperor, and you’ll go home. I won’t kill you.”

Gods, I wish I could. My home flashes through my mind, my brothers’ faces at the table that last morning. But it’s not home now. Because they’re no longer there.

“I can’t.”

He shakes his head. “So be it.”

“Arvelle!” Leon roars from the edge of the arena. And this time I know I’m not imagining him. “ Think! ”

Think.

My mind races, and I take a step back, limping.

Maximus’s eyes flick down to my ankle, and he holds his shield higher.

That’s his tell. The moment he raises his shield, he attacks. But this time, I’m ready for him.

My back is wet with blood. I lift my shield, pain exploding down my back and up my shoulders.

Panting through it, I dodge Maximus’s strike. And his next.

He’s panting, too, sweat dripping down his face. The next time I dodge, I let out a tiny, pained yelp. His eyes narrow, and I bite down on my lip, pretending to attempt to disguise my limp with a quick pivot.

He leaps at me in an explosion of strikes. I dodge, even slower than before, waiting for my chance.

Because I know something Maximus seems to have forgotten. Something Leon taught me all those years ago. Something he just brought sharply back into focus.

When people exploit your weaknesses … when they throw them in your face to make you squirm …

You can exploit those weaknesses too. You can turn those weaknesses into strength.

Triumph flashes in Maximus’s eyes as he charges, bringing his sword down in what would likely be a fatal blow.

My pulse thunders in my ears and I wait until the last second to dodge.

Maximus knows I’m hurt.

So he’s not expecting me to be able to launch off my bad ankle with newfound power and fury. He’s not expecting me to shove my blade into his thigh, ripping it free as he screams. And he’s not expecting me to nimbly dart behind him as he falls to his knees.

My blade kisses Maximus’s throat, and he goes very, very still.