We Who Will Die by Stacia Stark - 13

C entaurs.

The emperor has found centaurs.

I’d heard rumors, of course. Rumors of the maginari the emperor’s guards hunt down and drag back to his prisons. Rumors about how the emperor has almost decimated the population within Senthara as those creatures either fled or bled and died in his arenas. And rumors about the way he sweeps into conquered lands, taking the maginari.

But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the centaur, his muscular upper body straining, torso slick with sweat and body wrapped in chains. Four strong, sinewy legs end in hooves, his coat a sleek chestnut brown, seamlessly transitioning into the tan skin of his upper body.

Blood stains his beard and neck, dripping from his mouth as he bares his teeth. Both of his biceps are encircled with silver, ensuring he can’t access even a wisp of power. Still, he holds his head high, dark blue eyes finding the emperor, who wears a nasty little smile, evident even at this distance.

“Why?”

I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until Maeva leans close, her voice thick. “The centaurs have fought for Zevaris for years now, preventing the emperor from making gains as his armies work their way north. When they’re captured, they’re brought back here.”

Four enforcers step into the arena. One of them waves his hand, and the centaur’s chains fall away.

The enforcers are armed. The centaur is not. He puts up a good fight, sharp hooves stomping down on the foot of a particularly vicious attacker, before kicking his leg out and shoving another hoof straight into his gut. But the others take advantage of his distraction, aiming for his unarmed back.

The enforcers are allowed to use their powers. It’s not a fight, it’s a slaughter. But I force myself to watch, even as my blood sears my veins.

Finally, the centaur lies broken on the sand. His expression is lost, but his eyes are defiant. The arena goes silent as the emperor stands. He holds out his hand, and I know what’s about to happen before he turns his thumb.

One slice of a sword, and the centaur’s head rolls free of his body.

Maeva lets out a choked sound, her face crumpling, cheeks suddenly wet. I swallow around the aching lump in my own throat and sweep my gaze around us.

An enforcer posted in the aisle next to us is leaning against a stone column, his expression dark as he watches Maeva. Fear punches into me and I take her arm, ruthlessly squeezing.

“Stop crying.”

She casts me a look filled with shock and betrayal, her breath hitching.

I squeeze tighter. “Stop it.”

She yanks at her arm, eyes glittering. “Don’t you even care?” she hisses. “You’re so … cold. Does life truly hold such little meaning to you?”

The accusation stings. It shouldn’t. I am cold.

Leaning close, I lower my voice to the barest whisper. “You want to be arrested, Maeva? You want to be the next one down there, killed as entertainment ? Wipe your fucking face.”

I release her arm, and Maeva glances around, noting the watching enforcer. She wipes a hand over her face, fixes her expression into what might pass for boredom, and pins her gaze to the arena.

I turn my attention back to the red sand. My throat is burning now, my chest so tight I can barely breathe.

The emperor walks out of his pulvinar. That’s our signal. We can finally leave. Rising quickly to my feet, I begin to weave my way past those who are too slow, heading back toward the ludus.

Tiernon stands at the top of our section, his eyes unerringly finding mine. Ripping my gaze away, I stalk down the steps, my entire body hot.

I have to train. Because it’s only a matter of weeks before I’m walking back into that arena again. And I refuse to be slaughtered like that centaur.

T IERNON STANDS BEFORE me, his mouth caught in a crooked smile. In the time since we met he seems to have grown a foot, turning tall and lanky. But his wide shoulders hint at the man he will become. He holds out his hand, three buttons waiting in his palm.

He no longer pulls the buttons from his clothes, but he still brings them with him. It’s become something of a joke between us. A joke that has occasionally been the only reason my family goes to bed with full bellies.

I take a deep breath. “I don’t want your gold.”

Tiernon’s smile drops, his eyes turning wounded. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”

My heart twists. He thinks I no longer want his friendship. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. “You didn’t do anything.”

A sharp nod. He’s already turning away.

I catch his arm. “Wait.”

“For what? You just told me you no longer want me.”

I frown. Sometimes, Tiernon can be so confident—almost arrogant. Other times, like now, he turns strangely vulnerable, as if he’s continually expecting me to reject him in some way.

“I said I no longer want your gold. We’re friends, Ti … at least if you want to be. And friends don’t pay each other to spend time together.”

A series of emotions flicker over his face. Relief, triumph, and finally, concern. “But you need it. Your family …”

“Let me worry about them.”

Movement catches my attention, and I nod to our tree, where Kassia is shifting on her feet, waiting for us. “You said you wanted to meet her. Is that still the truth?”

His boyish grin is filled with so much warmth, it’s as if he’s the sun. “Yes. I want to meet anyone who is important to you. You know that.”

T HE OTHER GLADIANS have learned I’m training with the imperius before gladian training each day. The Primus hasn’t exactly been subtle about it, and he still makes me sit with them for lunch after my sessions with Leon. When I attempt to sit elsewhere, he merely glowers at me and gestures toward the door. “You can leave this place at any time.”

I would if I fucking could.

“Spreading your legs for the imperius?” Baldric taunts when Tiernon insists I sit with them at lunch. “It won’t help you stay alive, bitch.”

Tiernon slowly turns his head. The room goes silent. The color drains from Baldric’s face, although he sends me one more poisonous look before dumping his plate by the door and stalking out.

For days, I’ve been plagued by dreams and memories of my past with Tiernon. Last night, I dreamed of the day I told him I no longer wanted his buttons.

Tiernon merely found ways to work around my determination to never take gold from him. Over and over, he snuck into our home, stocking our kitchen with food and ensuring we had enough clothes for even the coldest winters.

Before I came here, I’d shoved those memories down deep, where they could no longer hurt me. Now, every time I catch sight of him, I’m assaulted by those same memories.

Before I know it, it’s the morning before my second challenge. Rumors are flying through the ludus about what we’ll be facing next.

“Lions,” Tolva says with a confident nod. Her bunk is next to mine, and she snores loudly enough that several of the other women in our barracks have threatened to make her sleep in the hall.

“Lions are for criminals and traitors to the empire.” Sisenna sniffs. She’s the woman who mocked me about using the scutum on my first day of training. “The emperor wouldn’t waste our second challenge on lions.”

My stomach twists at the thought, and I leave them bickering, making my way to the training hall. It’s filled with at least thirty imperiums engaged in hand-to-hand.

Tiernon, Neris, and Micah are nowhere to be seen.

Lucius stands by one of the stone fountains, splashing his narrow, weathered face with water.

“Where are they?” I ask.

His half-crown silver sigil glimmers as he turns, sending me a look. “What makes you think you’re entitled to that information? Get to work.”

Shaking my head, I take my place on the mat. He stalks over to me. “Something to say?”

“Nothing at all.” My tone is carefully mild, and he smirks at me.

I raise my eyebrow. He steps into position.

As usual, I end up bruised and battered, hitting the mat again and again. But Lucius heavily favors his right side, and I wait for my chance.

Finally, I strike, distracting him with my left knee to his gut. When he shakes his head, slapping out at me, I dodge, sweeping my left leg behind his right ankle and twisting, shoving his shoulder with my closed fist.

Lucius hits the mat with a thump.

“Yesses,” I crow.

He climbs to his feet, a hint of amusement entering his eyes. “Taking your wins where you can find them, are you?”

“That’s exactly right.”

I catch a glimpse of several pairs of rolled eyes, but a few other imperiums are hiding grins.

“You must be getting slow in your old age,” one of them calls to Lucius, who shakes his head.

“Go cool down,” he tells me.

I stretch out my muscles as the imperius continue their training. If I’m quick, I’ll have just enough time to grab my mirror and speak to Evren and Gerith before my training with Leon.

The corridor is quiet as I walk back toward the gladian quarters.

“Arvelle.”

My heart leaps into my throat and stays there as Bran appears to my right. He’s wearing white today, and it may be small of me, but I enjoy the way the color gives his skin an almost yellow tinge.

I make a show of glancing around the corridor, waving toward the gladian quarters. “I thought you weren’t allowed down here.”

“Special permission,” he says. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Bran seems to be waiting for me to give him some assurances. When I don’t, he shakes his head. “It will be different tomorrow. Your power will not be restrained.” His gaze flicks up to my sigil. “What little there is of it.”

Great. I can maybe turn out an aether lamp in the arena. Perhaps I can use my power to flick some sand in my opponent’s face.

Meanwhile, if my opponent is also unrestrained, I’m dead.

I would rather have not known about this.

“What else can you tell me?”

His mouth twists. “The emperor is keeping his plans quiet. But I have some information about the third challenge if you live that long.”

“And?”

“I’ll give you that information if you survive the second challenge.”

I lower my voice to the barest whisper. “One would think someone who wanted me to kill the emperor would do everything they could to make sure I survive.”

He waves me off. “The Primus. You’ve been close to him.”

“As you planned.”

Bran just smiles. A silent admission that he knew who Tiernon was to me. “Have you seen him meeting with anyone?”

“He meets with people all the time.”

Bran leans closer. “Has he been talking to Rorrik?”

A strange, cold sensation settles on the back of my neck. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. I see the Primus for a few hours each day. How could I possibly be sure?”

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“White isn’t your color. You look like a corpse.”

Bran’s eyes widen and twin spots of pink appear on his cheeks. His hand twitches like he’s restraining himself from hitting me.

“Remember, it’s not just your life you’re fighting for tomorrow,” he snaps. “It’s the life of your brother as well.”

He stalks away. I watch him go. There’s something … different about him. The remote, aloof vampire I first met would never have come that close to lashing out.

L EON IS SPEAKING with Albion when I arrive at the training hall before my challenge the next morning. Albion looks tired and drained, while Leon’s expression is even harder than usual.

I reach down, swiping a training sword. “What’s wrong?”

“Another gladian was found dead this morning,” Leon says. “Her name was Sochal.”

Tolva’s friend. My heart sinks. A woman was missing. A woman who slept in the same barracks as me, and I didn’t even notice.

Albion runs a hand over his face. “Something must be done about this.”

Leon merely picks up a shield, handing it to me. “Warm up for your challenge.”

I curse him out while I do my laps. I’m trying, Kas, but your father is even more stubborn than he used to be.

My shield arm aches within my first few laps, but I focus on watching the others warm up. My stamina is slowly returning. While my arm still shakes, straining to hold my parma up, I actually enjoy the first half of my sprints.

An hour later, I’m walking down the long corridor between the ludus and the arena once more, my heart lodged firmly in my throat.

Baldric and Hester walk closely behind me, but I refuse to turn my head.

“I hope I get to fight you,” Hester says, purposefully stepping on the backs of my heels. “The emperor will probably give me his favor for killing you so quickly.”

“Quiet,” one of the enforcers orders. Unfortunately, Hester is smart enough to close her mouth.

We’re directed into one of the small holding rooms beneath the arena. Whatever the emperor has in store for us today, he wants it to be a surprise.

Even from here, we can hear the crowd roar.

But it’s not just the crowd that’s roaring.

“Is that … a lion?” Kaeso asks.

A symphony of screams cuts through the sound of the crowd. High-pitched, and pain-filled. The screams of the dying.

I catch Hester’s smile, and it takes everything in me not to shove my sword through her throat.

“It’s a manticore,” she says. “A special treat for those who refuse to bow to the emperor.” Her smile widens as her eyes meet mine. “I can’t wait to hear your screams.”

“Give it a rest,” Maeva mutters, and Hester turns her hate-filled gaze toward her. Her eyes light up, and I know why.

Dark circles are stark against the white of Maeva’s face. Her cheekbones seem sharper, her cheeks hollow, as if she’s stopped eating. She looks like one swing of a sword would take her down.

Guilt slices through me. After our harsh words the other day, we’ve mostly avoided each other. At least, I’ve avoided her. Each time I’ve thought about approaching her, I remembered the wounded look in her eyes, and the restrained disgust in her voice.

You’re so … cold. Does life truly hold such little meaning to you?

Tolva sits at the edge of the room, her arms crossed tightly, head bowed. Gradon sits next to her, murmuring something in her ear. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a dark beard, which he keeps neatly trimmed. Laugh lines fan out from the corners of his eyes, although I’ve never seen him smile.

Hester turns her poisonous attention to Tolva, and Gradon gives her a narrow-eyed stare.

An enforcer appears. “Hester Volker and Turran Pinarius.”

Turran may be a vampire, but he’s young—and with those suppression cuffs around his wrists, he’s as weak and powerless as we are. His mouth thins into a grim line and he swallows, following Hester out of the room.

“Dead vampire walking,” Baldric calls after him, and Maeva’s face turns another shade paler.

I shouldn’t distract myself with Maeva’s problems. I have more than enough of my own.

And yet …

She just defended me to Hester. It’s something Maeva does a lot, even though I can tell she has no expectation that I’ll do the same.

“You’re not sleeping,” I murmur.

She shrugs. “Every time I close my eyes I see the criminals forced to fight. I see that centaur …”

“You’ve never seen the emperor have his fun before? I thought your father …”

“He never brought me here. Too ashamed.” She touches her sigil.

“I guess that was a good thing.”

“I guess so.” She contemplates me, and a hint of something I can’t place flickers across her face. Leaning close, she drops her voice until it’s little more than a whisper. “I did some research. I know where the centaurs are kept. And the other maginari the emperor has caged.”

“Where?”

She casts a look down at her feet. And then nods her head when I don’t immediately get it.

Oh.

Beneath us. In the bowels of the arena.

I close my eyes. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about doing anything stupid.”

When I open my eyes, her pale, stricken expression tells me she’s doing more than thinking about it. She’s actively making plans.

“I need your help,” she says.

I let out a bark of laughter that has several gladians turning our way. “You want to die? You’re on your own.”

Her expression falls, but I’m already walking away.

“Maeva Virnia and Cassius Ruso,” a guard calls.

I whirl, my last words to her already looping through my mind.

“Maeva.”

She turns her head, and her eyes are wet. My chest aches.

“You’re going to win this.”

A single sharp nod, and then she’s gone.

I lean against the stone wall and close my eyes. The other gladians are quiet. Someone vomits noisily in the corner at one point, and I barely contain my own heaves.

I strain, attempting to decipher the screams and roars of the crowd, but there’s no way to know what’s happening.

Another guard appears. Two more gladians are called. Only a few of us remain. But it’s impossible to know who made it through.

I pace restlessly. The waiting is the worst part. I just need this over with. Need—

“Arvelle Dacien and Baldric Volker.”

Across the room, Baldric’s eyes meet mine, and a slow smile spreads over his face.