Our accommodations for the journey to Antioch are much nicer than the prison carts I arrived in. Instead of a cage, I am surprised to find six carriages waiting for us in the courtyard. Four copper-veined equi aeris—airhorses—are hitched to each. My jaw drops at the collection of mythi gathered before us.

My father once told me that Agre, our faithful stonehound, was worth at least a thousand denarii. To see twenty-four of these beasts in one place…the cost is staggering. I thought that mythi were made when a piece of Cor was discovered by an animal in the wild. But this herd was clearly bred to match. Not only are they powerful, but they are also beautiful beasts. This was no accident—anyone with eyes can see that. I wonder which of them was given my Heart in the drought.

“Purus in the rear,” Contessa calls, appearing out of nowhere. “Ferrum in the next one, then cuprum, then argentum, and then aurum.”

Gladiators mumble their assent, beginning to shuffle toward their assigned carriages in a mess. My heart jumps as I spot Anas across the sea of people, making his way to the Iron carriage. Worried that I’m staring, I jerk my vision away before any of his companions notice my scrutiny.

I pick up my satchel and follow in the steps of the other Silvers, hunching my shoulders as we walk past the lanista. I am not afraid that Leon went to her; his pride is too strong. But I do not know what Alessandra might have said to the bald woman. In the daylight, I regret goading him as much as I did. I should have found another way to make peace with him.

As I walk by her, I feel her knowing gaze track from the bruised boy to me. For a moment, I freeze, feeling a shadow of that old fear that I used to feel when Durus would fix me with an officer’s glare. “Get it out of your system now,” she murmurs, turning away from me. “You both have to be able to fight, or there will be Dead Pluto to pay. And by the dead gods, get a haircut. You look like a barbarian.”

“Aye, Domina,” I reply, matching her volume. A weight lifts from my shoulders as I do. We still have two weeks until the Games begin. The Silver electus should be completely healed long before then.

In the center of the courtyard, Varus himself oversees the loading. The senator is dressed simply, wearing a set of fighting leathers that match the rest of ours, save for the gold thread worked into the edges of his outfit. Pliny stands next to him, wrapped in a pristine toga. He shoots me a tight smile when he sees me watching him.

“Barbari in the second carriage,” Contessa snaps, pulling my attention back to the entrance of the courtyard, where two figures emerge, an old man and a young woman who walk arm in arm. They are like no one I have ever seen. The tones of their skin are different from any Norman or Imperial I have ever seen. The man is bald except for a mostly white ponytail emerging from high on the back of his head. A black silk cloth made of the same material as his strange flowing pants and shirt covers his eyes. He does not look to the left or right but stares straight ahead, unable to see through his blindfold. I shiver at the sight, reminded of Nemesis.

The woman guiding him is young enough to be his granddaughter, wearing a dress that is made of the same black, silky material as his outfit. Her hair is tied back in a tight tail, and she looks around boldly, matching the gaze of anyone who dares to look at her. A shock runs through me as her dark eyes clash with mine. Her rage is a living storm, lurking just beneath the surface. Unimpressed by what she sees in me, she turns to glare at the rest of the people in the courtyard.

My heart drops at the sight of the man that follows in their wake. The tall Norman is chained both hand and foot, but he walks with his head held high. His blond hair has been cut into a mohawk. To my surprise, there is no sign of blasphemous Cor tattoos scrawled on his skin. Instead, his arms are thick with the Copper veins of an electus. Hatred coils in my guts at the sight of the man. I do not know how he gained a Heart, but I do not care. He is a barbarian and therefore my enemy. The warrior notices my glare and meets it with an unbothered stare, cold as ice. I see the deaths of my friends—my brothers—reflected back to me in his blue eyes. My hands curl into fists, as something deep inside of me seeks to surge forward, to throw myself at the Norman.

“Castor! Stop mucking about and get in the Mercury-damned carriage!” Contessa’s voice scourges me like a whip, jerking my gaze away from the Norman. I give her an abashed nod before following in the wake of the other Silvers, heading for the fourth carriage from the rear.

But I do not forget his face.

The inside is far more luxurious than any other carriage I have ever seen. Everything is carpeted and cushioned with rich blue fabric, even the walls. There are three rows of seats, all facing forward. The air inside the carriage is tense. The Index didn’t change in the end after all. The other five Silvers are the ones I faced in my gauntlet.

Leon and Obellius took the front seats. The blond boy leans against the side of the pillowed wall, resting his bruised body. His giant friend gives me a violent glare that I ignore. Reese and Fannia are in the second row. Both of them have wide eyes as they look back to me as if they cannot believe what I did to the gladiator who has earned two marcae. I give them both a friendly smile and look at the final row, where Illy is patting the seat beside him.

“I saved this for you,” he says. I drop onto the cushion with a sharp chuckle.

“Is it really saving if no one else wants to sit next to me?”

“How I procured it is my own business.” The shorter duelist sniffs arrogantly. “Do you want a seat or not?”

“Are you kidding? Of course. This is the best seat in the house.” Illy grins at my response, leaning back into his cushions.

“It’s going to be a long ride to Antioch,” he warns.

“Do you know any games?” I ask innocently. “My sister and I used to count cows…”

“Oh no, you’re one of those. I should have made you sit with Leon.”

I don’t make Illy play any childish games with me. When our caravan begins to move, my eyes are glued to the window, drinking up the world that passes us by. I have only seen Anteforum once in the daylight, and that journey was only a taste of the center of the Empire.

The dense stone city is almost overwhelming to me. Buildings connect to one another, forming an unbroken wall along the streets as we race by. Plebeians walk along the side of the streets, watching us with only mild interest.

A train of rich carriages pulled by airhorses is not a strange sight to them. My right hand slowly contracts into a fist, and I exhale slowly, forcing myself to relax. I wonder if my father and the other members of the City Council knew the truth of the Iron Empire. My grandfather must have. By all accounts, he traveled the world. He must have seen with his own eyes the greed beyond our town.

But despite this, I cannot help but marvel at this place that dwarfs Segesta in every way. Its streets are bigger, its citizens more numerous. As we travel, I grow used to the sights. It is big, but it is just another place. My awe begins to fade, replaced by casual contempt. Every street is the same—the buildings and houses never end, and they are the same thing, repeated over and over.

Just when I think that the capital has no more surprises for me, the endless streets and buildings surround the Empress’s seat like a collar stop, ending at the shores of the Tiber River. The structures that rise on the island of Forum itself tower over any of the puny three-story buildings that we have been passing by. A metaphor that is neither subtle nor avoidable.

Our path begins to curve, tracing along the edge of the water of the mighty, raging Tiber. We are not headed to the capital, only cutting past it on our journey east to Antioch. For a moment, I am disappointed to not get to see this awesome place up close, but then my face grows pale as I gaze upon the white tower of the Censors, jutting into the sky like an accusing finger at Sol itself. Despite my fear, I know that one day my hunt for Atticus may take me to its halls.

I gasp as the Empress’s home rears into view. Diana’s palace is massive, but not in the same way. Instead of vertically, it stretches the length of the island, part fortress, part paradise. It is a massive white structure that could house the population of Segesta without issue.

Beyond it rears the legendary Universitas spire, shorter than the Censors but still tall enough to tower over anything in Anteforum. Several other towers circle the palace like spikes. They are not marble, but built of strange materials—metal and glass that glint in the light. Their lengths are dotted with windows in regularly spaced intervals. Smaller towers cluster around them, reaching high into the sky from their shadows. The smallest of them is several times taller than anything in Anteforum. Near the shore sits the black pyramid of Delphos, the home of the priests, short and forgotten.

Power radiates from that island like it is alive. Even on the other side of the river, I can feel it itching on my skin. Before Titus and the Iron Lords killed the gods, Mons Olympus must have felt the same. I glance up at the massive floating mountain. It is still silent and dead, despite the things that haunt my dreams.

“First time?” Illy asks me knowingly, glancing over my shoulder with the air of boredom.

“Yeah,” I manage softly, unable to keep the awe out of my voice.

“It’s really something,” he acknowledges, already looking back to a scroll he is reading on his lap. “There are four bridges that cross the Tiber from Anteforum, one from each direction. That is the only way into the city.” I admire one of the massive stone bridges as we shoot past it, running parallel to the island.

“What about by boat?” I ask. “Couldn’t someone just sail their navy up the Tiber and land there?”

“I mean, in theory, but legend has it that the water is full of mythi and hydra that serve the Empress’s will.” The shorter man shrugs. “If you’ve got a boat and a death wish, you’re welcome to try it. I’d rather not be your partner for that challenge, though.”

“Noted.” I laugh. “If I’m ever trying to sneak onto Forum, I won’t do it by water.”

“There’s a good lad,” he murmurs, already distracted again by his scroll.

It takes almost two hours for us to cut across the center of Anteforum. We pass thousands of homes and tens of thousands of people. I spend the entire time watching the spires of Forum, drinking them in. The weight of my votum hangs heavy on me. It seems to grow as the caravan eventually begins to turn away, heading back through Anteforum and to the East.

We will return; Nemesis seems to promise me.

I intend to hold her to that.

After another hour or more, we finally break free from the limits of Anteforum and onto the wide paved road that leads to Antioch. Finally free from the crowds, the airhorses show us what they are capable of. The carriage surges forward, hurtling at a speed that no normal equus could match. A slipstream forms around us like a bubble, insulating us from the roaring wind that rushes by.

“Dead gods,” I whisper, watching the countryside whip past us.

“They’re something, aren’t they?” Illy seems to only emerge from his scrolls when I am impressed by something he’s seen before. “They’re bred from a young age to run in the same quad so they can use their Cor together to create this.” He gestures at the air around us. “A single airhorse can carry a single man at high speeds, but it takes something truly special to make them work together.”

“Makes them more expensive, I’d guess,” I grumble, leaning back in my comfortable, cushioned seat.

“Quite.” Illy peers at me knowingly before returning to his scroll.

“What are you reading?” I ask, surprising myself to discover that I’m bored.

“Ptolemy’s treatise on knives,” he murmurs, distractedly not looking up.

“What?” I hadn’t expected it to be so… erudite. We’re gladiators, not magisters. “Why are you reading that?”

“Because I am trying to learn what sharpness is.” He lowers his scroll, apparently sensing that I will not be satisfied with a short answer. I almost feel bad, but he’s piqued my curiosity, and I can’t stop myself from digging deeper.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the thing that makes a sword cut someone when you stab them,” I offer.

Illy rolls his eyes, looking disgusted. “Where did you go to collegium? Don’t tell me; I don’t want to become prejudiced against an entire district. That’s not what sharpness is, you blithering idiot. That is what it does.”

“I’m not following.” Despite myself, I feel a flush creeping up my neck. Vellum wasn’t a particularly great teacher, I have come to realize. But for some reason, I find myself wanting to come to his defense.

“You’re so lucky you got a straightforward Symbol and are good at hitting people with it. Otherwise, you’d be hopeless.” Illy laughs, sitting up straight. Despite his criticisms, a small smile spreads across his face as he prepares to lecture me.

“What is ice?” he asks after a moment of thought.

“Frozen water.”

“Sure. That’s easy. What is water?”

“Uh, a liquid.”

“What’s frozen?”

“Something that has gotten too cold.”

“What is cold?”

“Stop,” I beg, holding up a hand to forestall any more of his horrifying questions. I can feel the surface of my brain starting to crack like the icy surface of a lake during Spring’s thaw. He is attacking the very core of my thoughts, and I do not like it.

“That’s nothing.” The duelist grins in delight, rubbing his hands together.

“It’s like congruency,” I say, desperate to cut off any more of his paradigm-breaking questions. He pauses in surprise, his eyes narrowing to look at me in a new light.

“Yes. They are related,” he admits. “How did you know that?”

“The art of finding congruency between two things is understanding how they are the same.” My mouth is running ahead of my mind, and my thoughts scramble, trying to pave the ground before it. “In the collegium, they focus on what things are physically. But that is only one facet of similarity…” My voice trails off as I ponder the implications of what Illy has shown me.

“I take back my criticism of your magister.” My friend chuckles. “I did not expect you to see the application so quickly.”

“Your Symbol is the Razor’s Edge,” I continue, ignoring his praise. I can feel the idea forming before me, but it is not fully set. I worry that if I hesitate for even a moment, it will startle and flee, like a doe. “A sword is sharp, but so are other things.”

“Like what?” he presses, leaning forward.

“Cruel words. A mind. The wind.”

“Cheese.”

“Cheese?” His suggestion startles me out of my focus.

“Yeah, have you ever had a yellow cheese that’s really aggressive? That’s sharp too.”

“Cheese,” I repeat softly, trying to find some purchase for my feet as my world turns upside down. “Does that mean you can sense swords with your animus?”

“No.” He laughs, as if amused by my simple question. “I am not like an Ironbound Fidelis, able to feel the movements of a sword with my Heart. If I could, Razor’s Edge would be forbidden too.”

“But if a blade is sharp…” I protest. Everything I know about the power that a Silver electus gains tells me that he should be able to do something similar to what I am able to do.

“A little,” he admits, wobbling his hand to show the comparison. “The part of the blade that is sharp is so much smaller than its total mass, so it is much harder to track. It’s a little like listening for a whisper in the middle of a battlefield. Up close, I can certainly hear it, but it is usually too late by then.”

“Even so, that is a fantastic Symbol,” I breathe, trying to think about the practical applications of it in a duel.

“So now you know why I am reading Ptolemy’s treatise on knives.” He holds the scroll up for me with a small smile. “The better I understand what exactly it is that I am bound to⁠—”

“The easier it is for you to find new congruencies and expand what you can do.”

“Seriously, I am impressed. At least your magisters taught you some logic. Congratulations, you now have what the philosophers call ‘existential dread.’” I don’t fully hear him; my mind is racing at the implications for myself. He’s right. I know nothing about either of my Symbols. I can manipulate the iron in someone’s sword or shield. I can make ice and cold obey me. But that is not even scratching the surface.

What is iron? What is ice? What are they made of? What can they become? There’s only one way to find out. I vow to spend as much time in the library as in the training hall when we return to Domus Pelias. If I survive. Distantly, I hear Illy’s scroll rustle as he resumes his reading.

“What is that?” I interrupt him again, pointing out the window at a massive hole that gapes out of the ground like an open wound. It is large enough to swallow the home that I grew up in and have room for a couple more in the same bite.

“Ah, you’ve never heard of the Bores?”

“I’ve seen one,” I whisper, a forgotten memory springing into my mind as the cart that held my friends and me prisoner rumbled past a similar maw along the Via Nordus on the way to Agogia.

“There are dozens of them all over the Iron Empire.”

“What are they?”

The duelist shrugs, unperturbed by an ancient mystery. “No one knows. Ancient mines, perhaps. The Censors went into them a few centuries ago. You know what they found?”

“What?”

“Nothing. They’re empty.”

We leave the Bore behind as we hurtle further South. Occasionally, we fly past small towns or manors, but the airhorses show no signs of slowing or tiring. Their Copper Corda supplements their natural strength with ease.

When night falls, Luna rises, reflecting its cold light off Mons Olympus, floating above. A pair of lumos relics set in the carriage ignite, keeping us warm and bright. More lights spring to life, brightening the road so our drivers can maintain our breakneck speed.

I watch the dark world race by from my comfortable chair, shaking my head at the lesson I have learned today. “Heh,” I murmur to myself in mild disbelief, too low for Illy to hear. “Cheese.”