It is well into the night before the carriage begins to slow. The air slipstream that surrounds us pops as we begin to reduce to a normal speed for a team of horses. I sit up in anticipation, wondering if this is another brief rest stop or if we are breaking for the night.

I scan the dark horizon, but there is no sign of a sprawling city waiting for us. The only thing I see is a small cluster of lights that seems far too few to be Antioch.

We slow more as we draw close. Bright white stone walls loom out of the dark as our relics illuminate them. Heavy gates are open wide, welcoming our caravan as we trot inside another compound.

“What is this place?” I ask Illy, jostling him from where he dozes next to me.

“Huh?” The smaller man sits up, looking blearily out the window to get his bearings.

“It looks like some sort of country manor,” he offers after a moment, face still creased with sleep.

“Thanks.” I sigh, twisting around for a clue. “My magisters never taught me what those were.”

“Oh, you’re going to hold on to that one for a while, aren’t you?”

“Only until I feel like I can properly return it to you.”

Illy sighs, sitting up to look more directly into the dark. “I have no idea. I’ve never been here.”

“Well, what good are you, then?” I shoot back playfully as the carriage pulls to a halt in a well-lit courtyard.

“Now you sound like my father.”

“Everyone out!” Contessa’s voice roars out. “Grab your packs. We’re setting up for the night.”

“Come on,” I say, springing to my feet, feeling suddenly awake from the mystery. “Let’s see where Varus has brought us.” I am the first to exit our carriage, and one of the servants hands me my satchel as I do. I give him a smile before taking a few steps to stretch my legs. I turn as I walk, surveying the manor.

It is far smaller than Domus Pelias in Anteforum, but then, most country retreats are meant to be so. A massive rectangular home squats up a dozen marble stairs, peering down on us. Servants pour out of its front door, dressed in bright blue tunics, marked with a golden thread.

Two legionnaires stand guard on either side of the great doors, dressed in full battle kit. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise as I take in their gold uniforms and iron lorica. Something about these men tells me they are not retired guards. They are too young to have completed their service and carry themselves with too much pride to be anything other than soldiers fresh from the field. But why do they not wear the color of their legion?

“Mars’s Ashes, is that the Spartan Guard?” Illy murmurs to me in awe.

“The who?” I whisper back, confused. I have never heard a hint of such a thing.

“They’re elites, pulled from the primary army to act as bodyguards for the Senate.”

“The Senate has their own legion?”

“Well, how are they supposed to be the vox populi if they don’t have any teeth to bite with?” I blink in surprise, unsure how to react to that. Varus is also a senator; why have I never seen any of these soldiers escorting him?

Startled by their presence, I turn to look at the carriage carrying our Iron gladiators, two behind ours. All of the former soldiers are staring at the legionnaires with varying levels of interest. As if he can sense my glance, Anas looks toward me, eyes burning with warning.

Be careful, they say. I nod before turning my attention back to the stairs, just in time to see a woman emerge dressed in a white toga, with a golden band on her arm. She is older, but the Golden veins running through her arm have helped her defy age. Bright blond hair trails behind her as she smiles delightedly at the sight of our train.

“Salvete, Varus, Alessandra, finally!” She pauses on the middle of the stairs, clasping her hands together with emphatic joy. “I was growing worried that you had decided to spurn my invitation and pass by me in the night!”

“Senator Delilah,” our master greets her warmly, striding to meet her.

“You’re so formal,” she scolds, rushing to embrace him. “We’re both senators, and you have known me for twenty years.”

“Enough time for you to have earned my respect,” Varus replies solemnly, but his lips quirk as he dampens a smile.

“I grow tired of your rebellion,” Delilah announces, drawing back from their hug and looking over his shoulder. “Where is my goddaughter? She’s the only reason I wanted you to visit.”

“I did bring her.”

“Aunt Delilah!” Alessandra shouts in delight, scurrying up from the carriages to hug the senator, black hair streaming behind her.

“My precious jewel. Now let me look at you,” the older woman insists, grabbing Alessandra by the shoulders and forcing her to take a step back. “Argentum already? Your father must be delighted.” She casts a pointed look over her shoulder at Varus.

“I am,” our master replies with a hint of tired amusement. “Which she well knows, Senator.”

“He only calls me ‘Senator’ when he’s annoyed with me,” the blond electus confides to Alessandra, which makes the younger woman laugh in delight. There is a silence as the senator studies Varus’s daughter more intently, looking for something.

“You are every inch her daughter, my dear,” she says so softly, I almost don’t hear it. A shadow passes over Alessandra’s face and her father’s. Delilah pulls the younger woman into a second embrace, holding this one for much longer.

Eventually, she seems to realize that a courtyard full of thirty people watch this exchange, and she pulls free, wrapping her arm around Alessandra’s shoulder in a protective manner.

“My majordomo will show your men to their quarters,” she tells Varus with a bright smile. “Come, you must be exhausted after your long travel day. I will have the servants prepare a meal…” They vanish up the stairs and into the manor. Pliny trails after them, unbothered by the mass of gladiators he leaves behind.

A stout woman wearing the same blue tunic appears, pausing for a moment to confer with Contessa. They confer for a few moments before the lanista turns to address us with a serious expression.

“They’ve cleared out one of the servant dormitories for you lot,” she announces. “Everyone gets their own room, and meals will be served in the kitchen. Starting with a late dinner.” A small chorus of cheers breaks out from the Coppers and Heartless gladiators. Contessa silences it with a glare but moves on without a word.

“While we are guests, you are not to leave the property or enter the main manor.” She jerks a thumb at the looming marble structure over her shoulder. “Other than that, you are free to wander. Remember, you are gladiators of Domus Pelias. Act like it and don’t get in trouble, or I’ll kill you. Is that clear?”

“Aye, Domina,” we agree in unison.

We follow the servant in a loose cluster. Gladiators aren’t soldiers—they don’t march. The lower tiers laugh among themselves at the thought of staying in the servant quarters, but the Silvers and Golds are silent. We pass through a magnificent garden, surrounded by hedges and a beautiful terraced fountain. A large bronze brazier sits in the center, carved with the faces of the dead gods and burning with the everflame. It reminds me of the one my mother kept in the mausoleum on my family’s estate.

Leon and Obellius hover on the farthest side of the group from me, but Illy, horse-maned Reese, and Fannia are nearby as we walk. A four-story stone building greets us, with long hallways for individual rooms. The dormitories for Senator Delilah’s servants are not that different from the ones we live in at Domus Pelias. It amuses me to see a few of the Coppers begin to understand that they’re not as elite as they thought.

“Dinner will be served in ten minutes in the main floor kitchen,” the majordomo announces as we enter the building in a stream. I catch Anas’s eye as we separate, tossing my head toward the dining area. Tonight is our best chance to talk without being overheard. He nods before vanishing to the third floor, where the Iron gladiators are staying.

The Silvers and Golds are on the fourth. Contessa assigns Leon and Obellius to the farthest side of the building from me. She gives me a flat look that tells me there will be no more tolerance for any fighting. I nod, chuckling to myself as I step into my room.

It is smaller and has no private lavatorium, but otherwise, it is almost the same. I toss my satchel to the floor before flopping on my bed, letting my body stretch after being stuck in that seat for so many hours. Tension runs through me as I try not to think about the dinner to come. It is risky for us to be seen together. If our secret is uncovered, it would mean death for me—likely him too.

But I must know. I must know if any of my brothers survived, if any other members of the votum to Nemesis live. The back of my neck prickles as I feel her attention focused on me, urging me forward.

I am not sure that I could choose not to speak to Anas, even if I wanted to. How much free will do I have anymore? Am I a man or just a sack of meat dancing to the gods’ tune?

A bell sounds through the entire building, ringing as if it were right next to me. I startle, surprised by its clarity despite being so far away. There must be some sort of sonus relic in the building that channels sound to every room. The unseen pressure increases, forbidding me from resting. It lashes at me like the whip of a teamster at his oxen.

With a sigh, I leap to my feet, jerking my door open at the same moment that the person across the hall from me exits her room. It is the strange woman who walked with the blindfolded man. She is dressed in the same black dress, with her dark hair bound tightly. She eyes me scornfully as I stare openly at her light brown skin. She is stunning—unique. Unlike any other woman in the whole world, or at least in any of the parts that I have been to.

She glares at me with her furious eyes, waiting for me to do something.

“Hello,” I say when I can find my voice. “I am Castor.” She hisses in frustration and waves dismissively, ordering me to go. Caught off guard, I take a step before realizing it. Her expression hardens as I hesitate. My neck prickles as my divine masters whip me once more, reminding me that I do not have time for this.

“Have a good evening,” I tell her, smiling politely and striding down the hall. As much as I want to solve the mystery of the strange woman and her blindfolded companion, she is driven from my mind like a sheep by a shepherd as I approach the kitchen.

The room is set up with a dozen long wooden tables for people to sit at. A row of pots holds warm food for us to collect, which suits me just fine. It is, once again, not too dissimilar from the amenities that we are given at Domus Pelias, which makes me laugh again.

We are but bloody servants.

Anas is nowhere to be seen, so I ladle up some warm stew on a mountain of mashed potatoes and seat myself at an empty table. My stomach rumbles with delight, reminding me that I have only had road rations today made up of dried meat and day-old bread. Compared to that, this warm servants’ food is a feast.

More gladiators arrive in ones and twos. Some of the lower tiers grumble at the food and accommodations, but I suspect that is more about the reflection of themselves they are seeing than anything else. The Coppers and Blanks sit together. The Golds sit as far apart from each other as they can. My neighbor from across the hall sits near Leon and Obellius, which rankles me for some reason.

Slowly, the room begins to fill up. My table is avoided, whether because of what I did to Leon or because most of them do not know me, I do not know. Two Iron gladiators enter and sit together on the edge of the Blank table, ignoring the younger fighters. Illy enters with Reese, and the pair sit two tables over. For a moment, I am a little hurt, but my feelings are forgotten as Anas slinks into the room.

The former legionnaire ignores me, beelining for the food. A small smile plays at the corner of my mouth. I’m not sure if that’s for subterfuge or because soldiers never turn down a hot meal. The big man works his way through the buffet, piling his plate high, totally focused on his choices.

I force myself to keep eating. It’s blankly mechanical; my mouth is filled with ashes, my stomach is full of anticipation. In a moment, I will hear the tale of how my brothers died. Dread hovers over me like Thanatos’s shade waiting to collect me. I have imagined the deaths of Gaius and Percy a thousand times. In my head, they are heroes, pushing back the Northern horde with their flashing blades. At their side are the rest of our special decade, holding the line until the bitter end.

It is a tragic picture, but beautiful. But the darkness whispers in my mind, reminding me of the truth I have seen. Death is many things, but it is never beautiful. It is savage and hungry. It tears through the worthy and unworthy with the same cold indifference. I fear that in Anas’s tale I will have to watch my friends die again, and this version will be even less kind than my dreams.

The big man turns with his loaded plate and makes his way toward me, scanning the room as if looking for a place to sit. The other iron gladiators have no room at their table. Mine is empty, so with a shrug he approaches, unbothered.

“Mind if I sit here?” he grunts, gesturing at one of the empty spaces.

“Suit yourself,” I reply in the same disinterested tone, mindful of the ears around us. I turn my attention back to my food. With a nod, he drops to his seat, digging into his dinner with the eagerness of a man used to missing plenty of meals. My heart races as I chew, each bite methodical, practiced. It takes every ounce of my self-control to appear disinterested in my new dining companion.

“Name’s Castor,” I offer when I finish my bite. “You a Ferrum?”

“Anas,” he growls, mouth still full. “Obviously.” An insane laugh bubbles in my chest, threatening to break free from my mouth. I bow my head, forcing my madness to retreat. He has not yet threatened me with physical violence, but this feels oddly comparable to our first meeting on the road to Agogia.

“What’s it like?” I ask after another bite passes.

“What’s what like?” An irritated expression flits across his face.

“Iron.”

“Hard.”

“Obviously.” I let my voice fill with the same acerbic tone that he used to answer my first question.

“Not worth it,” Anas replies after a long moment. “The price is far too high.” Grief gathers at the corners of his eyes like a distant storm. I am struck speechless by the raw emotion that the former captivus shows. Can this really be Anas, the violent criminal who threatened to murder me?

What a man Gaius was to be able to make a home for us both.

“I know something about that,” I reply softly, daring to let a little of my own pain show in my eyes. He gives me a slow nod before hiding his own sorrow in the blink of an eye. It’s gone so fast that I know he must have seized Iron to numb him to the pain. I’m tempted to do the same, but I resist, hearing Pliny’s warnings in the back of my mind. Instead, I force my own emotions to obey me, putting them away like a tunic into my closet.

“How—” I begin, but I’m interrupted as two men join the table, glowering at me with untrusting gazes. The other ferra have moved to join us.

“This little Silver bothering you?” the skinnier one asks, eyeing me with distaste. Like many who served in the legions, he is marked by scars. A cruel one runs through his cheek, pulling his lip into a perpetual sneer. “He looks like a fat little patrician. I could gut him like a pig.”

“Easy, Brennus,” the older man I’ve seen before says, watching me with iron eyes. “We’re not allowed to kill the domus’s gladiators. As easy as it would be.” A thrill runs down my spine. Not of fear, but of joy. Soldiers have a different way of speaking to one another, and it has been far too long since I’ve heard it.

They are interrupting and talking down to me like I am a civilian. In the Twelfth, there was only one way to respond to a challenge like that, with fists or blades. Iron’s arrogance blooms in me, making me sit up straighter. This challenge feels like a forgotten game, and my tormented soul is eager to play.

But that would be foolish.

“Just making friends,” I reply, offering a small smile, forcing my own pride to back down. “We’re all on the same side here.”

“Just because you’re a glorified prize fighter with some pretty Symbol doesn’t mean we’re the same, boy,” the older man says without any emotion. “You have no idea what it means to carry Iron in the name of the Empress.” Behind him, Anas rolls his eyes as he takes another bite. He never did get along with most officers.

“I believe you,” I say honestly. Ancient Frost is terrible and powerful, but it is different. It has more to its being than war. But Iron—iron is for weapons. “Tell me about it.”

“Bah.” The older man waves my request away with disgust. “It’s always something with you patricians. Why can’t you just leave the man alone? Pester some old veteran in a tavern if you’re so curious about the glories of war. Look for the collar.” He taps his own with a finger.

“It seems to me I’ve got one right here.” The insult slips out before I can stop it. It is exactly what I would have said if we were seated next to each other in the mess hall of the Twelfth. His eyes narrow, not in anger but surprise.

“I think you should find a different table. This one’s full.”

I open my mouth to object, but Anas shakes his head ever so slightly as he puts a piece of bread into his mouth. Heeding my friend’s wisdom, I close my mouth and shrug, adopting the patrician persona they expect from me. There will be time to get his story later. As much as the wait will continue to drive me mad.

“Fine by me,” I reply, spotting an empty seat next to Illy. “The entertainment was starting to get a little common.” The skinny legionnaire sneers at me as I lift my plate and make my way across the room to sit with the other Silvers. They look up and make welcoming gestures as I sit.

“There you are,” Reese drawls as I take another bite. “I was starting to think you were starting your Golden isolation early.”

“What?” I protest with a full mouth. “You guys sat over here without me!”

“You were over in the corner brooding.” The maned woman laughs at the expression on my face. “You learn to read the body language around here.” I frown, worried just how much of my inner emotions I am letting shine through.

“Is that why they’re always eating alone?” I ask to distract myself. “What did you call it? ‘Golden isolation’? What is that?”

“Just the collective stick that anyone who makes it that high gets stuck up their—” Fannia grumbles, cutting off when we all look at her surprise. “It’s true,” she asserts, starting to blush under all our attention.

“The Aurum Circuit is naturally the most popular of all of them,” Illy says, extending a rescue to the smaller woman. “Many people really only pay attention to the results of that one. So many of the gladiators start to feel sure of themselves once they make it to the top of the pyramid.”

“Ah.” I understand the angle now. “Everyone gets a little bit of fame?”

“Not even real fame. More like a chance to finally earn some.” He laughs disparagingly as if every Gold gladiator is a fool. “That’s enough for most of them to think they piss gold and sweat flowers.”

“I thought it was because they all end up fighting each other in the end,” I admit, looking at the two Golds in the room with new appreciation.

“Well, that’s part of it,” Reese agrees, her mouth full of potatoes. “But they all think they’re unbeatable. The ego protects them. They just want to be the Flamma of their generation.”

“Or Crixus,” Illy offers.

She points a finger of acknowledgment at him before continuing. “Besides, gladiators from the same domus may compete, but they’re not supposed to kill each other. That would be rather devastating if the most powerful team was forced to kill itself off every season.”

“Ah, of course.” I can almost hear Briannus counting his coins as he spins the stories of the gladiators still trapped in the arena, hoping to win the aurum Circuit this year. No wonder it was the one people paid the most attention to.

“Well, you can relax,” I tell Reese with a smile. “I have no fame and no prospects of gathering any.” The three of them exchange glances before bursting into laughter. Their humor is so loud, it draws irritated glances from the tables around us—even the Blanks.

“Oh, dead gods, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Reese asks, holding a hand over her mouth to keep from spraying food as she laughs.

“I take it back.” Illy chuckles brightly. “You had terrible magisters.”

“What?” I protest, looking between the three laughing Silvers. Even normally dour Fannia is struggling to contain herself.

“You can manifest ice swords as a Silver,” Reese says as if I am an idiot. Perhaps I am. I certainly feel like one. “You’re going to be famous the moment you walk into that arena.”

Stunned, I stare at the empty space in the center of the table around us. I have grown used to my ability and forgotten the look on the Censors’ faces when they tested me. Briannus offered Varus fifty thousand denarii for me. Why would he do that unless I was something he could turn into even more money? The tall consul is a strange man, but he is not stupid. She’s right. I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do what I can do, especially as an argentum. Aquilo’s gift has made me a freak.

In a little less than two weeks, when I step into the ring for the first time, my life is going to change.