The senators dismiss us after I am given my gift. My mind still reels at the revelation of this Frost Iron—somehow Julia created something that held two essences. The fact that she did it for Frigidus makes it only more overwhelming. I have stood in the halls of his fortress, faced the enemies that he fought. I feel a kinship to him that I cannot shake.

“We will need to begin a special training regimen immediately,” Pliny says to me as we walk through Delilah’s ornate home. “We need to Ascend your new Cor to argentum as soon as possible to prevent strain on your psyche.”

“How,” I ask a little too sharply. “How can I do that?”

“You will need to focus on utilizing your Hearts only as a cuprum for now,” the small man explains. “If you push your will like an argentum, it can damage the Heart that cannot meet your demands. Can you differentiate between the two? If you use your Symbol through one or the other, can you tell?”

I close my eyes, trying to unravel the layers of lies that we are communicating with. Pliny thinks that I only have two Corda. He also believes that they all share the same Symbol instead of having their own.

I can feel the difference between my individual Hearts and control them separately, because unlike Pliny’s theory, each one is self-contained instead of fusing together as part of some expanding whole.

“Yes,” is all I answer after my moment of thought.

“Contessa, he must cease all training that pushes his Silver Cor until he has brought his second one into parity with it.”

“He still has to fight, Pliny,” the lanista growls in frustration. “Antioch is in two weeks. If he’s not fixed by then, he will have to take the risk. We cannot afford to fall further behind in the rankings.”

“I understand,” the magister replies calmly. “But we must reduce the strain on him until then, or his path to Gold may close forever—a tragedy that our master will forgive neither of us for.”

“Whatever you tell me to do, I will,” I promise the magister earnestly. He looks at me in surprise, as if he expected me to protest his instructions. He must see some of my resolve burning in my eyes, because he nods once, in acceptance of my promise.

“You must begin cultivating as much Ancient Frost as you can at once,” he instructs. His eyes track to the ingots that I carry in my hands. “And you should not use that.”

“Why?” Alessandra asks her teacher, leaning in to watch me remove them. “Won’t that be an even better source of the essence he needs than the loci that we brought with us?”

“That would be true if it was a relic.” Pliny shakes his head reluctantly. “But that is something else. Something that does not exist anywhere else in the world. It was made by one with power for one with power. The Ferrum Domini were far stronger electi than any of us. Until we know exactly what effects it might have on Castor, he should avoid it until his Cor is more stable.”

“But—” I protest, feeling a wave of disappointment swell over me. I stare at the precious Frost Iron in my hands, unable to bear the thought of being separated from the lump of metal. I do not know what I will do with it. It’s not in a form I can use, but its presence feels like home.

“It is better if you give it to me,” the magister says after watching me for a moment. “I wouldn’t want it to corrupt you.” I give him a pitiful look, but the older man’s face is firm. With a sigh, I close the paper wrapper around it to protect him from its frigid touch.

“I have a question,” I murmur unhappily as I hand over the treasure to Pliny. “Why did Julia make this Frost Iron for Frigidus? I thought that he was attuned to Iron like the rest of them. Iron was forbidden because it let them kill the gods.” To my surprise, Pliny pauses, looking between Alessandra and me with a hesitant look on his face. Contessa notices that we have stopped and turns, looking back at us impatiently.

“Many magisters suspect that the Iron Lords reached heights with their Symbols that modern electi have failed to maintain,” he says at last, a faint frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “Frigidus is recorded as being especially in tune with the aspect of cold within Iron. Some of my peers think that this is the area of congruency that he focused on.”

“But not all?” Alessandra asks, her expression shrewd.

“Not all,” Pliny replies with a shake of his head. “There is so much we do not know about those days.”

A faint chill runs down my spine, the whisper of a god peering over my shoulder. There is much I do not know too.

We progress through the rest of the senator’s home in silence. As we reach the entrance, Contessa draws up short. “You.” She points at me with an unwavering finger. “Bed, now. Practice starts at the same time tomorrow. We’re still training—without Cor.” She casts a glance at Pliny before he can object. “Your swordwork is atrocious. You don’t need your cold for that.”

“But that’s in less than five hours,” I protest, eyeing the position of the moon.

“Antioch is in two weeks. I promised the dominus that you would tear through the Silver Circuit, so tear you will.”

“Surely the man who saved two senators’ lives can sleep in a little?” I protest, but the scarred, bald woman doesn’t even blink as she stares me down.

“When you’ve finished your morning combat, cultivate as much Ancient Frost as your new Heart can handle, then come to me,” Pliny continues with the same lack of mercy. “The path to Ascend to Gold is a hard one, young Castor. Your peak may one day reach higher than most, but that only means that it will be more treacherous.”

I sigh in defeat, which is enough to please both of my teachers. With one last warning glare, Contessa stomps off. Pliny gives me a softer smile that hides a hint of compassion before following in her footsteps.

I tuck my head down and head for the stairs. A full decade of Spartan Guards wait at the bottom. The legionnaires are alert and sharp-eyed even in the dead of night. I wonder if the senator has any relics that will stop another group of Shadowbound from walking right past them. Otherwise, what are these guard dogs other than a symbolic gesture?

“Gladiator!” Alessandra calls after me as I take a couple of steps.

“Apologies, Domina,” I gasp in surprise, turning and inclining my head toward her. “I was distracted and forgot myself.” The Silver-veined woman tilts her head to the side, studying me for a moment. Her blue eyes find mine, and for a moment, I lose myself in the human contact. It is warm and comforting—an alien thing after the year I have survived.

“Thank you for saving me,” she says when the silence between us has stretched long enough. For a moment, a smirk threatens to hijack my lips to deliver a joke, but something tells me that would be the wrong thing to do. Her face is kind, her tone earnest.

“You are welcome,” I reply softly, any glib response dying on my tongue. “I hope I never have to again.”

“As do I.” She smiles now.

“Goodnight, Domina.” I bow, turning to head to the servant’s quarters where the gladiators are staying.

“Did you think that I would not remember you?”

The cold that starts in my chest before spreading through me like a cancer is harsher and more absolute than any Ancient Frost could ever summon. I freeze as my foot lands on the first step, afraid to turn and face her.

She knows.

Mons Olympus drifts above, shining brightly. The back of my neck begins to tingle as forces beyond my understanding focus in on us, like ants under a piece of glass.

“Remember me?” I manage lamely, turning at last to face her. Alessandra’s expression is unreadable, a perfect copy of her father’s. She cocks her head, studying me, judging my reaction. The Spartan Guards are just out of earshot; despite having people all around us, we are alone.

“Your hair is longer than it was in the legions, but you are not so easily forgettable.” My throat strains to swallow as she lays her accusation bare.

“You have been as kind to me now as you were then,” I reply after a moment of thought, abandoning all pretense. “Although I do not know why.” The palatine woman is silent for a moment, choosing her words with care. The country breeze pulls at her black hair, sweeping it out behind her. She looks majestic, like she could have belonged to the Ferrum Domini herself.

“You must be more careful with your burden. There are many in my father’s house that see clearly.” Pliny’s face flashes before my mind, along with Contessa. Again, I worry the magister knows more than he lets on.

“I am trying,” I say dryly, confused by her concern. “There have been extenuating circumstances.”

“These moments are nothing, Castor, compared to what will come.”

My mind pauses in surprise at the sound of my name on her lips. Not boy or gladiator, but Castor.

“In the arena, ten thousand eyes will follow your every move, from plebeian to Censor. If you are caught there, there will be no saving you.”

“Why do you care if I am saved?”

“You mean why do I not tell my father your secret and send you to your death?”

“It is what most would do.”

She pauses again, a hint of uncertainty flickering across her face for the first time. She seems torn about saying something. Her mouth twists as she makes her decision.

“Most Houses are not under the threat of Judicium,” she reminds me with a grim tone. “If an abominatio is found in my father’s home—” I wince at the term, and she relents. “If someone like you is discovered oathbound to my father…” She trails off. The itchy sensation of being watched grows stronger as I consider her words.

I do not need her to finish the thought. I know better than most the temperament of the Censors. If the White Hand is looking for an excuse to exterminate Varus and Domus Pelias, I would be all the proof they needed of his treachery a dozen times over. I am the first uninhibited Ironbound in four hundred years, and that is the least of my crimes. The Censors would never believe that the senator had not intended to use me as a weapon, especially not after tonight.

“I understand,” I say, my voice croaking as I consider the implications for Alessandra and the rest of the House. The Censors would spare no one—just like in Segesta, they would put them all to fire and sword. Varus is a palatine and a senator. He is my master, and I am his slave, but I do not wish for him to die. He has been fair to me—fairer than most. I do not wish for Alessandra to be executed either. “I will be more careful. I will not betray you or your family.”

“It is not only that.” She lets out a vexed sigh, looking away from me. I wait in uncomfortable anticipation, trying to imagine what more there could possibly be. “I was there, Castor.” She says my name again. I like it just as much the second time.

“I witnessed the way that you were treated by my mentor and the rest of my peers. I know that you were denied the right to become one of the Fidelia.” The dull ache of the whip thuds against my back in the memory of that day on the training grounds. “I saw where you began, but I do not know where you will end up. That is something I would like to see.”

“You’re not afraid of what I might become?” I ask.

“No.” She smiles softly, and for a second, the world seems just a little brighter. “You’ve already saved me once when you did not have to. I think, given the opportunity… you’d do it again.”

I do not know what to say to that. My silence only makes her smile grow wider.

“Vale, Castor,” she says after the moment has passed, returning to formality. Still smiling, she turns and retreats within the house, leaving me alone on the stairs in the night. The Spartan Guard below are watching me now, waiting to make sure I return to my quarters.

“Vale, Alessandra,” I whisper as she leaves.

Mons Olympus still floats above. But as the prickling sensation of being watched begins to fade, I get the distinct sensation that whoever was here is laughing at me.