“Ineed your help,” I murmur to Anas as we pass each other in the halls the next night. There are only four days left until the Games begin, and I am no closer to salvation. Contessa still drills me relentlessly, trying to instill a lifetime’s worth of dueling knowledge into me with every session. Pliny pushes me to grow what he thinks is my second Ancient Frost Cor, which is nothing more than a waste of time.

“Watch where you’re going,” the former captivus growls, turning as if I bumped into him. The other two ferrum gladiators with him turn to watch our exchange with mistrusting eyes. The Ironbound do not mingle with the rest of us, even more than the Golds and Silvers do not mix.

As he turns, he holds up his left hand in front of his chest, blocking his companions’ view of his fingers as he flashes me the hand signal for midnight—not long. I glance at it before tilting my head and trying to smile pleasantly.

“My mistake, friend,” I reply with as much warmth as I can muster.

“He’s not your friend, immundus,” grunts the older former officer who always watches me closer than I like.

“Merely a turn of phrase, my good man.” I nod in his direction. “We all serve the same domus, do we not? Why should there be any enmity between us?”

“Because we are not killers for show,” the graying man grunts. “This is not some game.”

“For show?” Despite myself, I feel my eyes narrow in irritation. “I am not here for fun, I assure you. I am a slave just like you.”

“You are nothing like me,” he spits. “You have no idea what it means to wear the collar and serve the Empire.” Anas shoots me a warning glance, but I ignore him. I am too drawn in by this man’s barbs.

“I am no legionnaire,” I lie in agreement, even though it hurts me a little to do. “But I will bleed on those sands, and it will be just as red as yours. I will say again, I have no grievance with you. I have enough enemies waiting for me in the compounds around this one. I do not need more.”

“Speak to me when you’ve killed someone worth killing, boy. When you’ve put your life on the line for something that matters. Then we’ll see if you and I bleed the same blood.” The older man turns on his heel, leading the rest of the ferrum gladiators away with sheer force of will. Stunned, I watch them go, trying to understand why he hates me so much.

Legionnaires are supposed to serve twenty years. Every soldier receives a pension for their service, which for most is enough to retire. Some end up working as guards, taking comfortable jobs with high pay. After all, there is no better War Symbol than Iron—why not spend a few years getting rich off your Cor by intimidating civilian thugs? Only deserters and debtors end up gladiators, slaves once more. Whatever happened to that man, he carries a chip on his shoulder the size of a mountain. He must have been a Praetorian.

Troubled by our interaction, I turn out of the hallway and into the main courtyard. A series of braziers are planted along the second level of wall, burning brightly to hold back the night. These miniature estates provided to the different domuum do not have enough lumos relics to light the entire exterior, for which I am grateful.

I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is present, but the space is empty. I force myself to meander casually toward the wall, as if I am merely a maudlin gladiator unnerved by his upcoming matches.

I climb the stairs to the upper walkway of the wall, gazing up at the looming spectacle of Bellona’s Arena that blocks some of the night’s stars. From Antioch, Mons Olympus is further to the east than I am used to, but it still floats above, stark and dead, glowing like a second moon.

As casually as I can, I turn to stand next to one of the burning braziers, trying to mask my movements. Inwardly, my body is raging, my smallest Heart demanding to be fed even though it is full of essence I have not been able to use. My Cor burns with the desire to grow, and to do that, it must eat. But first, I must empty it.

Slowly, shifting my body to block the view of anyone who happens to enter the courtyard, I lift my right hand and slip it into the flame, giving me a physical link to the element. Heat lashes at me, but my connection to Unrelenting Fire meets it like a delighted host.

I push some of my essence into the fire, cursing as it flares as if I fed it a new log. Gritting my teeth, I force the stream that I am pouring out to slow down to a trickle. My brazier burns a little brighter than the rest, but not so much that I think it is suspicious. As my reserves begin to drop a little, I split my attention, cultivating fresh Fire essence to refill what I am using. A thrill runs through me as I succeed in moving it in two directions at once. I’ve never been able to manage that before with my new Symbol.

Like the snow in Domus Pelias’s training hall, it is not the exact form of essence I need. This fire is new and burns from wooden logs. It is not a never-ending fire to the gods. It is only regular Fire, and it must be changed to meet my needs. I clench it with my will, condensing it as if it were a lump of coal, trying to turn it into a diamond. I feel my Copper veins struggle under the pressure of converting the essence, and a wild smile crosses my face. After more than a week of being kept from making any progress, even this little strain feels like a gift from the dead gods.

“It is an ominous sight, isn’t it?” a deep voice asks from the night. Startled, I leap back from the brazier, dropping my hand to my hip as I turn to face my master, Senator Varus himself. He stands on the far side of the fire, watching me with his penetrating eyes.

“Dominus, I beg your pardon, I did not see you—” I stammer, cursing my inattentiveness. I had been so focused on my cultivation, I hadn’t noticed the Golden electus sneak up on me.

“Pax,” he commands gently, an ancient greeting. It means “peace,” but I feel none of it. “I did not mean to startle you, Castor. I was just coming to stare at my old foe and found you doing the same.” His gaze drifts toward the arena’s dark outline.

“Old foe, Dominus?” I am surprised by his words.

“Oh yes.” He chuckles warmly, amused by my confusion. “You did not know that I also once fought in an arena?” I am stunned by this, unable to imagine him as a common fighter. He laughs again, enjoying my surprise.

“You were a gladiator?”

“No.” He shakes his head, his amused expression fading. “I never competed for the Bloody Laurel. The games are not just for entertainment—they are a weapon, a means of control. The Empress and her consuls use them to gather the people in one place, then remind everyone of their power.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was the third son of my father,” he says softly, as if looking back through time. “I was not supposed to be the heir of my family, nor was I sent to the legions to earn glory for my House. Instead, I was merely an extra, kept around in case I was needed.” Standing near to the fire and not drawing from it is driving me insane. Its siren call pulls at me like a lover, begging me to come closer. But I dare not risk it in his presence.

“But then I was needed.” His tone grows darker. “The son of another family made advances on my sister, and when she refused him, he took what he wanted instead. So, I did what my older brother could not and challenged him viritim—man-to-man. Then I cut him into little pieces in front of his family.” Slowly, I turn to regard the older man in a new light. Varus destroyed several of the Shadowbound in the garden, but this is a different side of him.

“Who was it, Dominus?”

“His name was Gallenicus Valerus.”

I know that name all too well.

Brennus Valerus tried to murder me and instead killed my friend Macer in Agogia before being elevated to Fidelis in my place. Abruptly, I realize that Varus is not looking at Bellona’s Arena, but at the estate just down the street that holds their gladiators.

“I see you’ve heard of them.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

The senator is silent for a long time, glowering into the darkness. A grim presence radiates off him like a dark flame. During the fight, he tore one of the sicarii to shreds, but I did not see how.

“What followed was a short but brutal feud between our families.” Varus’s mouth tightens, but his voice does not waver. His gray eyes remain fixed on the distant Valerus estate, firm in their hate.

“When enough blood had been spilled, the Empress herself stepped in. She ordered that I stand trial in the red sands of the Mars’s Arena for my crime of killing her nephew. There in the eyes of all, Gallenicus’s siblings and cousins were allowed to challenge me to single combat. They were meant to wear me down like hunting dogs until I was dead, ending the feud and my life.” A hint of dry amusement enters his voice as he continues. “I am still here, so obviously, they failed.”

“Forgive me, Dominus, but what is your Symbol? I caught only a glimpse of it in the dark.” I remember seeing a great disruption as the Shadowbound tried to kill him, and I want to know what that power is.

Varus is silent, and for a moment, I fear I have overstepped. But then he snorts, amused by my daring. “The Enduring Boulder.”

A Rock Symbol. No wonder he was able to track the Shadowbound’s movements despite their dark shroud. He knew them by their footsteps upon the stone. I shake my head in stunned admiration, trying to picture the palatine cutting his way through the Valerus family one-by-one. It is not hard to do.

“When Diana’s attempt with the sword failed, that was when the knifework began.” He does not need to tell me what that means; I have seen it firsthand. “My brothers did not survive the next year. My mother jumped from a tower in Forum six months after their deaths. All our enemies were emboldened to act, knowing Diana would turn a blind eye to their treachery. My wife—” His voice cuts off, but there is no doubt that he hides another tragedy in the silence.

“Why are you telling me this, Dominus?” I ask after it has been quiet for a long time. Varus does not answer right away; instead, he just stares into the darkness at the enemies that surround him like wolves. He seems less a senator and more a Tribune.

“Perhaps it is because I can.” He laughs in derision. “You are oathbound to carry my secrets. There are few that a senator can speak plainly to.”

I am quiet at that. Varus is different now. When he first bought me from Dorian’s pit, he treated me with the same wariness that a man has for a tigris, but now, he speaks to me like I am a trusted confidant.

Yes, I am bound to keep his secrets, but he does not strike me as a man who needs to be heard. No, this is not for his own sake that he tells me this story. This is because I have spilled blood in his name, and that is how his trust is measured.

“Forgive me, but I do not believe that is why.” The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Then maybe it is because you do not yet understand what is at stake here. What the other domuum around us will do to finish us.”

“You’re saying they will cheat?” The question sounds foolish to my own ears. Of course they will. If they cheat in Agogia, they will do the same here.

Varus’s disgusted grunt tells me he thinks the same.

“Are you telling the rest of the gladiators this?”

He hesitates.

“Then why me?”

“The Silver Circuit is the least popular of all the gladiator games. Do you know why?” I shake my head at him from across the fire. “Because it is like watching a gangly, unruly lion hunt a foal. Coppers are amusing in their own way. They’re so confident, but they are only at the beginning of their paths. They smash into each other like brave little children. Silvers have begun to see the truth, and it has slowed them down. They are not decisive, they struggle to use their Cor Hearts now that it can reach beyond them.”

I think of the other gladiators I have dueled. Many of them are guilty of that hesitation. I assumed it was because they were not yet killers, but maybe there is more to it.

“You do not.” The senator’s eyes bore into me with a calm focus. I remember him telling me that I was the first gladiator he ever bought that he thought might be able to kill him one day. “You use your ice like you were born to it, like it is just another muscle in your body.”

I am silent, unsure how to answer a question that he has not asked. Both of my Symbols, Iron and Ancient Frost, feel like they are a part of me. But it is strange to think that this is different than it is for other electi. I cannot imagine them any other way.

“Do you have any family?” The senator’s voice is probing, but there is no malice in it. Instead, it seems like there is a hint of… understanding? I match his stare evenly, trying to decide how much I dare to lie.

“I see,” he says before I can speak, understanding the answer in my silence. “You and I are not so different. We may be bound to different Symbols and grew up in different homes, but we burn with the same cold.”

I cock my head to the side in surprise, considering his words. There has always been an understanding between us. Perhaps now I finally know why.

“I hate this place,” he tells me, turning to stare back up at the shadow of the Bellona Arena above us. “It is a servant to a sickness, a rot that eats us from the inside. But Domus Pelias is currently the worst-ranked gladiator ludus in the Empire.” The senator’s voice is grim as he tells me what I have already surmised. “If we do not improve our rankings before the end of the Circuit, I will lose my license to own one. Doing so will have… repercussions.”

“Then why come here? Why participate? Is your yearly quota of Corda truly so important?” I cannot understand why he might need more. As far as I know, Alessandra is his only child, and she is already a Silver like me. What other use can there be for them that is so vital?

“Bah, that is a distraction.” Varus waves his hand dismissively into the night.

“Then what is at stake?”

“My seat in the Senate. My Domus. My child’s life. My own.”

“You have to have a gladiator house to be in the Senate?” I am baffled by his response. That cannot be possible. There are far more senators than there are ludi in the Empire.

“My surname is Pelias,” he reminds me stiffly. “I am the leader of one of the great Domuum, a descendant of the Iron Lords. My ancestor slew Neptune in his watery home. Already my enemies whisper to the people that my House is fading. My siblings are dead. I am the last.” He is silent for a moment, a man in mourning of a legacy lost.

“I have only one daughter. The tree withers, they say. Look at how Varus leads his great line into ruin. It will be an easy thing for them to convince the mob to replace me with someone stronger. The Iron Empire loves it when their tyrants are strong.” A note of bitterness creeps into his voice.

“How many of the other descendants of Iron Lords have gladiator licenses?” I ask, my suspicion growing.

“All save Delilah, whose family never had one.”

“What happens if you lose your Senate seat?”

He gives me a wry look. “Then what little protections I have will be stripped away, and my enemies”—he nods his head toward the waiting arena to make it clear who exactly he means—“will be free to strike at me and mine directly.”

I shudder at the thought of the Shadowbound assassins being considered a sign of restraint in the battle between palatines. I also note that I fall under the category of “his.” If he loses his seat and the wolves come into the paddock, they will gladly feast on me as well as him.

“And what of the Censors’ threat of Judicium?” My heart hammers in my chest as I ask my question in a whisper. Antioch is not Forum or Anteforum, yet I am certain it is full of ears that listen.

“It is a goad, a prod.” Varus shrugs dismissively, as if the specter of the Empress’s judgment is the least of his concern. “They use it to make me nervous, like hunters beating the bushes to make the birds fly up. The danger is elsewhere.”

Over Varus’s shoulder, I spy a figure emerging from the shadows of the fourth hallway. I keep my face blank as Anas slinks into the pool of light nearby, just far enough to make sure that I have seen him. I give my head a tiny shake, dismissing him. Frustration bleeds through the edges of my concentration. This conversation has come at a poor time. I intended to ask Anas to steal enough torches for me to really be able to cultivate, but I dare not risk letting Varus see the two of us together again.

“So now you know why you must win.”

I nod, surprised by how unaffected I am by this. I figured there was more to the game Varus was playing, but it changes nothing for me. I have always needed to win. Now I understand why he needs me to.

The silence stretches between us. I no longer look at Bellona’s Arena or the other dormitories surrounding us that hold our competitors. Instead, I stare at Luna. The moon’s waning crescent hangs above the city like a scythe, a foretelling of the days to come. I feel a kinship to its cold light, and I let myself drift in its embrace. Ancient Frost and Iron seem to relax with me, enjoying this harsh, white specter. Only Unrelenting Fire rages in its cage in my body. It much prefers the warmth of Sol.

When the moment has passed, I am only mildly surprised to realize that Varus has vanished, gone as quietly as he arrived. I chuckle as I realize he had no need to stare at his enemies like some brooding adolescent. He only came up here to pass his warning to me.

I stay by the fire for hours, quietly soaking up as much of its essence as I can, straining my Copper veins, forcing them to grow. I cannot shake the feeling that I am being observed, but I cannot see them with my eyes or feel them with Iron and Ancient Frost. Let them watch, I decide after a while. I cannot afford to lose.