Illy is silent as we ride the lift back up from the Pelias armory. I am grateful he does not want to talk because I am caught in a maelstrom of my own emotions.

Frigus Ventus. That is my name now. It will follow me for the rest of my life. The Cold Wind. A chill that has nothing to do with my Symbols runs down my spine as I remember Aquilo once called me the same thing. Who am I that the ghosts of gods torment me so? All because of one foolish oath made in the innocence of youth.

For the first time in many months, I think of Valentina. What have the Censors done to her in their tower? Does she live freely, or have they imprisoned her for what she knows? Despite how our friendship ended, I am sad at the thought of her languishing in the dark.

I shove the thoughts of my childhood aside. Now is not the time to be distracted by the past. If I am not careful in the next few moments, my future will be cut short. There will be questions, I am certain. They will want to know how I did what I did. I must lie well enough to convince them that I am a genius—not an abomination.

The relics that power the elevator cease their gentle hum as we reach the top. My heart is in my throat, and I swallow in fear as I wait for the doors to open. I do not know if my master will be pleased with my performance, with my new name. All that matters is that my secrets stay buried.

“They’re here!” someone shouts, and wild cheering breaks out throughout the box.

Contessa waits at the door with a tight expression that tugs at the scars on her face. The bald lanista glares at me for a moment before giving us a sharp nod of approval as she steps aside. I make it three paces before we’re swarmed by the other gladiators. The Silvers are at the front of the pack, faces flush with their excitement. Even Leon is smiling, our rivalry briefly forgotten.

“Was it because of me?” Reese squeaks, giving me a sharp hug. “Is that how you knew?”

“You saved our lives,” I tell her with a broad smile. It’s not even a lie. While my Iron Symbol is the real reason I survived, my experience with her made it easy to understand the fiction that Impostor was using as a shield.

“You were brilliant too,” the woman gushes to Illy, turning away from me to address my companion. “Your sword is so fast. Why do you never do that in training?”

“A lesson I have learned,” the shorter duelist says wryly. “From now on, I will.”

“Good,” Fannia says from where she hovers by the taller woman’s hip. “You are more interesting when you’re dangerous.”

Illy blinks at her sultry tone. She’s a strange one, that girl with knives.

“Well done,” Leon says when it is his turn. He’s stiff but looks me in the eye. I return the favor and give him a nod that communicates some respect. Some of the tension drains out of his shoulders at my acceptance.

“Move!” a heavy voice commands, and the gladiators around me scatter like roaches. Malus Mors strides to the front, looking down at me with his dark arms crossed—face serious. I stare up at him, unsure what his reaction will be. A tall, thin woman follows in his wake, bearing the same Golden veins in her arms. This must be Fantasia, the other named gladiator that Varus has brought.

After a tense moment, he breaks into a wide smile, white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Now we are brothers,” he declares, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Welcome, Named One.”

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out, squished against the inhumanly strong man. Even without actively using his Symbol, I can feel the power that runs through his limbs. What a terror he must be in the ring. The woman says nothing, but her fierce eyes study me, dissecting me to see if I am worthy.

A presence cuts through the group, pushing even Malus to the side. It is not a physical one, but it is heavier than anything else in the room. The gladiators part for Varus himself, who stands at the far end of the room, studying me with intense scrutiny.

“Dominus.” I bow my head slightly in respect as the room falls silent. Illy hovers at my side like a nervous shadow. He was in the ring with me, but everyone knows that I am the one under scrutiny. Varus holds my stare for a moment, eyes dark and judging. Then he smiles and points at the wall.

I turn in time to see the graphis relic activates to update the ORDO LUDI. It moves to the bottom to our line, where DOMUS PELIAS currently has sixteen points. It passes over the number once, clearing it before inscribing a new score.

DOMUS PELIAS: XX

Twenty! Inwardly, I frown, regretting not cutting down the second member of Impostor before the match was called. With another point, we would be at twenty-one, tied with Domus Belascus, the absent regional house.

“A good start,” Varus says, raising his flagon in salute. “Pelias Victor!”

“Pelias Victor!” the gladiators around me echo, lifting their own drinks. Illy and I bear their praise with small smiles, equally uncomfortable with the attention that is on us. Dead Fortuna smiles on us, for after the toast, the guests in the room break back into milling herds. For a moment, I dare to think that is the end of the scrutiny, but I should have known better.

“You two, come.” Contessa jerks her head, leading us toward the front of the box. Illy shoots me another nervous glance before following the lanista. I am not surprised when she takes us to where Varus waits, standing in front of the glass, looking down on the arena. The other palatines congregate further away, giving us some privacy.

“What in Dead Mars’s name was that stunt?” Contessa hisses, turning on me. Now that the eyes of the rest of the room are no longer on us, she is free to berate me. “The dominus spent a lot of denarii to buy you those swords, boy. The least you could do was use them.” I decide not to point out that I technically did draw one, just at the very end.

“How did you know?” Varus’s question is softer but much more dangerous. It is the thrust I have been expecting. My shield is ready; I can only hope it is strong enough to deflect his attention.

“It was Castor—sorry, Frigus Ventus,” Illy says, unwilling to squirm under the senator’s intense scrutiny any more than he has to.

“Castor,” I say firmly, giving him a dark look before turning back to our master. “It was a guess.”

“You didn’t draw your sword on a guess?” Contessa sputters. She is furious with me for not doing what she trained me to do. I have made her look like a poor teacher. But I do not think she needs to worry. Varus is not angry with her. He wants to know why.

“I didn’t believe it.” I shrug as if it were a simple thing. “A Silver who has an ability, and it is one that lets him teleport? That seemed beyond improbable.”

“You are a Silver with an ability,” Varus points out, his voice cool and unrelenting.

“Yes, but mine is still bound by the rules of my tier,” I reply. I expected his line of reasoning and am prepared for it. “I can only manifest Ice on something I can touch. I cannot affect anything at range. That is the arena of Golds.” The senator nods after a moment—he understands my point.

“Reese is also Lightbound,” I remind him. “I train against her frequently. It’s become instinct when someone vanishes to watch the sand, to track their footsteps. When Impostor showed off his ability before the beginning of the match, I watched where he had been. The sand shifted even though he was not there. It made me suspicious.”

“Suspicious? You were suspicious?” Contessa is only getting angrier at my explanation. I took too many risks on too small a chance. I do my best to ignore her rage for the moment. She is not the one I have to convince.

“What is more likely?” I ask. “Someone develops an ability that defies all knowledge of electi, or their domus uses a clever trick to create a terrifying gladiator for their ludus?” Both of the Golds’ gazes track down to my white rasa veins, and I feel my cheeks grow hot as I blush.

“Impostor,” Varus murmurs. “It was in the name.”

“The Valerus would have to be very careful who they used them against,” Contessa muses, thinking through the logistics. “An Earth electus would be able to sense the two of them immediately. So would any other Lightbound.”

“Or make sure that they killed whoever they faced,” I point out grimly.

“We will be complaining to the consul,” Varus promises. “Ludus Valerus has been cheating by using two fighters in single combat. Now that they’ve been exposed, they must be stripped of the points from those matches.” A note of warm hope glimmers in his eyes for a moment, and I resist the urge to smile. I had not considered the repercussions that this would have for the current Circuit leader.

“But why didn’t you draw your sword?” Contessa demands, no longer willing to be ignored. “You can be as clever as you like. Well done. We’re all so impressed. But clever boys with swords sticking out of their stomachs are still just as dead.”

“I wanted to prove that there were two of them,” I explain after a moment. “I was worried that if I just cut one’s arm, the other would slice their own to mimic the wound, so I had to do something that was not easy for him to recreate.”

The two Gold electi are silent for a moment, processing my explanation.

“Besides,” I say into the silence, “I thought you told me to make them afraid.” Contessa’s sigh is long and loud as she turns away, defeated for now. There will be repercussions to this, I am certain. But they will be on the training floor, where she can take her anger out on me with a practice blade.

“Well done,” Varus says at last, apparently satisfied by my explanation. “You have succeeded in your first task, but that was only the beginning. Tomorrow, the true tournament begins.”

“I will be ready,” I promise.

“Valete,” he commands, dismissing us.

“I am never fighting with you again,” Illy whispers as we walk away from the palatine section of the box toward the rest of the gladiators.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, giving him a jaunty smile. “Don’t you like winning?” For once, my heart is unburdened. I won my fight and answered my master’s questions. This was an unparalleled victory. I am not used to those. A strange euphoria bubbles in my chest, making my feet feel lighter than usual.

“You’re impossible.” The duelist sighs, turning to eye the feast once more. “But thanks for watching my back out there.”

“Anytime.” I extend my fist toward him. He looks at it for a moment before his annoyance evaporates a little, and he bumps his knuckles against mine with a small laugh. He steps toward the banquet, and I turn away, a hint of a smile on my lips.

It dies as I stare into the cold blue gaze of Alessandra. The heir of Domus Pelias was waiting behind me, her face locked into an expressionless mask that she must have inherited from her father. All the joy that boils in me evaporates under the pressure of her look.

“Domina,” I say respectfully, giving her a slight bow like I did to Varus.

“Frigus Ventus,” she says coldly. Her eyes bore into mine, searching for something. I cannot guess what it might be. She is the only person other than Anas who knows my secret. There is no mystery here about how I defeated Impostor.

“I understand that I have you to thank for my legendary gift. I do not think even Pelias ever bore a weapon so mighty.”

“You do. I expect you to put it to better use.” There is no give in her—whatever frigid anger fills her is harder than anything Ancient Frost could ever produce. All the danger that I just thought I escaped now hangs over my head like a dome.

“Forgive me, Domina,” I say softly, not daring to lose even an inch of formality, “but I do not know what I have done to anger you so. Do you not rejoice to see your father’s enemies laid low?”

“It is not that you won. It is the cruelty you showed. The joy you showed in taking another’s life. Those swords were meant for a protector, not a monster.”

I pause for a moment, considering the truth in her words. I enjoyed cutting Impostor down.

I told myself that it was only the demands of the Games, but now, in the quiet of the box, I begin to wonder if that is just a lie that makes me feel better. I was angry. It did feel good. That had never happened before. Usually when I fight, I lose myself to the icy logic of Iron and Ancient Frost, which muted any other emotion. But I didn’t need much essence to beat the twins. I hadn’t even touched my Ancient Frost reserves, which left me far more open to the whispers from Unrelenting Fire.

My face goes pale as I recognize the anger my new Symbol is feeding within me. The danger of my first two Symbols is losing myself to the cold, but now I must also worry about being consumed by rage. Alessandra’s expression shifts, and I realize I have been silent for too long.

“It is true, Domina,” I admit. “Some of it was theater—I was playing to the crowd—but I will not lie to you and say that I was not angry or that I did not enjoy it. Impostor was cheating. How many warriors have those twins murdered with their deception? How many points has Ludus Valerus gained from their lies? I did delight in making them pay for their deeds.” Her blue eyes grow harder with every word as I do not back down from her accusation.

“But more than that, Domina, is one simple thing.”

“And what is that?” There is a danger in her voice, lurking just under the water like a crocodilus waiting for an unsuspecting gazelle to drink from its oasis. Up until now, she has not exposed my secret to protect her family, because she trusts me. But if I am destined to become a monster, then perhaps she should warn the Censors before it is too late.

I step closer so that I can whisper directly in her ear. These words are for her alone. “Your father bade me to make his enemies know fear. I am oathbound to obey him. What choice do I have but to be an instrument of terror in the bloody sands?”

Alessandra does not respond as I pull away. Her expression has changed, grown darker and more troubled. I am not sure who she is angry with, me or her father. I give her a small smile as I follow Illy to the banquet table. Winning has given me quite the appetite.