Dead Mars damn Laertes and his eyes that see too well!

“Knew what?” I spit back in his face, knocking my tunic free of his grip. My right hand curls to hold the hilt of another Glacialis Falx. I do not know if I even have enough essence left to summon it, but I must try to keep my secret safe.

“I knew I smelled the legions on you,” he growls, looking me up and down once more. His eyes flicker from my collar-less neck to the rasa veins on my arms in rapid succession. The lie I told Varus and the other palatines will not work here. Laertes has passed through the forges of Agogia. He knows that no soldier is branded until they emerge from their prisons, ironmade.

“Once,” I admit, cocking my head to the side, willing to let this play out a little further. None of them are armed, but they’re tough men. I will have to be quick with my icy blade to keep them from pinning me down. Anas stands behind his comrades, his expression strained. He alone knows how deep the water they are treading in is.

“There is no ‘once.’” Laertes snorts in derision. “You bear the brand, boy. You’re Legion ‘til the day you die. The real question is what happened to your Iron?”

“You saw.” I jerk my head back in the direction that we left Brennus. “It changed.”

“The gods are dead, not me. Save your lies for priests and prayers.” His eyes narrow as he takes a menacing step toward me, followed by his two companions. “I watched you fight that Lightbound. I know what a Fidelis can do.” Something dark flickers across his face. “Too well, I know.”

Something on my face must go cold because Anas interjects before I can trigger my ability and cut the old officer down. “Laertes served with Gaius,” he barks, shoving between the other two men to close with us.

“You two knew Gaius?” Laertes asks, turning from my friend to look at me with a surprised expression.

“We knew him,” I confirm, slowly letting my hand relax as I begin to understand. Laertes told me he was in the Second Legion, the same one our tribune once served in. I search my memory for the banner that hung on his wall, remembering the golden X in the bottom right corner.

“You were in the Tenth Cohort of the Second?”

“How did two Twelvies know—” he begins before his own eyes go wide as he puts the pieces together. “Eighth Cohort?” I glance at Anas, who gives me a shrug. It is too late for half-truths now. I look back at Laertes and nod. For the first time, the grizzled veteran seems completely caught off guard.

He is silent for a moment, head bowed as he thinks.

“We were⁠—”

“Silence!” he hisses, looking up in genuine alarm. That familiar serpent of dread that slumbers in the pit of my stomach awakens at the expression on his face, beginning to slither through my guts with its frigid scales. “Not here.”

Without another word, he turns away, leading us through the tunnels at a more pressing march. The other two legionnaires follow without complaint. It seems they understand the flavor of the senior gladiator’s fear.

Anas and I exchange a glance, and together we follow in their wake. My right hand twitches, feeling empty without the hilt of my Glacialis Falx. With every step, my concern grows. This dark hallway is my last chance to kill them. After we emerge from the darkness, my life will be in their hands, as theirs are in mine now.

Do it, my Symbols seem to whisper to me, Ice and Fire united in a common cause. Both logic and fear agree that this is too dangerous. Convinced by my demons, I step forward, reaching for Ancient Frost once more. Anas grabs my left arm with his hand, pulling me back with a firm grip. I twist to glare at him, but he shakes his head, holding up a single finger before adding a second and third.

Wait.

For a moment, we stare at each other as my Symbols demand that I act, but my own instincts are quiet now, muted by the trust forged in deep snow and dark forests. My attunements are to the primal forces of the world, but they pale in might to the strength of the bond between men who have bled and killed for each other.

Reluctantly, I nod, accepting his instruction. Together we follow the rest of the ferra gladiators out of the darkness into the light of the Domus Pelias quarters. Even though we are coming out of the ground, I can’t help but worry that I will be returned to it soon.

Laertes does not stop once we are free from the depths of the arena. Night has fully fallen, but the torches blaze brightly, bathing us in light. Instead, he continues his brisk pace through the courtyard and into the fourth hallway reserved for the Ironbound gladiators. I hesitate at the mouth of the new tunnel, and Laertes pauses, turning to look at me with knowing eyes.

“Come on, boy,” he grunts gently. “We have much to discuss that is only for those who have been through the forges.” It is not his words that convince me, but his tone. Since the moment he first laid eyes on me, the veteran has always watched me like I’m an outsider. He still looks at me with suspicion, but now it is the glare of an officer who does not know what to make of his legionnaires’ actions. I have seen that look in Durus’s eyes a thousand times. Now, I belong.

My heart pounds in my chest as we head to the room at the back, as far as we can get from prying eyes. Laertes murmurs something into one of his companion’s ears, and the former soldier nods at once, pausing to open the door. The four of us squeeze into the small room before he closes the door behind us, standing watch to prevent anyone from barging in on our meeting.

The moment we are alone, Laertes paces to the far end of the room and whirls, staring at Anas and me with a manic, scrutinizing stare. Out of habit, my spine stiffens as his gaze sweeps over me. He snorts slightly in response.

“You served under Gaius?” he repeats as if he still cannot believe what he heard. My gaze tracks to the second man still in the room, and he waves a hand dismissively. “Lexicus was also in the Second. I trust him.”

“We did,” I admit, glancing at Anas. “We were trainees together in the Eighth Cohort while he was Tribune.”

“How did you avoid getting sent North to die with him?” A tinge of bitterness fills his voice that brings my head up sharply. “Yes, boy, I know. We all do.”

“We didn’t,” Anas answers for me.

“You went North?” Incredulity colors his voice. “Then how in Dead Mars’s name are you alive and breathing right now?” I give my friend one last glance, and he shrugs. With a sigh, I let my shoulders slump and tell him the story.

Most of the story.

I share how Brodigan gave Gaius a way out. All we had to do was retreat after finding the horde, and the imperator would absorb us into the Sixth. When he heard Anas and I were sent to scout, he interrupts in surprise. “Why’d he send you instead of his Fidelia?”

“Other than his brother, Percy, we were the closest thing he had. I was among several trainees selected to train to be a Fidelis but was denied by the Argentum Consilio.” Laertes’s face falls in horror at the news. It seems that he had not heard everything.

“Tyrus sent both Marius brothers to die?” he thunders so loudly that I worry the entire domus might hear him. “Is he trying to start a war? I always knew he was a pig, but now I see that he is a fool too.”

I tell them of the chase, but I imply that we escaped. I do not speak of our time among the Normans, of the necromanta, or of what we found in the ice cave beneath the mountain. Those secrets are ones that I dare not offer, not even to someone who shares my admiration for Gaius Marius. When I get to the story of our cohort facing against the might of the Norman host, Laertes’s expression becomes grimly amused.

“Let me guess,” the former officer interrupts before I can go any further. “He walked out in front of an entire barbarian horde and cut their king into little pieces?”

Lexicus chuckles too, clearly unsurprised.

“His name was Knut, and he was a berserkir. Gaius destroyed him.” I hesitate once more, deciding what is safe to share with my iron kin. The next part of the story is almost as dangerous as the secret of the not-dead-gods. I take a deep breath and decide to roll the dice. Our Tribune deserves to have his story told. “This High King had Imperial advisors, who warned him about dueling against the tribune. Gaius recognized one of them.”

The room is silent as the two soldiers process that. I expected them to be more surprised. It seems they have already learned the truth that I am still learning. This is where the rust of the Iron Empire leads.

“How did you escape?” Laertes asks at last.

I tell him of the pass. Of a fierce winter storm that came out of nowhere. Of an avalanche that swept me away from the rest of my company where I was found by slavers who sold me into the gladiator Circuits.

“That’s when this changed,” I lie, gesturing at mismatched veins. “My iron went cold when I was buried in the snow. I do not understand it, but it saved my life.” The veteran grunts, apparently willing to accept that explanation for now. When I am done, I glance at Anas, who tells his own portion of the tale.

“Gaius lives?” Laertes demands, taking a step toward us in shock.

“He was alive at the end of the battle,” Anas growls. “Who knows what the traitors who took him have done with him since.” A heavy stillness settles on the room as we all try not to think of the horrors that are likely being visited on a good man.

“You served with him?” I prompt at last.

“Aye,” Laertes growls. “Lexicus, Thartus, and I were in the Second under him when he was made the youngest tribune in Legion history.”

“You were at Arausio,” I whisper. The battle that changed Gaius’s life.

“We were,” Laertes grunts in surprise. “You know the story?”

“He told me, once. On the way to the North.” Anas looks at me in confusion, and so I tell him a quick version. “In the battle, he sent his cohort to reinforce one of the Twelfth’s that was getting torn to shreds. He saved them, and maybe the battle, but a lot of palatine sons died for a lot of undesirables.” The former captivus’s eyes glimmer with understanding.

“You got the right of it. They could only punish Gaius so much, seeing who his parents are. So he was sent packing to the Twelfth and took out the rest of their rage on his officers.”

“You were the Prime Spear of the Cohort.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little.” I laugh. He and Durus must have been hewn from the same stone at birth. It makes me miss the man more than ever before. The former officer’s rage begins to take shape in my mind as I follow the threads of his story.

Gaius was protected—at least somewhat. But the men who followed his orders, who weren’t of the same social strata? They were the targets. Laertes and his men had likely been court-martialed as soon as the tribune was sent to the Twelfth, then sold to die in shame in the Games.

“So we’ve had a taste of the same knives,” I say after reflecting on their story.

“Aye, you might say that,” Laertes agrees with an amused snort. “Don’t worry, boy, we’ll keep your secrets. There’s no love lost here for the palatines and their games.”

“Or the Censors, I hope.”

“Couldn’t stand the White Hand before they made us slaves.” All four of us laugh, united by a common hatred. A weight slides off my shoulders as I feel less alone. Illy and some of the other Silvers have been kind, but they are not Legion. Here, I am finally among my peers. I must lie to them too, but it feels like I am close to home.

“Would you know their faces?” The Prime Spear’s question catches me off guard.

“Whose face?”

“The Imperials who served this Norman High King.”

“No, they wore coverings.” I hesitate, and he leans forward, ready to hear. “But there was a woman. Her name was Tullia. She was the one that Gaius recognized even with her disguise. I would know her voice. I could never forget it.”

“You’re sure?”

I nod firmly.

“Tullia,” he muses, rubbing his chin in thought. But if he recognizes her name, he does not share it with me.

“We should disperse,” he says at last. “There are fewer eyes in these walls than the arena’s, but even here they watch closely.” He turns to me and gives me a lopsided grin—the first smile I have ever seen on his face. It changes his features from cruel to merely firm, like a stern father watching over his sons.

“You’re one of us now, ironbrother. Sleep easy. We’ll be watching your back.”