The center of the gladiator training facility is divided into a dozen sectors. A ghost of a grin twists my lips as I remember my first time stepping onto a different set of sands at the beginning of the Sententia. If only that Castor could see the path I have walked since that day.

He’d have let Aulus knock him out of the melee to save his parents.

The bitter realization worms its way through the back of my mind, causing me to stumble as I step off the stone floor onto the sand. Would I? If I knew the devastation that would come from this journey, would I have been selfless enough to abandon it?

I think so.

I hope so.

For a moment, I hesitate, studying myself from a new angle. It’s like seeing my own reflection for the first time. I’ve never noticed the lines of my own jaw until this moment. But instead of strong cheekbones, it is arrogance and selfishness I see. I hate it—I hate myself. Then a gentler voice reminds me that I lost in the Maze. Even if I had let the boy betray me, I still would have found myself here. The oath would have been broken—and the dead gods would have taken their pound of flesh. I am not responsible for my parents’ death, I tell myself fiercely, part affirmation, part prayer.

I am but a leaf on the wind of Dead Fortuna’s whims.

A handful of warriors gather next to Contessa on the edge of the training field, pulled from their training. Unlike everyone else I’ve seen in this compound, there are only Silver Cor veins running through their exposed arms and upper bodies. The lanista raises her hand and I follow her gesture, eyes widening as I spot a row of relics planted in a marble block on the other edge of the training field.

Several of them shift, and I watch in awe as the ground shudders. The outline of a thick, black square rises from beneath the white sand, forming a dueling square. The wealth on display in this place is staggering. My collegium’s arena probably cost less than this facility. I struggle to wrap my mind around the disparity between this ancient family and mine, but it is incomprehensible to me.

“What is your name?” Contessa demands, pointing a gladius at me. The scar on her face only serves to make her even more intimidating.

“Castor,” I tell her, hesitant to lie. I have no idea what her Symbol is. For all I know, she can hear my heartbeat or see a shadow of guile in my eyes. I cannot afford to make her more suspicious of me than she already is.

“Reese, see what Castor can do,” she orders, turning to look at a tall, sleek woman who wears sweat-stained training leathers that stop at her shoulders, letting her Silver veins shine brightly. Her black hair is shaved at the sides, leaving her with a horse’s mane.

“Yes, Domina!” the woman barks eagerly. She steps toward a weapon rack and looks at me with an appraising look. “Single or double blades?”

“What?”

“Do you wish to fight with one or two blades?” Reese asks, looking at me as though I’m rather slow.

“Two,” I muse after a moment of thought. In the legions, they trained us to fight with a sword and shield, but I found wielding a second blade natural in the battle against Knut’s horde.

Reese nods sharply, sending her mane kicking in the wind. She grabs a pair of gladii from the weapon rack and launches them toward me with casual strength. The weapons soar one after the other, point first as they arc down to spear the sand inches from my feet.

I keep my face blank, but it takes all the self-control I possess to keep from drooling. The iron in the blades calls to me. This close, I can siphon essence from them, but it is only a fraction of what I will be able to take once I hold them.

Slowly, still holding eye contact with the gladiator, I pull the blades from the sand. Sweet, familiar awareness blooms in my mind as the weapons become a part of me. My Cor pulses with need, desperate to draw in the missing iron and bring my Hearts into balance.

Slowly, I allow the first kiss of Iron to flow into me. It takes a tremendous amount of effort not to let out a gasp of delight. My right hand shakes slightly, but I tighten my grip on the hilt of my blade to hide it. Tension begins to melt out of my joints as I absorb the nectar of essence. Ancient Frost is a part of me, but I was Ironbound before I ever was tied to winter. The metal Symbol will always be my first love.

“Are these dulled?” I ask when my breath is no longer catching in my throat. They’re not, my connection to the Iron Symbol tells me with confidence. They’re razor sharp. In the legions, we would be responsible for changing our gladii into practice weapons. But she cannot command hers to become blunt.

“The dominus wants to see if you’re worth having as a gladiator or only a contender for the Spectaculum roster,” Contessa reminds me with a hint of scorn. I grimace but shrug. Despite my confidence with a real sword in my hand, I don’t like the concept of playing for keeps, especially if I’m planning on losing, even if it means I might be sent to be fodder for the bloody Spectacles. I’ll take my chances trying to escape before I walk into the ring to die.

“Into the dueling square,” Contessa barks to Reese. I force myself to stand loosely, watching the woman as she enters. We both pause on our respective sides, eyeing each other openly. She’s tall, almost as tall as me, and the muscles on her arms are honed and lean. She holds the gladius in her left hand in a reverse grip, which makes my eyes narrow. I’ve never fought someone who held a blade like that before.

Despite the grim cloud that hovers over me, I feel a faint flame of excitement begin to kindle deep in my chest as my body realizes what is about to come. I have only fought Astrid since I reached Silver. I have not gotten to test myself against another electi. Today, I take the first step in following in the footsteps of Gaius and Percy to become a Fidelis.

“Instructions, Domina?” Reese asks, settling into a fighting crouch.

“First blood,” the woman replies, easing some of my fears of being sliced to ribbons. “Fighters ready?”

“Aye, Domina,” Reese bellows. I merely give the woman a stiff nod.

The bald woman gestures at the relics again, and my ears pop as the pressure in the air around us shifts and the arena seals itself. The black lines on the ground begin to glow with a purple stripe. A dull hum emits from them that rumbles in my chest. I know, without even testing their will, that I am now trapped in here with the maned gladiator.

Reese wastes no time. She stalks forward in an uneven gait, swords raised for an aggressive attack. I eye her approach for a moment, trying to discern some sense of what her Cor’s attunement is. I see no telltale signs, then she is on me, blade extended in a lunge.

My left hand comes up automatically, twisting to parry her attack. I feel the telltale whisper from the Iron Symbol as she shifts her angle, dropping the blade into a feint and trying to throw me off balance. Even as her backwards blade begins to blur forward in a horizontal slash aimed at my ribs, I let her distraction go, twisting my own left gladius to point downward, blocking her attack. Reese’s eyes go wide as my weapon catches hers. All I need to do is stab her with my right blade, and I would win in the opening exchange. But I don’t.

For a heartbeat, I’m in shock. It’s so easy. I can sense every movement of her weapons as she makes them. There are no secrets that she can keep from me. Our eyes meet, and she knows that I could kill her.

My awareness of her sword deepens as it meets mine. Before, it was as if I could hear her swords at any distance, but now I can touch it—manipulate it. It would be as easy as a stray thought for me to shatter her blade; she has no Iron Symbol to protect it.

In the space between heartbeats, Reese panics, calling on her Symbol. A blinding flash explodes between us, and I stagger backward, blinking furiously to clear my vision. There’s no heat in her attack, just a furious amount of… light. She must be a Lumos Symbol.

The gladiator disengages from my blades, using my momentary blindness as an opportunity. But I do not need my eyes to see her swords. My Silver senses track her easily, telling me exactly where her weapons are. She circles to my right before striking. It would be a simple thing for me to bring my gladius up to block, but I accept the opportunity that this gives me—a way to lose without garnering suspicion.

I stumble to the left, holding my hands up toward my eyes. I twist as her lunge strikes at me, stepping so that the edge of her sword only lightly grazes my shoulder as she goes by. I hiss in pain, burning some Ancient Frost essence to numb the minor wound.

The world halts as Reese’s stroke completes. I am completely frozen, suddenly unable to move except for my neck. Confused, I turn my head, finally able to see. Reese is similarly frozen mid-lunge, blade extending past me. A spray of red blood hangs in midair where it has been ripped from my flesh. My heart still beats, and my lungs breathe, but otherwise, it is as if time itself has been paused. It reminds me of being caught in Aquilo’s grip.

If I could move my jaw, it would be on the floor as I gape in shock. I do not know what manner of relics allows Contessa to control the battlefield like this, but this is a power I cannot even conceive. I am terrified, witnessing the power that is beyond my grasp. But at the same time, I crave it for myself.

Contessa walks into the square, eyeing me with a flat, uninterested gaze. She glances between the two of us, as if determining if the cut is worth ending the bout. After a moment, she turns to look over my shoulder, apparently convinced.

“Well, Pliny, it seems you might be wrong after all. Are you satisfied?”

“I am not,” the gentle magister replies.

“Do you think young Castor here lacks suitable motivation?” A chill runs down my spine at the amused tone in her voice.

“It would be remiss not to test further, I suspect.” The man’s warm voice only increases my fear. He seems to know too much about everything, and I have secrets that are worth more than my life.

“Make him run the gauntlet,” a harsh voice calls from the far end of the training facility. I do not need to be able to turn to know that the senator has returned. My stomach lurches. I do not know what that is, but the cruelly amused look on Contessa’s face tells me I will not like it.

“A wise suggestion, Dominus,” Pliny replies at once.

“Very well.” The bald woman nods once, stepping back out of the arena. “Fighters, this bout is complete. When I release you, you will return to your sides at once. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Domina,” Reese replies at once.

“Yes, Domina,” I echo, a sick feeling beginning to form in my stomach. At once, the heavy pressure that holds the world still vanishes. I stagger to the side, watching my blood fall to the ground, where the sand drinks it up with gusto.

Reese staggers to the side, bleeding off the momentum from her stalled lunge, but then immediately withdraws, returning to her side of the box. I copy her, trying to figure out what this gauntlet is. The handful of other gladiators next to Contessa have begun limbering up and arming themselves, which I take as a bad sign. My hands tighten on the hilt of my two gladii, and I continue to suck in Iron essence, preparing myself for another fight. Every moment that we delay brings my Corda back into balance and restores more of my missing strength.

“How long of a gauntlet, Dominus?” Contessa calls toward the far end of the room. I turn to see where the man who bought me stands. Varus has changed out of his leathers into a black pair of pants and a matching tunic that are worked with golden filigree. He studies me for a moment, glancing at Pliny before looking back at me. At last, he comes to a decision, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall.

“Five gladiators, ten minutes,” he declares. The warriors around Contessa go still, like a pack of hounds waiting for the symbol.

“First blood?” the woman prompts, clearly expecting a different answer.

“Let’s make sure our prospect is suitably motivated,” he replies after a moment of thought. His heavy gaze flicks to me, and there is no kindness in those gray eyes. He suspects something now too; I can read it in his posture. “Victory or Death.” A cold anger sweeps through me as I study the man who bought me. I am nothing to him, not even human—unless I show him that I am a worthwhile investment. He reminds me of General Tyrus, imperator of Agogia. I manage to keep a sneer off my face, but only just.

I understand the logic. If I truly am a special electus like Pliny suspects, then I will have no choice but to use it to survive. I do not think they would truly let me die once they see how I can fight, but the danger is necessary to force me to show my hand. I’ll just have to show them something that they’ll believe.

“As you wish, Dominus.” The other gladiators are looking at me again, curious expressions on their faces. Reese almost looks like she pities me. I ignore them, turning to the lanista for instruction. My anger shelters me from any fear, burning bright and cold. Its flames stoke my confidence into a raging fire of ego. I have faced down berserkirs and furiae in a hurricane made by an almost dead god. I am not afraid of a couple Silver gladiators.

“Do you know the rules of the gauntlet?” Contessa asks calmly as the rest of the warriors begin to ready themselves behind her. Most of them wield swords. My eyes narrow as I watch a tall man lift a heavy trident like a spear. I shake my head, not trusting my voice to not betray my anger.

“Your task is to survive. The bout will last for ten minutes, or until you are dead. You will begin with one opponent, but every two minutes, I will release another to join them. You may defend yourself as vigorously as you wish, but do not kill any of them. If you do, the match will restart, and I will fill in for the slain gladiator.” I eye the Gold electus skeptically. The Iron Symbol gives me a truly unique advantage in combat against anyone wielding a blade, but I would be a fool to think I could fight her and four other Silver warriors at the same time.

I nod my understanding, and she gestures at the distant panel of relics. The sand beneath us rumbles as the black lines retreat beneath the surface before reappearing further away, expanding the arena several times over.

“How favorable do you want the battlefield to be, Dominus?” Contessa asks, tossing a glance over at the senator. He frowns in thought for a moment before wiggling his hand in a so-so movement.

“Understood. Reese, you will start again,” the bald woman orders, stepping up to the new border lines. The maned warrior nods, settling into her strange stance once more. The tension in the room spikes as the other gladiators prepare to join the battle. I embrace Ancient Frost fully, letting its dispassionate logic settle around me like a second set of armor.

“Fighters, are you ready?” Contessa looks between the two of us, collecting our nods. I am devoid of emotion. I can no longer hold back if I am going to survive. The master of this house wishes to see if I am worthy.

I hope he is watching closely.

“Begin.”