The conclave only further cements that I will have to be my own vengeance. The sight of Gaius and Percy’s father so bent and broken haunts me. In my head, I had dreamed of a Titan, a looming mountain that cast a long shadow over his sons. But it seems that even he has been worn down by the inexorable wheels of the Iron Empire.

If he cannot stand before it, what chance do I stand?

My late-night training with Rin gains a new edge. I push myself harder than ever before. She does not ask me why, but I know she notices. Most days, I forget to bake a new loaf of bread, but she says nothing, only hits me harder.

By day, I hammer my Silver Corda with the pondus. Both Iron and Ancient Frost continue to swell, adding a second, denser layer of essence upon themselves, showing me that the work is not wasted despite being monotonous.

There is a tension quivering in them, as if they grow restless at being restrained. The weight helps to contain them, to keep them locked in place. But they want to run like wild horses—to Ascend. Their impatience sends a new series of weakness and pain through my body as I am punished for my perseverance.

But I was forged in the Iron Legions of the Empire. I do not bend. I do not break.

Almost a week after the meeting of the ludi owners, an interloper appears. Luna’s faint light shines overhead as I make my way across the stone steps to the island in the middle of the manufactured lake. A figure waits for me, shrouded in darkness. Rin is always on time—I rarely am.

“I actually brought a loaf today,” I call in greeting. I heft the still-warm sourdough in the cloth that Callia, my first bakery instructor, wrapped it in. The sweet plebeian brought it to me in the mess hall. She said it was an extra one that she needed to get rid of, but it is too warm for that to be true.

It seems that some of the cooks miss my presence in their kitchens; I do too. But that was a thing for Castor, and there is no time for him. There is only Frigus Ventus. The Forum Games loom large.

“I’ve wondered where you sneak off to at night,” the shadowy figure says, his voice catching me completely off guard. Slowly, I turn to face the amused form of Illy, who is standing just out of reach.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“You think you are so sneaky, tiptoeing out after everyone goes to bed, but you’re really not a subtle man,” the duelist continues with an arched eyebrow.

“Just out for a late-night stroll with my bread.” I hoist the loaf toward him in offering. He smiles warmly but shakes his head.

“I thought we agreed to trust each other, friend.” He pushes gently but firmly. His face is blank as he tilts his head toward the edge of the island.

My gaze follows his motion to find Rin lurking by the water, watching us like a skeptical alley cat. She makes friends about as easily. “Oh, uh, it’s not what you think,” I protest, feeling a burst of heat blossoming on my cheeks. “We’re here to⁠—”

“—beat each other with practice swords?” he interrupts smoothly, flicking out his own wooden blade from underneath his cloak. My mouth hangs open as I stare at him in shock. His mocking laughter echoes off the stones like waves.

“How—” I splutter, completely dumbfounded.

“I told you; you are not a particularly subtle man.” His expression is still guarded.

I’ve hurt his feelings, I realize. He meant what he said in the training hall, and now I have left him behind. Foolish. I know better. “Well, you caught me,” I admit, raising my hands in defeat. “But, uh, what exactly would you like to do⁠—”

“I’m joining you, of course.”

“That is not entirely up to me…” My voice trails off as I glance over his shoulder at where Rin watches. I do not know what she will think of this intrusion. Part of me is afraid that the camaraderie between us will be broken; that she will leave and never come back. Illy’s gaze turns back toward my strange teacher, and he bows carefully, the same way that I saw the Gold electi show respect to her grandfather.

“If you will give me a chance to prove myself, Sensei, I would gladly be your student,” he tells her. My irritation grows. Was old Magister Vellum truly such a terrible teacher? Even the patricians in Anteforum knew more about the world than I did!

Rin studies Illy for a long moment, her gaze moving from his strange, thin sword to his stance. My friend does not move; instead, he waits for her to pass her judgment. Slowly, like a curious stray, my teacher approaches, giving him another skeptical once-over before coming to a decision.

“We will see if you can be taught,” she says at last. “You cannot be worse than him.” Her head tilts in my direction. Illy laughs, some warmth returning to his expression as he rises from his bow smoothly.

“I will endeavor to prove you right, Sensei.”

At Rin’s direction, they step into the center of the stony slab and raise their training blades. Illy’s is thin like his rapier, made of a willow-like switch that allows it to be as springy as the metal version. Rin wields her curved katana, which is longer and heavier than his weapon.

“Begin.” Rin wastes no time, launching forward at the smaller man with the smaller weapon. She settles into The Way of Fire, which allows her patterns to be used in their most aggressive style. She hammers at Illy, relying on her physical advantages to batter the smaller man into submission.

But Illy is not surprised by her tactics. He’s been using that strange, skinny blade against heavier weapons for his whole life. He never meets her attack directly. Instead, he uses it like a conductor’s baton, guiding her attacks around him so that they miss him by a matter of inches.

I can’t help but be impressed as I watch the two of them dance around the stone island. If I did not know better, I would assume that their fight is choreographed or that they are both Silva electi, bound to the wood of their weapons. I have improved much under Rin’s tutelage, but I know that both of them are far better at this than I am. Without my Iron Symbol, I am nothing.

I suspect Rin is impressed by his level of control, because she shifts into The Way of Wind, which is less relentless, allowing her to pace herself. She must be worried about running out of stamina before she cracks through his defenses.

As her barrage of attacks slows, Illy flows into the gap, finally trying to land his own attacks on her in the breaks in the tempo. It is Rin’s turn to dance, and she dodges his lightning-fast strikes with ease, while her katana cuts through the air as she tries to catch him.

Slowly, Illy begins to wear her down. Rin pays for her early aggression. Now he is the one on the attack, while she is forced only to defend. For a wild moment, I think that he is going to beat Rin. But then he falls for her feint, finally allowing his weapon to get tangled up in hers.

Quick as a viper, Rin surges forward, shoulder-checking the smaller man while wrestling her heavier weapon free. He staggers back a step and freezes as the tip of her wooden katana hovers an inch from his throat.

“Mars’s Rotting Spear, you’re good,” he pants.

Rin is silent for a long moment as she studies him. Her sword does not shake despite being fully extended. The two duelists stare into each other’s eyes, taking something of each other’s measure.

“He can stay,” she announces, lowering her sword and turning to look at me.

“That’s it?” I splutter, almost insulted. “One duel and he gets to join? You made me wait months.”

“He’s better than you,” the girl replies with a shrug, scooping up the still-warm loaf from the bench and ripping off a hunk. “I just like your bread.”

And then we are three. Every night after Contessa and Pliny have had their fill of me, Illy and I join Rin on the lake and continue to train. I am by far the worst, but between the two of them, I begin to learn quickly. Illy eventually forgives me, but only after giving me a nasty bruise on my thigh.

It takes almost a week, but I finally manage to beat Illy. At first, it is only once, then twice in a row, until eventually, we are trading victories evenly. I am exhausted as I sink into my bed just before the sun begins to rise. Every muscle in my body, flesh and Corda is sore.

But it is all worth it. It is working. I am getting better.

A few nights after I finally best Illy, there are four people waiting for me in the dark instead of two. Fannia and Reese hover in the shorter duelist’s shadow, alternating shooting nervous glances at me and Rin like two schoolchildren caught out of their dormitorium after the night bell has sounded.

“Uh-oh,” is all I say, looking from them to the girl who is our teacher. Rin already surprised me once by allowing Illy to join us. She is not from Agogia, but she is like a soldier in the Iron Legions—I do not think she will bend further.

“We want to train with you,” Reese says, raising her chin defiantly, stepping forward to challenge me, as if my opinion is the one that matters. I shake my head sadly. Frigus Ventus’s shadow is large, but it is only theater. Rin is the real terror here.

“Now who is bad at keeping secrets?” I ask Illy dryly. My friend just shrugs without any sign of regret. I do not think he feels shame often. He is a strange, deliberate man.

“We have to win, Castor, and you seem to be the only person among us who knows the way,” is all he says.

I roll my eyes but don’t argue his point. I can’t. He’s right. Yet I can’t help but remember what happened to the last group of people who tried to follow my path. Their deaths are a stain on my soul that I can never scrub clean.

“We have to win,” he repeats, taking a step toward me, his face earnest. I know he thinks of the changes to the Forum Games. “All of our futures hinge on it. Not just mine and yours.”

“You’ll have to convince Sensei,” I tell Reese, nodding my head toward the foreign woman who stands apart from our little gladiatorial group. The shadows hide her expression from me, but her shoulders are braced, like she is prepared to meet a charge head-on.

She is so otherworldly, born in a place I have barely heard of and never seen. I cannot imagine what her life has been like, and yet I find myself grateful that it has led her here. Everything around me is a roiling sea, its waves crashing down on me and trying to drown me. My Corda strangle me, my masters push me to do things that will not help me. I am surrounded by secrets like drawn swords, pricking me if I stray from my perfect course.

But here in the dark, all of those problems fade. I am nothing more than the wooden blade in my hands, the rhythm of kenjutsu. There is no Castor whose soul aches with loss or whose body is ravaged by forces unleashed upon him by the gods.

Luna’s light comes out from behind a cloud, bathing Rin in her pale light. The girl’s dark eyes find mine, and for a moment, we stare at each other, having a conversation without words that I do not understand. Then she shrugs sharply, drawing her wooden katana and stepping toward the two women who have come to learn.

“Show me why I should teach you,” she says, gesturing for Reese and Fannia to engage her. The gladiators exchange confused glances for a moment before doing as they are told. It is a fast, brutal affair. Rin dispatches them easily, but she seems pleased by something I cannot see.

Now we are five.

Contessa knows that I am up to something. It’s obvious in the way she studies me with narrowed eyes. It is hard to hide the fresh bruises that I am earning outside of her training. Cor allows me to heal faster than a normal human, but it does not make me invincible.

Quietly, our little cabal of fighters ascends to the top of the Silver gladiators. All of us were already on the roster for Antioch, but if Contessa was considering making any changes, we quash her concerns easily.

None of the others can hold a candle to anyone trained by Rin in the training arena. Obellius and Leon are still dangerous, but we carve through the rest of the alternates like a hot knife through butter. The lanista is suspicious, but she cannot argue with the results.

I know that she knows what the forms of kenjutsu look like—some of her Gold electi are trained by Hiro. She cannot be completely confused about what is happening, but we are getting better, and that is all she wants.

Illy’s words haunt me every day as we improve. By the end of a week, the four of us are noticeably more dangerous than we were before. I have learned to fight against different styles and weapons, but there are gaps in my knowledge. None of my sparring partners wield the slightly curved dueling blade favored by many heavy fighters—or the Censors. But Leon does.

When Contessa dismisses us, I watch the air electus and Obellius walk away together. A long sigh escapes from my lips as I know what I must do, what Durus would want me to do.

We must win.

I walk away from my friends and angle for the retreating gladiators as they head toward the mess hall. Illy barks a laugh behind me. I think he’s surprised I’m willing to swallow my pride. Leon’s blue eyes narrow in suspicion or fear at my approach. We have barely spoken since I beat him in the dark.

I regret that now—not that I did it, but it will make it harder for me to earn his trust.

“What do you want?” he demands, drawing up short. Obellius hovers at his right shoulder, glowering at me with his broad face. I raise both of my hands to show them that they are empty. Neither of them relaxes, but they know firsthand what my Glacialis Falx can do.

“Have you heard the news about Forum?” I ask.

“What about it?”

“That the final will be a team battle?”

“Who cares?” Leon’s expression hinges on boredom.

“We do.” I nod my head toward where the other three members of my late-night training cabal are watching our exchange with blank expressions.

“Congratulations.” His tones are cold enough that they could channel Ancient Frost essence.

“We’ve been doing extra training at night, out by the old lake. You two should join us.” I extend my right hand in a friendly gesture. “We have to win.”

“Maybe you do.” Leon snorts derisively, staring at my arm like it is a venomous snake in the grass before him. “I could always go join the Censors, immundus.”

“True.” I shrug, trying not to let my face show the chill I feel at his words. They’d love him over there. Atticus would welcome him with wide arms. They are cut from the same cloth, those two. “Or you could help us win the Games.”

“Leave us alone, Frigus Ventus.” His sneer makes my name a curse. Together, he and Obellius turn their backs on me and march off toward the mess hall. Rage boils in my chest, fed by the untamable Cor of Unrelenting Fire. How dare he spurn my olive branch? I will kill him⁠—

Ancient Frost’s cool logic sweeps over me, helping to bank the anger that burns inside of me. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden emotional swing that my mind just survived. Pliny is right—I am in danger of losing myself to these elements.

Slowly, I turn back to my training partners, who watched my exchange with Leon and Obellius. Illy shrugs when he sees my expression. “It was worth a shot,” he tells me. I feel like I have been whipped in front of the recruits again.

But I should not have doubted, for the seed was planted. My father, Evander, taught me that plants always win. Their creeping roots and vines can shatter the mightiest boulder. They just need time to grow.

Within a week, all four of us are defeating Leon and Obellius regularly in Contessa’s training bouts. The lanista’s gaze is heavy on all of us, but she does not say a word. Her silence is echoingly loud. I can feel the rest of the Silvers’ eyes on us, wondering what we have done to pull apart from the pack.

The next morning, the Index Gladiatorum Argenteorum has been updated. Instead of six names, there are only four: Frigus Ventus, Illyrius, Reese, Fannia. Leon’s and Obellius’s have been removed, and the Quintus and Sextus spots are blank.

The mood among the rest of the Silver gladiators shifts abruptly, like sharks with blood in the water. There are still two unclaimed slots for the Forum Games. A chance for someone new to earn their freedom.

Contessa ignores the index, even as the murmurs grow louder. Her heavy gaze settles on me, and I resist the urge to smile. She may not be an officer, but lanistae are far too similar to centurions. Realistically, no one in the rest of the ludus has a chance of besting Leon or Obellius before the Forum Games. But somehow, she knows that they have not joined with the rest of us, so she gives them a little nudge to encourage them in the direction.

I take this gesture as a tacit blessing of our extra activities. Contessa must be satisfied that whatever we are doing is not putting my Corda at risk or exhausting us too much for her training. All four of us have increased our dueling prowess by a noticeable margin in the last month, and Forum looms large.

We must win.

That night, we are seven.

I give the rest of the Silvers a wide smile when I arrive late at the rocky island. Leon and Obellius stand off to the left of the rest of the group, a strange balance to Rin lurking on the right. I hold up my hands, each full of a fresh loaf, the first two I have baked since the conclave.

“Come.” I gesture to them, using my bread like batons. “Let us break bread together and speak of the future.”

Illy chuckles, although whether he is amused at my clunky attempt to make some sort of peace between us or just that I am trying to swallow my arrogance, I am not sure.

“Bread?” Leon’s voice is skeptical, even as he approaches. His shoulders are tight with tension, and Obellius frowns openly at all of us. Contessa drove them here with a whip—it is up to me to make them actually want to participate.

“Yes.” I smile, passing one loaf to Reese before ripping a hunk off the other and offering it to the blond gladiator. “Think of it as a chance for new beginnings.” I am speaking to the new pair, but my words are for us all.

“When we first came to this ludus, we were competing against each other, rivals as well as members of the same domus. But that is not working. Pelias is the lowest of the Great Houses and still in danger of losing its license. Now the consul and his compositores have changed the rules, forcing us to work together instead of on our own.” I bite into my bread, delighting in its soft warmth. It may be my best work yet.

“So we break bread?” Leon’s face is incredulous. Obellius just looks confused. I probably should try speaking a little slower for the big guy.

“First, we break bread and make peace. No more rivalry, no more resentment. A blank slate between you, me, and them. Then we become dangerous.”

“But we are only Silvers. Our points are only worth two-thirds of what the Aurum Circuit can earn,” Leon protests. “It’s not truly up to us if Domus Pelias wins or loses.” I see Illy nod thoughtfully over his shoulder.

“That comes next,” I tell them with a wide smile, still chewing my delightful creation. “Have some bread first.”

We must win.