Icome to on a surgery table. The blessed numbness that held me in its arms is gone, leaving me with only the pain as a companion. I jolt awake, ready to fight.

“Domina, please!” a woman’s voice cracks against my ears like a whip. “Hold him still!” Strong hands pin me down, and I reach for my Symbols, desperate to get free. Something cold and wet falls out of my right hand as I flail.

“Castor!” Varus’s strong voice cuts through my panic like a knife.

I go still, no longer sure where I am. Panting with fear and pain, I take in my surroundings. I am no longer in the sea of vendor stalls of the market, but a white room. Bright light shines out of a series of lumos relics, blinding me. Pain sparks from my chest as something pinches at it.

“You’re okay, lad,” Contessa growls, leaning over me to eclipse the light with her dark, bald head. “You’re safe.” Tension flows out of me as I realize she is telling the truth. “Now will you stop wriggling so the medico can finish stitching up your wounds? Mars’s Bleached Bones, I thought I taught you better than this. Look at how they carved you up.”

I laugh at the disappointed tone in her voice. Seeing that I am back in control, she releases me, stepping back to reveal a thin woman with Silver veins and white robes, who leans back toward me, holding a needle and thread. My eyes track down to the exposed slash in my chest that is only partially closed.

“If it makes you feel any better, Domina, they cheated.”

“There’s no such thing.” She snorts.

I tilt my head in acknowledgment before my gaze naturally tracks away from her to where the master of the house lurks in a corner, watching me with crossed arms. He studies me for a long moment, and for once, I keep my mouth shut, following his lead. Pliny stands with him, expression troubled.

The needle burns as it pulls on my wound. Instinctively, I reach for Ancient Frost to numb the pain but stop when I see how critically low my essence reserves are. A shudder runs through my body as I remember the crassamentum—the dregs. I have no desire to experience that again.

That was what the cold, wet thing in my hand was for. A literal lump of ice, likely pulled straight from the Winter locus to give my desperate, hungry Cor something to cultivate from other than me while I was unconscious. Tentatively, I send my animus searching and find it on the floor, leaking precious essence. Eagerly, I start pulling from it, but it only makes me hungrier.

The room is silent and tense as the woman goes about her work. Varus’s eyes are dark and brooding. He shifts slightly, and I notice that he is carrying a dark gray lump of metal. The relic that Brennus’s assassins brought to nullify my Symbol. I suspect he already knows much of what I am going to tell him from Shotus.

“He’ll live, Dominus,” the woman says when she finishes her stitching work. “I’ve already willed his wounds to seal, but he’ll need another session in a few hours to make sure it holds.”

“Thank you, Patricia,” Varus murmurs from where he stands. “Will you give us a moment with him, alone?”

“Of course, Dominus.” She gathers up her supplies and makes her way out of the room at a hurried pace. She wants no part of the conversation that is to come. A wise woman, that medico.

“Tell me.” The senator is not a man who wastes time.

“Sicarii,” I growl. “There were five of them. They were waiting for me on my regular route. They knew I would have two Ironbound with me and what I can do.”

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, lifting the relic up to show it to me.

I start to raise my right hand to wiggle it in a so-so gesture but stop when the motion tugs at the stitches in my ribs and chest.

“I figured it out,” I reply grimly. “I was blocked from using my Symbol externally. It had pieces of gold set into it, making the crest of Ancient Frost. I ripped that out, and I could use my power again.”

“It is called an interdictor, and it is quite… rare,” Pliny volunteers from beside Varus. “It is a far more powerful version of the inhibitus that they use on legionnaires. It requires several different Golden relics to make it.”

“So only someone with tremendous wealth or access to it would be able to get one?” I laugh. “I think Domus Valerus has plenty of both.”

“That is a dangerous accusation.” Varus’s voice grows sharp but unsurprised.

“The leader of the assassins carried a tellus blade marked with a krakenus. I killed Impostor and embarrassed Brennus. Xania was there when the consul told everyone exactly what my Symbol was. How could it be anyone but them?”

“You’re sure it was the krakenus on the blade?” Varus asks, taking a step toward me.

Wordlessly, I gesture at the wound in my chest that has only been stitched closed for a matter of minutes. “I got a good look at it. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”

Varus’s gaze follows my hand, and his lips compress into a firm line. Varus looks to Contessa for confirmation. She produces the tellus blade from behind her back. He rolls it in his hand, brows furrowing as he studies it. I think he expected it to be a fake, but it is not.

“When did you embarrass Brennus?” Contessa’s voice is rich with suspicion. I resist the urge to wince, realizing that was a story that they hadn’t known about. Only Laertes and his men had been with me.

“He tried to start something under the arena.” I shrug offhandedly. “I made him reconsider.” The lanista’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing.

“It is sooner than I thought,” Varus murmurs at last.

“Dominus?” I ask in surprise. “Were we not attacked by assassins on the way to Antioch?”

“Bah, that does not count,” Pliny grunts, waving his hand dismissively.

“Why does it not count?”

“The Shadowbound were sent by Diana herself. Besides, it was in the country, away from Forum. There are different expectations outside of the capital.” Pliny shrugs as if that explanation is obvious.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Only the palatine could have different rules for murder depending on the city.

“We assumed that the plan was to wait until the ludus placed last in the Games, and I lost my Senate seat.” Varus reminds me of the plot that he shared with me in Antioch. “But it seems that your performance has made them reconsider.”

“Or maybe, Brennus is just that brittle,” I offer, using a legion insult for the Praetorian. To the Ironbound, there is little worse you can be.

“He was not there when Briannus revealed your specific Symbol,” Varus points out, rubbing his chin in thought. “But that does not mean his mother did not tell him.”

“When do we strike back?” I ask, trying to sit up in my bed despite the pain. “Next time, I will⁠—”

“Strike back?” Varus’s expression is incredulous. “The attempted murder of a vassal of a senator is not tolerated. We do not need to retaliate. I am going to file a complaint.”

I am incredulous at his response. It all seems so simple and organized.

“There is more,” Pliny insists, glancing at his master before continuing. “Shotus says that you froze the entire section of the market with a single manifestation.” The three Gold electi look at me with blank faces.

“Is this true?” Varus asks softly.

I swallow, trying to buy time to decide what the safest answer is. It felt so natural in the moment, that close to death. But now that I am warm and awake, I know how preposterous it was. But there were witnesses. I can do nothing but own up to my power.

“Yes,” I say after finding no way to lie.

“Frigus Ventus, indeed,” the senator murmurs.

“How is that even possible for him to manifest that much?” Contessa demands, looking to Pliny for answers.

“It should not be. But it means that he is close to Ascending,” the short magister replies with a shrug. “Time slips away from us.” It takes all my self-control not to squirm under the scrutiny of all three of their intense gazes.

“I didn’t want to die,” I mumble lamely.

“I have seen men and women perform feats of strength that defy all logic when faced by the end of their road,” the lanista says slowly, as if she did not really believe what she was saying. “Surely it is possible for an electus to do the same?”

I cannot explain what the gods and their servants have done to me. I cannot make it make sense. I can only survive and use it to get the revenge that I have promised. But one thing is for sure: time is running out. I need to Ascend my Unrelenting Fire Cor to Silver before it is too late.

They leave me shortly afterward, with strict instructions not to get out of bed until the medico gives me permission. I last about fifteen minutes before I cannot bear it anymore. The small chunk of ice has melted.

My empty Cor claws at me, and I am convinced that I will get no rest until it is sated. Groaning in pain, I manage to roll off the side of the infirmary bed and onto my feet. I’m still wearing my blood-stained trousers, but there is no sign of my tunic. They must have cut it off me while I was unconscious.

With a sigh of acceptance, I shuffle out of the door, heading toward the training hall. Just a little essence, I promise myself, and then straight back to bed.

Servants eye me warily as I make my way through the compound. Every step sends fire lancing through the half-dozen cuts that have only just finished being sewn together. Even my Symbols cannot completely numb the pain.

Before I have made it halfway to the loci, I start to lose my nerve. There is still time to turn back. But then Ancient Frost pangs with a deeper pain, and I grit my teeth. The only path to any bit of peace is forward.

“Castor! What are you doing out of bed?”

I turn slowly to face Alessandra, trying to avoid triggering a new wave of pain cascading down my body. Her eyes go wide in horror as she surveys the stitches that cover the front of my chest.

The heir of Domus Pelias is dressed in a set of the house’s fighting leathers, complete with the broken trident branded on the front. Her dark hair is pulled back into a horsetail, and she glistens like she has just finished a training session.

“Uh, I need to⁠—”

“Does Patricia know that you are walking?” She makes it sound like that is some great crime. Does Patricia know that you are murdering?

“Yes?” I lie unconvincingly. Her gaze travels down from my face to take in my shirtless chest and fresh wounds. For a moment, it feels like she isn’t focused on the wounds, but then her eyes snap back up to me and I wince at the heat in her glare.

“You need to get right back in that infirmary before Patricia or Contessa catches you,” she hisses, recovering from her shock. “I’m not sure if I should beat you or help you walk.”

“I have the dregs,” I explain, making her wince with a new type of sympathy. “Need to get to the Winter locus before I go insane. Then I’ll lie down, I promise.” She hesitates, biting her lips as she studies me.

“Come on,” she relents with an irritated sigh. “Lean on me. If you tear your stitches, there will be Hades to pay.”

I hesitate, but she insists, coming in under my left arm so that it drapes over her shoulder and wrapping her right around my waist. Her touch sends tingles through me where her fingers move across my bare skin that has nothing to do with my wounds. My pulse quickens, which only makes them throb harder.

“Let’s hurry,” I grunt. “This is not the most comfortable I have ever been.”

“My heart breaks for you,” she murmurs with a straight face. I cannot tell if she is serious or not.

If I thought that I was getting strange looks before, wandering the compound shirtless and wounded, now people openly stare at the sight of us walking together. Never when Alessandra is looking, but when her head turns, they watch with wide eyes as the beautiful heir of the house walks me toward the training halls. I am painfully aware of her hand, which grips my hip, running low to avoid a line of stitches.

Hot embarrassment begins to creep up the back of my neck, and I realize with horror that it is spreading across my entire body. By the time we arrive, I am out of breath and blushing. I have become a spectacle in more ways than one, and it is mortifying. So much for the Cold Wind.

The scrutiny doubles when we enter the long training hall where the gladiators are. A half-dozen practice fights halt as warriors watch us openly, unafraid to be caught looking. I realize with relief that the silver paint Pliny used to disguise my Copper veins is still in place, or the whole room would know one of my secrets. Fortunately, Contessa is nowhere to be seen. I do not have the strength to argue with her.

Illy stares at me with wide eyes, although from the way his gaze moves between Alessandra and me, I’m not sure if he’s worried about my health. The heat inside me grows, and despite being bound to Unrelenting Fire, I cannot get it to go away.

“Are you feverish?” she demands, turning to study me. “If you have an infection, I am dragging you back to the infirmary this very second.”

“No,” I reassure her, holding up my hand to cut her off. “Just hurt. I promise.” I continue as her eyebrows rise skeptically. “Just help me into the Winter locus, and I will be fine.”

We make our way around the outside of the central sandpit, which adds to the time it takes. I try to ignore the room’s silent scrutiny, counting down the paces until I will be able to cultivate again. We pause outside the room, and I step away from her embrace, delighted and saddened to be free.

“Thank you,” I say, giving her a smile even as I can’t quite meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll refill my reserves then go right back to the⁠—”

“Oh no,” she interrupts me with a toss of her head. “I’m staying right here until you’re done and walking you back myself. That’s your punishment for sneaking out of the infirmary.” A small smile plays at the corner of her lips. She’s enjoying this.

“That’s really not necessary,” I protest.

“And yet, you cannot refuse my command,” she says, knowing all too well how true that is. “So, stop complaining and get to cultivating.”

“Yes, Domina.” I sigh, shuffling toward the sliding glass doors to enter my winter refuge. They open at my approach and send a cold wind blasting out. Alessandra shivers, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I don’t know how you bear it,” I hear her murmur as the doors slide shut behind me, cutting me off from the rest of the world. Any reply I might have made is lost in the sheer joy of being reunited with Winter.

I inhale, drinking greedily from the essence that pools in this room. My Heart lurches like an empty stomach getting its first mouthful of food. I fall to my knees, momentarily forgetting that I am wounded. Agony lances through me, but my Symbol now has the power to banish most of it, numbing the sharpness with ease.

I am not healed, but my pain is greatly reduced, and for that, I am immensely grateful. I close my eyes and lean my head back, savoring each stream of essence that comes to my back and call. Mentally, my animus shows me my Cor’s dark blue hue slowly returning as it refills.

I am at peace, whole again.

“Okay, that is enough!” Alessandra calls cheerfully as the doors slide open, knocking me out of my almost trance-like state.

“I’m not—” I turn slowly to stare at her in shock.

“You have enough to work off the dregs, and you’re not going to be using it up lying in bed. Which is where you are going.”

My mouth opens to protest, but her expression hardens, becoming a harsh shadow of her father’s. I don’t bother. My words will be like the wind rushing along a mountain for all the chance they have to move her. “Okay,” I grunt. “Back to bed.”

She marches me to the infirmary in the same embarrassingly intimate fashion. I do not lean on her as heavily as I did before, thanks to the numbing from my restored Winter Symbol. But I do not pull away either.

“Thank you,” I say as I crawl back into the bed I escaped from without any sign of Patricia. Alessandra nods, tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear as she does, her expression unreadable.

I want to ask her about a hundred things. If she has found a way to help me Ascend Unrelenting Fire. If she will come visit me again so that I am not alone. If she would like to try my bread.

“I’m glad you did not die,” she says at last.

“Me too.” I give her a half-smile propped up from pillows. I will never admit it, but now that I am lying down, I can feel exhaustion creeping up on me. My body is sated and ready to begin healing. Alessandra is silent but looks like she is trying to decide what to say.

“Please be careful.”

I wince with a new kind of pain. I remember what she told me outside of Delilah’s home after the shadow assassins attacked. What my life means to her family’s safety.

“I will be,” I promise. “I know that your family needs me alive.”

There’s a tug at the corner of her lip that seems almost dissatisfied, as if that was not what she really meant to say, but the moment has passed.

“I will be quite wroth with you if you die.” She smiles gently this time.

“If I do, you can light an everflame to keep my soul here and scold it every night before bed.”

“I will,” she promises. “I swear it on Pluto’s Bones.”

“Don’t do that!” I snap, twitching in my bed enough to make all my wounds sear with pain. She also flinches in surprise at my outburst. “No gods,” I pant when I can speak again. “They’re dead. Just you and the flame.”

“Just me and the flame,” she repeats, clearly confused.

After she is gone, sleep avoids me for some time. It is not because I am in too much pain. There is a light in my mind that won’t go out. My hands burn with the warmth of holding her. I have been so cold for so long. Iron and Ancient Frost are not Symbols prone to comfort. Even Unrelenting Fire’s heat has a wild, rabid edge to it. But not Alessandra.

Not her.

It is madness, I tell myself over and over. I am a slave to her house, no matter how well I am treated. She is a palatine, the daughter of a senator, a descendant of the Iron Lords themselves. Even if the gods still lived, they could never grant a prayer like this.

I know all of this, and yet the light in my mind keeps shining.