Pliny waits for me at the base of the stairs when we descend from the wall. The short magister is practically radiating with excitement as he greets Varus and me. His eyes devour my arms as they trace my fresh Silver veins. I shuffle uncomfortably at the attention.

“Dominus, I need to examine Castor immediately,” he says, stepping forward to block our progress. “If he has truly accomplished…” His voice trails off as he glances surreptitiously around the courtyard. Varus turns to study me again, his brows furrowing as he realizes that I no longer have a Copper Cor.

“Very well.” He nods after a moment. “We will speak after the good magister has finished with you.”

“Aye, Dominus.” I bow my head in respect. I am still nervous about what secrets the senator wishes to cover. I am reluctant to be drawn into his world, but part of me knows that it is already far too late.

“Come, come,” Pliny demands, turning on his heel and making for the training hall. I follow in his wake, trying to calm my dancing nerves. I have not had a moment of peace since I set foot in Foundry’s furnace. It still does not feel real that I have Ascended to Silver for the third time.

As we walk, I close my eyes, letting my animus sweep around the courtyard. It takes me several tries to get my disparate attunements to play nicely with one another. I cannot hold all of them equally. Ancient Frost or Unrelenting Fire must take the lead. Iron dances to its own tune, mostly unbothered by their squabbling. Once I manage to hold them all, I am stunned by how much my animus can see. Unrelenting Fire whispers to me of the torches and bonfires that burn to keep the night at bay.

Iron shows me the soldiers who stand guard, painting their lorica, scuta, and gladii in my mind. I feel the nails in the carriage that still sits unattended.

Ancient Frost has the least to tell me. There is no winter here. Yet even it manages to whisper faint impressions of the fountain that bubbles by the entrance to the main house. Water is congruent but so different that I can barely feel the shape of it.

I open my eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of awareness that fills me like the knowledge of my own body. It is so much! I am burdened by it. Shaking my head, I withdraw my animus to a smaller range around me, trying to limit the extent of knowledge to a manageable amount.

“It’s just truly marvelous,” Pliny said, rambling on in his excitement, “that you managed to finally Ascend your new Cor to Silver. What was the final step that pushed you over the edge? Did it happen while you were out of the compound? Did you find a better source of Ancient Frost?” His questions come at a reckless pace; he leaves no pause for me to answer them.

To my surprise, he does not stop at the main training hall with the loci in them. Instead, he continues to a door I have not been through before, gesturing for me to follow him. We make our way down a series of halls until we emerge in a second sandy arena.

It takes up the entire room that is otherwise very spartan. A few banners hang from the walls, flanking a weapon rack full of a variety of swords. It feels like I am intruding in the private study of a master.

Contessa waits for us, giving me a sharp nod of approval as I enter. My Ascension means that she can begin to push me as hard as she desires. I will not be protected from her regimen by Pliny any longer. After tonight, I am eager to get back to work.

“Together we will uncover some secrets of the universe, boy,” Pliny says, turning to stare at me as he moves into the ring. “Let us start with the biggest issues. Did your second Cor merge with your existing one now that they are the same tier? Or do they still remain distinct and separate?”

“Um,” I reply, caught off guard by his question. I am not sure I am prepared enough to lie well through this examination. “They are still distinct.”

“A pity,” he muses, rubbing at his chin in thought. “Although I suppose there may also be benefits to keeping them separate. Tell me, can you now hold your Symbol twice in your mind?”

“No,” I reply eventually. “Although I have not had time to experiment much.”

“Naturally.” He waves off my uncertainty with a dismissive gesture. “We will explore that further. An easier question is this: can you perform a working with each of them independently? Can both Corda use your remarkable ability to manifest?” I feel beads of sweat beginning to grow on the back of my neck as I stall for time to answer his questions.

I am not sufficiently versed in the advanced theory of Corda to know what the answer to these questions should be. I have more Hearts than he thinks, but I do not have two that are bound to the same Symbol. Should both of them be able to manifest the Glacialis Falx? I am not certain, since that boon was given to me directly by a dead god.

“There is only one way to find out.” He nudges me pointedly, motioning for me to begin my tests.

“Magister, before we begin, I need to tell you that my… oldest Silver Cor tried to Ascend tonight as well. I was barely able to keep it in check.” Pliny’s eyebrows rise in surprise, and he hesitates, studying me for a long moment before nodding once.

“Well, it’s a good thing that your Copper Heart Ascended when it did,” he says grimly. “But there’s only one way forward—we have to know what you have become.”

I nod, trying to hide my nervousness as I close my eyes and hold out my hands to either side. Clearing my mind, I seize Ancient Frost with all my will, seeking refuge in its cold calm.

“First use your original Heart,” he instructs. “I want to compare what the process looks like inside your body with fresh eyes.” Dead Mercury damn his insatiable curiosity! I do not know how I am going to fool his attunement to Cor itself. It is a miracle that I have made it this far without being discovered.

I can do nothing but obey. I rotate my right wrist, calling upon my reserves of Ancient Frost to manifest as the familiar icy gladius. The Frost Iron blades at my waist have served as a source of essence for me to refill my reserves over the last few hours. The sword grows out of my palm in a matter of heartbeats, settling into my grip as if it were made for me.

“Excellent,” Pliny praises from the sidelines. “Your dedication shines in how far you have come.” I tilt my head slightly, accepting the compliment silently. Inwardly my mind races, scheming how to stay one step ahead of the magister on this next test.

“Let us see what your new Cor can do,” he urges. My thoughts freeze, and I force my body to stay loose and light. I cannot show my fear.

I nod, twisting my left wrist and calling upon the Glacialis Falx. At the same time, I reach for Unrelenting Fire, forcing it to obey me despite its hatred of being so close to Ancient Frost. I bleed heat into my skin, hoping that whatever Pliny’s senses show him will convince him that I am using a different Cor to summon the sword. My two Symbols squirm like wet cats, trying to break free from my grasp, but my will does not waver. I cannot afford to stagger on this tightrope.

A second icy gladius forms in my hands, slower than the first.

“Fascinating,” Pliny mutters as he studies me. I cannot breathe. My body is wound tight like a coiled spring, waiting to break free. “I could sense your new Cor activating, but your first one seemed to do more of the heavy lifting, as if it were the one that was guiding the process. Did it feel that way to you?”

“Yes, Magister,” I manage through dry lips, relieved that my ruse worked. “It is as if the original Cor knows the path, and the other is still finding its way.”

“So there is no sharing of knowledge,” he muses as if I have confirmed something. “Do they share animi?”

I try to reflect on my experience using all three Symbols together in the courtyard. “They are separate, but I can use them at the same time.”

“Do they have the same range?”

“I do not know, Magister.”

“Let us test. I have some ice relics with me.” Pliny fishes into a pouch at his belt, revealing a handful of small dull pieces of metal. Tentatively, I cast my animus over them, but I sense nothing. They are inert, devoid of anything that would register to my Symbols.

Pliny twists one of them, and I hiss in surprise as it burns against my senses, leaking a wintery essence. He looks up to confirm that I can sense it now that it is active. “Give Contessa your blades,” he instructs. “We can use them to test your close-range capabilities.” I shrug and pass the scarred woman my swords as she steps onto the sand with me.

“Aquilo’s Bones! These are cold,” the lanista complains as she grips them. I laugh but stop when she gives me a dark glare. I hadn’t meant to imply that I found her pain funny, just how close her curse was to the truth.

“Shut your eyes,” he instructs, striding to the far side of the room. “I will place these at various distances away from you. Tell me how many you can sense with each animus. In the meantime, Contessa will strike at you slowly to see if your Hearts can alternate what they see.”

I obey, accepting a plain iron gladius from the lanista before bowing my head and extending my spirit out from me. It is a simple matter for my Cor to cover almost the entire room, but I don’t tell him that. I feel as he activates the rest of his relics one by one, placing each of them further from me.

After a moment of consideration, I decide to tell him that my new Heart can only sense three of them, while my original one can feel four. I do not know why I am lying to him more, but my secrets feel worth their weight in gold, and I am reluctant to spend any more today.

“What do you sense?” Pliny calls at last.

“With which Cor, Dominus?” I ask.

“Start with your original one. Pull it all the way back until you only feel the first relic. We will expand your radius in steps.” I acknowledge him silently, eyes still closed as I draw my awareness inward. Across from me, Contessa steps forward, angling a slow slash that would open me from shoulder to hip. I catch it easily with my iron blade, following the Ancient Frost as it burns against my mind.

“I am at the first relic,” I tell him as Contessa steps forward in an exaggeratedly slow dance. I twist to match her, letting her lead the pace. This isn’t meant to be a test of my dueling skills, but of my senses. Despite my single Ancient Frost Cor, I feel my mind stretch as I track the blades before me and the relics that Pliny moves around the edge of the room. It feels a little like I am going cross-eyed, trying to watch so many different things at the same time.

“How about now?” the magister calls from across the room. There are more relics present now, burning brightly in my mind.

“I can sense three. I can keep goi—urk.” My voice cuts out as something thrums through the air at my back, and my instincts take over. I spin, raising my right blade to intercept the arrow before it can pierce my flesh. It shatters easily, devoid of any will to protect it.

My eyes snap open to find Varus Pelias standing at the entrance to the private room, just out of the range of my animus. In his hands, he carries a bow that he lowers as we make eye contact. A triumphant light burns in his dark gaze, and the snarl of rage on my face dies as I realize what I have done.

The arrow that I deflected was tipped with Iron.

This was a setup.

They know.

Fear burns inside of me, fed by Unrelenting Fire’s wild energy. For a wild moment, I consider charging Varus. If I kill them all… perhaps Briannus will offer me—but something in his expression stays my hand. No matter what I am, this is the man who carved his way through an entire palatine family. I am already guilty of underestimating him. I cannot afford to do so again.

“I wondered,” he says softly, still not moving from the entrance of the room, “how you managed to kill Brennus. You are a dangerous gladiator, Frigus Ventus, but even a poor Fidelis should be more than a match for you with a blade.” He tosses the bow aside. It clatters on the stone floor, loud and unruly in the silence that hangs over the room.

“Perhaps you used your frozen swords,” he suggests, descending the stairs to the sand that waits for him. “He would be unable to sense them, and it would give you a chance. But even with the gifts you have, ice is far too brittle to be able to stand up to the blows from a Silver Ironbound for long.” I am silent, watching his approach without moving. In some ways, this feels like the closest I have ever been to death.

“Maybe you got lucky,” Varus continues, circling me now. Reluctantly, I shift, tracking his movement. “Brennus was young and foolish. Reckless warriors make mistakes, but this is not the first time you have known what you should not.”

“Dominus, I—” I begin, but he holds up a hand, cutting my protest off with a single gesture.

“You bear the mark of the Twelfth Legion on your chest. When you first joined my House, you told me that it was a ruse used to hide your failures.” He pauses for the first time, staring at me with those intense, knowing eyes. “That was a lie, was it not?” I am frozen under his gaze, rendered motionless by fear. It is too soon! I am not ready.

“Yes,” I answer at last. A weight lifts from my shoulders as I confess my secret. No matter what happens, I am free of the heavy chains of lies that have been wrapped around me for more than a year. The electi in this room see me. The real me.

“You are not only bound to Ancient Frost, but to a second Symbol, Iron.”

“Yes.”

Varus is still for a long moment, studying me with his head cocked, like a hawk watching its prey before he stops. My heart does not even seem to beat. My whole body is frozen, waiting for his condemnation. I clasp the gladius in my hands tightly. Distantly, the oath that binds me to his house tightens against my skin, warning me that I am in danger of violating its tenets. I prepare myself to suffer the consequences of breaking it—whatever that relic will do to me is still better than being given to the Censors.

“You were right.” The senator looks over his shoulder at Pliny, who hovers at the back of the room.

The short magister smiles faintly. I am an idiot—of course he knew. What arrogance for me to think that I could keep him in the dark.

“I merely hoped for the best, Dominus,” Pliny replies.

Varus turns back to me, weighing me with a measured gaze. “Well done,” he says at last. A surprised gasp leaps from my throat as I suddenly remember to breathe. Surely, I have misheard him. But Varus smiles tightly before giving his magister another approving glance.

“I don’t understand,” I manage at last. “Are you not going to tell the Censors?”

“I’m sure they will figure it out at some point,” Varus replies calmly. “But by then, it will be far too late.” A new kind of terror blossoms in me. Even he sees me as a weapon.

“Why is the Empress trying to kill you? Why is your House under the threat of Judicium?” I ask in a whisper. The three of them watch me for a moment, surprised by my question. Then Varus nods approvingly, stepping out into the sand to meet me. Something inside me is breaking. My hands shake, and I cannot make them stop.

“You will speak of this to no one,” he instructs. The oath that binds me to his house burns the command into my bones, making disobedience impossible. Varus watches his orders settle over me for a moment, as if steeling himself.

“Do you know how long Diana Agrippa has been Empress of the Iron Empire?” He begins with a question.

“Since… sometime after the death of the Ferrum Domini,” I answer at last.

“She has ruled since the gods died,” Varus corrects me easily.

"But what about…Perseus? He founded the Empire. He was the first Emperor,” I protest. I’m grasping at straws. I should know this. Why don’t I know this?

“Name one thing that Perseus did other than ‘found the Empire,’” Varus challenges, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He pauses, but there is nothing I can say. My education is no deeper than that. “That’s because he only ruled for ten years. Ten years! Then Diana killed him and took the Iron Laurel for herself.”

I don’t know what to say. I’ve known my whole life that she has ruled for as long as anyone can remember. But I have never thought about what that must mean. My gaze flicks to Pliny as I remember him complaining that I had not been taught to ask questions. That must change.

“That can’t be true,” I protest, mind racing. Powerful electi can expand their lifespan beyond the normal range—but centuries? That is beyond anything I have ever heard of.

“No one knows.” Varus shrugs dismissively. “Domus Agrippa has long held back secrets from the rest of us.”

“What are you saying? That Diana has made herself immortal?” My mind reels as my understanding of the world shudders once more.

“That is exactly what I am saying.” Varus smiles tightly, pleased that I understand. “That is too long for a ruler to live. You have taken your first steps on the path of power. You know that it corrupts. Surely you already feel its whispers pulling on you?”

I can’t ignore the feeling of dread that grows in my guts at his words. I have changed. It has not even been two years since I became an electus, but already I have become something that my mother would not recognize. I have killed. I will kill again. Yes, I have felt corruption’s whispers and listened to them easily.

“The Iron Empire is sick, Castor,” Varus says earnestly. His gray eyes dance with a long-hidden fire. “It is like a log that has lain in the dirt for too long, and the rot has gotten into it.”

“It is rusting,” I whisper softly.

“Yes!” It is easy to imagine him on the floor of the Senate, orating before a sea of powerful people. But we are alone, scheming in secret. “For too long, Diana has allowed her greed and corruption to spread throughout the Empire. I seek only to cleanse the rot, scrape off the rust.”

“You’re talking about rebellion.”

“Talking about it?” Varus laughs, scoffing at my gentle phrasing. “I have done much more than talk, lad.”

“Did you create Knut?” My hands tighten on the hilts of their swords. My oath to Domus Pelias holds me in place, but my hands begin to shake as a rage that cannot be contained builds in me, like a volcano close to eruption. Alessandra promised me her father was not involved, but I must know.

“What is a Knut?” Varus’s brows scrunch as he glances at Pliny.

“The High King of the Normans was aided by Imperials acting against the interest of the Empire. Were those your people?” My voice is cold, and his eyes narrow at my tone.

“High King of the Normans? The barbarians have no kings.” A flash of anger runs through me at the amusement in Varus’s eyes. “The Lion in the North plays his own games, but the Empire is in no danger.”

“There are traitors,” I insist, raising my chin to meet his gaze. “They have worked to forge the different barbarian clans into one mighty horde. I have served in the cold and seen them with my own eyes.”

“There isn’t a force in the world that could break through Fortress Frigidus and into the Iron Empire,” Varus tries to reassure me. I open my mouth to protest, but he pushes forward, running over me. “Regardless of what you have seen, I am not a part of any scheme in the North. I do not seek the fall of the Empire. I do not even wish to dismantle it. This is not a true rebellion; we do not seek to overthrow the Empire. The body is good. It is the head that is rotten and needs to be removed.”

“And replaced by whom? You?”

He has the grace to look embarrassed, but not ashamed.

“Yes, I will rule,” he replies firmly. “I will be a stern but fair Emperor. I will scrape the rust out of our Empire and right it from the course that it is on. But there is something I will do that is even more important than that, Castor.”

“What is that?” I cannot keep the skepticism from my voice, and I lash him with it. He accepts my scorn without remark, expression earnest.

“I will die.”

I blink in surprise at his offering.

“I am an aurum electus—I will live maybe another seventy years. Long enough to right the course. Then I will die. I will fade back to the dust of my forefathers and pass the reins to another. Mankind was not made to be ruled by immortals. We did not kill our gods only to replace them with immortal men.” I am silent for a long time, measuring his words. The Iron Empire is sick, but I am skeptical of any man who sees himself as the cure. How many other senators believe that they, too, would be the solution if they wore the laurel wreath of Emperor?

But, something insidious inside my mind whispers, you know that Varus is a good man. I frown, trying to balance my understanding of the man who treats his slaves like people with the man who wants to rule the Empire. Is it possible for a rebel to be good? Can you demand power then use it to right wrongs?

Isn’t that what you’re doing? that little voice whispers again. I flinch, convinced of my own hypocrisy.

If there is a piece of the Empire that has not changed in centuries while the rot around it grows, then perhaps it is time for it to be replaced. I do not know enough about the world to know if that will fix everything, but I trust that Varus cares enough to try.

I no longer believe that of Diana. Either she does not know what her servants do in her name, and she is incompetent. Or she does and is just another of their kind.

“What do you want with me?” My voice is harsh and defensive. I am only a weapon to him. I agreed to serve Domus Pelias for a chance at freedom, not to become a rebel. The world has many problems; I am not its savior. I have smaller wrongs that I must address.

“For now? Nothing,” Varus says simply. “The Games in Forum begin in four months. There is still work to be done if we are not going to lose our ludus license at the end of the season.”

“You still want me to win the Games?”

“Removing me as a senator would be an easy way to undermine my legitimacy to challenge Diana. You will win the circuit and save this House.”

“How am I supposed to do that? As a Silver, I cannot earn as many points as the Golds do for their matches.” The three of them exchange glances that send a thrill running through me, despite the danger. They need me to advance again.

I need that too.

I carry an oath of vengeance on my shoulders that weighs more than I can bear. I want no part of this rebellion. That is for other men, like Varus, to fix. But then I remember the necromanta priest who studied the bodies underneath Bellona’s Arena, and I remember how pervasive the rust is. I would gladly kill him and others like him. The ones who dig at things that should be left dead.

Nemesis’s attention prickles along my spine as she signals her pleasure with the path her supplicant is walking. She, too, has a list of names to feed from, and it is far longer than mine. Varus’s rebellion will no doubt be opposed by the Censors; it may guide me to Atticus. Perhaps there is a place for me in it. Time will tell.

“If I am going to Ascend, there is something you need to know,” I tell them. A wicked smile grows on my face as I bend over to pick up pieces of the wooden arrow from the ground. Pliny cocks his head, studying me as I extend the dart toward them.

It is childish of me, given the danger that we are in, to take such delight in the expression of shock that spreads across their faces as the arrow erupts into flame with just a touch of Unrelenting Fire’s essence. But I do not begrudge myself this one joy. Too much has been taken from me already.