My ears pop once again as the black lines seal us in the sandy arena. The center of the sand bubbles, and my jaw drops as a spring of water erupts from the ground, frothing with tremendous force. It pools around the center as a depression forms in the ground, creating a simple pond. This, then, is the semi-favorable battleground that Contessa designed for me.

Reese’s swords begin to glow with a threatening light as she advances. Her expression is conflicted, but her movements are sharp and precise. She seeks to end me quickly, out of mercy, I think. I appreciate the intent but have my own plans.

I ignore her posturing, instead dashing toward the pond as quickly as I dare. At the edge, I dip both of my blades in the water, pouring Ancient Frost essence into the swords in my hands as I reveal my own Symbol for the first time.

A thin coat of ice cracks into being as the water freezes over the swords, growing from the hilt to the tip like a creeping moss. Moving swiftly, I dip the blades in the water again, adding a serrated edge to my creation. This is a simple application of my Cor—turning water into ice is the basic move of Winter. Compared to the effort of manifesting an entire sword out of thin air, the draw on my essence reserves is negligible. That is a trick I would rather save for later.

Reese pauses midstride, eyes wide. I give her a predator’s smile to match my blades, amused by her reaction. Ice is a very rare Symbol—I doubt she has much experience fighting against it. The confident expression flees her face, replaced by a hesitant amount of respect.

Exactly what I hoped for.

For a moment, I close my eyes, confident that my senses will warn me if her weapons get too close. My Iron Cor is finally almost full. Both of my reserves teem with essence, gray and dark blue, burning bright in my mind like beacons, eager to be used. For the first time in months, I am in balance. I am at peace.

My eyes snap open—Reese flinches at what she sees in them. I smile but say nothing, stalking forward, trying to be like Gaius when he challenged Knut. There is no fear, no anger burning inside me. Only the rigid certainty of metal and ice.

Reese raises her right blade to ward off my first strike, readying her backward blade for a quick counterstroke. I feel it shift as she tightens her wrist. My second gladius is already moving as her sword blurs forward.

She twitches in surprise as I catch her slash. I didn’t even bother to look at it. A shadow of concern flickers across Reese’s face, but I ignore it. I already know what she is going to do next. Her hands tighten around the hilts of her blades, causing them to shift their angles as they’re locked against mine. Warned by her movement, I close my eyes just before a burst of light blares from her weapons, triggered by her Lumos Symbol.

Her spark is so bright that I can see it through my closed eyelids. Once more, she tries to take advantage of my blindness to strike, but it is my turn to reveal one of my own tricks. Reese tries to disengage her sword from mine, only to discover they are stuck together, frozen fast. It is a simple matter for me to command the ice on my gladius to shift, encompassing hers as well.

She jerks her left blade, and I pull with my right, engaging her in a simple tug of war. The light fades, and I open my eyes, laughing mirthlessly at the confused expression on her face. She looks at me indignantly before inspecting our blades. We circle one another, locked in this frozen grip.

“Neat trick.” She grunts, trying to tug her weapons free, but they are stuck fast.

“A pity your light doesn’t produce heat,” I taunt, holding my ground.

“Have you thought this through?” she asks, looking back at me.

“It seems to be working for me so far.”

“What about him?”

“Second fighter, enter the ring,” Contessa echoes from behind us, and I let out a small sigh of frustration. I hadn’t forgotten, but I had hoped to have a little longer before she got reinforcements. Reese immediately stops circling, jamming her feet into the ground to prevent me from facing this new threat. My animus senses the new gladiator’s strange, thin blade as he steps into the arena. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, more like a giant needle than the thick weapons of the legions. He surges forward eagerly, bearing down on my exposed back.

I give Reese an amused smile as we struggle for positioning. She’s spending a lot of effort to hold me in place for her reinforcement. I track his progress as he races to close with me, the Iron Symbol warning me as he readies his sword for a strike at my exposed back. Reese’s eyes widen in anticipation, and I know that this is the moment.

I release my frozen grip on her left blade with Ancient Frost, slipping free of our stalemate with ease. She staggers, caught off guard as the tension between us vanishes. I take a half step backward, turning just in time to catch the new gladiator’s lunge with the tip of my gladius. Gently, I guide his strike past me, welcoming it into our huddle. It’s easy with my Iron senses to shift his attack so it slides into the crux of where Reese’s and my other blade are still frozen together.

I laugh as I grab his weapon with the ice while releasing my own. I retreat a pair of steps, admiring my handiwork. Both of my blades are free, but the new gladiator, a shorter, lean duelist, has his thin blade frozen to Reese’s second gladius. For a heartbeat, they both stare at me in shock. If this were a real duel, they both know that I would be on the attack, seeking to kill them before they could extricate themselves from the mess I have created.

Then the moment is shattered, and they begin frantically pulling at their swords, trying to break them free. Reese raises the blade I released and hammers at the ice, sending chips flying, but it holds. My legion-forged instincts scream at me to strike while they are distracted, but I hesitate. Killing them will only create more problems for me. But no one said anything about injuries.

I dance forward, slashing at the duelist’s exposed back leg, aiming through his hamstring with a clean stroke. My animus shows me exactly how deep I slice. I only want to cripple him, not open an artery. A small part of me delights in returning to this form; what I was made to be.

The thin man collapses, lamed by my strike. I wince in sympathy but ignore him. If the descendants of Pelias can afford a training arena like this for their gladiators, they can pay for a medico to fix them. I glance at Contessa to see if she has a complaint. The bald woman stares at me without an expression but does not stop the fight. I grin at her, but that fades as I see a darkness swirl in the corner of her eyes. I should not push her too far.

I turn my attention back to Reese, twirling my gladii with a flourish. My left blade is still coated in ice, but the right is clean. I debate summoning more but decide against it. I cannot easily refill my Ancient Frost essence here and do not want to spend my resources wildly. There are still three more gladiators waiting in the wings.

Reese looks at me with wide eyes. She’s caught so off-guard that her blades are no longer glowing. I advance, startling her out of her stupor, and she drops her right sword, which is still frozen to the fallen fighter’s dueling blade. It falls with a thump, and she moves to meet me with a single weapon.

I cannot kill her, but I can maim her too. If I move quickly enough, I can have her out of the fight before the next gladiator is called. That is the way you are meant to survive the gauntlet, I realize. It is a test of my speed and aggression. Armed with this plan, I lunge forward, right-hand blade extended in a stab. Reese is forced to parry my strike, leaving herself exposed to my second gladius. I slash at her leg, intending to wound her in a similar manner, but my attack hits only open air. Before I can cut her, the woman disengages, leaping back from me before vanishing from sight.

My jaw goes slack as the woman disappears in front of me. For a wild heartbeat, I worry I have gone insane, or if she has somehow teleported, but then my brain catches up. I can still feel her sword in the same place, and I remember what her Symbol is.

Lumos—she’s Lightbound.

Reese is bending light around herself so that I cannot see her, even though she is right in front of me. What power. For a moment, I am distracted by the thought of my grandfather being a Golden Lumos electus himself. The inheritance he left, the portion of his relics that was not taken by the Empress, was used as simple lights for our home. I never thought about what else his Symbol could do.

Then Reese takes a slow step, and I realize that I face a new danger. It is a simple matter for me to track her sword with my animus. But that is not something I can reveal to the palatines that watch me with keen eyes.

If I am to survive the fight, I will have to use my Silver senses to prevent her from getting the jump on me. But if I am to survive after the fight, I cannot be too prescient. Adopting a look of confusion, I begin to backpedal, retreating from the middle of the arena, tucking myself into a corner. I hope my logic is simple—I don’t want to let the ghost circle behind me.

I feel her gladius moving as she prowls toward me. Despite my advantage, I am still intimidated by the level of strength she shows. Her ability to blind an opponent in a fight was an annoying, if beatable, trick. This is something else entirely. It cannot be easy to maintain, although unlike me, she is in an arena full of essence for her to cultivate. I glare at the bright lights above us, wondering if I could somehow break them with a perfect sword throw. But then I wouldn’t have a sword, and that feels stupid.

In the background, the three waiting gladiators watch us. A short, dark woman flips a dagger in her hands, her face expressionless. A bandolier runs across her chest, stuffed with more weapons. Next to her, a wide man holds a trident like the one on the Pelias crest. Behind them, a tall man with long blond hair prowls like a caged tigris. Somehow, I know he is the most dangerous of the three of them.

Reese continues to stalk toward me, moving at a glacial pace. I wonder why she is taking her time, but then I see a slight puff of sand as her footstep disturbs the ground of our arena, and I understand the weakness of her ability. I don’t have to be able to sense her metal to track her. I just have to follow her footsteps.

“Next fighter,” calls Contessa sharply. The relic-powered curtain on our battlefield ripples for a moment as it lowers to allow someone to enter.

I glance at the trio of waiting gladiators and let out a groan as the barrel-chested man steps into the arena, twirling his trident as he does. He watches me with dark, patient eyes. Unlike their lamed predecessor, who is still crawling toward the edge of the arena, he does not charge toward me. Instead, he circles in the opposite direction of Reese, hunting me like a hound. I guess he’s trained with the maned woman long enough to learn how to follow footsteps too.

I grimace, electing to stay in my corner as the big man hunts me. Now that she has reinforcements, Reese picks up her own pace, circling toward my left. I will need to do something about her soon; the longer I wait the more outnumbered I will be.

I raise my right gladius in challenge at the Trident, but he snorts contemptuously, continuing his steady pace, content to take his time. I eye his long weapon with something like disgust. If I’m going to take him out, I need to figure out how to get inside the trident’s spear-like guard.

With a sigh, I stride to meet the gladiator, consciously tracking Reese’s invisible blade as I do. I cannot wait, and they both know it. I hoped that he would not be disciplined enough to resist my challenge, but it seems that these fighters have been well trained.

Once I am out of the corner, the man is only too happy to meet me. He leaps forward, trident flickering as he jabs wildly at me. I counter his attacks, being careful not to get my gladii trapped between the spines of his weapon, where it would be a simple matter for him to rip it from my grip.

As we exchange blows, I am in awe of my power. These are dangerous, well-trained warriors. And yet, the advantage of my Iron Cor Heart is staggering. My long hair floats in front of my eyes, obscuring my vision, but it does not matter. Each of his attacks is telegraphed to me as soon as he begins; there are no secrets here. I could kill him with my eyes closed.

This is why the Empress’s chosen Censors carry blades made of tellus. To protect them from men like me.

I bat his trident wide and lunge forward, getting past the sharp tines to get into striking range of my gladius. If I can wound him enough to drive him back, it will give me time to deal with Reese, who is closing quickly. His eyes go wide with surprise as my sword cuts toward him, but it is my turn to be shocked when my weapon bounces off his rock-hard skin. I would have done more damage hitting a boulder. Something distant rebuffs me; I have the vague sense of someone else’s will speaking a language that I do not know. Completely unprepared for that kind of resistance, my weapon slides off him, unable to find any purchase.

I have never seen a human with that kind of power before, but our family’s loyal stonehound, Agre could do something similar. How unexpected and useful for him. I’ve never felt jealous of another electus’s Symbol, but I can’t deny that his is strong.

Reese takes advantage of my distraction by breaking into a charge from my left. I feel her gladius approach, rising and falling as she pumps her fists in a full sprint. Sand sprays beneath her feet as she charges at me. She thinks that Trident is enough to occupy my full attention. She assumes incorrectly.

Despite my knowledge, I force myself to wait until she flickers into sight on my left flank, sword raised for a devastating blow. Without even looking, I disengage from Trident, dancing underneath her upraised sword and flashing past her as she strikes at empty air. I retreat a half-dozen steps from the pair of them, twirling my blades with a sharp smile.

The two gladiators look at me with stunned expressions before glancing at each other. Reese’s face is haggard, and she pants with exertion. Bending the light for so long has taken a toll on her. It will be a while before she can do something like that again.

“Neat trick.” I smile at her as they both catch their breaths. I am not nearly as tired as either of them, and a savage joy continues to grow in my chest. Despite the danger I’m in, I’m enjoying this. It has been too long since I felt this free.

Reese glares at me but does not rise to my barb. As one they split, driving me backward like a pack. I give ground, letting them drive me toward a corner. But even as I do, I know I cannot afford to get stuck. Eventually, I will run out of hands to block with, Iron Symbol or not.

“Next fighter!” Contessa barks, and I feel the air pressure shift as a third gladiator enters. I have just enough time to remember the dagger-tossing woman before my Symbol flares with warning, and I duck even as I turn to face her. A knife slices viciously through the air above me before thumping flatly against the relic’s barrier and dropping to the ground.

The new woman eyes me with distrust, plucking another throwing blade from her bandolier. Just what I need, someone with range. Trident and Reese hunt me, driving me toward the new gladiator. I sigh in frustration before turning my back on the original two and rushing toward Knife, as I dub her in my head.

Maybe I can disarm her before the others can catch me.

The woman’s eyes go wide as I charge. Her hands blur as she throws another dagger at me, and I parry it out of the air without a thought. Let them think that my reflexes are that good. Knives grabs another pair from her belt, hurling them at the same time. My blades move independently, knocking both of them wide in a spray of sparks.

I hear the thuds of my pursuers’ footsteps on the sand behind me and feel the iron of their weapons as they draw close. I have not been fast enough. Now I will have to fight. I point my left gladius at Knives, promising to return after I deal with my attackers.

Out of time, I spin in time to block the trident that hurtles toward my midsection. I let my remaining ice bind our blades together. I grow tired of being outreached by his weapon. He tries to wrench my sword out of my grip, but I hold on tightly. Time is beginning to work against them. I only need to last another moment.

With all my Silver strength, I hammer my left blade into the ice, hoping that the theatrics will be enough to satisfy my Golden observers. As my blade connects, I command the ice to shatter. At the same time, I reach out with the Symbol of Iron, sending my animus into the head of his trident, commanding it to do the same.

The metal head of his weapon explodes under the force of my strike, as if somehow made brittle by the extreme cold. I dance backward as his eyes go round as saucers. I catch Reese’s blade as she strikes at my side. I have no ice left to use, so instead, I trap her sword between both of mine and twist, trying to wrench it out of her grasp.

I duck as Knife takes another shot at me, pulling on Reese’s weapon as I drop under the throw. She staggers but does not lose her grip on the sword. Giving up on that avenue, I explode out of my crouch, slamming into her with my shoulder with enough force to send her sprawling.

Now I’m panting with exertion. Iron and Ancient Frost sing in my Cor as I dance. My limbs feel strong, powered by my essence. But despite my success at staying alive, I know time is running out.

“Final fighter!” Contessa barks, and the barrier ripples once more. My eyes flick over Knife’s shoulder to watch the tall gladiator with flowing blond hair enter the arena. He moves with a fluid grace that screams of danger. He carries a single dueling blade in a loose grip and strides toward our fight with quick, sharp steps. A smug, confident smile twists his lips. He knows that he is going to end this. Unlike Reese, he does not look at all conflicted about the prospect of killing me.

Dread coils in me as I watch his approach. His release means that there are still two minutes left in our match. I do not think I am going to survive this. I should have taken my chances with Trident or Reese and tried to injure one of them out of the fight instead of chasing the knife-throwing woman.

Reese tries to climb to her feet, but I aim a kick at her face, snapping her head back and slamming her back into the ground. I do not have any hope that it will stun her for long. Her Silver constitution should shake off that blow with ease, but even if it buys me a handful of seconds, it will do something.

“Gaaah!” Trident roars, charging at my back, harassing me with his headless stick. It may not be able to stab me, but it still is heavy enough to hurt. Fortunately, it still has a pair of nails buried in its head, which have enough iron in them for my animus to track. I twist, blocking his attack, while simultaneously striking at his thigh. It bounces off his stone skin with a crack, sending a shiver up my arm.

A knife hurtles through the air at me, forcing me to bend even further so that it flows through the space that my head had just been. I spare a glare for the short woman, but then my attention is stolen by a bigger threat. From across the arena, the golden-haired gladiator lunges at me.

Wind whips the sand around us into the air like a miniature gale as he rockets toward me. I feel him coming but am so stunned by his speed that I barely manage to deflect his attack. Quick as a thought, his blade rotates, breaking free of mine to slither forward. I twist to the side, hammering my left-hand gladius on his sword as it passes under me. The force of my blow makes him stumble as he resets, but he does not drop his weapon.

He must be an Air Symbol, I realize, squinting against the dust storm that his passage triggered. A flare of red-hot rage burns through logic’s cold grip on my mind.

Just like Atticus.

Hate fills me, and I almost lose my grip on both of my chilly Symbols. I have nowhere to channel this fiery rage, so instead, I advance to meet this Air electus. The duelist is on me in a second, blade flashing at a speed that I cannot process. Only my connection to Iron allows me to keep up with his blinding pace. The smug confidence on his face begins to slip as I match his strokes. There are very few fighters who can, I suspect.

Trident—or should I say Longstaff now—circles behind me, trying to capitalize on Air’s distraction. A knife zips past my ear, forcing me to step backward so I cannot press my advantage. The blond man surges into the ground I give, pressuring me. Reese claws to her feet, and as she rises, my own heart sinks.

This is it. I know there’s about a minute left, but there’s no way I will survive all four of these hunters pushing me at once. Not unless I show them something that they won’t believe. I exhale as I counter another blindingly fast strike from Air.

I cannot fight with my heart. This is not Atticus, just someone who wields a similar power. I must fight with my mind if I am going to survive this. Mentally, I check the essence levels in my reserves. I’ve used almost a third of my Ancient Frost with my icy tricks, but there is still plenty. More than I ever had at my beck and call as a Copper.

Hopefully, it will be enough.

Longstaff charges me from behind as I block another strike from Air. I snap toward him, hurling my right gladius at the man like it’s a throwing knife. The sword flips end-over-end; unlike Knife’s blades, it was never balanced for throwing. Despite that, my throw isn’t half bad. The hilt cracks against the front of his skull with enough force to knock his feet out from under him, which is the best outcome I could have hoped for.

Seeing an opportunity, Air disengages his sword from mine, lunging forward in a strike aimed at my guts. I turn back to face his assault, moving my right hand to block as if it still held a weapon. In my mind, I trigger the ability that Aquilo taught me.

Glacialis Falx, the Frozen Blade.

The rotten god’s teaching remains true, and a gladius made of ice grows out of the palm of my right hand, a copy of the one that I carried in the legions. Essence pours out of me. Despite the increased size of my reserve, I do not have much of the Ancient Frost left.

But it also gives me a tiny source to cultivate from. I inhale deeply, desperately pulling both of my essences in to fill the void in my Corda. The Air electus’s blow shudders against my frozen sword, but I reinforce it with my will, keeping it intact.

For a moment, the battlefield freezes. The blond gladiator stares at my icy gladius with a stunned expression. Then he makes eye contact with me, and everything explodes into motion. Reese charges at me from the side, and I glance at her, throwing my remaining metal blade. This time, I hurl it at the ground. The heavy tip sinks into the sand easily, right after passing through the woman’s foot.

She screams in pain, tripping as the weapon pins her in place.

Gritting my teeth, I channel every ounce of my remaining Ancient Frost essence into summoning a second copy of the Glacialis Falx, grunting in pain as my Winter Cor Heart almost runs dry. It feels like I am in a canoe bouncing on the top of rocky shallows. A second frozen gladius forms in my hands, but even as I turn back toward Air, my animus warns me that he is already slashing his weapon toward me, even though I am far out of his range.

An invisible blade of air slams into me, cutting my shirt like a knife. The force of it lifts me off the ground and sends me crashing against the force wall maintained by the relics. They crackle warningly with latent power, and my breath explodes out of me. I cannot see it, but the barrier is as hard as stone. I slide down to the ground, just in time to dance to the side as the blond man fires a second attack.

Once again, he slashes at me with his sword from across the arena. A white streak forms on the edge of his blade, trailing behind it as he commands the air with his will. As he completes his swing, it materializes into something physical and leaps forward, like an arrow being released from a bow. The curved line hisses threateningly as it cuts toward me.

I cannot sense it with my Corda, but I have eyes. I am just able to twist out of the line of his attack before it slams into the invisible barrier behind me with enough force to rattle my teeth. I lever myself off the wall and bound forward, not wanting to spend another moment trapped in this corner.

Knife throws another dagger at me, which I knock to the side with one of my icy blades. Where does she keep all of them? Down to only a single opponent for a moment, I turn my attention back on the arrogant blond warrior who races to meet me. The rage I shoved to the side bursts back to the front. His face becomes that of my enemy—the blond hair is close enough. If I can kill this gladiator, then one day soon I can kill the Censor who murdered my father.

It’s my turn to press the attack, using both of my blades to keep him on his back feet. Even though I have two, he’s still so fast. Every time I fool him with a feint before striking with the other gladius, his sword is somehow miraculously back in position to block my next attack.

Our swords ring with the sound of iron on ice as we dance. There are no thoughts in my mind. Pain and anger have drowned out any logic that I had to my name. Frost essence flows back into me from the two blades I hold, refilling the void that their creation left in me. I become reckless in my fury, letting some of my frost cross over from my blades to cover his own.

Air explodes forward in a lunge aimed at my heart. I hammer my right-hand gladius down on the tip of his blade, calling on Iron and Ice to shatter at the same time. The point of his sword explodes in a brilliant show of power. His eyes go wide as he pulls back his weapon to inspect it, but I do not give him a moment. I strike again with my left, carving off the next section of the dueling blade in the same manner. When he uses the stub to block my third strike, I destroy it down to the pommel.

Without missing a beat, I lunge forward, icy swords extended toward his chest. The arena freezes, locking us all in place. The tips of my gladii are inches from Air’s skin, and I snarl in fury at being denied my vengeance.

“Time. The gauntlet is concluded,” Contessa announces. Her voice is hushed, almost reverent. I’m able to turn my head far enough to look at her. She stares at my two Frozen Blades with unabashed shock. What did Aquilo do to me? I know that being able to manifest a Symbol like this is rare, but maybe I have underestimated his gift.

“If you’ll permit me, Dominus, I believe that makes three,” Pliny muses from somewhere behind me into the silence.

Varus scoffs in mild disbelief as he replies. “Your count is, as ever, correct, Magister. A Silver that can manifest? Did you know, or was it another guess?”

“I suspect that we have only scratched the surface of what he is capable of, Dominus.” Pliny’s response fills me with the same fear all over again. I was reckless, foolish. I’m going to get myself killed.

“We shall see,” the senator promises ominously. “Contessa, see to your people. Then we will deal with Castor.”

“Aye, Dominus,” the bald woman responds quickly. My ears pop as the barrier lowers for a final time, but we are not released from the stasis that binds us. The lanista walks to the edge and assesses me with mistrusting eyes.

“When I release you, the fight is over. Do you understand? You will release your Symbol and do as you are told. Good?” Once again, all I can do is nod. My anger fades. Air no longer wears Atticus’s face. His own is still smug, but it is not the one that murdered my father in front of me.

Contessa eyes me for another moment before deciding to trust me. She raises her left hand, while her right rides on the hilt of the sword at her hip. A small smile pulls at the corner of my lips at the sight. I have made quite an impression. With a gesture to the relics, she banishes the will that surrounds us. I do as I was bid and release my grip on both of my Symbols before sagging in exhaustion as their strength fades from me. My frozen blades thunk as they land on the sand, already beginning to thaw. Soon a patch of wet sand will be the only sign that they were ever here.

The wounds on my chest and shoulder burn. I glance down at my ruined tunic, eyeing the bleeding line with distaste. I am a Silver electus and will heal, but I hope that they let me see the medico too. I have no desire to be crippled by a nasty infection. Attendants appear from somewhere and help the other gladiators out of the arena. The duelist has to be taken out on a stretcher, as does Reese. The maned gladiator shoots me a confused look as they carry her away. To my surprise, she raises her hand in a farewell wave. I do not return it.

Then I am alone with the two spooked warriors and a too-calm magister. The only other person in the entire training facility is the woman who still sits in the storm locus, absorbing the lightning.

Varus circles me, looking at me with a furious intensity. I feel like a prized stallion up for auction. Pliny merely stands before me, a reassuring smile on his placid face. It only makes me more afraid. This gauntlet is more dangerous than the one I just survived.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Contessa demands, coming to stand next to the magister. I hesitate, unsure how to answer that question. For a wild second, I almost ask if they know the Marius brothers, but I stop myself. I am almost certain they do.

“I had an older brother who was a caravan guard,” I lie after a moment. “He taught me the basics.”

“The basics.” The bald woman snorts, crossing her arms in disgust.

“And the manifesting?” Pliny asks gently.

“Spent some time in the North… looking for my brother. Came to me in a snowstorm. Couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, then all of a sudden, it clicked.”

“A natural epiphany. How interesting.”

Varus completes his circle around me, joining his subordinates at the front. His gaze narrows as he studies me further. I feel his perception like a heavy weight. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, or if it is part of his animus sweeping over me. After a long moment, he tilts his head and extends a finger to point at my chest.

“What,” he asks in soft, dangerous tones, “is that?” I glance down at what he is pointing at, and my heart stops in dread. There, exposed by the hole in my tunic is the mark of the Twelfth Legion burned into my chest: XII.