Page 19 of Ironhold, Trial Two

The worst part is that I cannot just head back to Ironhold. Instead, I must remain in the networks of chambers beneath the arena, listening as the games continue. Every time I hear a scream from the arena I'm reminded of the screams of the crowd. Every time there is a sound of pain, I think of the images of the people close to me being hurt.

I try to seek out Rowan, but he is not there to be found. Fear starts to fill me. Has something happened to him? Has he fought and somehow lost? As large and strong as he is he seems almost invulnerable but I know as well as anyone that no one is completely invincible in the arena.

So where is he? I start to search the spaces beneath the Colosseum. I check the slabs of the healers, in case he has been wounded. He is not there, although Zara is, a wound on her leg being bandaged.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“I'll be fine. What happened with your bout? They are saying you were fighting some gladiator, and then you conjured some kind of wraith to kill him and attack the crowd.”

I shake my head. “That's not what happened. The wraith was possessing him. They sent him in knowing that, trying to catch me off guard. It broke free when it couldn't wear me down. Have you seen Rowan?”

Zara shakes her head. “He's not in here so that's a good sign. I know he had one fight earlier. Does he have another later in the day?”

I can't remember, my mind is so confused with the images the wraith showed to me and everything that has happened since. I continue to look for him. Is it possible he's searching for me? After all, I didn't come back to the main area after my bout. Is he worried that something has happened to me?

I check the beast pens on the basis that it's where Rowan might check for me. It isn't easy, because now, although I can feel the presence of the creatures, I don't have anything like the same connection to them I had before, and just the presence of so many creatures reminds me of the bout that I've just had.

I find myself shaking as I move through the pens, taking in the different creatures there. There is a massive, lizard-like, winged drake, its scales patterned with frost. There are snakes and bears. I can see another chimera there too. It makes me angry and sad that these creatures are down here just to fight and die.

I think of the wraith. I could feel the hatred in it. In that case, did the organizers pick something that was inherently inimical to humans? Or did they train that hatred into it with magic and pain? I see again the moment when Lady Selene destroyed the wraith using her powers. I know there are those in the city who have more than just talents they have learned to use, who have control over multiple disciplines of magic. Why would someone turn such talents to making creatures fight against people? Why would someone create something like the chimera I fought?

I can feel tears on my face, and I don't know if they're for myself and my restricted powers, for the creatures I have been forced to kill, for the people who have died, or just in memory of the terror the wraith inflicted on me.

I crouch down there in the middle of the beast pens, feeling the pain of everything that has happened, along with all the fears that the wraith has brought up in me. I shake with it, and even as I do so, there is another presence there.

“Lyra?” Alaric says as he approaches. “I was starting to get worried when I couldn't find you. After what happened, I thought they might have… done something to hurt you.”

He crouches there beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder as if to steady me. That contact seems to ground me. It is the gentlest thing I have seen from him.

“I thought you didn't care,” I say.

“We will see what we need to in order to get through this,” Alaric replies.

I nod, swallowing back my tears as best as I can. “Have you… have you seen Rowan? I haven't seen him since I got back from the arena.”

“You're worried about him?” Alaric says.

“The wraith… it showed me all the people I care about being hurt. Him, my mother, you.”

“Me?” Alaric sounds surprised. “And there I thought I told you not to go around caring for people, Lyra.” He stops, though, obviously realizing that this isn't a moment for his usual arrogance and humor. “Rowan is fine. I hear he went to the reception area. Some of the noble women called for him.”

I breathe a sigh of relief at the news that Rowan is not hurt. I know I should have had more confidence in him, but after what the wraith showed me, I'm grateful for the reassurance. Although it's not entirely reassuring. The idea of Rowan up there with a cluster of noble women represents a different kind of danger for him. And… maybe I feel a little jealous.

It's strange that Alaric is the one here.

“Did you just come here for the healing?” I ask him.

“I came here to find you,” he replies. “I figured if you were anywhere, you would come here. What happened to you after your fight? I know they took you to see Lady Selene.”

I hold up my arm for him to see. “They put this on me. To dampen my powers.”

Alaric looks horrified by that. “But that's… that's the kind of thing they do to criminals, or social outcasts or…”

“Or slave gladiators who can't control their powers and almost kill everyone,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “My patron was the one who suggested it.”

“What kind of patron would do that?” Alaric demands. “It must be some kind of political game, but I can't see it. And if it hurts you like this… no, they can't do this to you.”

“They can,” I say. “They have. And… the alternatives were worse.”

I'm still crouched there, but Alaric draws me slowly to my feet. “You need to stay strong, Lyra.”

“How?” I ask. “How do you do it? You laugh at the danger and pretend like none of it matters.”

“But it is pretense,” Alaric says. His expression clouds over with unhappiness. It seems like one of the rare occasions when I’m looking at the real him rather than the facade he puts up. “Sometimes that's what you have to do to get through the worst of this.”

“Is it different when you're a free gladiator?” I ask.

“I wish it were,” Alaric says. “You asked me before who my patron is. Who keeps calling me out of the fortress? The truth is… it's my mother.”

“Your mother?” I say. Of course, it's obvious that Alaric would have family somewhere in Aetheria. It's just as obvious that they would want to see him. What's less obvious is the way they've done it. “Why would she do it that way? And why keep it a secret?”

That gets another look of pain from Alaric.

“The truth is, when I say I'm here for honor and glory, what I mean is that I need them. Growing up, I was… kind of spoiled, I guess. The second son, never going to inherit. Kind of a screw up. I would run around the city doing what I wanted, partying, sleeping with who I wanted, causing trouble. I didn't care because there weren't any consequences for it.”

That sounds only a step away from who Alaric is, or who he pretends to be, at least.

“It got to the stage where my father was ready to disown me,” Alaric says. “Or at least, to arrange a posting for me to the furthest reaches of the empire and never have to worry about me again. He'd actually set it all up. He never wanted to see me again.”

“That’s… terrible,” I say. I had assumed that Alaric’s past was easy, filled with all the delights of nobility.

“And I didn't even do what he wanted,” Alaric says. “What they all wanted. I signed up for the Colosseum instead. I've always been good at fighting.”

“And it's a grand tradition among the nobles,” I say.

“Maybe for some of us. Vex and the like,” Alaric says. “Others do it because they think it will get them some advantage, or lead to greater position. My family has always seen itself as above all that. Until now.”

“I take it your family isn’t happy you’ve signed up for the Colosseum?” I say.

Alaric laughs, harshly. “My father actually thought he might be able to buy me out of it. I refused, of course. My mother is the only one who will speak to me, and she has to do it secretly so that my father doesn't find out. She plays the part of my mysterious patron.”

“And the bruising on your face when you came back the other night?” I ask.

“My father came home unexpectedly. He's the one who struck me. And I… it would have been so easy to fight back. I'm a trained gladiator and a free one, so I'm not even bound by the same constraints as the rest of you. I could have struck him back. But I didn’t, and I'm still not sure why.”

“Because he's your father,” I say. “And in spite of it all, I guess you still love him.”

“Love?” Alaric looks puzzled by the word. His usual mask of arrogance is sliding back into place. “You do have some strange ideas, Lyra.”

The more I see of highborn society, the more I'm convinced that it isn't any easier than the rest of Aetheria. Everyone seems to be striving for position, or consumed by the requirements of duty. If I survive my five seasons, if I marry and have children, those children will be highborn. Is that really a world I want for any of them? I think of Seatide, And how much simpler everything was there.

Even as I'm thinking of it, a couple of soldiers come for me.

“Your patron requires your presence,” they say.

I don't want to see her. She's the last person I want to talk to after what she's done. Right now, I feel as though if I see Elara, I will lash out. But the truth is I don't get a choice.