Page 5 of Ironhold, Trial Two
I leave Lady Elara’s room feeling a sense of exhilaration. I have reached out and touched the minds of more beasts at once than I might have thought possible before all this. I can still feel their presence like a whisper at the back of my mind, or perhaps a collection of whispers waiting for me to give one of them more attention than the others, waiting for me to truly listen to one and know everything it is thinking and feeling.
I head through the noble part of Ironhold, and it is not long before I come to a familiar spot. There is a kind of temple space within it, large and open, filled with statues of great heroes of the Colosseum. It is a place that reminds me that Aetheria is serious about its reasons for running the games. It truly is a place that believes that physical power and magical strength are heroic, and that there is something great and important about fighting and dying in front of others.
I move through the space, considering the statues. There are small plaques attached to them, stating the names of the gladiators commemorated, and giving me something of their stories. Here is Deathin, who slew three great snakes with nothing more than a short sword. Here is Justinian, who leapt from the colosseum floor to defend the emperor of the time in the middle of an assassination attempt.
At the back is a statue of a woman, who seems to be sitting on a pile of sleeping beasts as if they are a throne. The plaque attached to the statue has been removed by someone, but I know what I am looking at: this is a beast whisperer.
“What are you doing in here again?” I recognize Vex’s voice even before I turn. He is as richly dressed as always, the arrogance on his face clear. Up close, I can also see the scars there. The healers of the Colosseum are skilled, but there are limits to what even they can do. I can hear the anger in his tone, and there is hatred in his eyes as he stares at me. I'm the reason he has the scars after all. I'm the one who summoned a shadow cat to my side in the middle of a bout, using it to face him where I could not do so hand to hand.
“I don't need your permission to be in here, Vex,” I say.
“You have no connection to any of this,” he replies. “My ancestors fought in the Colosseum. My family has sent its sons for generations. It is in our blood. We still remember that it was a once a holy rite, not just an entertainment.”
I have heard that before, that there was a time when the games only featured volunteers from among the people of Aetheria, wanting to demonstrate their skills before the gods, and give thanks for the powers they had gained. It is not that now, though. It is a place where people are forced to enter, their blood spilled the entertainment of the masses, rather than for anything holy.
“And wouldn't it be good if people were given a choice about whether they fought?” I say to him.
“You're just a coward who can't even kill,” he replies.
“You should be grateful for that,” I point out. “The emperor wanted you dead. I chose not to kill you.”
“And now you think I should be indebted to you for that?” Vex snaps back. His hands are balling into fists, but my eyes are more on any small objects around the room. Vex’s talent is for making weapons sail through the air at his command, so that his foes must face swarms of knives, buzzing around them like bumble bees.
I shrug. “I’m just saying that there is no reason for us to be enemies.”
“There is every reason,” he insists. “I know what you are, beast whisperer. I know about the prophecy. If you weren’t here, the emperor would already have had you quietly killed. No one will care if you die here.”
So he hates me as much for what I am as who I am? That's hardly news. I know that Vex is aware that I am a beast whisperer. I have hardly hidden it well. He's right though, in a curious way my status as a gladiator protects me even as it endangers my life. People are so certain that I will die out on the sands that they are not simply having me killed. They don't think they need to.
“Do you know who this is?” I ask him, gesturing to the statue. “I assume you know every statue here.”
“That is Valerian, foulest of your kind. They say she could control any beast, that she could make them turn on themselves, tear out their own throats. Then she decided that was not enough. She tried to use her beasts to take power. They say it took a hundred men to bring her down. Like all your kind, she was feral in the end.”
“Make up your mind, Vex,” I say. “Am I a coward or am I a feral animal, determined to rip your throat out?”
“Ultimately, it doesn't matter,” Vex says. “What matters is that you won't last another season.”
“Just pray that you're not facing me,” I say. “Maybe next time I won't be merciful.”
I stalk out of the gallery space, heading back through Ironhold, to my quarters.
I watch for Vex over the next couple of days as I train. I know he is vengeful and petty. If he can find a way to hurt me, he will. I see him in some of the halls, talking to some of the newer gladiators. That's a surprise since he normally doesn’t deign to talk to the enslaved gladiators, unless it’s to insult them.
As such, it's not entirely a surprise when Arctus takes another run at me in the dining hall. This time, he doesn't speak but just comes at me, swinging a punch at my head. I avoid it; I have trained long enough now to be able to dodge out of the way of clumsy punches. If anything my defense is better than most people's, because I must defend perfectly if I am to win fights without killing. I keep dodging to the side, then land a couple of punches of my own. I have been practicing, trying to learn things that will allow me to incapacitate an opponent without slaying them. It is not enough to put the big man down, but it makes him come at me more cautiously.
That's the point at which the trainers run in, pulling us apart. Lord Darius is there, and there is no way he is simply passing by the dining hall. He has been pointed this way. I look around to see Vex standing at the back, looking very pleased with himself.
“That’s enough!” Lord Darius says. “Save the violence for when you train. Take these two to a punishment room each. They’ve both earned a whipping.”
“But he attacked me !” I say.
It doesn't do any good.
“You will take your punishment,” Lord Darius says. “Or I will drag you before the arch magistrate and recommend that you are impaled.”
The mention of Lady Selene brings fresh fear running through me. The arch magistrate is known to be tough, applying the law ruthlessly. My fear is enough to freeze me in place. The trainers grab me, dragging me away to a room where a single whipping post stands at the middle. They tie me to it.
I have endured beatings before. This one is worse because I haven't done anything to deserve it. Arctus attacked me. I was just defending myself. And normally that kind of fight would be overlooked by the trainers anyway. But this time Lord Darius himself was on hand to see the ill discipline. I know that is down to Vex.
The beating is agony. It keeps going until I don't think I can scream anymore. Until I sag in my bonds. I'm left there like that, abandoned. Alone. How long is it before someone comes for me? I don't know, but I'm grateful that Naia is one of the ones who does come, because her touch is cooling and healing all at once.
I'm much more surprised to see Alaric there. He's the one who cuts me down from the post. He's the one who helps me to stand.
“You're here?” I say.
He shrugs. “That fool Rowan is too busy trying to argue with Lord Darius about fairness. If he's not careful, he'll end up in a room like this too. I prefer to deal with things as they are. It seems you weren't careful enough.”
“Is this really the moment to chide her?” Naia asks.
“This is exactly the moment,” Alaric says, “because Lyra here needs to understand the stakes around Ironhold. You've become a good gladiator, Lyra… in your own strange, far too peaceful way.”
“You couldn't just leave it at the compliment?” I say, groaning as Naia continues her work.
“But there is more to this place than just being skilled with a blade. You need to be able to navigate its politics. You need allies to watch your back.”
“Are you volunteering?” I ask. Alaric has always made it clear that he is looking out for himself. That he doesn't want to be encumbered by connections to others.
“Yes,” Alaric says. “I think that might be a good idea. It will encourage Vex not to try this kind of thing again, and it means we can pool resources, work together.”
“What resources could I have that you want, Alaric?” I say.
“Oh, you have plenty of things I want, Lyra,” Alaric replies. Even here like this, his pointedly lecherous look is enough to make me laugh. “And the truth is that even I need someone to watch my back occasionally.”
He holds out a hand. “Are we allies?”
I clasp his wrist. “Allies.”