Page 6 of Ironhold, Trial Two
I want to just stagger back to my room and rest, but I quickly realize that tonight is the night I'm meant to be going to meet with Ravenna and her friends. My first instinct is to ignore the whole occasion. They won't expect me there after what has just happened. Ravenna will excuse my absence. She will understand that I am still recovering. Possibly she will think that I am still hanging by my wrists, waiting to be cut down.
But what has just happened is the main reason I cannot miss this. Alaric is right: I need allies. This place runs because of the power playing out behind the scenes. Ravenna understands that power, and she's giving me a way into that world. I need to grasp this opportunity if I am to remain safe enough to get through my seasons at the Colosseum.
So I forced myself to make my way up through the fortress to Ravenna's rooms. Rooms, plural, because she has a whole suite of them, on one of the higher floors. Compared with the privation of my cell, it might as well be a palace.
I'm limping as I make my way up there. Naia has done her best but it will still take me time to fully recover. By the time I reach Ravenna’s door, I need to lean against it while I knock. I'm almost surprised when she answers it herself, since I'm half expecting a servant to open it for her. But I guess there are limits to what even she can achieve here in terms of decadence.
Not many limits though, I suspect. The intoxicating scents of incense hit me as I stand there, and I can see that everyone within is dressed in finery I cannot hope to match.
“Lyra,” she says as she sees me. “I heard about what happened. Are you all right?”
She is wearing a dress of midnight blue this evening, slit high up one side. She has jeweled slippers on her feet rather than the sandals I am wearing. The room beyond her is draped in silks, while there is a long table set between some of the couches there, with various nobles lounging on them. Some are noble gladiators, while others appear merely to be visitors, without the gladiators’ marks we have.
“I’m… not sure,” I admit.
“Come in,” Ravenna says. “I should have thought to send a dress for you, but maybe this is better. People should see you , not some dressed up version I create.”
She gives me her arm, leading me into the room and guiding me to a couch alongside her. It means that a young nobleman must give up his spot, but he seems happy enough to do so. He is a few years older than either myself or Ravenna, with a short dark beard and spiked dark hair. I’m surprised to see a gladiator’s mark on his shoulder, and it is a complete one, the full five stripes crossing it.
“Lyra, may I introduce Oberon Cassis?” she says. “Oberon used to fight in the games. These days, he is as respected a noble as any.”
“Respected may be putting it a little strongly, Ravenna,” he says, in a voice that drips like honey. “After all, I do so little that is respectable.”
“Promises, promises,” Ravenna replies, guiding me to sit beside her. She gestures to the others there. “Some of those here, I’m sure you’ll recognize. Others either made their way through the Colosseum before your time, or have never chosen to take part.”
At least they got the choice, which is more than I did. I can see some of them staring at me as if trying to work out why I'm here. Others seem pleased by my presence, Oberon included.
“Tell me, Lyra,” a highborn gladiator asks me. She is wearing a gossamer dress that barely seems to be there, her red hair piled high. I think she has some control over fire, although she has never deigned to speak to me for long enough for me to find out. "What is Lady Elara’s interest in you? Please tell us that it's everything the rumors claim.”
“She is just interested in my powers,” I say, resisting the urge to blush. “I think she's interested in making sure I achieve everything I can in the games.”
“And why would a noble be interested in a gladiator for those reasons?” the woman asks.
“Oh, ignore Portia,” Ravenna says. “She's just upset because she's only just realized she doesn't have to sleep with every patron she meets.”
Portia shoots a venomous look Ravenna’s way, but then laughs. “Frankly I'm shocked you know that, Ravenna.”
Ravenna shrugs. “If there's a chance that we die during the games, shouldn't we all seize life while we can?”
She passes me a goblet of spiced wine. I sip it slowly.
“Now, Grantulus,” Ravenna says, turning her attention to one of the nobles who doesn't possess a gladiator's mark. “We're all interrupting you. You were telling us about the sudden shift in your shipping interests.”
The noble starts to go on about the price of crops in different parts of the empire, the costs of transportation, and the trouble of getting people to protect his ships from pirates.
“Well in that case maybe you're in the right place,” Ravenna says. “Because Oberon here has many skilled fighters at his disposal.”
“You mean he hires out mercenaries,” Portia retorts. Again, everyone laughs as if it's a joke and not a pointed jibe at someone else's expense.
One of them picks up a lyre, starting to play and reciting verses about the heads of the various noble houses. Again, the noble gladiators seem to find it all outrageously funny. I’m mostly just starting to feel as though I should leave.
Ravenna touches my arm softly. “Don’t go,” she whispers.
I frown at her. “Are you reading my thoughts?”
“Just the tension in your body. You look as if you’re about to step into the arena to face a foe.”
“I don’t even understand what’s going on here,” I whisper to her.
She leans closer to me. “Oh, that’s easy. These are the sons and daughters of some of the most influential people in Aetheria, which means they are close to the most influential people in the world. Some of them like one another, some of them have petty rivalries, and a couple of their families have been unofficially at war for a generation after someone’s mother ran off with someone’s uncle.”
“I still don’t understand the point of all of this,” I say.
Ravenna puts an arm around me. It must look as though she's confiding intimate secrets to me. In a lot of ways she is.
“The point is that the Colosseum is the one thing that brings all the nobles and people of Aetheria together. It is still seen as something sacred by at least a portion of the empire's nobility. And it is a place where the children of some of the highest nobles of the land are in danger for possibly the only times in their lives. The ways in which they navigate that danger will forge alliances and enmities that will influence Aetheria’s politics for decades to come. It is also the one place where people can speak who would not otherwise do so. Take those two.”
She points at two young men at the far end of the table. I think one of them is a gladiator, lean and hard bodied, his dark hair close cropped, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. The young man next to him is portly and soft in a way that would not survive in the Colosseum. He wears many rings on his fingers.
“Their families have been at odds for a number of years. But I have put the two together, and I have every confidence that by the end of tonight, if they aren't lovers they will be well on the way to it. When they are both in positions of power within their family, things will shift.”
“And what do you get out of that?” I ask her.
She smiles as if I've finally asked the right question. “I can shift things my way, of course, but mostly people tend to remember the person who did them all these favors, who set things up to their advantage.”
There are a couple of things I still don't understand.
“Why do you need to be here to do this?” I ask. “Couldn't you have acted as a power broker outside of Ironhold?”
Ravenna shakes her head. “Nowhere near as well. Here the danger means that old rivalries can be put aside, lost in the moment. It's also a place where families are not present. Young men and women are becoming themselves, forged in the heat of battle. And while that iron is still hot, I can put my stamp on it.”
“So you have to be here?” I say.
“That’s not the only reason,” she replies. “I will gain respect if I make it through all five seasons.”
“And the danger?” I ask.
“Are you worried for me?” Ravenna laughs lightly. “Danger can be managed. Controlled. It is one of my more powerful bargaining chips here.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. This is getting more confusing by the second.
“Oh, Lyra, you didn’t think that all the bouts were fair, did you?” Ravenna says. “The right suggestion in the right place can change who someone fights, or the terms of the bout. Fighters can be bought off, paid to take a loss with minor injuries rather than risk death. A foe can be poisoned just before their fight, so they move slower. If someone’s family angers me, their fights get harder. If they go along with things the way they should be, they get easier.”
“You’re talking about cheating,” I say, unable to keep the shock from my voice.
Ravenna looks me in the eyes. “I’m talking about survival. Survival in the Colosseum, but also survival in the much more dangerous arena of Aetheria’s politics.”
She smiles, raising her voice. “But I’ve monopolized you too long, Lyra. Come, you must mingle with the others! And dance. There should be dancing!”
I don’t want to dance. I feel as though I’m in the middle of something at least as deadly as any fight in the arena. Something on which my survival might depend. And it’s something I barely understand at all.