Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After they try to have us killed, it seems that the nobles of Aetheria celebrate us. I am taken from the space beneath the colosseum to a grand space higher up within its walls, held up by marble columns and lined with statues that seemed to depict gods and goddesses, along with creatures from myth.

The space has a mosaic floor, depicting a stone at the heart of Aetheria, pulsing light out into the rest of the world, while a man who looks similar to Emperor Tiberius VI, only with much broader shoulders, stands with his hand on it. I know enough of Aetheria’s history to know that this must be the first of the emperors, the one who found the stone that is the reason that so much magic resides within the city.

There are couches set out around the chamber, on which a number of nobles are relaxing, while servants stand nearby with jugs of wine and plates of food. Some of the gladiators who have fought so far are in there, most still covered in the blood and dirt of the arena. The nobles don't seem to mind that. Indeed, several seemed to be staring at the gladiators with a kind of longing.

Not just staring. Even as I watch, Ravenna stands up from a couch holding a nobleman and his wife, leading both away in the direction of a side room. Is that what this is? The place where they get to decide they want more from us than just to watch us fight? Is this just one more way to get entertainment from us?

I can see some of my friends there, although most will still be in the depths of the colosseum, preparing for their bouts. Naia is sipping a goblet of wine while listening to an older nobleman. I can see the eyes of others on me, and their looks make me uncomfortable. It is worse than when I was in the arena. Not all of them seem to be happy with me.

“You!” one snarls, standing and moving forward, a finger jabbing towards me. “Do you have any idea how much money you just cost me?”

He's a few years older than me, heavily built, wearing an expensive toga and gold bracelets. He has dark hair and blue eyes, which stare into mine, the anger there palpable.

“I asked you a question. Do you know how much money you just cost everyone through that display? The bookmakers are saying that the bets stand in spite of it what you did. As if you slew the beast, rather than leading it meekly from the arena floor.”

So he's complaining to me because I haven't died? That would seem ludicrous if it weren’t clear that he's serious.

I know that I should stand there and say nothing. I should let him vent his frustration. This is obviously an important noble while I… I am nobody, even among the gladiators. I know that's what I should do, but I'm not sure that I can.

“Should I apologize to you for surviving, my lord?” I ask instead.

“Don't be smart with me,” he snaps back. “Do you know who I am?”

“Oh, Marus, I'm sure everyone knows who you are,” a woman’s voice says. “How could they not? Marus Incantor, inheritor of a fortune, poet, gambler, current possessor of a slightly lesser fortune, friend to the mighty.”

None of those things sound like achievements. If anything, it sounds as though the speaker is accusing him of wasting his life and his money, calling him a man on the fringes of power rather than someone with power themselves.

The woman who approaches is tall and elegant, dressed in a sweeping blue gown, edged with gold. Her dark hair is piled high on her head, a golden comb stuck through it. She wears a number of golden rings and bangles, and carries a short piece of wood, inscribed with my name.

“Wait, you bet on her?” the drunken nobleman insists.

She smiles. “I thought there was a possibility of victory, and the odds were very generous.”

“Have you arranged this, Elara?” Marus demands.

The noblewoman averts her eyes demurely. “Me, Marus? You do me too much honor to suggest that I might be able to determine the outcome of a bout.”

“This is still cheating,” Marus says. “This is meant to be a fight to the death.”

I can't help saying more, even though I know I should keep quiet. “My task was survival. I achieved that. And if I did it in a way that didn't spill the creature’s blood, I'm not going to apologize for that.”

“Nor should you,” the woman says. “Marus is just a sore loser when his bets don't come off. Now, if you will excuse us, Marus, I would like to spend some time with the young woman who has just won me so much money.”

The nobleman looks at her, then at me. He raises an eyebrow. “Well, I suspect you could do much worse, Elara.”

He staggers off, and the noblewoman holds out her hand to me. “Shall we? I have a private chamber just over there.”

I hesitate. “I… I’m not…”

“Oh, don't worry. Your virtue is perfectly safe with me. Not everything here is about sex. Some of it is about power, instead, or money, or magic.”

She says that as if it's meant to be funny.

“And which of those things is it that interests you about me?” I ask.

She smiles. “Hmm. Definitely worth talking to. Come with me, my dear. Unless you'd rather stay at the gathering and get drunk with Lord Marus?”

That's the last thing I want. I follow her, out of the main chamber and into a side room, decorated with silken hangings and statues of rearing beasts. She sits on a white marble couch, gesturing for me to sit beside her. I hesitate again, but do so.

“So, you are Lyra,” she says. “I am Lady Elara Moonshadow. What do you think of the games so far?”

I think back to the roar of the crowd, to the adulation, but also to the moments when I thought I was going to die, and to the sight of gladiators dead on the slabs.

“It’s… I hate it,” I say.

“Really?” Lady Elara says, raising an eyebrow. “It is rare for someone to be so honest. It is also rarely safe for someone in your position to be quite that honest. The next time someone asks you, talk about the glory of it, or about the crowd. People expect their gladiators to be grateful for the attention. They don't want to have to think about the ways in which those gladiators were forced into this.”

I'm not sure I understand what's going on, why she's doing this.

“Why do you want to speak to me?” I ask.

She smiles again. “Still worried you've been brought here for some sort of seduction? I can assure you I have no interest in you that way, Lyra. Although I understand why you might think it.”

“This whole gathering seems to be about nothing else,” I say.

“Oh, it's about much more,” Elara replies. “Can I offer you wine?”

Without waiting for a reply, she takes out two goblets, filling them herself from a jug of wine. There are no servants here. It must be the only spot in the colosseum where a noble is not attended by servants. I take the goblet she offers me, sipping it carefully.

“When taking wine from someone, be careful to watch them drink first,” she says. “It cuts down the possibility of poison.”

That's almost enough to make me spit the wine back out.

“What is all this?” I insist again. “Bringing me here, talking about poison? Even betting on me. What are you trying to achieve?”

“I'll explain this all in due course,” Elara says. She gestures to the chamber beyond our small side room. “But let's just say I would like you to be able to play the game here.”

“Game? What game?”

“All of this is a game,” Elara replies. “That gathering out there is a game of power. You think that nobles just want to bed young, strong gladiators. And… I'll admit there’s some of that, but more of this is about power. If they are seen with successful gladiators, it makes them seem stronger. They share in your victory. They bask in your reflected glory. And… they get to form connections with those who seem like they will be powerful or useful, once they complete their time in the colosseum.”

“Is that what you're doing now?” I ask. “Because I'm not powerful.”

“Of course you are,” Elara replies. “What you did back there proves it. It is one thing to talk to a beast. It is quite another to control it that completely.”

I somehow feel a little more comfortable knowing what it is that this woman wants from me.

“So you've decided I'm worth building connections with, even though I'm just a captive gladiator?” I say.

“Perhaps.”

Another question leaps onto my lips. “Why did you bet on me? Even before the Ironhide was announced, I'd guess almost nobody was doing that.”

“A few. The romantics. The ones who like to take a chance on newcomers. Maybe a few commoners who decided they liked your name or how you look. But you're right. None of the serious players put money on you.”

“Except you,” I say.

“You're assuming that I'm one of the serious players in the game,” she replies.

I only have to think about that for a moment or two. “That noble backed off the moment you arrived. You're someone important. And you're also dodging my other question. Why did you bet on me?”

She pauses, as if she might not answer, cocking her head to one side. “Perhaps I am a romantic, believing in the underdog. Or maybe I saw something in you that others did not. Something I suspect you didn't see in yourself.”

“What did you see?” I ask.

She stands, spreading her hands. “Potential. And something that is not talked about in polite society. I will be watching you with great interest, Lyra. Feel free to remain here as long as you wish. It will allow you to avoid… those disgruntled individuals that have lost money by you being so inconsiderate as to survive.”

She heads for the door, but pauses on the threshold.

“I hope you will continue to do so. As I said, I will be watching you with interest.”