Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Eventually, the last bouts of the day are done. One by one, more people come to join in the celebrations, mingling with the nobles. Alaric looks right at home here. Rowan looks as though he would rather be anywhere else. When a woman puts a hand on his shoulder, he jerks back from her as if the touch has stung him.

There are others who do not make it. Gyra is not there, of course, but she is only one of a larger number of dead or injured. Not every gladiator who has lost is dead, though. Not every fight is to the death, but even those who have survived their losses are going to be with the healers for some time.

I am grateful when the time comes for us to leave. We must parade back out through the streets, just as we paraded down to the colosseum. It is a much shorter parade. For one thing, the animals that will be needed for the next rounds are being left in the colosseum overnight. The reduced number of gladiators makes it a more somber affair as well. We take a direct route back to Ironhold, the bleak fortress waiting for us, uncaring of our hurts.

I'm surprised to find that people don't head straight for the barracks, but instead start to congregate in the practice yards. Lord Darius is there, waiting for us.

“Many of you have had your first taste of blood in the arena today. Some of you have been wounded. Others of you have killed for the first time. And some of our number have been killed.”

He says it as if he isn't part of the vast mechanism that has resulted in their deaths.

“I want you all to be silent for a moment and remember the fallen,” he continues. He stands there with his fist against his chest, head down, expression serious, as if the deaths have truly touched him. I don't know how that can be the case, though, when he is the one who has sent people to their deaths.

I think of those who have died. I think of Gyra’s body on the slab, of the criminals who were executed using the shadow cats. I think of how close I came to death in my bout. If this strange new talent hadn’t risen up in me, I would not be here now. And I think of those who are still alive, looking around at Naia, at Rowan, at Zara and Finn. Even at Alaric.

“The fallen!” Lord Darius calls out suddenly, raising his fist in the air.

“The fallen!” those around me repeat, copying the gesture. I find myself going along with it without thinking, sharing in the moment of unity and respect.

“That’s good,” Lord Darius says. “Now for another tradition. Get to the practice posts, and go through what worked and didn't work in your bouts today. It could be the difference between life and death tomorrow.”

He wants us to go back to practice right now, so soon after fighting? I hear groans from some of the others, Naia included. The cluster of free and noble gladiators mostly looks annoyed by it, but they go along with it. Only Alaric looks enthusiastic, seeming eager to go through every detail of a bout he had earlier.

Rowan is at another of the practice posts, examining his footwork as he moves around it. He looks concerned.

“What's wrong?” I ask him.

“I almost slipped today,” he says. “It gave my opponent a chance for a thrust. I was barely in time to stop it. If I'd been a heartbeat slower…”

If he'd been slower, he would have been killed. I swallow at that thought, not wanting to picture Rowan dead on one of the slabs beneath the colosseum.

“But you weren't,” I say.

“And I won't make the same mistake again,” Rowan insists. “That's the point of this, isn't it? To force us to learn from our mistakes as quickly as possible after our first fight.” He pauses in his practice. “I saw your bout.”

That catches me by surprise. I hadn't seen him near the gates, had assumed that he wasn't watching.

“Does that mean I need to work on my footwork like you?" I ask with a smile.

“Lyra, what you did in there was incredible,” Rowan replies. “To just tame a beast like that… I haven't heard of anyone being able to do it.”

“It was pretty impressive,” Naia says, coming up to us.

“Not as impressive as being able to let someone all but kill you so you can get close to them,” I reply.

Naia looks pained by the thought of that. “It still hurts. I can heal myself, but I still feel the pain, and if I get it wrong, if it’s more than I can heal…”

“But you got it right today,” I say.

“And tomorrow, you will fight in a way that does not just rely on it,” Rowan says. “You will defeat your opponent and they will barely touch you.”

I know he's trying to give her confidence, but I'm not sure that Naia believes it. If she survives, her path through the colosseum is going to be grim.

A laugh comes from the other side of the practice space. Vex is there, along with Alaric, Ravenna, and a few others of the free gladiators. He slaps a large gladiator who goes by the name of Goliath on the shoulder.

“Listen to them. Congratulating themselves on surviving one day in the colosseum. Talking about their brilliance because they won through tricks. What good are those tricks going to do them tomorrow?”

“How about you focus on your own practice?” Rowan says.

“What is there left to practice?” Vex replies. “My bout went perfectly. A couple of criminals, dispatched with ease.”

I frown. I hadn't known that was a thing in the arena, but I guess I should have. After all, I saw three prisoners executed using beasts. But this means that Vex had an easy bout against people who probably weren't trained to fight. All he had to do was kill them in a way that would entertain the crowd sufficiently.

Could I do that, if they make me fight against such people? I'm not sure I could. The idea of killing another person is still… it feels wrong.

“Enough boasting about dispatching nobodies, Vex,” Alaric says. “We need to get back to my bout.”

He tells the story of it, detailing every thrust, every cut, every step. The others hang raptly on his words. Alaric holds back no detail in proclaiming his own brilliance, and it's almost enough for me to just ignore him, but he's also going into forensic detail on the parts he thinks he could improve. It's clear he's taking this seriously, striving to become better with every bout.

I try to think through what happened in my own fight in the same kind of detail. I think about the ways in which I dodged the Ironhide's attacks and the blows I tried that did not work. I think back to the moments when I was almost killed. But ultimately, there is only one thing I want to know from that fight:

How did I do it? How did I control the Ironhide?

I can remember the feeling of it, remember the sensation of reaching down deep into some hidden part of myself for the power. I can remember making a connection with the beast, feeling all that it felt, experiencing the world through its eyes. I think I can remember how I did it, but it also feels as though the knowledge is something fragile, which might be broken apart at any moment.

It is getting dark by the time our practice session is done. We head to the bathhouse first, then back to the barracks, seeking out our rooms. A few people don't seem to be done with their celebrations on surviving the first day. They have wine with them still, and a few are slipping into one another's rooms. I momentarily think of Rowan, but push that thought aside. Just because he is muscular and handsome doesn't mean I need to throw myself at him. Especially not now, when I know I will have another challenge just as great tomorrow.

I'm just heading into my room when I see Alaric approaching. That's a surprise because, like all the other free gladiators, he has rooms elsewhere in Ironhold.

“Alaric, what are you doing here?” I ask.

He looks me up and down. “Perhaps I couldn't stay away from your beauty.”

“I imagine it's almost as great as what you think of yourself,” I shoot back.

He laughs. “What woman could live up to that? Although, I’ll admit you come close.”

“High praise indeed. But if this is some clumsy attempt at seduction-”

“My seductions are never clumsy,” Alaric insists. His expression grows more serious. “You need to be careful, Lyra.”

“Careful about what?” I ask. “You need to be more specific, Alaric. I mean, I’m going into another bout tomorrow.”

“That's one of the things you need to be careful about,” he says. “What you did today was impressive, but tomorrow you won't be fighting a beast. You will need to find another way to win. Just remember, even though it's you and another person in there, there are still animals around.”

“You're thinking about what happened with Vex,” I guess.

“And I'm not the only one,” Alaric says. “Vex now believes that you called the shadow cat to you deliberately. He has been known to hold a grudge.”

“I know he doesn’t like me.”

Alaric takes hold of my arm. “There’s a difference between Vex being a snob who looks down on anyone not born noble and him actively hating you, Lyra. He’s dangerous. And he’s not the only one. Some of the other gladiators are starting to look at you like you’re a threat now, rather than someone they can ignore. They’ve heard stories of beast whisperers before. And standing out too much in the arena brings its own problems.”

“Attention from too many lecherous nobles at the gatherings afterwards?” I suggest.

“Take this seriously, Lyra,” Alaric warns. “This is life and death.”

“Do you think I could forget that?” I retort.

I know that I’m going to have to fight for my life again in the morning. So are the rest of my friends. For now, I’m just grateful that they’re still alive, but I don’t know if anyone will still be at this time tomorrow. Even Alaric, for all his arrogance and bravado, could find himself cut down.

I’m surprised to find that I would miss him if he were.

For now, I head into my room, trying to sleep. Rest eludes me, though. Tomorrow will come all too soon, and with it will follow fresh violence.