I stand in the middle of the arena, along with so many of my friends. Rowan’s wounds have opened up again, and my own are just barely stitched. Naia looks gaunt and exhausted from her healing efforts. Zara has bruising all down one side of her face. Even Ravenna looks less than perfect for once, a dozen cuts crossing her abdomen and chest. Only Alaric looks nearly unscathed, but perhaps that is just because he is important enough for the healers to work on first.
The last of us has come back from mingling with the nobles. The crowds are still there in the stands of the arena, although they have thinned out now that the last bouts are done. Now that the killing is finished, many are not bothering to stay for the ceremony that follows.
Even the emperor has left, as though he has seen all he needs to. Instead, his announcer says pre-prepared words.
“Citizens!” he declares, his magic carrying his voice around the arena. “Over the three days of the holidays, you have witnessed great bravery and skill. You have seen feats of physical prowess and magic. You have seen heroes rise from nothing, and established faces fall. These people have bled and died for the glory of Aetheria!”
The crowd cheers in response to his words. I wonder if they are really thinking about them, about those of us who have died or been hurt, simply for their entertainment.
“These are the ones who still stand,” the announcer says. “These are the ones who have survived.”
That isn't true. Many are still being worked on by the healers. Vex is, I know, although they are not certain if he will pull through.
“Because they still stand, it is their time to be rewarded! Lord Darius, will you do the honors?”
Lord Darius steps up there in the box. His voice is not magically amplified like the announcer’s, but it is still loud enough to be heard.
“Each of you is here because you are strong. You did what was necessary, and you have started to show why you are valuable to Aetheria. Remember that, but also remember those who have died.”
He slams his fist to his chest.
“The fallen!”
“The fallen!” we echo. Some of the crowd join in, but I'm glad that more don't. This is our moment, not theirs. This is a moment where I remember Finn, but also Lazlo and Gyra, the null I killed, and even the prisoners who were fed to the shadow cats on the first day. The moment stretches out, and Lord Darius makes a gesture.
Pain blossoms through my shoulder, a burning line moving across it. I look down to see that my mark has gained a stripe for the completion of my first season. Four more, and I will be free, able to take a place in Aetherian society as a citizen. Any children I have will be highborn. It is a reminder of the stakes we play for here. I'm not sure it is enough, but then, I have no choice.
The crowd cheers again as we get our updated marks. Some of the others bow and wave to them as if in gratitude for a great gift bestowed on us. I just make my way over to Rowan, waiting for the march back to Ironhold.
“I saw what you did in your last fight,” he says. “It was impressive, Lyra. And Finn… well, if he was going to die, I'm glad he could do it saving you.”
“I wish he didn't have to,” I reply. “I wish none of us had to die.”
Rowan puts an arm around me. “All we can do is keep going, to try to get to the other side of this. I will be there for you every step of the way.”
Unless he is killed. That is the part we do not say, the part that makes everything frightening and intense around Ironhold. We live on the edge of death, knowing that we could be killed in a bout at any one of the games, all that we might even be slain in training. It means that we cannot waste time, cannot hesitate.
I hold Rowan tighter, staying with him as we start to process back to Ironhold. There is a sad note to this procession. Almost as many people turn out for it as for the one on the first day, but now their mood is less joyous, and ours matches it, for different reasons. They are mourning the loss of their entertainment until the next holy days, the next round of games. We are mourning the loss of those who have died.
We walk, and our procession is bolstered by the presence of the beasts being brought back, and the carts carrying the injured. Stephano is tending to the shadow cat on one of them. I'm glad to see it has not died.
Ironhold looms ahead of us, swallowing us up, the great walls containing us once more, making sure we cannot escape. Soon, we are inside, and I am surprised to find that wine and victuals have been left on tables in the practice yards.
“A feast?” I say.
“Oh,” Alaric replies casually. “There’s always a feast. Lord Darius is generous like that. He knows we need to celebrate life as well as prepare ourselves for death.”
I feel as though a feast is the last thing I want, but it seems the others disagree. They move among the tables, and soon the air is alive with raucous singing and celebrating. I stay a little while, eating and drinking, sharing a few jokes with my friends, but it is hard to make myself do it. All too soon, I find myself slipping away, stealing a chicken leg and heading down into the beast pens.
The shadow cat is back in its pen, bandaged and slowly healing again. I toss the chicken leg to it, and it takes it gratefully, licking it and then crunching down on it with its great jaws.
"You should have killed Vex back in the arena."
Alaric, it seems, can move quietly when he wants to. He comes up to me now, holding out a few pieces of beef that he must have snatched from the feast. I toss those to the shadow cat too.
"At this rate," Alaric says, "that thing is going to be too well-fed to move."
“What are you doing here, Alaric?” I ask.
“Perhaps I just wanted to see you,” he says. “To check that you’re all right.”
“And to tell me I should have killed Vex in cold blood.”
Alaric shrugs. “Cold blood, hot blood… it’s all blood, in the end. You’ve made a name for yourself in these games, Lyra, but you’ve also painted a target on your back. Refusing the emperor’s command to kill will mean people see it as a chance for advancement to make it more difficult for you.”
“That’s what Vex thought,” I say. “He thought that killing a beast whisperer would bring him credit.”
“And it would have,” Alaric says. “Remember, Lyra, the colosseum is not just about killing your foes. There is a whole web of politics around it. Which nobles you make alliances with after your bouts, who you kill and show mercy to, who you win money for in the betting.”
“You make it sound like we’re senators of the city, not gladiators,” I reply.
“Oh, it’s far worse than that,” Alaric says. “Even in Ironhold, there are factions. The free gladiators and those forced into it, the nobles among the free and the lower born trying to gain favor with them. Those with particular sets of abilities learn together half the time, teaching one another tricks, while always trying to hold something back, of course.”
“Why ‘of course?’” I ask.
Alaric raises an eyebrow. “So that you have something in reserve if you’re ever forced to fight. Tell me, how would you fight me ?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Pander to your ego until your head swells so much it explodes?”
He laughs at that, but then his expression turns serious.
“It is worse, being known as one of the best. There will always be those trying to use you for their own ends. You will have to watch out for poison in your food and other tricks to slow you down. Oh, and you should be careful about making it too obvious that you have affection for any one person. That can be used against you. Sleeping with Rowan puts both of you in danger.”
“I’m not sleeping with him,” I say. Although the only reason I’m not is because he’s been too injured.
“Really? That’s not what the rumors say.”
“Then the rumors are wrong,” I snap back. “Just as I’m not giving myself to Lady Elara between bouts, or whatever they’re saying.”
“Oh,” Alaric says with mock disappointment. “And there go some of my more torrid imaginations.”
“Why do you even care , Alaric?” I ask him. “Why do you care what happens to me?”
He moves in close to me. “Well, you are incredible and beautiful, and I suspect your presence will change plenty of things around here."
“Is that the reason?” I ask. I can still smell the blood on him, and the sweat, but then, those things are on me too.
His lips brush mine, sudden and gentle, but then he pulls back, with another of those teasing looks he does so well.
“They’re all good reasons. But who said I cared? Remember, caring can get you killed.”
He moves back from me, offering me a sweeping bow.
“I would rather not see you killed, Lyra. You’re so much more interesting alive.”