Page 13 of Ironhold, Trial One

Rowan sighs. “You know what Aetherians are like. The city dwellers, at least.”

I shake my head because Idon'tknow. I have never been here before. For most of my life, my village being subsumed into the empire was just a kind of story, a background piece of information rather than something that affected any of our lives. Now, it has changed my life completely.

Rowan starts to explain. “The emperor rules over everything, but the city is filled with people with magical powers, however minor. That's hard to contain, even when his army has the same powers. He has to give them entertainment to make sure that there are no rebellions.”

“And killing people in an arena is the only way to do it?” I ask.

Rowan shrugs. “They see it as something holy. The emperor is seen as halfway to being a god in their pantheon. This is an empire that was built on a combination of magical power and martial virtue. They see the colosseum as the embodiment of that. That is why, if we survive five seasons, we don’t just get to be free; we get to be full citizens, even nobles. And our families…if I get through this, I might be able to buy my family back. I might be able to free them.”

I hope he's able to do so. But I see another side to it, too. This is a way of co-opting the powerful, making them a part of a bigger system.

“If you want freedom that badly, why help me?” I ask. “Why put yourself at risk by standing up to Gyra?”

Rowan looks surprised. “It wasn't much of a risk. And why not help? To get our freedom, all we need to do is survive five seasons in the colosseum. I don't need you to fail for that to happen.”

“Unless we're pitted against one another,” I point out.

Rowan smiles. “Thankfully, I doubt that's likely to happen.”

I know what he means. It wouldn't be much of a match. I am smaller and weaker, and it isn't as though my magic makes up for it. The more I think about it, the more afraid I am of what is likely to happen to me here. That thought is enough to make me lose the desire to continue the conversation.

“It was good meeting you, Rowan,” I say.

I leave the practice grounds, heading for the bathhouses. I assume that they will be empty with everyone else still training, and I'm right. I bathe in the warm waters of the main pool, then plunge into the freezing waters that follow. As I do so, I find myself thinking of Rowan and his past.

It seems to me he has something bigger to fight for, something that will carry him through all of this. I do not. I have nothing but the desire for my own freedom. Will that be enough? It carried me through the first test, but will it be enough when I am forced to fight? Will I be able to kill someone else so that I can survive and be free?

I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure that I want to, and in a place like this, any hesitation might result in my death.

I pull myself from the baths, drying myself and dressing in the clothes that Ironhold has allowed me. I start to leave, and that is when I almost run into the slender, lean young man coming the other way, wrapped in just a towel.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Watch where you're going,” he says. He looks me up and down, then grins. “Unless your plan was to stumble into my arms? I feel as though I could forgive that all too easily.”

He is handsome, I'll give him that. No, not just handsome, beautiful, in a way no man has a right to be. Almost good looking enough to excuse the arrogance of his expression. His dark hair spills past his shoulders, while his body is lean and fluid, the muscles etched on him but far from as powerful as Rowan’s. Deep blue eyes regard me with interest. This is someone I could imagine dancing around me gracefully, while Rowan’s arms seem suited more to holding me tightly. I push both of those thoughts aside. I’ve only just met both of them.

The strangest thing about him is that he doesn’t have a slave collar around his neck. He has the mark of Ironhold, a burned ring with a single stripe across it representing one season in the colosseum, but no collar. He must be one of the free gladiators Rowan mentioned. I can only assume that they train separately from the rest of us.

“Have you been struck dumb by the sight of me?" he asks with a sardonic lilt. "I'm told that I have that effect on women.”

“By people you've paid to say it?” I ask. I freeze as I hear my own words, realizing the danger I may have just put myself in. I've already seen that my fellow gladiators can be violent and bullying. Insulting one of them might not be a good idea.

He laughs, instead. “Do you know, the last time someone insulted me, I ended up fighting a duel with him on the sands? And yet you still dare to do it? Do you think you're invulnerable?”

I'm all too aware that I'm not. “I'm sorry.”

“No, no, don't apologize. You were doing sowell. The mysterious refusal to speak, the almost running into me, the puncturing of my ego. Why, I could practically feel the sparks flying between us.”

“There are no sparks,” I insist. “I don't even know who you are.”

Now, hedoeslook mildly offended, but I suspect it's at least partly an act. “You don't know who I am? I am Alaric Blackthorn!”

He declares it as if the name should have an effect on me, perhaps send me to my knees to beg to be his, or send me reeling back in fear. I give him a blank look instead.

“Really? Nothing?” He sighs. “Have they dragged you in from someplace where the heroes of the colosseum aren’t even talked about?”

“Yes,” I say simply, unable to keep the pain out of my voice at the memory of being snatched from my home.

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