Page 33 of Ironhold, Trial One

“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.”

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 hischest, 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.”

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