Page 47 of Ironhold, Trial One

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’salwaysa 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 myselfslipping 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’sallblood, 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.

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