Page 15 of Ironhold, Trial Three

The shadow cats are chasing him now, and the worst part is that I can hear the crowd cheering for the action. Some of them are urging him on, but I'm sure others are hoping they get to see him brought down by the pack of ravenous beasts. I will him forward, hoping against hope that he will make it. He dares a slash back at the shadow cats and that buys him a second in which to run again. He makes it to the gate at the maze and he throws himself through it.

Guards slam the iron gate behind him, closing it so the shadow cats do not get through. There must be some magic at play here because it would be easy for them to step from one shadow to another, otherwise appearing beyond the confines of the maze. Instead, they snap, snarl, and then slink back into the maze to feast on the dead.

The crowd cheers Rowan’s victory in surviving. Even the ones who might have been urging the shadow cats on seem happy enough that he has escaped, although I do see a couple of people here and there in the crowd throwing down their wooden betting tokens in frustration.

Rowan stands there, blood on his torso, breathing hard. It's hard not to feel relief that he has survived, and in spite of myself, a part of me wants to go to him to make sure he's all right. I don't, the same way I didn't with Alaric. Each of us must be seen to stand alone here.

Eventually, the noise of the crowd calms down. We are all standing beneath the emperor's box, and he stands at the edge of it, looking down at us. His eyes seem to meet mine for a moment or two before passing on to the others. I don't know what to make of his interest in me, although I know that the interest of anyone that powerful is far from safe.

He starts to speak. “Citizens of Aetheria, behold! The victors in the first trial! They have survived when most would have fallen. They have shown you their power, but this is just a taste of things to come. Tomorrow they will face a new trial, even more deadly.”

He looks down at us again. “Gladiators, you have earned your rest. You have shown the twin virtues of martial prowess and magical might that Aetheria rests upon. For now, retire to the receiving rooms. There, you will be treated with honor. You have more than earned it. I'm sure there are those amongst the nobles who will wish to show you their favor for having done so well.”

He's telling us that even for these trials, we must make ourselves available to mingle with nobles. I can't understand what his intentions are with all this unless it is simply to entertain.

For now, we have survived this trial but if we're going to spend time with the nobles that is almost as perilous in its way. These are people who can do almost anything they wish with us.

What will they choose with me?

Chapter Ten

We are relieved of our weapons as we go to the receiving area within the Colosseum. It is a large marble-walled room, filled with couches on which nobles are already lounging, hung with silken drapes, decorated with frescoes and statues. Servants stand around with jugs of wine plates filled with delicacies. I see one nobleman pluck a bunch of grapes from such a tray, looking us all over with clear interest.

The soft music of a lyre plays in the background, and the air is filled with the chatter of the nobility, dressed in their finery. None of us has had a chance to change out of our armor after the first trial so we look like something violent and barbarous by comparison.

I see the other gladiators spread out, each of us approaching the room in a different fashion. Vex moves with a haughty gaze, as if unsure that anyone is really his equal even now that he is walking among fellow nobles. Ravenna selects a couch and is quickly surrounded by admirers vying for her attention, and to be the one to take her into one of the side rooms to entertain her further. Malira stands looking fierce while a couple of nobles attempt to engage her in conversation.

“Your performance was wonderful,” one says.

“So strong,” another says. “Have you given any thought to what you will do once you make your five seasons?”

I turn my attention away from her. So long as she doesn't have a weapon she can use to try to kill me, I don't want to worry about her.

Rowan looks uncomfortable, and not just because the healers have yet to work on him. In the other games he has always tried to avoid this part as much as possible, because it brings backtoo many memories of his former life, but now it seems that it is impossible for him to be anywhere else.

I go to Alaric, knowing that I can't let anyone see we're together but still wanting to be near him. In this place, people are expecting us to celebrate and to be in a good mood, so maybe they won't care if we're close. They will just put it down to the excitement of the moment.

“How was it?” I ask. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

Alaric smiles. “Hurt? Me?”

Of course it's the arrogant version of him that’s on display here. The one that could never imagine being injured during a trial. I respond even to this side of him, because he is still beautiful, but it hides his best qualities, his vulnerability, his honesty, his care.

Very briefly, the mask slips. "No, I wasn't hurt, but I was worried about you. How did you get past all the creatures? Were you able to work around your dampener?”

I nod. “A little. I also had help.”

I look across to where Vesper is standing alone. None of the nobles seem to want to engage with him. It's almost as though there's a bubble of peace and silence around him. He seems perfectly happy with that.

But there are more nobles around us now, and I know Alaric and I cannot speak openly or freely. Instead, we play the parts they expect, of gladiators grateful for the attention of those who would honor us. A small crowd of admirers is gathering around us, but I see Alaric look past them.

A woman is approaching, her dark hair shot through with grey, dressed in an elegant gown of dark silk. She has a flash of color on her shoulder, and I realize it's the same noble colors as Alaric wears pinned to his gladiatorial uniform. I realize who this must be:

His mother.

“Go to her,” I whisper to him, even as more nobles try to crowd in around us. I deliberately step in the way, taking the attention so Alaric has a chance to go to his mother, his patron.

I see him go to her, bowing formally, letting her lead him to a side room, as if she were just another noble there to get the attention of the gladiators. It means I'm alone in the middle of a crowd of them, some of them reaching out to touch my armor, as if it's good luck, some of them staring at me. It's enough to make me feel uncomfortable, but I'm not the only one.

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