Page 2 of Ironhold, Trial Three

“It is a pity it is not close to the holy days,” Lord Darius said. “The mood of the city always picks up when there are games.”

Of course it did. That was a part of why Tiberius’ ancestors had founded the games. They wanted to give the people a release that was not violence on the streets. And in the colosseum, they managed to achieve other aims as well. They could sort the wheat from the chaff of those with magical abilities. They created a space for nobles to play out their petty politics. Indeed they had become primarily a place of money and political power, of decadence and shifting alliances.

But that could be good, too. The betting filled Tiberius' coffers, since he took a portion of each transaction. And the blood of the fallen could feed the stones, their magic pouring back into them.

It was a combination that served the city well, and maybe it could here, too.

“There are other games than just the regular ones on holy days,” Tiberius pointed out.

Lord Darius looked confused for a moment, then understanding seemed to dawn on him.

“You're talking about the Champions Trials?”

Tiberius nodded. “They used to have them in the old days, didn't they? A select group of champions. Specially constructed situations within the arena. A test beyond the normal.”

“Such a thing has not been done in a long time,” Selene Ravenscroft pointed out. No doubt she knew exactly how long. She kept records of most things. She thought that knowledge was power, when Tiberius knew that power came from magic and steel.

"But maybe the time has come to revive it," Tiberius said. "An additional set of games to catch the mood of the people and distract them until the grain ships can arrive."

It would do more than that, though. It would allow Tiberius to truly test the strongest among the gladiators. To see which of them was worthy, which of them might be a useful ally, and perhaps whether any of them would be a problem in future. It would allow him to see whether the shapes of the future that his powers had shown him were correct.

Yes, the more he thought about this, the better he decided the idea was.

“See to it, Darius,” Tiberius said. “Start to arrange the Champions Trials. The people will love it, and I will get to see more of these gladiators. Oh, and Darius?”

“Yes my emperor?” Darius said.

“Make sure that this beast whisperer, Lyra, is one of those chosen for it.”

“You want her given that kind of attention?” Lady Elara asked.

“I want her tested to the very limit,” Tiberius said. “Perhaps she will die. Perhaps the challenges will crush her.”

“And if they do not?” Lord Darius asked.

“Then that would make her very interesting to me indeed.”

Chapter One

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Alaric says, as I slip smoothly from his bed and dress again, ready to head down and train with the other gladiators. I tie back the gold of my hair, slipping on my halter top, brief skirt and sandals. The kind of basic training gear given to all of the gladiators.

“It’s better if I do,” I say.

Alaric and I might be together, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily a good idea for us to beseento be romantically involved. For one thing, he is a noble gladiator, where is I am a slave, captured by the soldiers of Aetheria. An iron collar around my neck proclaims my status. We might both have a brand on our left shoulders, showing how many seasons we have completed in the colosseum, but our positions are not the same.

“To go train with everyone else,” Alaric says, a hint of jealousy in his tone.

“I need to train, Alaric,” I reply. I hadn’t thought he would have a jealous or possessive note to him, but it seems he does.

We just can’t be seen together.

Alaric’s fellow nobles would probably consider him spending time with me to be fine, but they would laugh at the idea of him having feelings for me. To them, a slave gladiator is something to use and discard. Meanwhile, the other gladiators conscripted into the games would see it as a betrayal for me to be with him.

Not that there aren't plenty of reasons to be with him, and Alaric’s sheer beauty is only one of them. Heisbeautiful, because features that fine don't deserve to be called simply handsome. Dark hair frames his face, and storm-tossed dark eyes stare out at me. His body is slender and lean, and currently he seems to be posing as if expecting a sculptor to be along tocapture his form at any moment. Alaric lounges with deliberate grace beneath the sheets, the invitation obvious.

But that isn't the reason that it's hard to go. I have seen more of Alaric than just the arrogant, unfeeling facade that he puts out to the world, the occasional burst of jealousy and the deadly skill with a blade. The side of him that laughs at danger, flirts with any beauty he meets and seems untroubled by killing. But I have also seen through that, to the man whose family mostly wants nothing to do with him, and who must meet with his mother in secret. To the man who clearly does care, even if the act he puts on refuses to let him show it.

“I need to go,” I say. “You know that. And you should hurry, too. You can't miss training.”

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