Page 31 of Ironhold, Trial Three

He shrugs. "That's a matter for the higher-ups, not for the likes of me or you. But I guess if he can't fight, then he can't get through the rest of the games. Missing the rest of this trial is the least of his worries. They might make him fight injured. After what he's done, it's the least he deserves."

That thought is even worse than anything Ravenna suggested. If Rowan is made to fight now with a broken leg, even he won't be able to win. I have already felt what it is like to think I have lost him, but if they make him fight on, that could happen in truth, rather than just as part of his plan.

I want to go speak to him about all of this. I set off in the direction of the makeshift infirmary beneath the colosseum, where stone slabs are spread out, either to hold the injured or the dead. The healers within don't really care which. I know Rowan will be in there, and that they will be doing their best to restore him, if only because he is a more entertaining gladiator when he is fully fit than if he is injured. We get some of the best care available in Aetheria, in the same way that prize chariot horses are treated well. They want us to be able to perform at our peak, to give the most entertainment to the crowd before our deaths.

As I reach the infirmary, however, a guard blocks my way, holding up his hand to stop me.

“Halt there,” he commands, in the imperious tones of someone who knows that he is free and I am not. He looks me upand down, taking far too long about it. “As far as I can see, you aren't injured. Didn't get a scratch on you in your fight. You have no business here.”

“I wanted to see how Rowan is doing,” I say.

“Are you deaf? You have no business here. Move on.”

For a moment I think about pushing past him, just so that I can see Rowan and make sure that he is all right. But if I do that, I will be a slave gladiator attacking a free citizen of Aetheria. Even if I defeat the guard, the penalty for such a thing is likely to be harsh.

I step back instead, and as I do so, I see the cloaked figure of Malira walking out of the infirmary. She pauses in front of me, then lets the cloak fall.

“Do you like what you did?” she demands, as I stare at what is revealed.

The healers have done their best, but they cannot take away the scarring of the burns, or perhaps they don't want to waste the effort on it when they have other wounds to heal. It means that almost half of Malira’s body is covered by burn marks, the right half of her features twisted, her hair burned away. She looks like something out of nightmares, and she stares at me with hatred.

“You didn't have to attack me in there,” I reply.

“That's the arena,” she snaps. “But you cheated. You and your lover. Or one of them. I figure if the brute who works with stone is sacrificing himself to save you, more than one of them is getting a piece of you. But don't worry, I’ll thin the ranks for you.”

I know she is to fight Alaric. Before, I wasn't worried by that. I had assumed that she would be too injured to fight. Now though it seems that not only is she able to fight, she is more determined than ever.

“I’m going to make him pay for what he did,” Malira says. “Watch the fight closely. I want you to see the moment when I kill him. And remember, it won't be long before you join him.”

Chapter Twenty One

"Good luck in there," I say to Alaric, as he stands at the gates. I kiss him because I don't know if I'll have the chance to do it again. He responds enthusiastically, but only for a moment or two, before pushing me back.

“Don't worry so much,” he says. “Do you really think Malira can beat me?”

I shake my head because I know it's what he wants, but the truth is that I'm worried. "You need to be careful. She's fast, faster than anyone should be using a blade that big. And she likes to run up the walls."

“It's all right, Lyra,” Alaric says with a smile. “I've seen her fight. I know what to do.”

He steps out into the arena. Even as he does it, a couple of guards come for me, along with a trainer.

“You should be up in the receiving rooms, entertaining the nobles,” the trainer says.

“But the bout is just beginning,” I complain.

“So?” the trainer shoots back. “Do you think you're one of the citizens here to watch the trials? Do you think all of this is for your entertainment? Now stop arguing, or I'll have you punished.”

His expression suggests he would relish it, and I know better than to argue. As with the guard who was keeping me from Rowan, I have more than enough skills to force my way past him, and probably to stop him from punishing me, but doing so would only mean greater penalties. I must do as he commands.

It means that I go up through the colosseum, to the gilded and marble filled space of the receiving rooms. Ravenna is already up there, and there's something about her smile that suggests she had a hand in this. What would it have taken? Asimple word in the ear of one of the guards, reminding them that I should be up here? A nudge of her power, perhaps?

She's waiting, along with a trio of young noblemen.

“Ah, Lyra, there you are. The nobles have been just dying to meet you. Now, Alexus, I believewewere going to have some time together.”

She leads one of them away into one of the side rooms. I don't know if she's planning to seduce him or simply talk to him using her powers until he agrees to every plan she has. That doesn't really matter now, because what's more important is the way the other two are looking at me. One is dark-haired and in his thirties. The other is closer to my age, with blonde hair to his shoulders and an imperious look. Both are dressed in togas fringed with gold. The blonde-haired one has bangles on his left wrist, displaying his wealth where he can.

They sit on two of the couches in the receiving room, gesturing for me to sit on a third. The receiving room is empty except for us and a few servants, who stand by with blank expressions, waiting for commands.

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