Page 2 of Ironhold, Trial Four

Both of us also have iron collars around our necks, making it clear that we are not citizens of Aetheria entering the games forglory and honor. Instead, we are both slave gladiators, who must fight when we are commanded or be punished.

We both have circular brands on our left shoulders, cut through by slashes. I have three, Rowan two, one for each season we have been deemed to have successfully completed within the games. Five such marks and we will be free, our time as gladiators complete. More than that, we will be full citizens of the city, and any children we have will be high-born. It is Aetheria’s way of making sure that the strong are brought into its population, the weak weeded out.

But that is not something to concentrate on for now. For the moment, I must focus on the fight. Practice bout or not, there is still always an element of dangerwithin the training fortress of Ironhold.

Now that I know where Rowan is I can swing my chain more accurately, aiming for him, but he seems to guess what is about to happen. Perhaps hefeels the movement comingbecause one of his most important skills is the ability to feel the vibrations of the earth as his opponents move. His arm snaps up and he catches the chain, pulling me in while he thrusts with his sword.

I weave aside from the attack, my vision from the ratletting me see the angle at which the blow is coming. I twist around Rowan, circling him while he tries to pull me in with the chain. It means that the chain wraps around his legs, and he tumbles to the floor. Even as he does it though he pulls me down with him, so that I land on top of him. I lie there panting for a second or two.

I’m aware of the closeness of him. It’s impossible not to respond to that closeness, when he is so good looking. My body feels as though it is heating up with us being so close to one another, my breath coming shorter.

Once, I was with Rowan. Once, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from leaning in to kiss him. Now, though, I must. I am not with Rowan.

“Oh, stop it, you two,” Zara says, from where she is trading practice blows with Cesca, another of the gladiators. “Every bout seems to end up like this with you.”

Zara is flame haired and pale skinned even in the heat of Aetheria, taken from somewhere out on its fringes. She has a talent for controlling water, and carries vials of iton belts that cross her chest. Cesca is shorter and dark-haired, with a talent for conjuring small sparks of lightning that can make it difficult for an opponent to grab her. It isn't much of a talent by the standards of the arena, so she is training hard to try to make sure she survives.

Most of the fighters have some kind of talent in the Colosseum. That is why we are here, taken from the fringes of the empire, because our gifts were spotted by the Aetherians. They claim that all magic flows outwards from the cityand the stones beneath it, so that any such gifts found beyond it must be brought back. The truth is it's a way for them to control magic, to either kill or coopt those of us who can use it.

Zara's words make me start back from Rowan. After all, the two of us aren't together and… and I feel enough every time I look at him thatI can't just ignore being that close to him. My body responds to him automatically, my attraction to him impossible to ignore. I must pull back, because being too close is dangerous, when I am not with Rowan. Zara laughs at the speed with which I do it, obviously knowing the reaction she would get.

“You did well there,” Rowan says, disentangling himself from my chain.

“Until you caught me out with a trick,” I say.

“Stop expecting anything to befair. You should know better than that by now.”

I do know that there is nothing fair about the real fights. I had just been hoping for more from the practice bouts. The colosseum of Aetheria isn’t about even contests, but about what will excite the crowd the most. Rowan has been thrown in there blindfolded before. I have been made to face deadly creatures and mazes filled with traps. I have bled in there, and my body bears the scars of my wounds, despite the best efforts of the healers. Until such time as we win our freedom, we are at the mercy of the organizers of the games: Lord Darius and Lady Selene.

“We should switch around and work with different people,” Zara suggests. “We don’t have long until the next set of holy days. We need to be ready.”

I suspect she is suggesting that because she is working with Cesca, who is the weakest of us. The games are held on the holy days of Aetheria, reflecting their beginnings as a sacrificial rite, designed to appease the gods. I have been toldthat they also feed the stones the magic flows out of, making sure that flow is undimmed. Zara is right: it isn't long before the next set, and that means that we will need to fight again.

“Just a couple more,” I say. I need to keep my focus on that. Two more sets of games, and I will be free.

“For you,” Rowan points out, sounding bitter, and I flinch at my mistake.

He and I both took part in an extra set of games, the Champions Trials, but Rowan wasjudged to have failedafter he feigned his own death in about between us. It was a bold move, designed so that neither of us would have to kill the other. It saved both of our lives butmeans he still needs to fight in three more sets of games before he can be free.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I wasn't thinking.”

“It's just the way of things here,” Zara says. Like Rowan, she has two seasons behind her. She wasn't chosen for theChampions Trials. The circle on Cesca’s shoulder bears no marks. She has yet to fight in earnest, outside of a practice bout. I hope she will be able to survive. “Now come on. Fight me, Lyra.”

Zara uses a pair of curved daggers as her main weapons, curling around her fists so that she can fight with ferocity and speed. As we face off, she charges at me, forcing me to give ground because I'm a gladiator whose weapons favor a greater distance. The whole strategy of my weapons is to hit and move, looking for openings, trying to findways to tangle my opponentand leave them vulnerable.

I can see Rowan working with Cesca, whose weapon of choice seems to be an elegant sword, long and slender, like a willow reed made from iron. She's fast and agile, able to switch the weapon from one hand to the other as she moves. I can see her asking Rowan for tips, deliberately leaning close to him as she does so. Is she attracted to him? I feel a brief pang of jealousy, and I have no right to be jealous. Once more, I must remind myself that Rowan and I are not together.

I am with Alaric, beautiful, noble Alaric, one of the free gladiatorsand only a season away from being able to leave the games. Not that he is here.

Maybe this isn't even about attraction. During the Champions Trials, Cesca hung around with Ravenna, one of the free gladiators. That might have been because Ravennawas able to manipulate people's minds and couldhave simply decided that Cesca was going to be her latest pet, but my feeling is thatthe young woman is seeking the most powerful friends she can find in an effort to make it through Ironhold. It's a strategy I can’t hold against her. People do what they need to in order to survive here.

Except Alaric. He seems to do whatever is likely to bring him the most glory. He flips, he spins. He plays to the crowd. Hetreats the fights as a grand game. There is a pang in my heart at the thought of him, and I'm distracted enough that Zara gets through with a couple of hits. If these had been live blades rather than wooden ones, I would be dead right now.

“What has you so distracted?” she asks.

“Alaric,” I say, simply.

She groans. “Really? I know the two of you have been having fun, butyou can't let it get in the way. The moment you start to feel anything for someone around here, that's when it will cost you.”

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