Ash gagged, her fist to her mouth. She had lost count of how many times she had vomited since centurions had locked her in a chamber in Geoxus’s palace last night. Getting to this moment—the roar of the crowd and the heat of the sun and the wide, waiting glitter of sand—had been a blur of grief.
Drums rumbled across the arena. The crowd thundered, pushed to hysteria by the unorthodox detour from the usual structured wars. They wouldn’t have more parades and parties; they wouldn’t get the final audition fights. This was it. This fight would end the Kulans’ stay in Deimos.
This would end everything.
“Ash Nikau will fight on behalf of Kula,” an announcer bellowed.
Ash hobbled out of the tunnel. Sand slid over her feet, velvet soft and warm, and she lifted her eyes to the cheering crowd. People wore elaborate costumes, mock armor and full body paint and signs that read Death to Kula!, Geoxus Prevails, and Glory, Glory.
To her right, bodies packed the grandest viewing box. Untouched food weighed down a table while around it, upper-class Deimans mingled with Kulans.
Ash spotted Tor, Taro, and Spark. They were at the edge, watching her, faces gaunt with sleeplessness and strain. They had prepared her for the battle, but centurions had kept a close watch the whole time and escorted them out as soon as they’d finished. She hadn’t gotten a chance to ask what she should do.
In the viewing box beside Tor, clutching the railing just as tightly, stood their god.
Ignitus hadn’t spoken to them until they’d returned to the palace. There, Ash had been too grief-stricken to say more than that Petros was plotting against Ignitus—Your god has no idea what’s coming for him.
Tor had scrambled to apologize. Geoxus had every right to execute them for what they had done.
But Ignitus had shaken his head. “Tell me what happened tomorrow,” he had said, “after you defeat my brother’s champion.”
He had shown restraint. He had shown—dare Ash even think it?—kindness.
Ash lifted her hand to the viewing box. Tor nodded at her, solemn.
Ignitus lifted his hand in return. “Ash!” he cheered, though there was no joy in it.
Tor glanced at him, then caught the cheer. “Ash! Ash!”
Soon, all the Kulans in the box were chanting her name. Beating it alongside the heavy drums.
Ash dropped her head, tears welling, heat streaking through her in stabs of sorrow.
“Fuel and flame,” she whispered. “I am fuel and flame.”
“Madoc Aurelius,” the announcer said, “will fight on behalf of Deimos.”
The crowd, being mostly Deiman citizens, made such a noise that Ash fought to keep from covering her ears.
She turned, slowly, and faced the archway where Madoc would emerge.
It was empty.
A moment passed. The crowd’s cheers grew.
Why was he delaying? Was Geoxus making him wait in order to build anticipation?
Ash cut a glance at the other half of the viewing box. Geoxus had his arms crossed over his broad chest, flicking his scowl back and forth from Madoc’s archway to Ignitus, a few paces to his left. Geoxus’s people applauded—one of them was Madoc’s sponsor, Lucius.
Another was Petros, smugly gazing down at the tunnel.
Ash fought not to tear the igneia from the firepit that waited for her and hurl it all at him.
The cheers faded; the crowd was confused.
Ash’s eyes flipped back to the archway to see a man striding across the sands toward her. Her heart seized before she realized it was Elias, not Madoc.
And he was wearing Madoc’s armor.
“What trick is this, brother?” Ignitus’s voice broke the edge of Ash’s awareness.
“Stop the fight!” Geoxus boomed. “Find my champion!”
Commotion filled the stands, but Ash didn’t look away from Elias. She matched his pace, holding her breath against the sizzle of wariness that compelled her to turn back. Why was he here? Why was he outfitted to fight?
Where was Madoc?
They met in the center of the pit, Ash’s bowl of raging flames to one side, a pile of boulders that she knew were just for show on the another, and a rack of weapons between the two.
The moment she drew close enough to see Elias’s face, Ash’s chest bucked. He was seething at her, shoulders rising and falling in tight breaths.
“Elias,” Ash said slowly, “where is Madoc?”
Guilt wrung her veins until black spots danced across her vision. Madoc hadn’t been able to face her, so he’d sent his brother in his stead?
“He never should’ve been a gladiator,” Elias told her. A bead