She had begged her mother to let her be a gladiator. I can handle it, Ash had thought.
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t handle this pain—she wanted to cleave her body apart to escape it as the rock burrowed into her back.
Another rock dropped, smashing into Ash’s head, pinning her skull to the ground. She had been helpless many times throughout her life, but this type of helplessness broke her. She whimpered and writhed, half hearing the muffled pleas spilling out of her mouth. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to die like this.
The sand wavered in the heat; the crowd’s noise was a dull roar. Ash was fading, flickering, a candle pulsing in a raging storm.
Across from her was an archway. Far away, too far for her to reach, someone staggered out under it.
Madoc?
The stone on her head pushed down, down—
There was light.
Bright, all-encompassing light, as though the sun had dipped down to escort one of its daughters to the afterlife. It flooded every space in Ash’s body, expanding her broken ribs, soothing her cracked skull.
Ash fell into it. If this was how life ended, she didn’t know why she had ever feared death.
Death was calm. Death was safe.
Death felt strangely like energeia.
Ash’s eyes flew open. She was standing, her body humming with power and might and burn it all, she had never felt this good. Every muscle stretched and relaxed, ready for use; every bone was whole and strong; every nerve tingled with alertness.
Her body reacted, moving as more stones descended. Speed let her dodge left, right, left, cutting around the rocks as Elias jutted his arms to direct the geoeia.
“No!” Giant tears tumbled down his face. “No—I have to do this!”
Behind him, through Ash’s tunnel, Kulan guards stormed the fighting pit. They sped toward Elias, who didn’t notice their approach.
The first guard hurtled into him, taking him to the ground. His hold on the geoeia dropped and the remaining stones crashed to the sand around Ash like so many raindrops.
The noise of the stands came back to her. Someone—Ignitus?—was shouting, “Arrest him! He interfered with this war—arrest him!”
Others: “How did she survive? What energeia is this?”
Ash whirled toward the archway.
Madoc stood there, his hands out to her, palms up.
He swayed and dropped to his knees.
The Kulan guards wrestled Elias into submission. He sobbed, heaving against them.
“I’m so sorry,” she told him.
Ash sprinted away, toward Madoc.
He leaned against the sandstone bricks, sweat sheening his face, his eyes closed.
Above them, the crowd’s cheering became murmurs of confusion—had the war ended? What had happened to Geoxus’s real champion?
Ash threaded Madoc’s arm around her shoulders. It was far easier than it should be to support him.
“You came back.” It was both a question and a statement.
He lifted hooded eyes to her before he nodded down the hall. “Preparation chamber. Before—”
Footsteps pounded on the stands, through the tunnels. At any moment, centurions would storm after them, following the orders of two no-doubt-furious gods.
Ash dragged Madoc for the closest room. She kicked the door shut and heaved her hip into the bolt to lock it. It would only buy them a little time.
This preparation chamber wasn’t for public use—it was opulent and pristine, worthy of a final war match. Ash had been vaguely aware of the gaudiness of her own that morning, the blue silk covering the walls, the padded chaise and table spread with food and drink.
This one looked just the same, only with heavy onyx silk accented by white lace. Phosphorescent stones glowed in the walls, but for once Ash didn’t seethe with the lack of igneia—her body was awash with color and light from Madoc’s anathreia.
In the corner a cushioned pallet sat on a raised dais, and Ash eased him onto it before turning to the supplies spread on the table. She poured minted water from a pitcher into a ceramic bowl. There was a sponge too—she dipped it and turned back to find Madoc lying on the pallet, one arm thrown over his forehead, his eyes split open enough to watch her.
His attention immobilized her. Water dripped down her fingers, splashed on her feet, perfuming the air with the sharp, cool scent of mint.
“What happened?” she whispered.
Madoc’s arm slid off his forehead. “I tried to leave.” His voice wavered. He sat up, legs folded under him, looking down at his hands in his lap. “But I heard the crowds in the arena. People running past said that