Ash gasped, sweat pouring down her back. The tone of the crowd’s cheering shifted, but their incessant noise dulled to a hum as she ran, her fire whip lengthening, lengthening—
Char heaved herself backward, then back again, leaving a trail of maroon in her wake.
Stavos dragged the tip of his sword through the sand. He noted Ash coming with a wicked sneer.
Char followed his gaze, her lips moving. Maybe, Ash, no! Maybe, My fuel and flame.
Stavos lifted his sword and hurled it through the air.
Ash reared, her fire whip snapping to fill the circumference of the fighting pit as it had during the dance. She tightened it until the flames knotted around Stavos and hefted him above the sand. He shouted, thrashing, and she tossed him across the pit, as far away as she could.
She swung around, eyes scrambling for Char.
Mama, don’t do this, please. She had been eight, begging Char to stop. She had been eleven. She had been eighteen, this morning, Mama, please stop, he’ll kill you—
Stavos’s broadsword pinned Char to the sand. Her body lay sprawled and delicate like the dancers depicting the vanquished gods, only she didn’t rise for a finishing bow.
The world blurred. The blue sky, the heaving crowd—and movement in the viewing box.
Ashi’s own grating breath deafened her as she looked up, numb.
Each god could spy through their energeia. Try as Ignitus did to limit his siblings’ access, he couldn’t get rid of all other energeias—which meant the earth god had been able to watch this fight.
And he was here, now, standing in the viewing box next to Ignitus.
Geoxus’s body was half dust and dirt, a product of traveling through stone, as all the gods could do with their elements. He formed as he rose over Ignitus, rock yielding to flesh and blood. He was his brother’s opposite in all but their black hair and brown skin; where Ignitus was long and slender, Geoxus was all chiseled solidity and muscle.
He spoke, breaking into Ash’s shock with a searing crack as his voice came from every pebble and rock and particle of sand in the arena: “Your mortal interfered, brother. You cheated. I declare war on Kula.”
Three
Madoc
“CAN YOU BELIEVE it?” Elias huffed, a wild light in his eyes as they raced down the narrow street. Madoc had seen the same excitement in half the faces they’d passed since the foreman at the quarry had dismissed them early from work, and felt the rush of anticipation buzzing from the crowds that had gathered on the street corners.
War was coming to Deimos. The fire god, Ignitus, was bringing his best Kulan gladiators to battle the fiercest of Geoxus’s champions in the arena. For two weeks and four strenuous rounds, the competitors would battle their fellow fighters for a chance to advance and represent their country in the final match to the death. People would swarm to see their favorites attack with earth and fire. Parades would jam the streets and parties would last until dawn.
There was nothing the people of Deimos liked better than blood soaking its golden sand.
“That we’re at war with Kula? Or that we got a half day off work?” Madoc asked. They’d been creating the foundation for a new bathhouse near the market for the last two weeks. When news of war had hit the streets, the foreman had been in such a hurry to join the thousands signing up for gladiator tryouts that he’d tripped over a bale of straw.
Madoc didn’t blame him. Those lucky enough to become trainees made one hundred gold coins a week. Those good enough to make Geoxus’s prized Honored Eight—the finalists who would compete for the chance to fight in the final match—made a thousand coins for each level they advanced. It was rumored that several spots had opened, too, on account of some illness running through the gladiator barracks. Three of the champions from the last war ten months ago against Cenhelm had died of it, and their positions could be anyone’s.
Madoc’s thoughts returned to Lucius’s trainer, and his offer in South Gate. That much coin would have been nice, but he had no intention of dying for it.
“Both,” Elias said as they turned the corner into the stonemasons’ quarter. Signs were already posted outside the apothecary declaring death to the Kulan gladiators, and showing images of their fire god snuffed out by sand. “We’ll be off for all the trial matches, as well. That’s two weeks’ vacation thanks to