his pointing finger to where Geoxus’s champions now stood. The first, the largest—Stavos. He thrust his arms into the air and bellowed a war cry that stoked a frenzy of screaming in his honor.
The last time Ash had seen his arms lifted like that, they had been lobbing a sword into Char’s body.
Heart thundering, Ash’s eyes fled to the last Deiman champion. Gods often gave slots in wars to up-and-coming trainees, betting on their determination to prove themselves. Never had one progressed very far, but they always provided a great show in the preliminary fights.
Madoc, though, had been so shocked at his god selecting him that he’d toppled into the other fighters around him. He couldn’t have been any older than Ash, but he was slightly taller, more muscular, as Deimans tended to be, with dark eyes that snapped back and forth over the arena. Did he occasionally look at Ash? He shifted so much that she couldn’t tell. His nervousness made Ash the most wary of him, out of all of Geoxus’s champions. Madoc had to be hiding great skill for the earth god to give one of his coveted war spots to someone who looked terrified to be here.
An announcer started bellowing out a list of the Deiman champions’ victories. A few paces ahead of Ash, Geoxus toasted each one, twisting his head back and forth slowly, clearly aware of how the rays from his arena’s light-amplifying mirrors caught the opals in the crown of onyx set on his dark, shoulder-length curls. The hem of his black toga kissed the marble floor of the viewing box, one end hooked around his arm as he tipped his goblet at Ignitus.
To anyone unfamiliar with the fire god’s emotions, Ignitus would appear disinterested. But that twitch over his eyebrow, the flare to his upper lip—he was furious. Ash could see Ignitus’s mind whirling, trying to plan how he could wrest away control for the next public gathering.
Rook had to be right—the only thing a god worried about was an offense to their reputation.
Even if Ignitus could lose Kula’s last fishing ports in this war.
“Wine!” Ignitus barked, and a servant scrambled forward to refill his empty goblet.
Ash scraped her palms on the leggings under her gilded reed armor, chest burning as she eyed Tor. Behind them, two of Ignitus’s other champions made jokes and pointed at the Deiman fighters.
Tor absently scrubbed his chin. “We have to be sure,” he whispered.
Ash stopped herself from wiping her palms on her leggings again. Fidgeting would give away her nerves, and she couldn’t afford to show weakness here.
“I could ask him,” she breathed.
Tor frowned down at her.
She braced, expecting him to reject her idea. “I could mention rumors I’ve heard. His worries are my worries, right? I’m one of his champions. I heard horrible rumors of someone who could weaken him. I have to know if it’s true, and who might slight my god.”
Tor’s consideration darkened. A long moment passed before he nodded.
“But I’ll be the one to ask him,” Tor added on a huff of breath.
Ash tensed. Ignitus was muttering something no doubt contentious as Geoxus slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder.
No, she wanted to argue. Let me. I should do it—I cannot lose you too.
The crowd in the stands cheered as the announcer described the victories of Jann of Arsia. Hawkers sold wine and food, shouting their prices as they walked the rows of seats. Even the Kulan champions behind Ash were jovial, snatching wine flasks from a table in the viewing box.
But Tor set off, focused, crossing the few paces of marble to the railing where Ignitus stood with Geoxus. The Deiman champions remained in that perfect row on the center stage, their backs to an assortment of Geoxus’s highest ranking officials.
The announcer moved on. “And, finally, mighty Stavos of Xiphos, who, despite the fire god’s meddling, snatched victory from the burning flames of treason!”
Rook cut along behind Tor. Ash stumbled, her body jolting to keep up with them both. Her heart now raced so hard, she could barely fill her lungs against the incessant pounding.
By the time they reached Ignitus, she felt as if her throat had swollen shut, and all she could see was the broadsword sticking out of Char’s chest.
“Great Ignitus,” Tor started. “If I may request an audience?”
Ignitus took a sip of his wine and scowled. “This tastes like vinegar,” he snapped.
Geoxus, in turn, downed a whole glass. “Really? I imported it special from Kula.”