“What?” A flash of blue fire lit on Ignitus’s arms.
Ash lurched, wanting to beg Tor to stop. She was wrong, she had misheard Hydra—
“A moment of your time, Great Ignitus,” Tor said. “In private, please.”
Geoxus chuckled. “Go—quell your champion’s nerves about the war.”
Ignitus shifted. A look of calculation passed over his face, and he smiled. “You misread their intention in coming over. Allow me to properly introduce you, brother, to Ash Nikau.”
Ash choked. But Ignitus’s smile was full and rich now.
Tor shot in front of Ash, his back to her. “My god Ignitus, I—”
“Ash is my newest fighter,” Ignitus said. “She was extensively trained by my late gladiator, and it was Ash who took action to stop your gladiator from using his poisoned blade.”
Geoxus assessed her face, her neck; lower, lower. Wrinkles at the edges of his eyes dug deeper, and that detail settled oddly in Ash’s mind.
Ignitus didn’t have wrinkles by his eyes. It was a sign of age, too mortal for a god.
But Geoxus snapped his gaze back to Ignitus and yanked Ash’s focus away. “There was no poisoned blade. It is tragic that you have forced this child to be a champion merely to support your made-up claims of sabotage.”
Ignitus darkened. “Nikau comes from a line of my most elite fighters. She may be young, but you yourself wasted a champion slot on an untrained street rat.”
He batted his hand at Madoc, far below and oblivious.
For the first time, Geoxus lost his composure long enough to scowl. “That street rat came from my most trusted sponsor—he’s brought me nine war-winning champions, you know. Another of my advisers assures me that he will heap victories at my feet. He’s straight from the slums of Crixion. Quite wild, brother. Untamed. He’ll tear the limbs from your young champion.”
Ash’s fingers were in such tight fists that she felt her nails puncture her palms.
Tor slid back to stand at Ash’s side. He didn’t say anything—couldn’t—but with him on one side and Rook on the other, Ash could almost pretend that two gods weren’t discussing her like livestock on a farm.
Ignitus cocked his head. “Interesting.” He clicked his tongue and grinned at Ash.
She hated him. She hated him, and she feared everything about the look he gave her.
“A proposal, Geoxus,” Ignitus said. “Let’s give the crowd a taste of the events to come. Your young champion against mine—but without energeia. We’ll put true skill to the test, the talents your obscure fighter supposedly has against the training and superior breeding of mine.”
Disagree, Ash begged Geoxus. Cast him off—
But Geoxus smiled and snapped his fingers.
The viewing box rumbled and a staircase indented from the railing all the way down to the fighting pit. The crowd on either side of the newly appeared path shouted in awe, the exclamation rippling across the stadium.
“Ready the boy,” Geoxus told a nearby servant. “Clear a space below.”
One servant scurried down the stairs for the stage; others followed and began shooing the trainees back.
A space cleared, a perfect circle on the velvet sands. A fighting ring.
Someone in the sand whooped with excitement. It caught like stray flames, and soon everyone was hooting and cheering. “Fight!” they chanted. “Fight! Fight!”
“Ash Nikau.” Ignitus said her name loud. He set a hand on her shoulder and she staggered, fighting a wince. “You will bring glory to Kula.”
It was a command. It was a threat.
Ash turned, pulling out of Ignitus’s grip, though he hadn’t dismissed her. But she couldn’t think rationally, could barely see enough to manage one foot in front of the other toward the stairs.
Now. She was going to fight a Deiman gladiator right now.
“The gods demand a match!” The announcer’s voice shifted, alight with eagerness. “Two of their champions will fight to the surrender in a test of physical strength—no energeia!”
Ash’s stomach cramped. The crowd crooned. No energeia meant the fight would be for indulgence—just fists. Just talent.
She could do that. Char and Tor had trained her in every type of combat.
Tor and Rook started down the staircase ahead of her so Ignitus couldn’t call them back or argue for them to stay. She focused on their rigid backs as she descended, and when they hit the sand, a path to the makeshift ring through the gladiator trainees waited. Some cheered like the crowd; a few whistled at her.
Ash walked toward the fighting ring, numb.
Tor caught her arm. “Ash.” His voice was deep and heavy, and to the people around, it looked as though