his delight at reconnecting with a son he’d never known existed.
“Indeed,” he managed. Any lingering doubt that he’d been chosen for the Honored Eight without Petros’s interference disappeared. Madoc was only here now because his father had willed it.
Sorrow glimmered in Petros’s eyes, as false as his claims at fair play. “Had I known of him, I would have raised him as my own. He certainly wouldn’t have been fighting in the streets. It’s of great pride to me that you found him worthy to train, Lucius.”
Madoc heaved out a breath. Every word his father had said was a lie, from how they’d parted ways to Madoc’s supposed geoeia.
And Geoxus believed it all.
He couldn’t see that this was an act, meant to humiliate and destroy Madoc, and maybe Lucius by default.
“The fact that Madoc has Petros’s blood does not make him qualified to stand in the arena in a war,” Lucius said carefully.
Geoxus’s smile faded, replaced by a hard grimace. “The fact that you have my blood does not make you qualified to question my judgment, Lucius.” When the trainer bowed his head, Geoxus sighed. “I know potential when I see it. Madoc will do great things for Deimos.”
“Yes, Great-Grandfather,” said Lucius.
“Is there something you’d like to say, Madoc?” prompted Petros.
Anger blanketed Madoc’s fear, bringing a sharp, ice-cold clarity. Petros had taken Cassia. He’d lied to Geoxus. He’d pushed Madoc into a war he would certainly lose.
But just because Madoc was Undivine didn’t meant he didn’t have power.
Petros was risking his reputation, his status, his life, just to punish Madoc, and that righteous hate thinned his reasoning. It made Petros weak, and as he had with Fentus, Madoc sensed his point of attack. Petros would do anything to impress Geoxus, but like so many Divine, he equated worth with energeia. He didn’t see his pigstock son as a threat, but he would soon enough.
Madoc was a gladiator now, and once he had the money to secure Cassia’s freedom, he could ruin Petros in the only way that would truly hurt him.
He would fail in front of Geoxus. Get the money he needed for Cassia, and then, before he had to risk his neck in a match to the death, lose, and shame his father publicly.
“No, Father,” he said, painting a smile on his face as false as Petros’s claims. “I’m just grateful for the chance to fight for my god.”
Eight
Ash
ASH HAD LOST her first gladiator fight. She had lost in front of Ignitus.
Tor and Rook had pulled her into a preparation chamber off the main fighting ring. The world was a blur of color and light, the windowless room washed a sickly pale green in the glow of the phosphorescent stones Geoxus employed. The hue turned Ash’s stomach.
When Char had lost a fight, the only time Char had lost, she hadn’t walked out of the ring. But here Ash was, the thudding of her heart sending pain into every tender bruise and scrape.
If she had lost this fight, how would she fare against a gladiator who could use energeia?
Spark poked Ash’s arms, checked her eyes. She dabbed balm on Ash’s collarbone and rubbed the smooth cream across her neck where Madoc’s forearm had been.
The gladiators Ash had met who worshipped other gods had always been like Stavos, proud and eager and so loyal it radiated out of them. But Madoc had looked like he hated what he was doing. He’d even defended her against Stavos’s taunts.
He made no sense.
“Nothing broken,” Spark declared, twisting the lid back on the jar of balm. “Which is miraculous. Fighting a Deiman without using igneia—it’s a wonder you still have all your limbs.”
Ash grimaced. “Thanks for your confidence.”
Taro pushed forward. “Confidence has nothing to do with it. You got out of there thanks to luck, not skill.” Her eyes shifted to Tor, accusing. “You need to increase her training without energeia—”
But Tor ignored his sister and knelt in front of Ash. “You let Stavos get to you,” he stated. “Before Madoc took you to the ground. It made you lower your guard.”
Ash looked down at her lap.
She hated that she had let Stavos’s taunting worm its way into her mind: that she could die just like Char. When she had lain under Madoc, his thighs fixing her to the hot sand, she had realized that if he killed her, she would leave nothing behind. Char would remain unavenged and Ignitus would continue destroying Kula—and Stavos would still be alive.
She wanted Stavos dead almost as badly