turning toward the arena, where the crowd had begun chanting, “Burn her up! Burn her up!”
“What’s going on out there?” Elias stepped closer to the golden sand at the end of the corridor, the long beam of light reaching the tips of his sandals.
“Ignitus has lost his temper,” said Seneca, tightening the knot of silver hair at the base of her neck. “It seems to happen more often than not.”
Ilena ignored her and pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. “All right. We need to explain that there’s been a mistake. Can you speak to the sponsor—Lucius? Maybe he can help.”
Madoc could see her scheming, trying to figure out how to work with what they’d done, and he loved her for that.
Which was why he couldn’t tell her that Petros had claimed him as his son. She was more of a parent than his real father had ever been.
“Or maybe you should keep fighting,” Seneca clucked, prodding the muscles in Madoc’s arms.
“Seneca, please,” said Ilena.
“The boy’s a gladiator now,” Seneca said. “If you’d stop coddling him, we can see what he’s truly capable of.”
Her words grated on Madoc’s nerves. The old woman knew as well as any of them that Madoc was Undivine. It was as if she wanted him to fight for her own entertainment—an experiment that could only last so long.
A commotion came from the entrance to the arena. Three figures crammed into the narrow corridor, seeming to trip over each other in an attempt to get off the yellow sand. It wasn’t until they’d crossed the threshold that Madoc registered the silver gleam of the two helmets and breastplates and the broken reed patches of Kulan armor.
Two centurions were dragging a gladiator out of the arena.
Not just any gladiator—Ash.
She thrashed between them, loosening the last pieces of her armor, which fell to the floor in a heap. Now all that remained were the thin binding wraps around her chest, her tattered reed skirt, and the black soot that dusted her legs and smeared over her arms. One of the centurions stepped on her armor as he tried to pull her toward them, but he slipped and crashed to his knees.
With a wail, she lunged at him, but not before the other centurion landed a kick to her gut.
Ash toppled with a dry gasp. The other soldier rose and grabbed her hair. Madoc stepped forward, unsure what he planned to do or say. He could still see her eyes, burning up at him from the ground in hate and fear. He could see her on her knees bowing to her god. It didn’t matter why she was fighting now, or if she’d won or lost. She was hurting, and he could feel it searing through his skin like hot coals.
“Let go of her.”
Madoc turned. Ilena was standing just behind him, her hands twitching at her sides.
“Stay out of this!” snapped one of the soldiers. “This one’s liable to burn you to the ground if she gets near an open flame.”
“She’s just a girl,” Ilena argued weakly.
“She’s not your girl,” said Seneca, and Madoc’s panic rose higher in his throat.
Ilena’s face tightened.
“I’ll meet you at the carriage,” Madoc said, passing Elias the bag of gold.
“Madoc,” Elias warned.
Madoc knew staying behind was unwise; he didn’t need Elias to tell him so.
A scowling Elias took Ilena by the elbow and turned her toward the exit. “Come on, Seneca,” he said when the old woman made no motion to follow.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Madoc told her. The old woman grunted, then followed the other two toward the door.
Madoc turned back to Ash and the two centurions.
He needed to leave. Get in the carriage with the others. Drive away from this place and focus on bringing Cassia home. He was already risking trouble in too many ways.
But it didn’t make sense that Ash was being escorted by Deiman centurions. The Kulans were supposed to enter and leave through the east gate.
Ash cried out again, a guttural howl that shook him to the bones, and the centurion jerked her upright. Before she could react, two spears were pointed at her throat.
Madoc’s hesitation evaporated. His vision tinged red.
“What’s all this about?” he asked, trying to play calm.
“Stay back,” one centurion said. “This is arena business.”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Madoc. “Getting a look at the competition. What happened?”
“She wouldn’t clear the sand for the next match,” said the far centurion between hard breaths. “Wouldn’t let go of the body.”
Madoc’s stomach sank. She’d