was her as a child, taking his hand. Let’s go home.
Madoc looked away; he must not be distracted now. He made his way toward the weapons rack and grabbed the gladius—a short, curved blade halfway between a knife and a sword—that he’d begun to favor. His father wanted to see him fight? Fine. He would get this victory, and all the rest, if that’s what it took for Petros to leave him alone.
Madoc glanced once more back at the arena exit, but Elias was not standing there as planned. Nerves rose in his chest as he turned back toward Jann. Elias was nearby. He had to be. Madoc couldn’t see him, that was all.
Instead, he spotted a girl who had changed into a simple white tunic, her long, dark hair knotted at the base of her neck. She stood just above the exit in the first row of stands, her arms folded across her chest, a few bandages pressed to her fresh wounds. Her stare was as steady as Geoxus’s had been when he’d chosen Madoc to fight in this war.
Ash.
His heart gave an unexpected lurch.
“Champions, take your places!” the announcer called. Madoc homed in on the voice—a tall man in a white-and-silver toga standing at a podium above the spectators’ box. He couldn’t think about Ash now. He needed to secure his placement in the next round.
Madoc evened his steps as he walked to the center of the arena. The sand slipped between his soles and the hard leather of his sandals. He adjusted his grip on the gladius’s handle and tried to shut out the cheers.
“You offend me, boy,” Jann said as they drew closer. He’d chosen two knives Madoc recognized from training, and they gleamed in his equally lethal hands. This match was to submission, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t end in death. “You learn you’re fighting Stavos, and he doesn’t make it to the arena. But here I am. Are you not afraid?”
Madoc ignored him.
“The fight begins now!” shouted the announcer.
But Jann only lowered his stance, turning the knives in his hands so the sunlight danced in Madoc’s eyes.
“You know why I moved to Arsia?” Jann asked. The long braid over his shoulder was fastened with rubies the color of blood. “I was born in Crixion. Me and my four brothers.”
He began to make a slow circle, and Madoc countered, one hand lifted, the other gripping his weapon. He looked for a weakness in his opponent’s side, as Elias had said, and found a slight hitch in Jann’s gait.
“I left because the taxes were too high, but then you’d know nothing of that, would you? Petros’s bastard.”
In the blink of an eye, Jann dropped the knife in his left hand and scooped his fingers into the dirt at his feet. A storm of gravel slashed across the arena, and Madoc lifted his forearm to shield his eyes as the small rocks pinged off the blade of his gladius. The other man sprinted toward him, half hidden by a curtain of sand. Madoc raised his gladius just in time, deflecting Jann’s windmilling knives, and threw himself to the side.
The larger bits of gravel fell, but the dust did not settle.
“He came to my house,” Jann continued, as if he had not just attacked. “I was only nine, but I remember as if it were yesterday. He took my mother as payment—a servant for debts we didn’t even owe. And when my father objected, Petros’s men stoned him to death.”
Madoc swallowed, grains of sand gathering as grit between his teeth. He needed to remain focused. He needed to win.
He glanced back, but Elias was still not in the doorway.
Jann had snatched up his second knife, one for each hand, and begun circling again.
“My oldest brother was next,” Jann said. “Beaten so badly he would never walk again. All thanks to your father.”
Madoc didn’t care. He wouldn’t. He needed to attack with Elias’s geoeia to land a powerful enough blow. Jann was so busy talking, he wouldn’t see it coming.
Madoc tapped his thigh twice.
Nothing happened.
“We had to live with a cousin in Arsia,” Jann said. “Which is more than Raclin can say. Did you know she grew up on the streets? A few of the other fighters too. All thanks to your father.”
Madoc tapped his thigh again, but to no avail. Sweat poured into his eyes, mingling with the dust coating his face. Panic raced through him. Where was Elias?