As he stared at Ash’s back, he thought of her fight against Rook, the gladiator who’d tried to kill Ignitus, and Ash’s dead mother, and a land far away that she would kill a god for.
She was sacrificing everything for her people.
Maybe it was time he did too.
He might be a cheat from the stonemasons’ quarter, but he was here, like Ash had said. He wasn’t a coward—he’d made himself a champion, whether he’d earned it fairly or not.
Elias was right; without doing what he’d done to Jann to someone else, he would never win this war, which left him one last play to convince Geoxus that Petros was corrupt so he could bring Cassia home.
It was time for the Father God to know the truth about his trusted tax collector. And to tell it, Madoc would have to lie.
Sixteen
Ash
THE DEIMAN CENTURIONS in the temple glowered at Ash until she slipped between the pillars and back across the road to the arena. You shouldn’t be so far from our people, Tor had said the first time she’d snuck off with Madoc—but neither Tor nor Ash had realized the similarity until now. Maybe because this time felt starkly different from before.
Maybe because Tor’s mind was just as loud with panic as Ash’s, drowning out all sense.
Ash darted into the arena’s servant entrance and returned the cloak she’d swiped from a laundered pile. She took a turn down the yellow-green halls, winding her way toward the arena’s more opulent exit, where her carriage would be waiting with Tor. The sandstone floor was rough under her shoes, the hem of her white tunic softly brushing the tops of her knees with every step. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes downcast, a headache pounding from her temples into her neck.
Either the Mother Goddess was still alive or a line of her descendants had survived. Madoc could be one of many Soul Divine, or he could be the only one. It seemed unlikely there were others like him, or word would have surely spread, the same way word—or vindictive carnage—would have spread if Anathrasa were still alive.
So it made the most sense that Madoc alone could manipulate soul energy. Anathreia.
And he hadn’t known until today.
Madoc had to be the gladiator Ignitus feared. But whatever plot was unfolding, Madoc didn’t know about it. Someone had to know, though. Geoxus? Was Madoc an unwitting player in his targeting of Kula? What did Geoxus, Aera, and Biotus have planned for Madoc, then?
Honestly, it didn’t matter. Madoc wouldn’t do what they wanted him to do. He wasn’t driven by petty revenge like they were, or swayed by glory like other gladiators. He wouldn’t play along with the gods’ scheme.
But he also wouldn’t help Ash kill Ignitus. He didn’t want to be involved in their treason.
Though he wasn’t repulsed by her treason either. He’d looked at her openly, softly, even with all her truths laid out before him, and the memory of his teasing smile played itself over and over in Ash’s mind.
She lifted her fingers to rub small circles into her temples. The key to Ignitus’s undoing, the answer to all the riddles she had been beating herself ragged to solve, was Madoc. And she was walking away from him.
How foolish was she? What would Tor say about this? That she was unerringly stupid and so obviously childish for not coercing Madoc to help simply because, with him, she didn’t feel so alone anymore? Because he was the first true friend she had made in . . . a lifetime?
Ash stopped walking and fell back against the rough wall, needing a moment to collect herself. This day had exhausted her to the core of her being, and all she had to show for it was the gold bricks that would be delivered to her room, a few new bruises from Brand’s attacks, and the position as one of Ignitus’s two remaining champions.
She could use that. Her god would trust her, now more than ever. She could go back to the beginning. Poke him for weaknesses, again.
If Anathrasa truly was dead, there was still hope that Ash could kill Ignitus.
The reassurance only exhausted her. She wanted to sink to the floor and sleep. She wanted to go back to her room in the palace and slip into a scalding bath, the kind Char would heat for her with igneia until the water bubbled.
A pang of missing Char rocked through Ash. She wanted to talk to her. To