a bed pressed against the other, three times the size of the one Ilena shared with Cassia at home.
Geoxus’s personal chambers.
With a tilt of the old man’s head, Madoc stumbled into the room, glad to be on solid ground. From behind came a creak, and when he looked back the doors were closed.
Before him, the balcony was open, and standing against the railing, looking out over the Nien River and the flickering lights of his city, stood the Father God, draped in black silk.
“Madoc.” Geoxus didn’t turn but motioned Madoc toward him with one hand.
On shaking legs, Madoc approached, moving carefully around a stout pillar shaped like two lush stone bodies wrapped around each other. The breeze from outside was stronger as he approached the balcony, the curtains dancing like smoke, teasing his ankles.
They were higher than Madoc had guessed. Stories upon stories in the air. He could see the ports at South Gate from here, and the line where the lights at the port at Iov met the black sea.
“Honorable Geoxus,” Madoc said, voice unsteady. He hesitated at the edge of the balcony, feeling an odd tugging sensation pulling him closer to the brink.
Geoxus turned, and Madoc felt the urge to look away. Waves of black hair stretched to Geoxus’s shoulders. The cut of his toga showed the gleam of his smooth, muscled chest. Power radiated from him, not unlike the anxiety that had crackled off Elias before the fight with Jann, and Madoc fought the odd impulse to touch the Father God’s arm, just to see if he could feel that power.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Madoc said.
“Of course.” Geoxus smiled, and guilt splashed over Madoc’s resolve. This was the Geoxus who had brought him Cassia when Madoc was alone in Crixion. Without his crown, he seemed more mortal than not, and Madoc felt a new wave of sickness over what he had to do.
Petros took Cassia, he reminded himself. Petros has hurt countless people in this city.
He had to break Geoxus’s trust in Petros, even if it severed his faith in Madoc too.
“I always make time for my champions,” Geoxus added. “You give our people so much.”
Madoc dipped his head.
“How are you faring?” Geoxus asked. “This must be quite a change for you. The life of a stonemason is quite different from the life of a gladiator.”
Madoc glanced at the luxury of the room behind him. There were servants he hadn’t noticed standing beside the bed, and a door beside the bookcase. They were so still, they’d blended in, like the statues around the room.
“It is very different,” he said.
Geoxus chuckled and leaned back against the railing, causing Madoc’s chest to constrict. “You look well.”
“I am, Honorable Geoxus,” Madoc said, but the questions had begun pressing against his teeth. Are you my god? Am I truly a son of Deimos?
Or am I something else?
“Still glowing from your latest victory, no doubt.” Geoxus grinned.
“That . . .” Madoc swallowed. Without thought, he pulled his breastplate away from his sweating chest, then stopped himself. How many times had Lucius told him that gladiators did not squirm? “That is what I came here to discuss with you, actually.”
“Yes, tell me all about it. I wanted to attend but was tied up with war proceedings. Petty details Ignitus wants accounted for.” Geoxus waved a hand dismissively, and Madoc frowned, reminded of the seaports that Kula stood to lose, and Ash’s words in the preparation room.
He has a list of my country’s resources, and he checks them off every time he wins one, as if he’s collecting them.
He could not think of Ash now. He had to think of Cassia. He had to be her champion.
“I only fought Jann today because Stavos forfeited our earlier match.”
Geoxus grew grim. “Yes?”
“I believe Petros may have had something to do with that.”
Geoxus stepped closer. “You believe your father was behind the murder of my gladiator.” His gaze darkened. “That is a very serious accusation. What proof do you have?”
Madoc felt as if his organs were vibrating. “None, Honorable Father God,” he said. “I only know that Petros would do anything to gain your favor.”
“And why would you say that?”
“Because I didn’t win today using geoeia.”
Madoc waited, braced for Geoxus to sand him raw or throw him over the edge of the balcony. An urge of self-preservation stirred the strange power in his blood, but it was trapped in place by a cage of doubt.
He had said the worst part; there was no going back now.