Set Fire to the Gods

by Sara Raasch

  This Kulan gladiator who was using him to gain access to Deimos’s records.

  He pushed the thought from his head as she left with the other gladiator. He had more important things to worry about, like getting enough coin to free Cassia, and not being accused of murdering his opponents to advance.

  “A shame about Stavos.” Petros came up beside him, his tone mildly disappointed, as if he were talking about a change in the weather. “Though, I admit, he was never my pick to win.”

  Madoc’s disgust was pushed aside as Cassia hurried through the crowd behind his father, her servant’s gown clinging tightly to her ribs. Madoc’s gaze darted from her warning stare to the edge of a bruise on her shoulder, which she quickly hid beneath her sleeve.

  He was going to kill Petros. But he couldn’t do it here.

  It took all his focus to steady his voice. “I’d guess that meant you’d chosen me, but we both know that isn’t true.”

  “Indeed,” said Petros. “You couldn’t beat any of these brutes.” His grin filled Madoc with cold dread, the same sickening feeling of defeat he’d encountered the day his father had turned him out. “Not without help, anyway.”

  A buzzing filled Madoc’s ears.

  “Someone did this to help me?” he asked.

  She took it from me. He didn’t know anyone was capable of scaring the great Stavos, but there had definitely been fear in the man’s eyes.

  Petros gave a small shrug, and it was enough to make Madoc feel as if the ground beneath his feet was shaking once again.

  “Did you have something to do . . . ?” He couldn’t finish. He didn’t want to know. He wasn’t certain he’d believe Petros even if he admitted to the act—all Petros seemed to do was lie.

  But if Petros had had something to do with Stavos’s death, the Father God had to be told. Geoxus would never support this. He’d loved Stavos.

  Why was the Father God blind when it came to Petros?

  Elias’s words in the arena corridor scratched to the surface of his mind.

  “Enough of these games.” Madoc moved close enough that those who passed couldn’t hear. “I have a thousand gold coins for Cassia’s indenture. It’s yours if you give her back.”

  “Madoc,” Cassia hissed, but Petros silenced her with a raised hand.

  “Quiet,” he reminded her. “Or we’ll have to use the shackles again, won’t we?” When she dropped her chin, he smiled at Madoc. “I believe our price was fifteen hundred gold coins.”

  Madoc mirrored Petros’s confidence, hiding the hate searing through him. “I thought the price went down when you lied to Geoxus about my impressive geoeia. I could expose you at any time, Father.”

  “You could try. But the truth comes with a heavy cost.” Petros laid a hand on Madoc’s shoulder, bringing an involuntary flinch. A pocket of memories broke free—Petros’s fist against his jaw, the whip against his back. Power waits inside you. If you won’t set it free, I will.

  Madoc faltered. His only leverage was the truth, and that would condemn them all.

  “Let her go,” Madoc said, forcing his shoulders back. He wasn’t a child anymore. He didn’t have to answer to his father. He didn’t have to bend to his demands.

  Around them, patrons headed for the palace, observing the damage done by the gods. Centurions were standing by, gladiators from both sides close. Too many people. Too much power.

  Petros’s brows lifted, a strange light in his gaze. “Come now, Madoc. Is that all you’ve got?” Behind him, Cassia leaned closer, her brows drawn as she strained to listen.

  Madoc’s thoughts shifted to the guards who had taken Ash, to the way they had bent to his wishes with only a simple request. If he could do that now, he could end this. Get Cassia back. Then, once she was safe, he could make a pitiful showing in the arena to get himself out of this war, and humiliate his father in the process.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it. Trying to remember what he’d said to the guards to make them leave Ash alone, but all he could remember was her fighting.

  Her pain, sliding over his skin.

  The rush in his blood when he’d taken it away.

  The crowd around them seemed to slip away as a cool breath filled his lungs. A quiet rustle filled his ears, a whisper of wind from far off.

  “Let her go,” Madoc said again.

  Petros’s brows lifted, though his gaze grew unfocused. “That’s a good idea,” he said quietly. “I could let her go. . . .”

  Madoc was reeling. This strange power was working; Petros never would bend otherwise. Ash was right. Madoc was different. Not Earth Divine like his father, but something else.

  More like his mother, maybe. Petros had always said she was pigstock, too, but he was a liar. Madoc could be like her.

  “Now,” Madoc said. “Tonight.”

  “Tonight . . . ,” Petros began, but just as he opened his mouth to say more, Cassia jerked behind him, drawing Madoc’s gaze to the soldiers who heaved Stavos’s body off the ground and lifted him to their shoulders.

  The breath in Madoc’s lungs deflated.

  Petros blinked.

  Panic shot through Madoc as whatever connection they’d formed severed. He tried again to concentrate, to draw his father’s attention, but Petros was staring at him with new clarity, amusement rounding his cheeks.

  “No, tonight won’t do,” Petros said. “What am I saying? We have too much work to accomplish before then.”

  “We can do whatever you like after you let Cassia go.” Madoc’s gaze flicked to two centurions now watching them.

  “That’s no way to do business, son,” said Petros. “When you have what someone wants, you can’t give it away.”

  Madoc felt whatever hope he’d grasped moments ago slipping through his fingers. The strange power he’d sought to use was gone now. He could no more control Petros’s mind than move the rocks beneath their feet.

  His father tilted his head toward the palace, and they began to walk, Cassia a few steps behind. “I need an heir, Madoc. I’ve built an empire in this city, and I need someone worthy to leave it to.”

  Madoc wondered if it was too much to hope that Petros was dying. “You want me to take over your legacy.” That wasn’t possible. Petros would never give it up so easily.

  “Of course not,” said his father. “But it’s what you want, isn’t it? To get out of the stonemasons’ quarter? To have a home with servants to attend to your every need? Power. It’s what everyone wants.”

  Madoc wanted Cassia. That was all he would ever want from Petros.

  His father turned to him before they reentered the palace, resting a hand as deadly as Stavos’s hammer on Madoc’s shoulder.

  “Win this war, and the Metaxa girl is yours to do with what you will. I’ll name you my heir. You’ll have whatever you like.”

  It hit him with the force of a punch. Win this war. Petros said this like it was easy. Like it didn’t involve defeating two experienced Deiman champions, and then facing—killing—a Kulan gladiator, equally deadly if not deadlier, in an arena in front of thousands of people.

  His mind flashed to Ash—would he be matched against her?

  “If I can’t?” Madoc could barely choke out the words. He didn’t look back at Stavos. He didn’t have to—the dead man’s blood was still smeared on his hands and clothes.

  Petros stepped closer.

  “I’ll sand Cassia’s slender hands to the bones. And then I’ll find her brother, Elias, yes? And Danon. And little Ava. I won’t touch their mouthy little mother. I’ll let her wait, alone, for you to tell her how you couldn’t save her family. How you let them die, one by one.”

  Madoc couldn’t move. Too late, he remembered his determination to regain the upper hand over his father. He thought of the soldiers in the hall outside the lesser arena, but it seemed impossible now that he had persuaded them to leave, or pulled any of Ash’s pain from her body. Whatever strange power had afflicted him was gone. He was weak. A shell. Nothing.r />
  “Why are you doing this?” he breathed. “Why now? Why me?”

  But Madoc already knew. His only value to Petros was in his victory—the esteem the house of Aurelius would boast with Madoc’s name. Now that Petros knew he was a fighter, he expected him to win, and Petros would ensure that victory by holding the only things Madoc loved beneath the point of a knife.

  “We have a deal,” Petros said. No other answer was necessary.

  With a hearty pat on the back, he left Madoc outside the entrance of the palace.

  Cassia closed in on him instantly.

  “What was that about?” she demanded.

  “I . . .”

  Elias darted out of the crowd entering the palace. “Did that Kulan kill Stavos?” he whispered, loud enough for the line of guards behind them to hear.

  “Quiet,” Madoc cautioned. “No. We found him with three arrows in his back.” He focused on Cassia, his gaze dipping again to the hidden bruise on her shoulder. “Are you all right? What has Petros done?”

  Cassia dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “What did you say to him?” Her tension combined with Elias’s, prickling over Madoc’s skin. “You threatened him. You scared him, didn’t you? That’s why he looked like he might keel over.”

  Madoc opened his mouth, but the words stayed trapped in his throat. Petros’s threat was still ringing in his ears. Win this war, and the Metaxa girl is yours.

  If he couldn’t win, the entire family would die.

  “What did you say? Did you tell him we’d pay him what we have?” Elias asked.

  “I didn’t, I mean, I did . . .” I’ll sand Cassia’s slender hands to the bones. He pressed his thumbs to his temples. He couldn’t tell them what had happened. Not now—here, in this palace surrounded by guards who reported to Geoxus. If questioned by the Father God, Petros would surely refute him. Geoxus had already made it clear where he placed his trust. If Madoc went to the god of earth for help, he’d have to admit that he was Undivine, and what would Geoxus do then?

  He needed to think.

  “We should go inside,” he said. “We look suspicious standing out here.”

  “You looked suspicious sneaking off with a Kulan gladiator,” Elias countered. He jabbed Madoc’s shoulder. “What’s going on? What aren’t you saying?”

  Petros will kill you if I don’t win this war.

  Panic and hate gripped his throat. He knew what would happen if he told Elias. His brother would want them to run, and he wouldn’t be wrong. But centurions would hunt them. Petros’s guards would come for Ilena, and Danon, and Ava.

  “It was nothing,” Madoc said. “Petros drank too much, that’s all. Half this party already thinks I had something to do with Stavos’s death; let’s not give them reason to question me more.”

  “You’re lying,” Cassia said, pursing her lips. “If you think I don’t know it, you’re a bigger fool than you look in that costume.”

  He pulled anxiously at his armor. He had to give her something. “Ash wants—”

  “Ash?” Elias balked. “So we’re on a first-name basis now?”

  Madoc ignored him. “She’s looking for gladiator records—champions who’ve beaten Kula and died of the plague. She thinks Ignitus has something to do it. If we found something, Geoxus might be interested. We could use it to bargain for your release.”

  “Hold on,” Cassia said. “If she’s trying to commit treason, why would she tell an enemy gladiator about it? Use your head, Madoc! She means to trap you in some scheme—get you locked up or killed so she can secure Kula’s victory.”

  It seemed possible when Cassia said it out loud. Maybe Ash had been lying to him all along.

  Madoc shook his head. She’d stood by him in front of their gods. She’d found Stavos with him, and her shock at his murder had been genuine.

  “She knows about me,” he said.

  “I’d say she knows enough to get what she wants,” Elias huffed.

  “Knows what?” Cassia was more pointed.

  Quickly, Madoc explained what had happened with the guards in the arena—how they’d left Ash alone, and how she’d surmised that he wasn’t Earth Divine.

  “You can control minds?” Elias asked. “What am I thinking right now?”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Madoc said. “Look, it was probably nothing. I just know she could have told Ignitus, and Geoxus, and anyone else that I’m Undivine, but she hasn’t.”

  “Do you trust her?” Cassia peered at him the way Ilena did when she caught any of them in a lie, and just like with their mother, Madoc buckled.

  “I do.”

  “We’re doomed,” Elias said.

  He had no idea.

  Cassia glanced over her shoulder, into the hall. “Petros has a library at the house. It’s where he keeps all his tax records. I’ll see if there’s something there that can help.”

  “No,” Elias said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You’re right,” she snapped. “Maybe I’ll sign up to be a gladiator instead. That’s much safer.”

  Elias winced.

  “I have to go,” Cassia said, her jaw growing tight. Madoc followed her stare to one of Petros’s guards, stalking toward them, and fought the urge to step between them. That would only make this worse.

  “Be careful,” she cautioned. “Be smart.”

  “Watch yourself,” Madoc told her as she hurried away. He didn’t have to warn her what a monster Petros was. Based on her shoulder, and the way she’d flinched when Petros had mentioned the shackles, she already knew.

  Madoc watched her go, hoping she’d be safe. Hoping she would find something, and that Ash’s suspicions had been warranted. If not, the fate of his family would fall to him.

  He’d entered this war to save his sister. Now he’d have to win it to save them all.

  Twelve

  Ash

  “AND WHAT DO you do if Brand takes all the igneia from the fire-pit before you can get any?”

  Ash finished buckling her armor’s shoulder strap and fought a groan, keeping her eyes on the preparation chamber’s dusty floor. Above her, hundreds of feet thundered in the stadium; hundreds of voices cheered. A handful of Deiman gladiators were out stoking the crowd with a fight as an announcer listed the day’s matches. His muffled words didn’t make it through to the arena’s tunnels, but Ash knew what he was saying.

  Ash Nikau will fight Brand Pala to advance as Ignitus’s champion.

  Madoc Aurelius will fight Jann Moisides to advance as Geoxus’s champion.

  Tor had fought Raya yesterday, two days after the ball, and won. Geoxus’s other champions had fought as well, elevating the gladiator Raclin to one of Deimos’s two remaining positions in the war.

  Did Madoc know Raclin personally, like Ash knew Tor? Was he in another of this arena’s preparation chambers, adjusting and readjusting his armor, worrying not about how he had to win his fight today, but how winning would mean facing off against someone he knew? And worse, that he would have to do all this without energeia. At least Ash didn’t have that worry.

  She flinched, realizing Taro was still watching her, waiting for an answer.

  “Keep the fight close,” Ash said. She rose from one of the benches that filled the windowless room. The only light came from those stones Geoxus loved so much, their glow sickly green-white. “Use knives. Go for his side. Taro, I know. Tor’s been relentless these past two days.”

  This preparation chamber was smaller. A pump at the back brought in fresh water while a cracked mirror sat over a table of bandages, rags, and medical tools. Taro stood next to that table, glaring at Ash.

  “He’s been relentless,” Taro said, “so you don’t get yourself killed.”

  Ash wilted and looked away. After the debacle in the stable yard, Tor, Taro, and Spark had instantly set upon Ash in the palace. She had finally confessed how Madoc had affected her grief in the arena’s tunnel, that she thought maybe he’d used air divinity to fill her lungs, so
othe her tension—but that whatever he’d used, it hadn’t been geoeia. She told them how she’d blackmailed Madoc into getting her to his sponsor’s records, which was where they had been going when—

  The memory of Stavos’s corpse still hovered at the edge of Ash’s mind. He had been shot in the back. He had been shot running away.

  Days ago, Ash would have reveled in that. But now, reality overshadowed any satisfaction.

  The official investigation into Stavos’s murder had turned up empty so far, and most people seemed to have shrugged off the incident as a cost of war. But Stavos’s words echoed in Ash’s mind, his dead eyes watching her, his chapped lips moving. She took it from me.

  He had said that Ignitus hadn’t done this to him. Could Ignitus have paid someone else to do it, though? He would have been smart to stay out of it himself, and get rid of the gladiator through someone else. Someone like the mystery she.

  Who could it be? Was it someone Ash didn’t know, an assassin Ignitus had hired to dispose of Stavos? Or was it someone larger—maybe Aera, the goddess of air from Lakhu, who was one of the warmongering gods who Hydra had mentioned in her message to Ignitus?

  But what had this mystery woman taken from Stavos?

  At least Ash knew that Madoc wasn’t involved. He’d been so sincere about everything, not just Stavos—the only thing linking him to any of this was her own assumption. Whatever Madoc was, he wasn’t involved with a gladiator who Ignitus feared or with the other gods poised against Kula. He was just trying to free his sister.

  Ash’s chest warmed. It was such an honorable goal to have. There was far too little honor in these wars.

  Taro slammed a fist onto the tabletop. Ash jumped.

  “You’re distracted,” Taro snapped. “Get your head straight. Tor hasn’t been able to talk to you about it, he’s been so distraught, but he’s been hard on you because you left the terrace to go out, alone, with an enemy gladiator. And then another champion turns up dead? Do you know how easily that could have been you? Do you have any idea what that gladiator could have done to you, and none of us would have been there to help?”