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“I need information from you. In exchange, there’s a statue that the Broods use for entertaining their guests.” She’d seen it once at Theo’s party—and again when she’d visited the Brood estate. “I’ve witnessed the abuses personally. If you filed the right petition, you could have that livestone’s memory examined. There’s a bylaw…”
“I know the law. Those petitions never work. The great houses wield too much influence.”
“Because no one within the family is ever willing to admit malfeasance.”
Carrowynd considered that. “You would go on record?”
“Happily, if you give me what I want in exchange.”
The three mice were starting to titter and grow impatient. Ren saw that same impatience written in Carrowynd’s expression. This was not a girl who suffered the company of humans very often. Ren needed to get to the point. Luckily, she’d been thinking about how to frame this question for a long time. Livestone creatures enjoyed riddles, and she had a good one for them.
“Ask your creatures this. Where does Landwin Brood not go? What stones has he built but never visited?”
The woman leaned back in her chair. Ren did not see her mouth move, but there was a whisper on the edge of hearing. An answering sound filled the air. Like feet shuffling over stone. Ren watched in fascination. There was all kinds of lore surrounding livestone creatures. Bonded as they were to the city’s defense, Ren knew they could all communicate with one another. It was also rumored that they were bound, in some deep way, to every stone in the city. Not just the enchanted stones that walked and talked. They knew every building, every bridge, every tower. Her mother used to say, “If these walls could talk,” and Ren suspected they could, and did.
After a time, the strange whispers ceased.
Carrowynd’s eyes narrowed. “47 Farthing Road.”
Not one of the Broods officially registered addresses. How very curious.
“And I trust that address will not be mentioned to anyone else?”
“If you give me the details about that statue, I will keep your secret.”
Ren could not help smiling. It wasn’t her secret. It was Landwin Brood’s secret.
“Deal.”
27 DAHVID TIN’VORI
Dahvid sat alone in the dark—beneath the arena.
His armor was fitted perfectly to his body. Leather straps cinched tight enough that the armor would not slip in a key moment, but not so tight that he lacked mobility. He had already examined each of the specially designed slits that allowed access to his tattoos.
All that was left now was the killing.
The entire room vibrated. All the noise from above funneled down into that dark space, echoing until it sounded like the rumbling footsteps of a god. He rubbed his hands together and tried to keep his breathing steady. It would not do to work himself up before it all began. Most potential champions weren’t defeated by clever swordplay but by the exhaustion of their own limbs. As the fights went on, their footwork got sloppy. Their movements grew haggard. It was already easy enough to die in the arena, even when you were at your very best. Dahvid sat in perfect stillness, wasting nothing, until a lone voice echoed down the hallway, calling his name.
He stood. A quick crack of the neck, and then he was walking. The great doors protested as they were thrown open. Two guards stepped aside. Dahvid came striding out into the lights and the noise and the chaos, sand crunching with every step. He saw Darling first—seated like a king. His attendants were all there, and then a sea of faces fanned out in every direction. More people than Dahvid had ever seen in his life.
He felt some small relief when he spied the woman next to Darling. Agatha Marchment wore a dress. No armor or dueling attire. At least he would not have to face her. Most of the other gladiators looked ready, though. Dahvid knew that Darling was showing off his great arsenal of options. They’d spent so long wondering who he’d fight. The time had finally come to find out.
He turned his attention to the landscape of the arena.
Each gauntlet unfolded on a slightly different course. The makers had likely spent day and night shaping this particular arena with magic. Darling’s gladiators would have been permitted to come early, assessing each feature, while he was only allowed to see it minutes before his first fight began. A small advantage for them. There was a central circle of normal sand. Identical to all the other arenas. Encompassing that, however, were added features. A downhill slope that led to a series of tight turns with high walls. A labyrinth of sorts. Those paths fed into a section that was decorated with dangerously sharp spikes. At least twenty of them, protruding from the ground like half-buried dragon teeth.
Finally, on the far left, Dahvid saw the ground was built like a puzzle. Interlocking pieces of stone that—he guessed—would shift if the fight took him in that direction. After memorizing the obstacles and spacing, Dahvid walked to the very heart of the arena. He shouted out the words he’d been instructed to say.
“I set my life down here before you. Come. Take it from me if you can.”
The crowd roared and the earth shook and Dahvid felt death in the air, thick as smoke. Darling held up a hand. No one else could quell a storm so quickly. All the voices fell away.
“Five rounds. For each round you survive, you will have exactly five minutes to rest and recover before the next round begins. You are allowed no other respite. You are not allowed an attendant. You are not allowed to accept anything from the crowd or receive any magical boon from anyone besides yourself. To break these rules is to forfeit your life. Understood?”
Dahvid squared his shoulders. “Understood.”
“Your request for a gauntlet is accepted. Call the first!”
