It was a lot to risk on a single girl.

Sidonius’s belly was a knot of raw nerves, his appetite a distant memory. Five turns had passed since Mia proposed her plan in the gloom of their cell, and Sid hadn’t slept much since. Instead, he’d paced back and forth in his cage through the nevernight, staring at the mekwerk lock on the door and counting the hours until it began.

Mia had been moved into her champion’s quarters three turns back, so Sid found himself alone for the first time since moving to Crow’s Nest. Alone with the fear of what was to come, the risk they were all taking, the fate that awaited them if they failed. He was placing so much faith in Mia, and so much rode on her shoulders. He’d served Darius Corvere faithfully, saw the traits he’d admired in the man looming large in his daughter. Courage. Intelligence. Ferocity. But Mia had lost her father when she was only a child, and since then, fallen into the company of shadows and killers.

Sidonius liked her. But could he truly say he knew her?

Could he trust her?

Dona Leona had met with Varro Caito three nevernights back, and skulking beneath their table as they drank and dined, Mia’s daemon had overheard their every word. Leona had apparently plied the fleshpeddler with honeyed words and honeyed wine, brokering sale of Bryn, Butcher, Felix, Albanus, Bladesinger, and Sidonius himself. The price was a rich one, and Leona would be able to meet the first of her father’s repayments, but the cost was steep. The collegium would be gutted, with only Mia, Wavewaker, and Furian remaining. Leona would risk all on one final throw at the magni. But she hadn’t reckoned on her Falcons throwing dice of their own.

Evemeal had been quiet, the gladiatii subdued. Whispers of the plan had been passed on in the bathhouse, around the practice dummies. All agreed the chances of success were so thin they’d fall through a crack in the cobbles, and Sid could smell fear in the air. It was one thing to risk death in the arena, another thing entirely to pit yourself against the Republic. The administratii. The Senate itself. Every one of them knew this was a step that could never be taken back. The brands on their cheeks would begin to fade only a few minutes after their deaths, so there was no hiding who and what they were if they wanted to keep breathing. To be an escaped slave in the Republic was to be forever on the run.

Still, better to run than die on your knees.

Even with the few extra turns’ rest, Bladesinger was still wounded, her back and arm wrapped in heavy gauze. Mia’s ribs were yet bruised, but at least she could use both eyes again. Wavewaker and Sidonius had yet to fully recover from their last arena bout, and Butcher was still limping—they weren’t the most fearsome fighting force ever arrayed, to be sure. But they’d have surprise on their side if all went well, and they were trained gladiatii, each and every one.

Their sale was set to happen on the morrow.

Caito had already paid the deposit.

Truth told, it was now or never.

Nevernight had fallen, cool winds kissing ochre walls, dust devils dancing in the yard. After Arkades’s betrayal, Dona Leona had doubled the patrols around the house, and the guards were omnipresent. But still, whispers and secret nods were exchanged among the gladiatii, and all seemed in readiness.

But Daughters, the waiting . . .

They sat in the dark, no one speaking, no one moving. Watching the arkemical globes slowly dim, the sounds of the keep above gradually fading. Sid could hear Bladesinger chanting inside her cell—some final prayer to Mother Trelene for good fortune, no doubt. Looking at the cell across the passage, he saw Butcher on his haunches, rocking back and forth and rearing to go.

He was reminded of his time in the legion. The nevernight before a battle was always the worst. He’d had his faith in Aa to sustain him back then. His loyalty to his justicus. The solace of his brother Luminatii, and the certainty that what they did was Right. All that was gone now—just a clean conscience and a coward’s brand upon his chest to show for it. Instead of brother Luminatii, he had brother and sister gladiatii. Instead of faith in the Everseeing and the commands of his justicus, he was placing all his faith in his seventeen-year-old daughter.

It was a lot to risk on a single girl.

Sidonius heard a soft thud, the faint ring of metal on stone. Butcher heard it too, rising to his feet, hands wrapped around the bars of his cell. Mia had two options to break them free once she stole out from her room; either somehow brute force the mekwerk controls to release the inner cell doors, or acquire the master key from the guard patrol. Sid had no idea which way she’d go. But his stomach thrilled as he saw a silhouette creeping down the stairs to the cellar antechamber, a wooden truncheon clutched in one hand, and what looked to be an iron key in the other.

“’Byss and blood, she did it,” Butcher grinned.

Twisting the key in the mekwerk, Mia unlocked the cell doors, raised the portcullis, Sidonius wincing at the soft grinding of stone on iron. The gladiatii stole out of the barracks, gathering in the antechamber, all fierce grins and bundled nerves. Sidonius gave Mia a quick embrace, his voice a whisper.

“No trouble?”

Mia shook her head. “Four guards down. The other two are in the front yard.”

“Let’s be about it, then,” Wavewaker whispered.

“Aye,” the girl nodded. “And quietly, for fucksakes.”

Mia led the group up the stairs, where the bodies of four of Leona’s houseguards were laid out on the tile. The men were armored in black leather, falcon feathers pluming their helms, Captain Gannicus among them. Each had been bludgeoned into unconsciousness. The gladiatii quickly stripped their armor, Sidonius, Wavewaker, Butcher, and Felix donning the garb instead. Not only would the boiled leather protect them if things turned ugly, but the high cheek guards would do a fine job of covering the brands on their cheeks.

Weapons were handed out—wooden truncheons and shortswords. In the far distance, Sid heard fourbells being rung in down in Crow’s Rest, the crash of waves upon a rocky shore. The garish light of the two suns streamed in through the open windows, silken curtains rippling as the rebel gladiatii stole through the keep.

They moved quietly as they could, down the entrance hall to the locked front doors. Butcher and Wavewaker lifted the bar aside, the gladiatii gathering in a small knot at the threshold.

“Ready?” Sidonius asked.

“Aye.” Bladesinger raised her sword in her off-hand.

Mia opened the door, and the gladiatii charged soundlessly toward the front portcullis. It took a few moments for the guards to process what they were seeing, and by then, it was too late. One reared back gurgling as Sidonius clubbed him square in the throat. Wavewaker crashed into the other guard, smashing him into the guardhouse wall. The man raised his truncheon, his shout becoming a muffled whimper as Mia clapped her hand over his mouth and buried her knee in his bollocks. He dropped like a stone, and the girl snatched up his club as it fell, cracked it across his head and laid him flat out in the dirt.

Butcher ratcheted up the portcullis as Bladesinger and Albanus stripped the last two guards, began strapping on their breastplates. Mia was too small to wear any man’s kit, and besides, there weren’t enough unconscious guards to go around. Instead, she threw a cloak she’d gotten from only Aa knew where about her shoulders, pulled the hood low over her eyes.

“Right,” she whispered. “We make for the Gloryhound in the harbor.”

“Walk tall, look folk in the eye,” Bladesinger reminded them. “We win this game by appearing as if we belong, aye?”

The gladiatii nodded, and calmly as they could, marched out from the portcullis in neat formation and started tromping down the road. Mia brought up the rear, hood pulled low. Wavewaker’s armor didn’t fit too well across his broad shoulders, Bladesinger’s arm was still swathed in bandages and spotted with blood—under scrutiny, their disguises wouldn’t last. But the hour was late, and the port below the Nest was quiet. Hopefully the subterfuge would hold long enough for them to get aboard.

Marching out in front, Sidonius tried to keep his nerves in check. This die was cast, and whatever happened now was in the hands of fate, but Daughters, it was hard not to just break into a run, get as far as he could as fast as possible. The troupe walked down the dusty road encircling Crow’s Nest, Sid staring out at the blue waters of the Sea of Swords. Marching into the town, they passed a few farmers on the way to market, a messenger rushing about on his master’s business, a handful of urchins gathered around a loaf of stolen bread. Not a one of them paid any mind.

He could see the tall masts of ships looming over the harbor now, his heart beating faster. Thinking of that vast blue ocean, the places they could sail, any place but here. He looked to the other gladiatii, risked a smile, Bryn grinning back, Wavewaker whispering, “Hold steady.” Marching closer, the smell of salt in the air, the screeching of gulls like music in his ears, every step bringing them ne—

“Look alive,” Bladesinger muttered. “Soldiers ahead.”

Sid grit his teeth but didn’t break stride, noting the quartet of legionaries from the Crow’s Rest garrison marching down the other side of the street. He’d no clue if the local soldiery mixed with Leona’s houseguards—men of the sword had a tendency to gather and gripe no matter who they worked for. But at a distance, their disguises should pass, and it was only a few hundred feet to the harbo—

“I know you,” said a voice.

Sidonius stopped, looked behind them. A young redheaded girl wearing the feathered cap and pack of a traveling peddler had stopped in the street, pointing at Mia.

“Four Daughters, I know you,” she repeated. “You’re the Savior of Stormwatch!”

Mia shot a warning look to the others, gave the girl a small smile. “Aye, Dona.”

“I saw you slay the retchwyrm!” the girl cried, her blue eyes shining. “Merciful Aa, what a fight! I’ve never seen the like!”

“My thanks, Mi Dona,” Mia muttered. “But I’ve ma—”

“Look here!” the peddler cried to the street. “The Savior of Stormwatch!”

“Here they come,” Wavewaker muttered.

Sid’s stomach flipped as he realized the legionaries had overheard the peddler, and all four were now crossing the street. Their centurion saw the ornate plume on Sidonius’s helm and called out in greeting.

“Ho, Gannicus! What brings you lazy bastards down here at this . . .”

The centurion stopped, squinting at Sidonius’s face through the slits in his helm.

“ . . . Gannicus?”

“Go!” Mia cried.

The gladiatii charged, weapons drawn. The centurion and his men fumbled with their swords, faces bleached with panic. It had been truncheons and fists for Leona’s houseguards, but there was no room for mercy here—these were fully armed and armored Itreyan legionaries, trained to kill. Wavewaker drove his blade through the centurion’s chest, skewering him like a pig at spit. Butcher smashed another’s blade aside, spun, and took his throat clean out, scarlet spraying in the air with the salt. The peddler started screaming, running down the street crying, “Murder! Murder!” as Sidonius finished off another legionary with a flash of his sword. Albanus ended the last of them, cutting the legionary’s legs out from under him before burying his blade in the join between the man’s shoulder and neck.

“Make for the harbor,” Mia cried. “Go! Go!”

They broke into a run, all semblance of propriety gone. Sid’s sandals pounding the cobbles, folks turning to stare as they dashed past, the cries of Murder! from up the street growing louder. They reached the docks, barreling past sailors and merchantmen unloading their stock, fishermen on the wharf. Wavewaker was running beside him, Bryn out in front, Mia bringing up the rear, all of them splashed with blood. He could see the Gloryhound at anchor, perhaps a hundred yards out in the bay.

“There she is,” he gasped.

Sid dropped over the side of the wharf, into the ’Hound’s longboat. The other gladiatii jumped in beside him, Butcher and Wavewaker taking up the oars and rowing as if their lives depended on it. Sid could hear bells ringing now, the alarm spreading through Crow’s Rest and waking the residents from their sleep, the fearful cry echoing up and down their quiet streets.

“Rebellion!”

“The Falcons in revolt!”

Butcher and Wavewaker leaned hard on the oars, each stroke bringing them closer to the ’Hound. Bladesinger shielded her eyes against the water’s glare, nodding at the empty masts.

“Sails are stowed.”

“We can set them swift enough,” Wavewaker grunted.

“Are you certain?” Butcher gasped.

“Rest easy, brother,” Wavewaker nodded. “I was learning to sail while you were still suckling at your mother’s teats.”

“You only learned to sail last year?” Bryn grinned.

“Let’s leave my mother’s teats out of this, aye?” Butcher growled.

“Talk softer, row harder,” Sidonius said.

They reached the ’Hound, scrambling up the rope ladder and onto the deck. The ship rolled and swayed with the sea, sunslight burning in that endless blue sky. A lone watchman came down from the bow, demanding to know what they were about, but a backhand from Wavewaker sent him to the boards, moaning and bloodied. From up on deck, Sid could see movement around the docks; a handful of legionaries, mariners pointing in their direction.

“We need those sails up now, ’Waker.”

“Aye,” the man nodded. “They’ll be down in the hold. All of you, with me.”

Wavewaker threw aside the large oaken hatch that sealed the ’Hound’s hold, climbed swiftly down the ladder into the ship’s belly. Bladesinger hopped down second, Sidonius and the other gladiatii following while Mia and Bryn remained on deck to keep watch. Sunslight filtered through the timber lattice above their heads, illuminating the ship’s belly, and the gladiatii spread out, searching for the great sheets of canvas that would see them under way. Crates and barrels, coils of salt-crusted rope and heavy, iron-bound chests. But . . .

“I can’t see them,” Bladesinger said.

“They must be here somewhere,” Wavewaker growled. “Keep looking.”

“Why the ’byss would they stow the sails anyw—”

Sid heard a scuffling footsteps, a soft curse above their heads. Squinting up through the lattice, he saw two struggling figures, silhouetted against the light. Bryn was one of them—he could tell from the topknot. But the figure behind her, arm wrapped around her neck looked like . . .

“Mia?” he whispered.

He heard a gasp, a wet thud as Bryn toppled into the hold and landed atop a great coil of rope with a groan. And as Sid opened his mouth to shout warning, the trapdoor above them slammed closed, sealing them all in the ’Hound’s hold.

“What the ’byss?” Wavewaker hissed.

Sidonius was kneeling beside Bryn, the girl barely conscious, red marks at her throat. He looked up through the latticework hatch, belly churning, his mouth suddenly dry as dust.

“Crow?” he called. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m sorry, Sidonius,” he heard the girl reply, voice thick with sorrow. “But I told you once already. The last thing I’m doing here is playing.”

Butcher climbed the ladder, pounded at the hatch with his sword, trying to break it open. “What the fuck goes on here?”

The gladiatii met each other’s eyes, confusion and dread in every stare. They were sealed in the ’Hound’s belly like fish in a barrel, no one to fight, no way out.

“This is how you repay me?” came a voice.

Sidonius looked up, drawing a shivering breath as he saw Dona Leona walking the deck above his head. Instead of nevernight attire, she was dressed in black, her eyes kohled, hair braided as if for war.

“After all I have done for you,” Leona said, staring down at the gladiatii trapped in the hold. “Raising you up from the mire. Feeding and sheltering you beneath my roof. Drenching you in glory and the honor of my collegium’s name. This is my thanks?”

“Crow,” Wavewaker spat, prowling in circles and looking up at the deck. “Crow, what have you done?”

“She has done what no other among you had the courage to do,” Leona said. “She has remained loyal to her domina.”

“You bleeding fucking cunt!” Butcher roared, slamming his arm against the hatch. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Leona answered. “You will languish in that hold until I decide your fate. And I fear it shall be an unpleasant one, traitor.”

“You call us traitors?” Bladesinger shouted. “I brought you honor at Whitekeep. Crow would never have stood victor if not for me! And you give me thanks by selling me to that shitheel Varro Caito before my wounds are even healed?”

The woman spat onto the wood at her feet.

“You faithless fucking bitch.”

Leona sneered, shook her head.

“All I hear are treacherous rats, squeaking in a hole of their own making.”

Butcher was smashing at the hatch with his sword. Wavewaker pushing at the timbers above their head. A half-dozen houseguards spilled out from the ’Hound’s main cabin to surround the dona—the second shift, all of whom should have been slumbering right now in their bunks. There could be no doubt now that Leona had known this was coming, that all the faith they’d put in the daughter of Darius Corvere . . .

Sidonius clenched his fists as he looked up through the lattice. Mia met his stare, dark eyes clouded, her expression grim and bloodless. The scar cutting down her cheek lent her a vicious air, a cruelty and callousness he’d never noticed until now. But still, he fancied he could see tears in those dark lashes, her long dark hair caught up in the nevernight winds and playing about her face like some black halo.

“Crow?”

“It just meant too much to me, Sid,” she whispered.

She shook her head, hands fluttering helplessly at her sides.

“I’m so sorry . . .”

It had been a lot to risk on a single girl.

But he’d never thought for a moment they’d actually lose.

“Aye, little Crow.”

Sidonius hung his head, pawing at his aching chest.

“I’m sorry too . . .”