Mia couldn’t remember the last time she really cried.

She’d spilled a tear or two here and there along the road, but it was never the primal kind of grief. The kind where the sobs are being torn out of you, shaking you to your bones and leaving you hollowed out inside. She hadn’t cried when she failed her initiation. Hadn’t cried when Ashlinn murdered Tric. Hadn’t cried when the Ministry said a quiet mass and sealed the boy in an empty tomb in the Hall of Eulogies.

She wasn’t very good with grief, you see.

Mia preferred rage instead.

She stood in the infirmary over Maggot’s lifeless body, belly knotted with fury. The girl’s hair had been combed, the blood wiped from her face. She looked almost as if she were asleep. Otho lay beside her, just as peaceful. The big Itreyan’s eyes were closed, the lines of care that had creased his features as he fought upon the sands now smoothed away.

It was a miracle only two of them had died—as if “only” had a place anywhere in that thought. Maggot was simply too small, and had imbibed too much toxin. Otho was a grown man, strong as an ox. But he’d wolfed his entire meal down and been on the way for seconds before the effects kicked in, and by then, it was too late. More of the Falcons would have succumbed—all, in fact—if Mia hadn’t been there. She supposed whoever poisoned their meal wasn’t expecting a trained assassin to be on hand to boil up the antidote. As it was, most of the gladiatii suffered varying degrees of internal hemorrhaging, but the remedy she’d mixed had saved them all from death.

Almost all, anyway . . .

Fang lay on a bloodstained blanket, the dog’s eyes forever closed. Executus had almost wept when he found the mastiff curled up in a pool of blood on the infirmary floor. He sat beside Fang now, running one callused hand over the dog’s flanks. His fingers were shaking. From anger or grief, Mia couldn’t tell.

“How in the Everseeing’s name did this happen?” Leona demanded, looking over the bodies with her hands on her hips.

“Simply enough,” Mia murmured, eyes never leaving Maggot’s body. “Somebody dosed the onions in the pantry with Elegy, and Finger used them in the stew. Onion is porous, acts like a sponge. And the smell and flavor does a fine job of masking the toxin’s. Good delivery method. The killer knew what they were doing.”

Leona turned to Finger. The cook stood trembling between two houseguards, steel grips on both his arms. His lank hair hung over his eyes, his body shaking.

“What do you know of this?” the dona asked.

“N-nothing, Domina,” the cook replied. “I serve you faithfully!”

“Any snake would hiss the same,” Leona snarled.

Finger shook his head, his voice shaking.

“Domina, I . . . Ever you’ve treated me well and fair. I’ve no cause to harm your flock. Nor would I ever hurt the lass. She was like kin to me. I served the meal to her with my own hands.” Tears filled his eyes, snot at his lips as he looked to Maggot’s lifeless corpse. “You think me cold enough to look in her eyes and smile as I p-passed the blade that would end her?”

The man’s chest heaved, face twisting as tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Never. By the Everseeing and all his Daughters, never.”

Leona’s eyes narrowed, but she could see it in his face, plain as Mia. His thin frame trembling. Eyes swimming with grief. Either Finger was an actor worthy of the greatest theater in all the Republic, or the man was genuinely gutted at Maggot’s death.

“Who had means to get into the larder?” Leona asked.

Finger pawed his eyes, sniffled hard. “Anyone with access to the keep could get to the provisions, Domina. They’re not locked of a nevernight . . . I-I’d have kept them with more care, but I had n-no inkling a serpent lived among us.”

“Nor I,” Leona said. “But I’ve suckled one at my breast, sure and true.”

“Elegy isn’t easy to make,” Mia said. “Dangerous. Messy. But in a city as big as Crow’s Rest, there’s bound to be a way to buy it, if you’ve the coin.”

“And how do you know this, exactly?” Arkades growled.

“I’ve made no secret of my knowledge of herblore,” Mia replied. “The difference between a remedy and a requiem can be as little as half a dram. And if we’re taking tally, my meal was dosed too.”

“Then how comes it you were not poisoned with the rest of your fellows?”

“I didn’t eat my dinner,” Mia spat.

“The second time in as many months you’ve dodged a suspicious meal.”

“Have you looked under Furian’s bandages?” Mia demanded. “It’s fucking sickening. The smell would put a scabdog off its meal, let alone the sight.”

“And so you just happen to give your draft to my dog and watch him die? Then just happen to have the ingredients to save the lives of your fellows?”

Mia turned to fully face Arkades, teeth clenched. “You accuse me of this? Poisoning an eleven-year-old girl?”

Arkades ignored her, turned to Leona. “I say if we seek a serpent among us, begin with the one who best knows poison, neh?”

Rage took Mia then, bright and blinding, and she took a step toward Arkades with her fists clenched. The big man rose with that surprising speed, shoulders squared, chin low. She could feel his growl in her chest.

“Try,” he said. “Just try . . .”

“Executus, enough,” Leona snapped. “Crow is champion of this collegium. She already stands atop the mountain. What in the Everseeing’s name would she gain by murdering all my Falcons, let alone Maggot besides?”

“What would anyone gain?” Magistrae asked, looking around the room. “If we seek the killer, first we must find the motive. How does anyone profit from this?”

“Your father would profit, Domina,” Mia said.

Leona shook her head. “He would not dare . . .”

“Think on it,” Mia replied. “He owns all your debts. You owe him coin that you simply don’t have. How have you made up your shortfalls to creditors in the past?”

“ . . . I am still working the figures,” Leona replied.

“Aye,” Mia nodded. “But even with the Whitekeep purse in consideration, have you pondered any way to conjure over three thousand silver pieces that doesn’t involve selling at least a few of your gladiatii to Pandemonium?”

Leona looked to Arkades, then to Magistrae.

“No,” she admitted.

“So what happens if all your gladiatii are dead and you’ve none to sell?”

“Then I lose everything,” Leona said. “The magni. This collegium. Everything.”

“Is your father the kind of man who murders to get his way? And would it be so hard for a man with that much money to hold sway over one of your guards? Or perhaps someone even closer to you?”

“Impertinent wretch,” Arkades spat. “Just what are you implying?”

“Only that there’s two kinds of loyalty,” Mia replied. “The kind paid for with love, and the kind paid for with silver.”

“Domina, this—”

Leona held up her hand, cutting her magistrae’s objection off at the knee. She turned to her houseguard captain, her voice cold with command.

“Gannicus, I want every bedchamber in the keep searched. Every chest, every cupboard, every crack. You and your fellow houseguards will search by threes, and you will not search your own belongings, am I clear?”

The captain slapped a fist to his chest. “Aye, Domina.”

Gannicus spun on his heel, gathered the other houseguards and marched across the yard. Scowling dark, Arkades cast one last look at his murdered dog, the murdered girl, and began limping after them.

“Where are you going, Executus?” Leona asked.

“ . . . To assist the search, Domina.”

“Gannicus has the matter in hand. Take Finger and gather firewood for a pyre.” She glanced briefly at Maggot’s body. “It would not do to allow them to linger in this heat. They must be sent to the Hearth, and the gentle keeping of Lady Keph.”

Looking Arkades up and down, Mia could see his pupils were dilated, his breathing quickened. Fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.

“ . . . he fears . . . ,” came the whisper in her ear.

But finally, as always, the executus bowed.

“Your whisper, my will.”

* * *

Mia had never smelled a burning body before.

She’d smelled death, certainly. The noxious stench of sundered bellies. The sweet, high perfume of decay. But until she stood in the courtyard of Crow’s Nest, listening to dry wood crackle and snap over the song of the sea, she’d never smelled a funeral pyre. She’d read stories as a child—grieving lovers or orphaned children, sending their loved ones off to the hereafter atop a pillar of flame. There was a kind of romance to it, she’d thought. Something fierce and bright and enduring. But the books never talked about the smell. The burning hair and boiling blood and blackening skin.

It was hideous.

They’d laid Maggot atop the firewood that Arkades and Finger had gathered, Otho beside her. It wasn’t the grandest bier ever created, but they’d used all the fuel the kitchen had, stacked in neat rows over three feet high. The pair were wrapped in simple cotton shifts, faces uncovered to the sky. Dona Leona spoke quiet prayers to the Everseeing over their bodies. A wreath of flowers was placed upon their chests. A small mahogany coin beneath their tongues.

And then, they were set aflame.

Most of the gladiatii held their grief back, but Bryn was weeping openly—this was the second funeral she’d attended in a week, all the wounds from her brother’s loss torn open and bleeding fresh. Sidonius was the only other gladiatii to let tears fall, those big brawny shoulders heaving up and down. Mia wondered at the riddle of him, that brand on his chest, the lecherous buffoonery, all at odds with the fellow who’d spoken with such adoration of her father, and tried to comfort her in the dark.

The flames burned brighter, the smoke rising into the blinding sky. The crash of distant waves. The cry of circling gulls. Dona Leona’s plaintive prayer to Aa.

With the rites spoken, Leona hung her head, walked solemnly from the pyre. Mia watched her trudge across the yard, the smoke stinging in her unbandaged eye. She knew now Leona was a product of the violence she’d grown up with, that at their hearts, the two of them weren’t so dissimilar. If Mia’s childhood had been a different one, it could just easily have been her sitting as mistress of this keep. But a part of her couldn’t help but blame the dona for this. If only this collegium didn’t exist, if only Maggot had never been sold here . . .

No. You have no time for “if only” . . .

Leona stepped up to the verandah, just as the guard she’d placed in command of the search returned from inside the keep. Mia watched them sidelong, Gannicus speaking softly, glancing to Arkades. He handed what looked to be a folded piece of fabric to his mistress, and Mia’s stomach turned.

“Arkades?” Leona said, turning to her executus.

The man looked up from the burning pyre. The same fear she’d seen in the infirmary lingered in the man’s eyes.

“Mi Dona?”

“Explain this,” the dona said, holding out her hand.

Clutched in her fingers was a silken underslip, edged with fine lace.

The gladiatii turned to stare, the pyre still blazing in the background. Arkades looked to the warriors he’d trained, his expression darkening. He could barely meet Leona’s eyes, his voice edged with shame.

“Mi Dona, if we could speak in private—”

“It was found in your room,” Leona said. “Beneath your mattress. Now I see why you were so eager to aid Gannicus and his guards in their search. But tell me, noble Arkades, how comes it that my underclothes are found among your possessions?”

“Mi Dona, I—”

“And what is this?”

Leona held up a small phial of clear liquid, gleaming in the sunlight.

Arkades blinked. “I have never seen that before in my life.”

“It was found wrapped inside my underslip. Hidden among your little trove. Perfume, perhaps? Or a little liquor to make the nevernights easier?” Leona turned to Mia, held out the phial on her palm. “Crow?”

Glancing at Arkades, seeing the fear swelling inside him, Mia took the phial from the dona’s hands. Unstopping it, she sniffed, dabbed her finger and tasted, immediately spat once, twice. Lips curling as she looked to Leona.

“It’s Elegy, Domina. No question.”

Leona’s glare welled with tears as she looked at Arkades, lip trembling, her entire body shaking with rage.

“You.”

Horror welled in Arkades’s eyes. “Mi Dona, I would never . . .”

“Then how comes it to be in your room?” Leona demanded. “Wrapped in the underslip you stole from me? Or do you deny the keeping of that, too?”

“I do not deny it, I fou—”

“You have known me from a child, Arkades! I thought you a man of honor, who saw the righteousness of my cause. I thought your infatuation harmless, but now I see it turned to poison before my eyes.” She shook the silk in his face. “Now I see to the heart of you! Now I see the reason you have walked with me all these years!”

“Infatuation?” Arkades was pale, his voice trembling.

“How much does my father pay you?”

“ . . . What?”

“How much?” she screamed. “Ever I wondered at the lions you wore on your doublet, the lion’s head on your cane. I thought it simple homage to where you’d been and who you were, but now I see it for truth! You were always his man! Always!”

Magistrae placed a gentle hand on her mistress’s shoulder. “Domina, please.”

Leona snarled, threw off the woman’s grip. “Did he promise me to you, perhaps? Some broken trophy to hide beneath your mattress with all your other dirty little secrets? You’d poison my flock, murder an eleven-year-old girl to have your way? After what he did to my mother? Smiling like a snake and offering me your comforts?”

Tears gleamed in Arkades’s eyes. “You think me capable . . .”

“I think you a liar,” Leona spat. “I think you a murderer. I think you a sad old man ruled by lust and accursed drink and memory of past glory gone wrong and rotten.” Leona dragged ragged breath through gritted teeth. “I think you every inch the bastard my father is. I want you out of my collegium.”

“Leona, I—”

“Get out!” Leona roared. “Or I swear by the Everseeing and all four of his Daughters, I will show you the mercy you showed the child on that pyre!”

The woman stood trembling, tears pouring down her cheeks. But her jaw was set, teeth bared in a snarl. Arkades hung like a broken mirror, chest heaving, his face pale. Looking among the gladiatii, he found only disdain and rage. He turned back to Leona, agony in his eyes, one final, desperate plea on his lips.

“Please—”

“GET OUT!” Leona screamed, launching herself at him and flailing with her fists. Scratching his face, clawing at his eyes. “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

Arkades staggered back, and Magistrae pulled the flailing, screaming Leona off him. The guards stepped forward to separate them, hands on their swords, glowering at the executus. Gannicus placed a hand on his chest and shoved him further away, warning plain on his face. The captain obviously had no wish to draw, but the wishes of his mistress were clear, and the smell of that burning child hung heavy in the air.

Arkades looked around the yard and found no friends. Tears brimming in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words to save him. He searched the faces of his former charges, and found none to vouch for him. Mia could see words struggling behind his teeth, but looking into Leona’s eyes, he found only hatred and rage. And with no other real choice, he turned and began limping for the gate.

“Take this!” Leona cried, flinging the slip at his back. “May it keep you warm in the nevernight!”

The executus paused, looking back over his shoulder. But without a word, he hung his head and simply kept walking. Mia watched him leave, uncertain what to think. Jealousy could drive a man to any lengths, and Arkades did still wear the lions of his former master on his chest. To discover the woman he so clearly loved was bedding Furian must have been an awful blow, and love could turn to cancer when watered with betrayal. But a part of Mia found it hard to believe he’d betray Leona so cruelly . . .

Leaning on her magistrae, the dona left the yard, still weeping. Mia looked to the pyre once more, watching the flames rise higher. Heat kissing her skin. Smoke kissing her tongue. So much in the balance. So close to the end. So much to risk before she got there, and so keen to arrive.

She couldn’t wait ’til this was all over.

“Goodbye, Maggot,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you.”

And she still couldn’t remember the last time she cried.

* * *

The bathhouse swirled with steam, the heat of it scalded her skin. Mia sank into the water with a sigh, the ache in her ribs soothed by the warmth. Slipping below the surface, she tried to shush her thoughts, silence her doubts and rage and enjoy a moment’s silence. For just a breath. Just a second.

Bryn entered the bathhouse, walking like she were sleeping. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks red raw. Without looking at Mia, she stripped off her clothes and sank into the water, washing the tears from her skin. She stayed under almost a breath too long, Mia about to reach out toward her when Bryn finally surfaced, sodden blond framing her face. Drifting to the corner, the girl sat still as stone, as a statue, as a corpse, staring at the ripples on the surface and saying nothing at all.

“A hard turn,” Mia said.

“Aye,” Bryn murmured.

“Domina spoke the service well.”

“Aye.”

“ . . . How are you feeling?”

Bryn looked up a moment, eyes gaining focus.

“How do you think?” she whispered.

Mia hung her head, stared at the swirling steam.

“ . . . Aye.”

Wavewaker trudged into the bathhouse, unwrapped the cloth from his waist. Mia couldn’t remember a single turn where they’d bathed together and the big man hadn’t gifted her a song, but Wavewaker didn’t hum a note this time. His uncharacteristic silence hung heavy in the air, sorrow welling in Mia’s chest. Thinking of the water fight they’d had, here with Byern, just a few weeks ago. Thinking of that little girl burning on that pyre, and all that had been lost along with her.

These people are not your familia and not your—

“Four fucking Daughters . . .”

Mia looked up, saw Sidonius stride past the guards posted on the bathhouse entrance. Shutting the door behind him, he stripped off and sank into the water, eyes wide, breathing quick.

“You seem of a mood,” Wavewaker said.

“There’s no ‘seems’ about it, brother.”

“What troubles?”

“Our fucking domina,” the big Itreyan growled. “I just heard from Milaini, one of the serving lasses. Leona has sent missive to Varro fucking Caito, invited him for evemeal tomorrow.”

“Why does she dine with a fleshpeddler?” Wavewaker asked.

“She’s planning to sell us to Pandemonium, why do you think?” Sidonius spat. “She’s already drawn up a list, apparently. Milaini saw it on her desk.”

“ . . . Who’s on it?” Mia asked.

“Bryn, for starters,” Sid said, nodding at the Vaanian girl.

Bryn blinked, as if hearing the conversation for the first time.

“ . . . Domina would sell me to Varro Caito?”

“She needs coin,” Sidonius growled. “She can’t afford a new charioteer to form a new equillai team. But after your showing at Whitekeep, you’ll fetch a fortune.”

“Who else?” Wavewaker growled.

“Bladesinger,” Sidonius spat. “Felix. Albanus. Butcher. And me.”

“She’s going to sell ’Singer?” Mia breathed.

“She’s going to sell anyone with a fucking pulse,” Sid replied. “She needs three thousand silver priests, and she’s thrown all in on you winning the magni, Crow. The rest of us are just sacks of coin to her.”

Bryn shook her head, whispering, “Shit.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Sidonius whispered, gobsmacked.

“And what else would you have me say?” the girl growled.

“Say you’ll not be sold like chaff to die in Pandemonium,” Sidonius growled. “Because by the Four fucking Daughters, I won’t be.”

“And what choice do we have?”

Sid cast an eye to the closed door, lowered his voice further.

“There’s always one other choice,” he said.

A chill ran over Mia’s skin as she looked Sid in the eye. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning Executus is gone, and his lash along with him,” Sidonius replied. “Meaning these houseguards are softer than baby shite, and we’re full-fledged gladiatii. We could beat them to death with practice swords if we’d a mind to. Especially with surprise on our side.”

Wavewaker scowled, rubbing his chin.

“Aye,” he muttered. “We could at that.”

Bryn’s eyes widened, voice dropping to a furious whisper. “You speak of rebellion? Have you lost your mind? You want to end up executed at the magni?”

“You’d rather die in Pandemonium?” Sidonius demanded. “In case you’ve no eyes to see it, sister, this house is coming down around our fucking ears. I’ve a mind to absent myself before the roof falls in.”

“This isn’t right,” Wavewaker agreed. “Bladesinger fought with honor. Crow would be the first to admit she’d not have stood victor against the Exile if not for ’Singer, aye?”

Mia nodded slow. “Aye.”

“And now she’s to be sold like meat? Because her swordarm is ruined?” The big man looked to Bryn. “Your brother gave his life for this house. And this is how Leona honors that sacrifice? By hocking his sister to a bastard like Varro Caito?”

“I’ll not stand by for this,” Sid spat. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Wavewaker looked to Sidonius, shook his head.

“Nor I.”

Mia licked her lips, spoke soft. “Hold now.”

The three gladiatii looked to her, waiting for her to speak. After the showings she’d put in at the arena, there wasn’t a one among them who didn’t respect her. And while she could see the injustice of it, while she knew that if she were in their position, she’d almost certainly be arguing for the same . . .

If the gladiatii of the Remus Collegium rebelled, she’d never see the magni. Never have her revenge. If she aided them, at best, she’d be a fugitive, on the run in a Republic where such rebellion was brutally punished. At worst, she’d simply be killed in the attempt. And if she didn’t participate, but allowed it to happen, she’d probably still be crucified by the administratii for belonging to a house in revolt.

But to sit back and do nothing while Bryn and ’Singer and Sid were sold . . .

“Hold?” Sidonius asked. “Hold for what?”

“ . . . Let’s not speak hasty,” Mia said. “The wounds from Maggot’s funeral are fresh. I say think on it a few turns before we do anything rash.”

“Rash?” Sidonius scowled. “We’re talking about our lives here!”

“It may be fine for some,” Wavewaker said. “But not all of us are champions in the dona’s favor.”

“And that favor changes like the wind, Crow,” Bryn said, seemingly warming to the idea. “Look how swift she casts Arkades aside.”

“I only counsel patience,” Mia insisted. “Leona and Caito dine on the morrow, but no sale will be brokered for a turn or two. Domina’s blood is running as hot as the rest of us. Perhaps in time, she’ll see her folly and seek another way. Perhaps she’ll find some trick in her ledger that yet avoids anyone’s sale. I’m certain she has no wish to part with any of us.”

“If you think that woman has a hint of loyalty inside her,” Wavewaker said, “you are the fool I never took you for. Leona thinks of her own glory, none other’s.”

“Patience,” she begged. “Please.”

The three gladiatii looked among each other, scowling. But it seemed there’d be no more argument for the moment, each falling into a sullen, scowling silence. And with little else to say and no comfort to offer, Mia finally climbed out of the bath and toweled herself off, tying her wraps about herself and padding softly from the room.

Stalking down the hall to her cell, her mind was whirling. She knew she couldn’t allow a rebellion against Leona to happen—her entire plan would be undone if she did. But if she allowed the dona to have her way, if Leona couldn’t be swayed, Sid and ’Singer and Bryn were as good as dead. Nobody survived Pandemonium. Even the greatest warriors lasted a few months there, at best.

A slow quiet settled over the barracks, the gladiatii bedding down for the nevernight. Sidonius returned from the bathhouse, sitting opposite Mia in their cell. She’d not been moved upstairs yet—with all the drama of the last few turns, she supposed Leona had more pressing concerns than finding her new champion’s quarters. And so, Mia was still stuck in her cage. Feeling Sid’s eyes on her as the arkemical lamps were turned down, as the talk of the other gladiatii softened and then stilled, finally replaced by the sounds of sleep.

As always, the man stayed quiet when they were alone. Never pressing.

Simply staring.

Minutes ticking by like days. His blue eyes fixed on her.

Unblinking.

Mute.

“Black Mother, what?” she finally hissed.

“I said nothing,” Sidonius whispered.

“So you plan to sit there and stare at me all nevernight?”

“Would you rather me speak?”

“Yes, damn you, say your piece. You weren’t shy about it in the fucking bathhouse. We’re alone and all of a sudden the cat has your tongue?”

“And what would we speak of? You’ve made feelings clear enough.”

“You’ve been following me like a fucking bloodhawk since you found out who I was. And you’ve never asked me of it, not once. Yet at the first whisper of . . .”—Mia glanced about, lowered of her voice—“ . . . of rebellion, your tongue is all aflutter.”

“The action we take about my impending sale concerns me direct, Crow. But as far as your parentage goes, it’s not my place to speak. And if you were wondering, all you needed do was ask. I follow you out of respect for your father. He’d have wanted me to look after you.”

“And what do you know of what my father would have wanted?”

Sidonius laughed softly. “More than you realize, little Crow.”

“You were a soldier. Branded for cowardice and kicked out of the legion. You weren’t in his counsel. You didn’t know him.”

Sidonius shook his head, hurt shining in his eyes.

“I know he’d be ashamed of what this house has become.”

Mia fell quiet at that. Took a deep, shivering breath and looked to the walls around her. The iron bars and the human misery. She’d scrubbed herself hard in the bath, but she could smell the smoke from Maggot’s funeral pyre in her hair.

“Your name is Mia, aye?”

She looked up sharply, eyes narrowed.

“It took me a while to remember it,” Sid said. “The justicus spoke of you sometimes, but he kept talk of his familia mostly to himself. I think he felt closer to you all that way. Not sharing you with others. Not staining thoughts of you with all the blood and shit we saw on campaign.”

“Aye,” she finally answered. “Mia.”

“Your little brother was Jonnen.”

“ . . . Aye.”

Sid nodded, sucking his lip, saying nothing.

“Daughters, spit it out,” Mia sighed.

“Spit what out?”

“The rebuke so obviously churning behind your fucking teeth. ‘You can leave these walls any time you like, Crow, you’ve no right to stop us trying the same. Even if we fail, the administratii will never catch you. No cell can ever hold you.’”

“Is that what I was thinking?” Sid asked. “Or what you were thinking?”

“Fuck you, Sid.”

“It took me a while,” the big man said. “To ponder it. Why you were here, why you’d want to fight in the magni. And then I remembered who’d be standing on the sand with you when you were declared the victor. The same men who stood in judgment over him, aye? The same men who smiled as he hanged.”

Mia said nothing. Simply stared.

“I wasn’t there when it happened,” Sid said. “I was already in chains by then. But I heard about it, afterward. Heard the Dona Corvere stood on the forum walls, above the howling mob. A little girl in her arms. Must have been you, aye? Quite a thing to make your daughter watch.”

“She wanted me to see,” Mia said. “She wanted me to remember.”

“Your mother.”

“Aye,” Mia spat. “What was it you called her? The stupid fucking whore?”

“Aye, that was unkind of me,” Sid sighed. “But it’s hard for me to find too many kind words for your ma, Mia. Knowing what I know of her.”

“And what is it you think you know?”

“Just that Alinne Corvere had more ambition than Justicus Darius and General Antonius put together. Half your father’s centurions were in love with her. She had a third of the Senate wrapped around her finger.” Sid steepled his hands at his chin. “How do you suppose she did that? She wasn’t quite the swordswoman her daughter grew up to be. She was a politician. You think a woman like that could almost bring a Republic to its knees without dropping once or twice to her own?”

Mia glowered at Sidonius. “Don’t you dare.”

“I know you’re trying to avenge them,” Sidonius said. “I know you think it righteous. I just wonder if you’d think the same if you knew the kind of woman your mother was. Or, the kind of man your father was.”

“I know what kind of man he was. He was a hero.”

“We all think that of our parents,” Sid said. “They give us life, after all. It’s easy to mistake them for gods.”

“You speak one ill word of my father,” Mia whispered, “and I swear by the Black Mother I will fucking end you right here in this cell. He was doing what he thought was best for the Republic and its people. He was a man who followed his heart.”

“I loved your father, Mia. And I served him as well as I could. He had that way about him. The loyalty he inspired in his men . . . I think all of us loved him in our own way.” Sid fixed Mia in his stare. “And aye, he was a man who followed his heart. Just not in the way you think he did.”

“ . . . What are you talking about?”

Sid sighed.

“Your father and General Antonius were lovers, Mia.”

Mia flinched as if she’d been slapped in the face.

Breath trembling.

The whole world shifting under her feet.

“ . . . What?”

“Everyone knew it,” Sid said. “All their men, anyways. Nobody cared. Not even your mother, so long as they kept it quiet. She’d married the position, not the man. Their marriage was one of friendship. Perhaps even a strange kind of love. But first and foremost, it was one of ambition. Your father commanded loyalty among the Luminatii. It didn’t bother us that the would-be king and the Kingmaker occasionally slipped into each other’s beds. Some even found it romantic.” Sidonius leaned closer, his voice heavy and hard. “But don’t tell me the rebellion was about Darius Corvere’s love of liberty or the people, Mia. It was about his love for Antonius. The general wanted to be a king. And your father wanted to be the man who placed that crown upon his head. Plain and simple.”

Mia remembered the nights in Crow’s Nest when the general would visit. She’d always called him “Uncle Antonius.” Her mother and father and he all dining together, the wine flowing, their laughter echoing down halls of long red stone.

And afterward . . .

Perhaps under this very roof . . .

“Lies,” Mia whispered. “You’re speaking lies.”

“No, Mia,” Sid said. “I’m just speaking difficult truths.”

Mia sat still, silent, heart pounding in her chest. Blinking hard.

She couldn’t rightly remember the last time she cried . . .

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Sid sighed. “When you find out the ones who gave you life are just as mortal and frail as the rest of us? That the world isn’t what you thought it was?”

Mia wiped at her tears with shaking hands. Remembering the way her father kissed her mother. First on one eyelid, then the other, then finally upon her smooth, olive brow.

But never on the lips.

Could it be true?

. . . Did it matter if it was?

If there was no deceit between them, why did she care who her parents lay with? Though they may not have loved each other, they’d both loved her; she knew that if nothing else. They’d taught her to rely on her wits, to be strong, to never be afraid. And she missed them both, even now, like a hole had been carved in her chest the turn they were taken away.

But if her father hadn’t been the hero of the people she supposed him, if he’d only been trying to overthrow the Senate for his own selfish ends . . .

. . . what was all this murder and blood for, exactly?

No.

No, Scaeva and Duomo still deserved a killing. They’d still imprisoned her mother and brother, left them to die in an oubliette inside the Philosopher’s Stone.

“I will give your brother your regards . . .”

“I know what it will cost you,” Sidonius whispered. “To let rebellion happen under this roof. But think of Bryn. Of Bladesinger. Of Butcher and me. Do we truly deserve to die in some godsless pit because Leona hates her father, and you love yours too much?”

Silence between them, heavy as lead. Mia looked the man over; this man she’d mistaken for a lecherous fool, a thug, perhaps even the coward his brand told the world he was. She saw he was none of those things. But still . . .

“Why weren’t you there when my father and Antonius were captured?” she asked, her voice hollow. “Why aren’t you dead with the rest of their men?”

Sidonius sighed deep, hung his head.

“The Luminatii centurions and their Second Spears were informed of Darius and Antonius’s plan the nevernight after we mustered. Antonius made a grand speech, spoke of corruption, of hubris, of the Republic being under the control of weak and impious men. And when all the shield beating and chest thumping was over . . . I just couldn’t do it. The Republic is rotten, Mia, I’ll brook no argument there. A cancer eats at the bones of this place, and Godsgrave is the heart of it. Julius Scaeva is twice the tyrant Antonius would have been. But we were the Luminatii Legion. Soldiers of God. The war that would’ve come if we marched on our own capital, the suffering that would have ridden in our wake . . .

“Thousands would have died. Tens of thousands, maybe. And for what? So one man could wear a crown, and another could place it on his head? I couldn’t do it. I went to my centurion and told him so. He listened patiently as I tried to tell him the wrong of it. And when I was done, he had me beaten near to death, branded a coward, and sold off to the first bidder on the blocks.”

Sidonius shook his head.

“Six years in chains for one moment of principle. That’s the tithe I paid. But you know what I learned in all the years between then and this, little Crow?”

“ . . . No.”

Sid fixed Mia in his ice-blue stare.

“There’s no softer pillow than a clear conscience.”

Mia sat in the dark, trembling head to foot. Tears spilling down her cheek. And without another word, Sidonius lay down in the straw, rolled over onto his side, and closed his eyes.

“Sleep well, Mia.”