Crixus catches up within a few seconds. I don’t bother to look at him or talk to him. Fine, I’ll go back into their sickening Arena. I’ll learn the tricks and fight. But not at the cost of my humanity.
“I refuse to kill a noxior,” I spit to Crixus.
He’s silent for a long time as we exit the citadel. The only sound is his Roman sandals slapping against the dusty Roman road as we walk toward the barred training area. He unlocks the gate and holds it open for me.
“That doesn’t mean the other noxiors will refuse to kill you.”
“You’re an Anger. You train alone.”
And that’s how I find myself locked in a training arena, wearing noxior garb with nothing and no one around but weapons.
For the third day in a row.
It’s a decent space with sand beneath my feet, a vaulted wood-beam ceiling, and all kinds of weapons along the only solid wall. Metal bars make up the other three walls, so I can see into the other training areas.
The weapons don’t entice me. Gladii, spears, swords, chains—nothing modern that I might actually be good with. A few dummies are spaced around the room, one filled with straw, another with sand. But this so-called training is pointless. Crixus doesn’t even come in to instruct me.
I’m left with a few punching bags. Sure, I can whack at them, but what does that do? They don’t whack back.
A clang from across the room draws my attention. Helene walks in—the woman from the “popular crowd” breakfast table. A soldier, a tiro, closes the gated door behind her.
“Careful,” I drawl. “I’m an Anger. I could attack you with my rage.”
She grins. “Ditto.”
I actually smile, that’s how desperate I am for any sort of interaction. If Luc’s plan is to bore me into a decision, it’s working.
“Did Crixus send you?”
“I sent me.” She walks to the wall of weapons. “I want to train.”
“With a newbie like me?”
“You need to train too. Otherwise you won’t survive another fight.”
“I think Crixus is hoping that’s exactly what will happen.”
She tosses me a mistblade javelin. “Maybe it still will.” She grabs a weighted net for herself and a mistblade trident. “Now. Come at me.”
I let the javelin fall to the ground. “No, thanks. Crixus is right—I’m not in control of my emotions yet. I don’t know what a fight might do to me.” Maybe my anger will spike and I’ll injure her. Or create some nightmist weapon again.
“These are mistblades. They can’t hurt me, and I can’t hurt you. I need to get some energy out, so work with me, okay?” Her voice grows more tense while she talks, and I consider the fact that she’s an Anger too. Maybe she really does just need to shed some energy.
I pick up the javelin. Her shoulders relax a bit. Okay, then.
She rushes me and thrusts the trident. I dodge and knock it away with the staff of the javelin, more out of defense than skill. She whips the weighted net, and it tangles in my weapon. Just like that, I’m disarmed.
“Dead,” she declares with a fake stab toward my chest.
We go at it again, and it’s a nearly identical scuffle. I block, dodge, she disarms me. But this time when she jabs with the trident I duck and roll, sweep her legs out from under her, and yank my kris dagger to her throat.
“Dead,” I say with a grin.
Her eyes go wide, and she leans away with a true flicker of fear. I frown but then note the cause: my knife. It’s a double blade—mist and metal. I reel backward. If I’d accidentally struck her, I could have killed her. When did I even draw the weapon? It happened so fast, so instinctively, I can’t explain it.
“Sorry.” I offer a hand to help her up, but she gets to her feet on her own. “I suppose that’s why I’m locked in here alone.”
“Seems to me you don’t have to train after all,” she says, a bit out of breath.
“Besting you was luck. Nothing more.” I don’t care if we spar again. I only want her to know I wasn’t actually trying to hurt her. “Are you close to getting your citizenship?”
“A fight or two away.” She sounds grim.
“You’re really going to kill someone?”
She hoists the trident over her shoulder and doesn’t meet my eyes. “If it comes down to it, I guess so.”
“Living in this place really means that much to you?” I’m sick of this complete willingness to murder.
She walks to the gate, and the tiro opens it for her.
“I have a daughter out there,” she tells me. “Four years old. She’s lost in the Nightmare. So, yes . . . she means that much to me. If I have to kill to find her, I will.”
We’re both pawns in this new world. Playing Luc’s game.
She leaves, and a few minutes later Crixus takes her place.
