Then they spot the bags. The hush is heavy, reflecting surprise. Shock, even. One looks at me, then the bag, and whispers fiercely to a neighbor. The two plop themselves right in front of the bag. Others skirt the bags altogether and seat themselves far away from them, toward the highest seats of the Arena.

The muttering continues, but it’s no longer casual chatter. There’s a new awkwardness with my body splayed before them and something they understand about the bags that I don’t.

Luc didn’t kill me right away for a reason.

The only reason I can think of is that he wants my end to be public. But he’s off attacking Castle Ithebego. Maybe he thinks it will be a quick victory and he plans to be back in time.

As more spectators take their seats, I realize my opportunity. I don’t have a weapon or physical prowess, but I have a voice. And that has the power to fight these Games in a way Luc never anticipated.

“I know about a cure.” The words feel cursed on my tongue, but I say them anyway because I remember the power they had in the Real World. My voice is a bit raspy, but the design of the Romanesque Arena sends it echoing up the stands.

The chatter stops. Faces turn toward me. I lick my lips. “There’s a cure to death in Tenebra! It costs nothing. Nothing but faith.”

Someone laughs. The muttering picks back up. Already I’m disregarded.

I try to raise my voice. “Listen to me!”

They do. I sound angry now, so perhaps that’s why they give me attention, hoping to witness an explosion of nightmist.

“Your children understand the cure. They understand the faith, and they’re waiting for you.”

“Where are they?” a woman asks, timid, but loud enough to carry to my ears.

“They’re with the Spores. They’re protected for now. And aside from longing for their parents, for you—they’re happy.”

Hisses fill the air the moment I say Spores. Are they so set against the Adelphoi that they are willing to ignore the truth about their own children?

I speak up again. “Luc rescues only the youngest children who can return to the Old World and serve his purposes! Any of you who have been reunited with your kids have seen this. The reunion is here on this sand, but then your child is indentured to the Emperor, right?”

Complete silence. Tension fills the air, as I continue.

“Once they’re too old to serve him, he makes them fight in the Arena for the right to live. At this very moment, the Emperor is attacking your children, intending to murder them. I was there yesterday. Luc and his tirones chased your kids, shooting arrows at them as they fled, trying to get away.”

Gasps litter the crowd.

“Liar,” someone shouts.

“Those of you with children, ask them,” I challenge. “See what they’ll tell you about life before the Emperor and his tirones captured them.”

“You’re a Spore!” comes the accusation.

“I’m not,” I say, my heart sinking. “You know what Spores smell like. You see the sparks when they move. You’ve seen their Spore swords that have minds of their own. I have none of those things. But I share their beliefs.” The grief of defeat in my voice is unavoidable. Never have I wanted to be an Adelphoi so badly. How long do I have to share their faith before I’m accepted and transformed into one of them?

I wish the spectators could smell me, whether as a stench or as cinnamon. I wish I sparked like Erik did in the cage. I wish the Adelphoi sword wouldn’t burn me.

But I’ve done too much damage.

“We know who you are!” a woman yells from over my head somewhere. “Spore or not, you’re the guy on the Outside who sold the fake cure. You lied to us and doomed us to life here!”

Will my past sins never leave me?

Voices rise in a cacophony. Most are angry. Some people are moving from the back rows of the Arena to the front. As close to the mysterious bags as they can get.

“I’ve only ever wanted to save lives!” My shouted plea is lost amid their rage. I close my eyes as it builds and am transported back to the Macella Quarter when the people attacked Stranna. I know once the anger takes root, it spreads and grows, and there’s no stopping it.

The tirones around the edge of the Arena draw their swords, even though the crowd remains in the stands. For now. One tiro eyes the gate.

I’d flee too.

“This cure isn’t like that,” I say, though my voice is unheard. I have to say the words, even if no one will listen. No Adelphoi is willing to say them. And though they won’t change the tide of the crowd, maybe one person—a tiro or a noxior or a parent missing their child—will take it to heart.

“It’s warm,” I blurt, thinking of the wheat field.

Some shush others, curiosity winning out, and the voices die down a little.

“It feels like the sun. No injection, no ImagiSerum, no LifeSuPod, no pills. The disease is in our minds . . . but the cure is there too. God has not left us without a way out.” It’s like Mom’s and Nole’s words are coming out of my mouth. “He is the way—”

Something strikes my cheek with such impact my vision goes black. When it returns, I see a man leaning over the wall to my right, a rock the size of a baseball in his hand. He reaches his other hand into the bag on the edge of the Arena and pulls out another rock. A few others come to his side and do the same.

The bags are filled with . . . rocks?

That’s not what I expected. A chill sweeps over my body.

Now I understand. The bags. Luc’s words about a traitor. The crowd’s curious whispering. My body laid out in full vulnerability.

They’re going to stone me.

The crowd presses against the edge of the Arena’s seating barrier gathering their stones. This is going to get ugly fast. Those who don’t join the rush do nothing to help me. They sit mute, watching. Resigned.

A form drops from the sky like a plummeting meteorite. Luc is here. He lands in the sand and straightens in an all-black Roman toga. No weapon at his side. No blood on his hands. Unafraid and in power. He’s never looked so strong or commanding.

Most of the standing crowd stops cheering. I search for those who seem to remain silent, keeping away from the bags. Anyone who might still hear me.

“You started without me?” Luc says amiably.

There is laughter, like murder is nothing more than an inconsequential game of Uno. He creates a long straight sword from nightmist. It’s not tapered like a gladius but is instead the type a Roman leader might wear. A spatha.

He paces around me in a circle, dragging the sword in the sand, sliding stones aside as he goes. “So tell me. What is his crime?”

“He’s a Spore!”

“He lied about cures!”

“He wants to kill our Emperor!”

After a full circle, Luc surveys the ground. Then starts again, a yard farther than the first circle. He’s making a bull’s-eye. And I’m in the middle.