He gave me a faint shrug. “I have faith in him.”

To be fair, I was rooting for Trev as well, though my reason revolved mostly around the possibility of speaking to him later about the Red Threads faction and the Darklings. The announcer motioned for the crowd to simmer down, their shouts and cheers too loud and persistent, even for his ears.

“Now, gentlemen, you know the rules! This is a fight to the death. There are no rules!” He laughed out loud, throwing his head back for good measure. “Only one of you will leave this place alive. To he who dies today, I thank you, on behalf of our empire, for your bravery and determination. May there be fields of gold and rivers of sweet water and nights of pure bliss wherever your soul shall go next. You shall die a hero.”

One of the referees stood up as Fenyx and Trev assumed their attack positions, eyeing each other coldly. “On my mark!” he shouted. “Begin!”

Fenyx and Trev circled one another for a while. The crowd mostly chanted the Aeternae’s name. The Rimian didn’t seem bothered at all. I assumed he couldn’t even hear them anymore, focused exclusively on his opponent.

My heart leapt into my throat when Fenyx came at him, wildly swinging his scimitars. Trev stood still, and I braced myself for his most violent death. At the last moment, he slid to the right, and Fenyx wound up hurtling past him.

By the time the Aeternae stopped and swerved around to attack again, Trev had already begun his own offensive, darting toward Fenyx. Their swords clashed with a brain-scratching clang, Trev’s blade caught in the cross of the scimitars. Fenyx lifted his leg to kick the Rimian in the gut, but Trev was much faster and used his left leg to swipe at the Aeternae’s ankle. He knocked Fenyx down, shocking him—and the crowd, judging by the heartfelt gasps.

Trev then drove his sword into the ground, missing Fenyx’s head by inches. The Aeternae wasn’t ready to die yet, but he was clearly astonished by the Rimian’s speed and agility. He’d underestimated his opponent, as brute force did not work on Trev.

“He should’ve known he wouldn’t take Trev down with pure brawn,” I said.

“I suppose it’s a common misconception among my people… that Rimians are physically inferior and unable to survive in the arena for long,” Kalon replied. “Even after his previous victories, there are many Aeternae who still think they can beat him.”

Fenyx was fast as lightning, despite his size, but still sluggish when compared to Trev—which surprised me, as well. Biologically speaking, Rimians were closer to humans than they were to vampires, but Trev seemed like the athletic exception. They danced around each other, occasionally slashing with their swords, but neither drew blood.

It went on for a while, and some of the people in the audience started to groan, rolling their eyes and shouting at Fenyx to “kill that wretched Rimian already.” It made my skin crawl, but it also amplified my own desire to see Trev win this, just to spite these elitist assholes.

Fenyx, empowered by the crowd that favored him, began another attack.

Light on his feet, Trev was more than ready. He vanished out of the Aeternae’s way and quickly turned around, swinging his sword. The tip of the blade cut through a leather strap, drawing a spring of blood from Fenyx’s side.

“Argh…” the Aeternae grunted. He went after Trev again, but failed once more, getting cut a second time in the process.

The more he fought, the more tired and angry he got, and the Rimian played on these emotions with a smile on his face. He was enjoying this, watching the fighter before him descend into the very weakness that might secure his survival.

Fenyx brought his scimitars down simultaneously, and Trev once again avoided the hit. This time, however, he managed to drive his sword into the Aeternae’s side, where he’d already cut him earlier. Fenyx cried out in pain, and Trev punched him in the face, breaking several teeth. The move also made the Aeternae lose grip on his weapons.

With remarkable speed, Trev caught one of the scimitars before it fell to the ground, without letting go of the sword he kept pushed into Fenyx’s side. Before the Aeternae could even react, Trev swung out and cut off his head.

Only then did he pull his own blade back and drop the bloodied scimitar. The arena went quiet all of a sudden. I held my breath, for a moment fooling myself into thinking that maybe none of this was real. That I’d imagined it.

But as Kalon’s hand covered mine on the armrest, I knew… it was all real. And Trev Blayne had just won the tournament final. As Fenyx fell backward, his head rolling into the sand, the people jumped to their feet. Many were upset, cursing and frantically waving their hands around. They’d lost plenty of gold coins, it seemed. The few who’d bet on Trev, however, were absolutely ecstatic, cheering and whistling and clapping their hands so hard that it made their palms red.

“Well, then,” Kalon muttered, a satisfied smirk stretching his lips. “I guess I’ve made a small fortune today by simply having faith in my friend.”

“Congratulations are in order, then,” I replied.

He looked at me, and there were unspoken thoughts in his cold blue eyes. Unanswered questions. Wandering ideas. All of them converging on this particular moment, as time stood still around us. Trev was covered in sweat and Fenyx’s blood, but his gaze was bright as he grinned and raised his sword in the air.

“The champion, Trev Blayne!” the announcer said, his voice shaky. He hadn’t seen this coming, either. They’d all expected Fenyx to win. Maybe this was a lesson they would all finally learn—to never underestimate the “little guy.” Those with a clear disadvantage had more to lose and more to win, so they trained twice as much and fought thrice as hard. Trev had proven himself, beyond the shadow of a reasonable doubt.

“I think we should go down into the fighter pits and give Trev our congratulations,” Kalon said, and I nodded enthusiastically.

We weren’t really going there to tell the Rimian man, “Well done.” We were going there to get him to answer some questions—if Kalon was right, and Trev were to ask to be turned into an Aeternae, then he would be compelled to cooperate with our investigation.

After seeing him fight, I didn’t find it far-fetched that Trev could be associated with the Red Threads. He clearly had what it took to go against pretty much anyone. But if he was a traitor, if he’d had anything to do with Nethissis’s death, there wasn’t a single thing or a single soul on Visio that could protect him from me. From my wrath.

Esme

Not long after Trev was awarded a sculptural gold trophy and a leather bag filled with precious coins, he retreated into the fighters’ pits. The day was coming to an end in the Blood Arena, as most of the fights took place in the morning and into the early afternoon, so we also had the benefit of a nonexistent audience down there.

Few people had come to congratulate Trev, so, by the time Kalon and I entered the pit, he was on his own, wiping the blood from his armor plates and occasionally smiling at the trophy and leather bag.

“I knew you’d win, but still, congratulations, my friend!” Kalon said, surprising him.

Trev shot to his feet, dropping the armor and oiled cloth. He was beaming with pride and sheer joy, his breath still ragged, the adrenaline still bursting through him like wildfire. I could certainly understand the flurry of emotions that Trev displayed—after all, he’d just survived a most vicious fight in the Blood Arena without even getting hurt. Unlike the Aeternae, the Rimians and Naloreans took longer to heal, and from what Kalon had told me, Aeternae blood was not readily available to help with the recovery. It was, in fact, illegal to provide Aeternae blood without the high priestess’s authorization.

“You saw the fight,” Trev replied.

Kalon walked across the pit and threw his arms around the Rimian, hugging him tight for a good minute before he pulled back and patted him on the shoulders. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Well done. It looked almost effortless.”

“It wasn’t.” Trev chuckled. “I’m just thankful to be alive. This whole tournament thing is a lot messier than I remembered it as a child.”

“Well, it’s one thing to watch it from the stands, all starry eyed and with no understanding of true physical pain, and something else entirely being the one wielding the sword,” Kalon said. “But you pulled through, nonetheless. I’m proud of you, Trev.”

“I owe it to you and the master commander. I doubt I’d have pulled through without your training and guidance.” Trev paused to look at me. “I heard about your witch friend. Please accept my condolences.”

Nodding slowly, I cut right to the chase. “And I heard about your affiliation with the Red Threads. We should talk.”

The good mood was spirited away in an instant. Trev’s smile dropped, replaced by a cold scowl as he moved his gaze between Kalon and me. The air thickened, tension rising, as I’d clearly struck a nerve.

“You can’t say she’s not efficient in communicating.” Kalon chuckled nervously as he looked at his friend with a guilty half-smile. He wasn’t comfortable in this position, but there was nothing either of us could do about it. This whole moment was like a band-aid. It had to be pulled fast. There would be pain, but we’d all feel better about it in the end.

“What is this about the Red Threads?” Trev asked, his tone clipped.

“A Rimian faction known to be associated with the Darklings,” I said, unwavering and determined to get to the truth today.

Trev frowned at Kalon. “I’m loyal to the Visentis dynasty. I always have been. To accuse me of consorting with anarchists is downright insulting.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, and neither is Esme,” Kalon replied. “But we did hear that you are connected to the Red Threads. I just need the truth, Trev. I will not punish you for it. I only ask that you do not lie to me. For the sake of our friendship and your loyalty to my house.”

Trev shook his head. “I’ve heard about the Red Threads, but I promise you, I’m not involved. I’ve kept my head down, sticking to my tournaments, fighting and training for the past five years.”

“Then why would a fellow Rimian mention you as a Red Thread associate?” I asked.

“It’s funny.” Trev scoffed, looking at Kalon. “You say she’s not accusing me, but the words coming out of her mouth sound more and more like accusations to me.”

“We just need to know,” I said. “I’m merely relaying another Rimian’s account of you. With all due respect, of course.”

Trev straightened his back, clearly insulted. “Who is it that speaks such things about me, then?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Kalon replied. “The information was given under the condition of anonymity.”