“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.”
Kalon was telling a half-truth here. The gardener had not specifically requested that his name be kept out of such conversations, but he was terrified. The need for anonymity was implied by his body language, far more powerful than words.
I wanted to believe Trev, but I couldn’t. His heartrate was frantic. I could hear his pulse throbbing in my ears. However, I doubted we’d get much more out of him today. It dawned on me that surveillance might be a better option in his case, and I was eager to suggest it to Kalon, as well.
“Then how can I defend myself from such accusations,” Trev said, “if you can’t even tell me the name of my accuser?”
“No one accused you of being part of the Red Threads, specifically.” Kalon sighed, hands resting on his hips. “Someone simply heard a rumor about you being in cahoots with them.”
“Well, I’m not!” Trev snapped. “I would never betray the empire, and you know it.”
“I do,” Kalon muttered, stealing a glance at me, as if I’d made him do a most horrendous thing. It was an interesting dynamic for me to follow—Kalon softened visibly when he was around Trev. These two really were thick as thieves, and this whole line of questioning made Kalon extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t like causing Trev such distress. I could almost sympathize with his torment, had it not been for the deception I was clearly capturing from Trev. Then again, Kalon should’ve been able to sense it, too. After all, his hearing and smell were as good as a vampire’s, if not better.
“I do apologize for making you feel this way,” I said, offering a polite bow. “We just had to make sure.”
I decided not to pursue him directly anymore. With every second that passed, I became increasingly convinced that secrecy was a better path. Kalon reached out a hand, and Trev shook it firmly, his expression mellower.
“You got the trophy and the coins, but what did you choose for your grand prize?” he asked the Rimian.
“You know what I want,” Trev said. “You’ll be receiving a letter from the Blood Arena with my official request, soon enough.”
