Godsgrave

“She is fast as the wind,” Leona replied.

“She’s too young. It’ll be years before she’s ready for the sand.”

“Five men,” Leona repeated, “in five minutes.”

“She’s a girl,” the big man growled.

“So was I,” the dona replied softly. “And you never thought lesser of me for it.”

“One sniff of her and the men will lose their fucking minds.”

“Did my father not say the same about me when I’d visit the collegium? And was it not you who asked that I be allowed to stay? To learn?”

“A different tale, Mi Dona. You were the domini’s daughter. This slip’s going to be down in the barracks with the rest of them.”

“And until she proves herself in the Winnowing, you will ensure my investment comes to no harm,” Leona said coolly.

“She’ll never survive the Winnowing.”

“Then you will have the distinct pleasure of saying ‘I told you so,’ Executus.”

The big man scowled at Mia. She met his stare, just for a second. Fury burned in the blacks of her pupils as a silent vow echoed in her mind.

You’ll be eating those words come truelight, bastard.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“They call me Crow, Mi Don,” she replied, eyes once more to the floor.

“Do I look like a fucking don to you, girl? You will address me as Executus.”

It was all Mia could do not to bury her knee in his bollocks. Punch his teeth loose from his jaw and dance on his head.

“Yes, Executus,” she replied.

The man glowered, his expression turned all the darker by his scar. Bladework, she reckoned. Probably earned somewhere on the sand. He moved like a fighter. Graceful and powerful, despite the missing leg.

“We sail on the morrowtide,” Leona said. “The sooner we return to Crow’s Nest and begin her training, the better.”

Mia’s heart surged in her chest.

“… Crow’s Nest?” she whispered.

The slap knocked her back into the wall. Her head cracked on the stone and she collapsed to her knees, gasping. She was back on her feet in a moment, eyes flashing with hatred as she glared at the man who’d slapped her. But quick as silver, the executus’s fist crashed into her belly, sending her to her knees once more.

He’s fast …

Mia felt a brutish hand in her hair, dragging back her head as she gasped in pain.

“You forget your place, girl,” the big man said. “If ever again you speak in presence of your domina without being spoken to, I’ll set my blade to your tongue and feed it to my fucking dog. Do you hear me?”

Patience …

“Yes, Executus,” she whispered.

The man grunted, released his hold. Mia glanced up at Leona, saw the woman regarding her with a cool, imperious gaze. Whatever her opinion of Mia’s martial skills, it was clear her new domina had no issue with her man’s brutal methods.

After a moment’s tense silence, Dona Leona turned to the administratii, still waiting patiently in the corridor.

“Come, then, be about your work.”

The administratii shuffled into the cell, his novice beside him. The boy plonked the tall chair down beside Mia, opened the mahogany box he carried and proffered it to the administratii. Inside Mia saw a collection of iron needles. Powders in stoppered phials, small bottles of ink. Her shadow surged, fear swelling in her belly. She knew this was coming. It was all part of the game. But still …

“Sit,” the administratii said.

Mia dragged herself up from the floor, glanced at the buckles and straps on the chair’s armrests. They obviously intended to bind her for what came next. She knew if she spoke again, she’d only earn herself another blow. And so she fixed her stare on the small barred window, the blue sky beyond. And she remained standing.

The executus growled deep, raised his hand to strike.

“Do as you’re—”

“No,” Dona Leona said, watching Mia with curious eyes. “Let her stand.”

“All respect, Dona Leona,” said the administratii, “but this is no simple inkwerk. The process is arkemical. The pain immense. She is likely to swoon.”

Mia thought back to her scourging at Weaver Marielle’s hands and almost laughed at the word. That same laughter twinkled in the Dona Leona’s eyes.

“A hundred silver says she does nothing of the sort.”

The executus groaned softly. The administratii looked taken aback.

“I am not a gambling man, Mi Dona.”

“But you are a man who insists on telling me what I already know?” Leona’s tone turned razor-sharp. “I grew up in the finest gladiatii collegium in all the Itreyan Republic. I know how a damned slave brand works. Now proceed.”

The administratii almost succeeded in stifling his sigh. He turned to the box, set about unstopping phials, mixing components into a shallow glass bowl. The poisoncrafter in Mia watched with interest, noting the way the arkemical concoction came together, bubbling and hissing and spitting black.

The administratii dipped his needle, raised it to Mia’s face. The novice stood behind her, held her head steady. The girl forced herself to be still, grit her teeth. Lining up the steel against Mia’s cheek, the administratii hefted a thin jeweler’s hammer. The girl held her breath. And without further foreplay, the administratii smacked the needle through Mia’s cheek and straight into the bone beyond.

Black fire. Burning agony. Mia’s eyes grew wide, pupils dilated, the pain lancing through her skull and stealing her breath away. Her knees buckled, black stars bursting in her eyes. The administratii stepped back, obviously expecting her to fall. But with her shadow swelling, chest heaving, the girl remained on her feet.

Mia looked at Leona. The dona was watching her with a growing smile.

“Well?” the woman asked the administratii. “Proceed!”

The man shrugged, and with no more pause for drama, began hammering the needle into Mia’s cheek, over and over again. Small series of three tiny blows, each like a thunderclap in her head.

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