“In which case,” Maya said, “we’ll have plenty of time to … talk about this. After you’ve thought about it.”
“Okay.” Beq’s voice sounded stronger. “Thank you.”
“Go get some rest.”
“You too,” Beq said.
She paused, awkwardly, as the Legionaries opened the door. Then, catching Maya’s eye one last time, she shuffled out. The guards closed the door behind her, and Maya was again alone.
Chosen fucking defend. She fell back on the bed, head still spinning. She kissed me. For a moment, all her other problems seemed far away. She really kissed me.
Now all I have to do is win.
*
The Forge’s dueling ground, like the rest of the fortress, had been built to a titanic scale to accommodate a golden age that had never come. The arena was an oval ring several hundred meters across, floored with sand. Dozens of huge rough-cut stone pillars were strewn around it, leaving a clear space in the very center. Given the rarity of formal duels between centarchs, the place saw more use as a training field, and the stones were scorched, chipped, and twisted in a mute testament to the eager agathia who’d sparred here.
A ring of seats surrounded the arena, protected from any stray energy by a wall of unmetal-laced glass. They were already filling up when Maya and her guards arrived, centarchs in their colored cloaks claiming the best view in the center, with the drabber figures of scouts, arcanists, quartermasters, and servants settling in around them. It looks like the whole Order turned out. Maya hadn’t imagined there were so many people in the Forge.
Beq would be down there, somewhere. The thought of her sent a thrill through Maya, which she tried hard to banish. Win first. Sort out your love life later.
They’d arrived on the highest level, a spectator’s balcony that overhung the seats. The two Legionaries waited patiently by the stairs as Maya looked over the arena, trying to fix in her mind the positions of all the stone pillars. When the height started making her a little dizzy, she returned to them, and they took her back to the stairs. They switchbacked through several more landings, past the tunnels that led to the seats, and finally reached an archway guarded by another pair of soldiers. Maya guessed they were now level with the floor of the arena.
The guards motioned for her to stop. After a moment, Evinda Stonecutter emerged from the doorway, recognizable only by the colored fringe on her cloak. She was fully armored, haken on her hip, face concealed behind an unmetal helmet.
“Centarch.” Maya bowed.
“Agathios-Challenger Maya,” Evinda said, painfully correct as ever. “In the name of the Council, I offer you this final opportunity to retract your challenge, without prejudice.”
Not much chance of that. While the Council as a whole might prefer to avoid this, if she backed down she’d be entirely in Nicomidi’s power. As an agathios without a master, she had few formal rights. If she became a centarch, his ability to move against her would be much reduced.
“Thank you, Centarch. But I maintain my challenge.”
Evinda grunted, then paused. “I cannot approve of your action,” she said eventually. “It goes against tradition. But I must admire your courage.”
“Thank you, Centarch.”
“Your haken and panoply belt are waiting in the preparation area. Understand that they are being returned to you only for the duel, and no other purpose. If you are so lost to honor as to try to escape, I will be waiting.” Her hand brushed her haken.
“I understand, Centarch. I don’t plan to run away.”
The older woman nodded, then stepped out of Maya’s path. “You may proceed.”
The guards stayed behind as Maya walked into the tunnel. It entered a broader space, half changing room and half armory. There were benches and a small table, and racks full of equipment of all sorts—swords, axes, pole-arms, armor. Another door let out into the arena itself.
Tanax—Centarch Tanax Brokenedge now—sat on one of the benches, legs crossed, eyes closed as though lost in thought. He already wore his haken at his side, and the silvery length of a panoply belt was wound around his midsection over loose, informal fighting clothes. Maya’s own haken lay on the table, with her panoply belt beside it.
“Hello,” Maya said. Then paused, cleared her throat, and started again. “Greetings, Centarch.”
Tanax opened his eyes and inclined his head. “Agathios-Challenger.”
“Congratulations on your cognomen.”
“Thank you.”
Maya’s mouth was suddenly dry. She felt a stab of sympathy for Tanax, who hadn’t asked for his role in this drama. While the stakes were not as high for him, losing the duel on behalf of the centarchate would still shame him greatly, and no doubt cost him Nicomidi’s good opinion.
“I wanted to say—” she began, but Tanax cut her off.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“I know we have … had our differences. I hope you understand I was obeying orders when I brought you in. And while you deserve some punishment for your insubordination, I think …” He took a deep breath. “It’s possible my master has acted too harshly.”
“Possible,” Maya deadpanned.
“You know I have always tried to behave correctly. If you are willing to call off this foolish challenge, I swear I will petition my master and the Council on your behalf.”
“You’re too late,” Maya said. “Centarch Evinda already gave me my last chance outside.”
“Maya—”
“Besides,” she went on, “in your ‘correct behavior,’ have you ever considered the possibility that I was right? First about Raskos’ corruption, and now about Jaedia.”
“My master says—”
“Your master is up to his neck in it,” Maya snapped. “Right next to Raskos.”
“That’s enough.” Tanax shot to his feet. “It’s one thing to defend yourself. To suggest that a Kyriliarch of the Council could be involved in base corruption is absurd. Do you seriously think that someone like Nicomidi would betray the Order for coin?”
In her own mind, Maya had to admit it seemed unlikely. But her anger was at a rolling boil, and she wasn’t about to tamp it down.
“You can try to ignore it for now,” Maya said. “But once we’re finished here, I’ll drag the Council’s noses through the shit myself, if I have to. They’ll smell it eventually.”
Tanax quivered, teeth clenched, and took a deep breath as he mastered himself. When he spoke, his voice was calm.
“You would make a good centarch someday, Maya. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Really?” Maya snatched up her haken and belt. “I’m not sure I can return the sentiment.”
*
They walked out together, through the forest of battered pillars, to the very center of the arena.
Maya tugged at her panoply belt, which still felt a bit off. In truth it didn’t matter whether it fit or not, but she was nervous, and trying hard not to touch the Thing for reassurance with half the Order watching. From the floor of the arena, she couldn’t make out individual faces, but the colored robes of the Council were clearly visible.