Ice and Fire

Beasts

You will win. And when you do, you will finally deserve everything I have given you. You will deserve the trust I have always placed in you. And you will become the man I know you can be.

What do I deserve for this performance? Two days in the treacherous quicksands of demokracy and, already, I am flailing about, shrieking for deliverance, lost in the throes of my turbulent emotions. Somewhere, I'm sure, Augustus is laughing at me. And, doubtless, Mother is, too.

What a poor excuse for a Bellona, this one.

Because I lost today—and not only because Antonia siphoned my momentum with consummate ease, swatted me like an irksome pest. I let Titus humiliate me with impunity when I should've answered his aspersions with blood. I let Vindictus manipulate me as pliably as fired clay, liable to be formed into whatever shape he pleases. I let Pollux distract me from the purpose of this gorydamn game with trifling concerns—as if it makes a fig of difference what girl Darrow wants, who I'll be compelled to watch him flaunt, caress, tease, kiss. As if there's not a single one whose mere sight won't sting like a Venusian acid ant.

And rather than distancing myself from Darrow, as I ought to do, for the sake of my cause, of my health and my sanity, I have bound myself to him. In the midst of a tempest, I've trebleknotted my vessel to his. With every passing moment, that knot tightens. And with every passing moment that we are absent from the dreadful din of our discordant House, our vessels take water. Soon, they will sink.

Rather surprisingly, I'm not the only one who's laid a bet on this lowBorn. Roque and Lea followed us, unbidden. Lea, of course, is merely trailing behind Roque. But Roque—I'm not sure why he's here. Because of my offhand comment about Aurelius? At this point, he has nothing to gain from an alliance with us. His Draft is no less enviable and his name is no less illustrious than mine. And, as Antonia made abundantly clear, he's no less posed to win Primus than anyone else. He has an effortless eloquence, a subtle wit, and an endearing humility that makes him impossible to dislike.

Yet he isn't seeking Primus. He barely speaks to anyone but Lea. He avoids the other highs. And he's befriended no one of strategic value but Darrow. Why? Is there a clever gambit here I'm not seeing? An insidious design?

Or a lecherous one. Does he want Darrow, too?

"You might've mentioned, Bellona," Roque says as we descend the steps that open into the square, "that your former flame was the type to set fire to her own House if it means her enemies might also burn."

I chuckle. "I would've thought the 'Julii' at the end of her name made that ripe clear."

Darrow leads us by a pace. He stops just shy of the gate to stare at the iron hinges, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. "Well, fortunately, we've got no fire, so we don't have to worry about coming back to cinders."

I cannot help but smile at even the hint of wryness in his voice. I find my eyes lingering on his jawline, clenched into a scowl, for far too long. On the lips, firm in contemplation, that I'll never kiss.

Gorydamn it, I am my own nemesis.

Roque doesn't share our levity. "It really should be our priority, Darrow. Without fire, we cannot eat. Not safely. And it may be summer now, but autumn will come. Winter will come. And if we haven't starved by then, without fire, we'll surely freeze." He raises an eyebrow at my disbelieving look. "Even Gold has its limits, Bellona."

"Still, that's a touch premature, don't you think, Fabii?" I tease. "I daresay we'll have bigger problems than unfriendly weather in this game."

He sighs. "You should not underestimate the hostility of an environment, Cassius." He cocks his head. "As you should well know. Don't you have a relative that died of exposure?"