Petros smiled tightly. “Then perhaps you know of the Quarry Bull. He’s been raking in quite a purse these past months. Four matches he’s beaten my best fighters.”
“We don’t know anyone named the Bull, we told you,” said Cassia. Her dark hair was pulled back in a knot, showing the angry crimson of her cheeks.
“Easy, my dear,” said Seneca. “There’s no need for disrespect.”
Petros smiled.
“There’s little use denying it, girl. I have eyes everywhere.” Petros sighed, stepping closer to Madoc. “The Bull, as he’s called, ran off with last night’s take. I’d very much like to discuss that with him.”
Ava gave a quiet wince, telling Madoc that he was squeezing her too tightly. He loosened his grip, trying to look casual.
“How can we help?” Elias asked.
Petros chuckled, glancing at Elias’s dirty tunic. “You can tell me where to find the young man who fights with mortar stains on his clothes, who’s built like he’s spent long days hauling rocks with the strength of his back, not his geoeia.”
It didn’t matter how tall Madoc had become, or how many years had passed. When Petros narrowed his beady gaze on him, he wanted to disappear.
He hadn’t been careful enough. Few Divine did manual jobs, not when they could use their power to make more money.
Petros knew they’d been fighting. That they’d been winning. As much as Madoc had longed to confront his father, to own that he had been the one to take the winnings, he had not seen it playing out like this, with his family and Seneca standing watch.
“There’s no money here, dominus,” said the guard, resuming his place at Petros’s side.
Madoc’s pulse beat between his temples. He wanted these men out of this house, far away from the Metaxas. He wanted to forget the anger, and the pain, and the memories he’d locked so deep inside that he could almost pretend they weren’t a part of him. But they were a part of him, and now with each breath the past dug its claws deeper into his lungs.
You don’t belong here. You’re a disappointment to any god.
Elias laughed weakly. “I don’t know anything about that. We’re stonemasons, not fighters.”
“There you have it,” said Ilena. “Now, if you—”
“You used to live in one of the Divine districts, did you not? Glykeria? No, Kyphus.”
Ilena dipped her head, hiding the clench in her jaw. “Yes, dominus.”
Petros knew they had lived in Kyphus because six years ago, he’d taken Elias’s father for his unpaid gambling debts. Ilena had been left alone, pregnant and with three young children, as well as Madoc. And when they’d been unable to pay off what he owed, the tax collector had sold him to the arena, to be used as practice in the matches against real gladiators.
No amount of stonecutting skill could help him. Elias’s father had lasted only a week.
Behind Ilena, Cassia was gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles. She’d once told Madoc that the reason she wanted to become a centurion was to stop men like Petros. She’d applied every year for the legion since she was twelve, even though they didn’t take anyone under eighteen. Barely a day went by that she didn’t practice their training exercises in the alley behind the apartment.
He prayed she didn’t lose her temper now.
“I’m sure you think there isn’t much farther to fall than this heap of rubble and filth, but believe me, there is.” Tension thinned the air as Petros stepped closer to Madoc, forcing Elias to cram against the wall to stay out of his way. “It would be a poor decision to lie to me.”
“Please,” Cassia said. “We know—”
“Quiet,” Seneca cautioned her. Her eyes were water blue, nearly translucent as they landed accusingly on Madoc.
“Tell me, Madoc,” said Petros. “When did your geoeia reveal itself?”
Madoc froze. Petros remembered his name.
It shouldn’t have been a shock, but it was. Madoc hadn’t heard his father say his name in thirteen years. He’d assumed Petros had forgotten it, just as he’d forgotten him.
“Dominus, please.” Ilena stepped closer to his side, edging in front of Madoc and Ava. “My son is Undivine. He has no geoeia.”
“Your son,” said Petros, bringing a wash of shame through Madoc’s chest. Birth mother or not, Ilena was the closest thing to a parent he had. Madoc could hardly believe Petros was challenging the claim. “Did I not tell you it was unwise to lie to me?”
Petros raised his hand. With a twitch of his finger he summoned a stone from the wall and sent it hurtling toward Ilena.
“No!” Cassia shouted, launching herself forward. She was fast, but not fast enough. As she pushed her mother aside, the stone glanced off Ilena’s head, drawing a gash the size of a fist across her forehead.
Chaos erupted inside Madoc. With Ava still in one arm, he dropped to catch Ilena, terror punching through his ribs. As his adoptive mother blinked up at him, dazed, Madoc caught sight of a ceramic bowl flying off a shelf, crumbling to pieces in midair.
“Cassia, stop!” Elias cried, trying to block the fragments of clay before they hit Petros or his guard. It was illegal to use Earth Divine gifts against a government official. Citizens were imprisoned for even suggesting they could.
The guard swung in front of Petros, turning the shards to dust before they reached their mark. With a roar, he cut his arms in a wide arc, clapping his hands before him with a deafening boom. The walls around them shuddered as gravel and loose bits of stone came flying toward Cassia. Danon dived under the table, and Madoc thrust a screaming Ava toward him, dragging Ilena to safety as Elias tried to contain his sister.
“Please!” From somewhere across the room, Madoc heard Seneca’s voice. He looked frantically for her through the dust—the old woman could hardly stand without support. She couldn’t make it down the stairs without assistance. A blast like this could topple her. “You’ll bring the house down!”
The rumbling halted, but dust floated in the air, gleaming in the light from the door.
“Enough,” said Petros. Madoc coughed as he rose from beneath the table. He glanced to Elias, the gasp withering in his throat as he found Cassia’s arms pinned to the wall by molded clay. She struggled against her bindings, back bowing. Strips of hair clung to her dirty face.
“She’s sorry,” Elias was saying. “She didn’t mean anything by it. She was just trying to protect our mother.”
Tears of frustration streamed down Cassia’s cheeks.
“Are we done lying?” Petros asked.
Madoc wanted to kill him. Wanted to tear him limb from limb. He could barely feel the buzz of all the warring emotions in the room over his own hate.
“Let’s see your geoeia, Great Quarry Bull,” said Petros. “A little demonstration. I doubt anyone will notice if you make a mess.” He motioned to the chairs, tipped over or broken. The fragments of dishes burrowed into the red mat at Madoc’s feet. The candles were snuffed out and broken against the ground; the only light came through the open door.
“I have no geoeia.”
Petros lifted his hand again, and the bindings tightened around Cassia’s wrists. Her scream of agony cut him to the marrow. Frantically, Elias pulled at the clay with his geoeia, but each effort only doubled the bonds. Petros would not loosen his hold.