“This one is different, though, isn’t he?” Those words were charged. Did he know? Damocles flashed a small smile. “Our last. It should be a celebration, shouldn’t it? We survived the culling, Discordia.”

Discordia eased her hand beneath her jacket and touched the hilt of her blade. “I’m not in a celebratory mood.”

“No?” He slid his thumb along his own blade. “That’s a pity. I saved him for you. You’re going to be my future Archontissa, after all. We all know how this game finishes, who Father prefers.” His tone was bitter poison. “Think of this as my first offering.”

Discordia didn’t dare look at Xander. If she did, she’d falter. Then her chance to save Xander would be gone.

“I won’t kill him while he’s bound,” she said, as if disappointed in him. “Don’t deny me a challenge, Damocles. Especially as a first offering.”

“Of course.” He waved a hand in Xander’s direction. “You’re free to untie him.”

Thank the gods. Discordia kept her steps measured so he wouldn’t see her eagerness.

The flicker of gratitude in Xander’s gaze almost undid her. It’s all right, frater, she wanted to say. I’ve got you.

“Tell me one thing first.” Damocles’s voice cut across the dark room, quick as a whip. Jarring enough that she paused. “Did you really choose this coward over me, Discordia?”

Betray nothing.

Discordia straightened, the way any general might when faced with insubordination. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” His laugh was brittle. “So, he wasn’t seen speaking to you on Macella? He didn’t send you word to meet him here?”

She raised her eyebrows, ignoring the tremor that went through her. Had someone caught them on the cameras in the cloak room she was sure she’d disabled? He sounded mildly interested, but she could hear the edge to his words. Damocles was not capable of keeping his anger reined in for long. He had never been taught to make peace, and her attempts at teaching him strategy had been a source of frustration for years.

But as a priest to the God of Death? He played that role to perfection.

“Weighing my options is practical, Damocles,” she said, cool and composed. “That doesn’t mean I chose him as my second.”

The lie came so easily that Xander went still.

Damocles’s laugh was low, like when he managed to make her bleed in the middle of sparring. “Weighing your options,” he repeated. His blade shook. “Weighing your options.”

Discordia grasped her knife. “Damocles—”

She flung the blade, but he dodged it. The clang of metal echoed in the old factory. Damocles’s snarl sent a chill through her: “I’m your only fucking option. I always have been.”

He shoved his blade into Xander’s side.