The century of Roman soldiers they had left behind had been busy too. Men knelt in the sand, tying together bundles of purple grass, while others thatched the roofs of crumbling longhouses, the spear hafts of the dead Grays forming the structure the grass was tied to.

The newly arrived Romans cheered at the sight of the camp, but their voices fell silent when Atticus strode out from the shadows. His face was grim, mouth drawn tight.

“Bring them to me,” he barked, pointing at Cade and the others.

There was a moment of silence. For a brief second, Cade caught Marius’s gaze, before the man lowered his eyes and rough hands took hold of his arms.

He did not resist—he knew he could never overpower these men. And beyond these walls … was only death. No, this was all part of the game. He and his fellow contenders were the players, and these Romans were the pieces. He had to learn how to play them.

The longhouse they were shoved into was smoky, lit by flickering torchlight.

But Cade was more concerned with the sight of Quintus, tied to a frame made of spears, his body naked but for a loincloth. His flesh was a mess of red welts, and Cade forced himself to choke back a cry.

They had not kept Quintus for interrogation. They had kept him back for torture.

Cade was pushed to his knees in front of Quintus, the others falling to the floor beside him. Atticus strode in front of them, a knotted rope in his hand.

“Your boy here refuses to speak,” the legatus said in Latin. “But I know he can. What secret are you hiding?”

The Codex whispered the translation in Cade’s ear.

“Marius!” Atticus bellowed.

Marius’s footsteps thudded closer to Cade. “Yes, Legatus.”

“Ask this boy where the Codex is. Ask him where the flying ball that speaks is.”

Marius crouched beside Cade. “The Codex,” he whispered. “Now is the time to speak.”

His words were urgent, but Cade hardly registered them. Instead, he looked to Quintus.

The boy’s face was taut with pain, his body drenched in sweat. Yet, despite his obvious discomfort and exhaustion, Quintus’s eyes were bright—he knew exactly what was going on.

A soft shake of his head was all the answer Cade needed.

“We have no Codex. No ball,” Cade replied in halting Latin.

Atticus raised a brow, surprised. “At least one of them speaks,” he snarled. “How are you here? Have you not communed with the gods?”

Cade breathed deeply, biting his lip and lifting his eyes as if thinking of the Latin words. In the walk back, he’d had time to consider what he would say to Marius. Now, he would say it to Atticus instead.

Without the Codex, they were expendable. They needed Atticus to need them as much as they needed him.

“Our commander stays in the keep—our home. He controls the Codex,” Cade said, stuttering awkwardly with the Latin.

He spoke as loudly and clearly as he could. This was for the soldiers who held the contenders down to hear, and the men who would be eavesdropping outside. If this was to be his opportunity to speak, then he would have to make it count.