Robert Newcomb: Rise of the Blood Royal

As he again turned his attention to the arena, Gracchus plopped a grape into his mouth.

“So you see, my dear Benedik, aside from the arrival of theJin’Sai on this side of the world, all is as it should be,” he added. “And given time, even he will be dealt with.”

Hearing the buglers again blow their horns, everyone in the royal box looked toward the arena floor. On Vespasian’s order, Shashidan skeens were entering the arena. They wore only meager loincloths and were shackled hand and foot. Each slave carried something across his or her back, their bodies bent low under the crushing weight. As they were whipped, they staggered across the arena floor as best they could.

When the crowd realized the nature of the slaves’ burdens, they cheered and stamped so loudly that they could be heard in the farthest reaches of Ellistium. They were witnessing the ultimate humiliation, and its savage cleverness endeared their young emperor to them even more.

Across each slave’s back, tied together with stout rope, lay several bars of their own gold, recently stolen from the Vallesis Majestatis. Sitting back in his ivory chair, Gracchus smiled.

From behind the protection of her gauzy veil, Julia Idaeus wiped away a tear.