“When you see him,” Aelia said, taking a sip of her tea, “tell him there’s a leak in his old room, and it needs fixing.”

  “He probably already knows that,” Sporus said as they sat down on the couch next to her.

  “Of course he does,” she said, sounding like an annoyed old lady. “So he’s choosing to neglect his library.”

  “The Emperor owns this place?” Kara asked.

  “It was his first business,” Aelia said, letting the tea wet her lips, which were wrinkly and cracked just like her face. “He’s read every book in here many times over.”

  Karl got the feeling that wasn’t an overstatement.

  “I don’t see him much anymore,” she said more to herself. “Though I do all of his book shopping for him so he can get his hands on everything.”

  “I’ve heard he’s read up on all the cultures across the world,” Karl asked, curious what the Emperor was interested in.

  “Oh yes, he’s been very insistent upon that,” she said, nodding. “But he still can’t get his eyes off the classics.”

  “Is it the Odyssey?” Sporus asked.

  Aelia grunted, shaking her head. “No, but he’s read that too many times to count. He seems most obsessed with Ovid’s Metamorphoses lately, the gods know why. He actually just returned it, for the hundredth time, I think.”

  “Can we see it?” Sporus asked, hovering close by.

  Aelia shrugged. “I don’t see why not. As long as you don’t put any holes in my roof.”

  Instead of rising from her couch, which she seemed all too comfortable in, she instructed Constantia to guide Karl, Sporus, and Kara upstairs to the Emperor’s old room, which she claimed she hadn’t changed much. Apparently, Constantia had been here many times before and was well acquainted with the librarian, who treated her almost like an apprentice.

  The narrow wooden staircase creaked softly beneath their feet as they climbed to the single room that hung above the library. Constantia led the way, opening the door to a medium-sized stone chamber. The walls were lined with built-in shelves filled with leather-bound books and scrolls tied with cords. Everything was neatly arranged. There wasn’t much dust up here, as Karl would have expected. Some shelves showed gaps, as if books had been removed long ago and never returned.

  “He comes here sometimes to think,” Constantia said, letting her hand trail gracefully across the deep red tapestries hanging along the walls.

  “It’s so quiet in here,” Kara said, her eyes flickering to a large painting that dominated one wall. It depicted an older man with a thick beard, his eyes tired but full of wisdom.

  “That’s why he likes it,” Sporus said, looking at the painting with reverence.

  “That’s Marcus Aurelius,” Constantia said, beaming with pride at having known it. Karl thought briefly of Meditations and remembered the wisdom he had found there.

  The small room held a simple wooden bed frame with a feather mattress. It looked as though it hadn’t been slept in for months, yet it remained perfectly made.

  The wooden desk beside the bed looked far less restful.

  Books were piled across it alongside a candle holder, an inkwell, and several feathers for writing, with a single window opposite the door letting in moonlight. Karl let his eyes linger on the desk, which looked busy and frequently used, while the bed appeared neglected.

  “This must be the book,” Constantia said as she walked to the desk.

  She glanced at Sporus as if seeking his approval. He said nothing, only grimaced, as he joined Karl and Kara at the desk.

  Sprawled across the table was a massive book, easily over five hundred pages long, titled Metamorphoses.

  Karl couldn’t read a single word on the page, though Sporus and Constantia clearly could. They stared with astonishment at the lines of text, the margins filled with ink scribbles that were presumably Maximus’s notes.

  After several minutes of silence, Karl grew frustrated and pulled out his Oculus Sapientia, holding the small magnifying glass over the book.

  The underlined words of the poem were disturbing.

  But now he was nearing the upper air,

  and fearing lest she might fail him,

  eager to look upon her,

  the lover turned his eyes;

  and straightway she slipped back.

  Next to the underlined passage were Maximus’s own words:

  Only a man of consequence, sure of his ambition and without hesitation, can defeat death.

  Goosebumps crawled up Karl’s spine as he reread the Emperor’s line several times.

  “What is this story?” Kara asked as they all stepped back from the desk.

  “It’s Orpheus,” Sporus said, as Constantia continued staring at the page with a mix of fascination and terror. “He was a gifted poet. His wife, Eurydice, died, and he traveled to the underworld to beg Pluto and Persephone to return her.”

  “They agreed,” Karl said, understanding dawning, “as long as he didn’t look at her until they reached the surface.”

  Sporus nodded. “He feared she wasn’t following him. In that moment of hesitation, he looked back and lost her forever.”

  Karl let his eyes linger on the pages, as did Kara. Maximus had lost his wife to childbirth, and now his sons were fully grown. Karl couldn’t imagine losing Kara, let alone seeing her every day in their children.

  All of it only made the Emperor’s plans for the Colosseum—and the world beyond—more elusive and mysteriously terrifying.

  20

  A-MAZE ME

  “That book is pure smut,” the Trickster said after they left Aelia’s library an hour later.

  “No, it’s not,” Constantia said, gripping the book she had rented close to her chest. From the red blood flushing through her olive cheeks, it was clear the Trickster was probably right.

  “What is it about?” Björn asked as they walked through the still-lively streets, which were illuminated by street lamps that kept the darkness—and most crime—at bay.

  “It’s called Ovid’s Heroids,” the Trickster said from Karl’s shoulder. “It’s letters written by famous women to their absent lovers.”

  Sporus raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Constantia continued to blush and moved to the back of the group to be near Mýra, who seemed to have a fondness for the girl. Karl briefly overheard Mýra whispering for her to ignore the Trickster, though Justus thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

  They didn’t run into any gladiators seeking extra combat outside the walls and made it back to Aventine Hill safely. The sight that greeted them, however, wasn’t pleasant.

  Titus and Livia sat quietly on the couch, staring at the floor and appearing absent-minded while Felix and the other slaves were retiring for the evening. Joy flickered briefly across their faces when they saw their children return home safely.

  “We only went out for pizza and books,” Sporus explained as Titus and Livia hugged their kids and everyone settled back into the house.

  After Justus expounded on the delicious pizza they had devoured, and the children were sent to bed, the group gathered around Titus and Livia to hear what they had experienced. It didn’t look good.

  “He refused to meet with us,” Livia said, disdain dripping from her voice.

  “I feared as much,” Sporus said, pacing the room as the others sat on the couch.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Titus said, rubbing his light beard. “They didn’t deny us access to Domitian’s palace, but they let us wait without any explanation.”

  When Sporus told them what they had read about the Emperor’s obsession with Orpheus and Eurydice, Titus’s expression darkened further.

  “I feared his obsession with death would not subside after her passing,” he said.

  “How do his sons fit into this?” Livia asked. “It doesn’t make any sense why he would unnaturally grow them up so quickly. Perhaps he needs them for something?”

  “My father relied on my brothers and me to fulfill his ambitions,” Björn said, raising a thoughtful brow. “Perhaps it could be the same.”

  “Perhaps,” Sporus said, nodding.

  The night came to an uneasy end.

  As they prepared for the next day, Kara sharpened her blade in silence while Mýra tinkered with a Health potion, taking generous sips until the nosebleed she had suffered earlier finally stopped.

  Björn drank with Titus and Livia as they talked about the battles Maximus had endured to become emperor. Karl had to restrain the Trickster from eating the extra pizza slices meant for tomorrow, promising he could have them if any remained.

  When they finally went to bed, Karl found himself restless beside Kara, staring at the moonlight spilling into their small room.

  Kara shifted in the bed until she was face-to-face with him. “Your thoughts are never-ending,” she whispered, nestling her nose against his. “What is it?”

  “I keep thinking about Orpheus,” Karl admitted, letting his thoughts flow freely to her—how the man lost his wife to eternal separation when he had come so close to bringing her back from the dead.

  “You can’t let that control you,” she said, shaking her head. “Just look at what it’s done to the Emperor. It consumes him. Death is a glorious thing, after all.”

  Karl snorted. “For you it might be,” he said.

  Kara grinned, playing with his blond beard. “Regardless of how long we live, we’ll drink together in Valhalla.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” Karl whispered. “Or our baby.”

  “Let’s not think about tomorrow,” she said, wrapping her leg around his. As always, she helped him forget everything else as they delighted in each other.

  Karl slept deeply that night, granting him a second chance should he die unceremoniously in the next day’s round.

  After a generous breakfast of eggs, figs, and flatbread dipped in olive oil, Titus, Livia, and the children escorted them back to the Colosseum for round two. Mýra wore her new Cryocoil armor, which hissed with frosty steam from its joints, while Karl packed his new jade arrows tightly into his bag.

  As they prepared in the hypogeum below, Karl could see how excited Kara was to use her enhanced Sólbrandr sword. Seeing her eagerness made him smile.

  “I wonder how many are going to die this time,” the Trickster said, hopping restlessly on Karl’s shoulder as he held the Calming Pearl of Still Waters, which released a soothing wave of peace over Karl and the others.

  “Try not to be one of them,” Sporus said as he readied his dark bow.

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” the Trickster said.

  “Actually, I would,” Sporus replied, looking at him with dark eyes. “That pizza only made your farts incomprehensibly foul. Not even Felix’s cleaning perfumes could help with the smell.”

  The Trickster exploded with laughter, as did Björn. Even Mýra chuckled.

  Just like the first round, the hypogeum rose from below with the grinding of gears and metal chains, lifting the entire platform and opening the ceiling above them. There were fewer than four thousand combatants this time, though the floor was still packed.

  Tens of thousands of people erupted with cheers and fanfare in the crowded stadium above.

  Oddly, nothing looked different from the previous round, which only made Karl worry.

  The Emperor was already seated in the imperial box with his two sons. Though he appeared to be looking at everyone, Karl couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was staring directly at him, as if he knew they had been snooping through his books.

  You ready? Kara asked through their Pack Link.

  Always, Karl replied, more to encourage himself than anything else.

  The Emperor stood, raising one hand. The crowd fell silent instantly, such was his charisma. For a moment, Karl braced himself in case the Emperor decided to throw a pilum at him like in the first round.

  Then the Emperor spoke, his voice unnaturally loud. “You proved your strength in the first round,” he announced, lowering his hand as he gazed upon them. “But now let us see if your mind can stand the test. The Colosseum will, in just a moment, become a labyrinth. You will have ten minutes to reach the safe zone. Failure will result in immediate termination.”

  The crowd began to murmur with excitement as gladiators exchanged nervous looks.

  “May Fors Fortuna guide you,” the Emperor said, sending the audience into roaring applause.

  Before Karl and his friends could strategize, the floor beneath them exploded. Black steel walls shot up from the ground at the same time in shifting patterns, instantly separating the gladiators into a maze.

  Karl, Kara, and the Trickster were cut off from Sporus, Mýra, and Björn as a wall nearly clipped Karl from behind.

  Steam and pistons blasted from beneath the floor, driving the walls upward with such force that dozens of gladiators were launched into the air as if fired from a cannon. Many couldn’t fly and landed with fatal injuries, while others slammed onto the molten wall edges and were seared instantly.

  Contestants Remaining: 3,832 / 5,000.

  Time Remaining Until Safe Zone Closes: 09:59

  The gladiators trapped with Karl, Kara, and the Trickster rushed forward along the only open path. A few screamed as they brushed the walls, which burned as hot as an oven.

  All hell broke loose at once.

  “Björn!” Karl shouted, but it was useless over the noise. He checked his internal parchment map and saw they were safe for now, though the map glitched, showing only the Colosseum and none of the maze.

  They would have to rely on instinct.

  Karl and Kara sprinted forward with the others, packed tightly as bodies shoved and pushed in a desperate bid for survival. The space was claustrophobic, filled with panic and motion.

  “I’m guessing you can’t get us on top of those walls now,” Kara said as several gladiators were shoved into the metal and screamed as it burned their flesh.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Karl said, gripping his Tentacle Bow, which already had an ice jade arrow drawn.

  “Maybe we could ride one of those things,” the Trickster added, pointing ahead.

  The crowd of gladiators came to a sudden halt as a bronze-and-iron bull blocked the tunnel. A furnace core glowed through its rib plating, steam blasting from its nostrils as molten hooves stamped the sand.

  “I don’t think it’s friendly,” the Trickster said, firing an explosive acorn that smashed into its eyes.

  The bull roared and charged.

  Karl and Kara were near the center of the group, but that didn’t guarantee safety, as gladiators hacked and blasted their way backward, using magic and steel alike to escape the beast’s unnaturally fast charge.

  One of the gladiators was brave enough, or dumb enough, to charge the bull head-on. He looked Spanish, wearing full medieval armor and reminding Karl of a conquistador with a cone-like metal helmet and feather plume; though this one only had a glittering silver sword and no musket. He was a hulking man, and with his shield, he slammed it against the bull’s face. The bull kept charging forward against him, disoriented but even more aggravated, yet the man somehow held his ground as the bull thrashed its head.

  The Spaniard roared and raised the bull’s head with his shield just enough to slash his sword at its throat and drive it into its chest. The bull threw the man into the air as it screamed, then skewered him with its horns before hurling the body at the other gladiators, smashing into a Roman gladiator.

  Just then, it was joined by five other bulls that weren’t wounded. They came charging down the hall to aid in the stampede.

  Karl and Kara turned with the other gladiators to run back to where they had started, but the floor had risen from where they began, releasing a dozen metal bulls from that direction too.

  They were going to be trampled to death.

  Karl was extremely tempted to use his Rune of Overpressure Leap Mk II to jettison them up and out of the maze. But he stopped short when he saw golden eagles flying above the labyrinth, the same ones that always flew above the Emperor’s palace. They tore apart anyone who tried to jump out of it, including one of the Chinese warriors who ran on the air to escape the bulls. They shot metal talons at him, puncturing him easily. The Chinese warrior cried out in pain as he crashed down into the maze below. He hit his ribs along the top ridge of a wall, crushing them before he further plummeted beyond their vision.

  It was best to avoid the same fate.

  Kara slashed through a couple of gladiators in front of them with her Baldr sword, and a blinding flash stunned them.

  They had seconds left.

  “Use that big brain, Karl!” the Trickster shouted, as gladiators on both sides were gored by the bronze bulls and the rest were smashed together in desperation to live.

  Karl didn’t have to speak to Kara as she read his mind. At the last second, he activated two abilities. The first was Urðr’s Vision, granting him five seconds of frozen time. In that moment, he fired another arrow and activated his Arrow Will Guidance ability, letting him shift into the arrow’s perspective.

  While everything remained frozen, he guided the arrow beyond the charging bulls and, at the last second, shifted it thirty degrees into the nearest hallway. Thankfully, there was no one in that part of the labyrinth yet, and he forced the arrow to the ground to Elf Leap him and his friends.

  They teleported just as the crashing bronze bulls gored the group of gladiators they had been with.

  Unfortunately, Karl collapsed to the ground, his Stamina drained from the combo.

  “Too close,” Karl said, gasping as he shoved some Roman pizza down his throat, restoring 20% of his Stamina and granting him 15% movement speed from a sugar rush. His Stamina would recharge thanks to his high abilities, but he would need to be careful.

  “Let’s keep going,” Kara said, helping him to his feet as they kept running.

  Karl kept checking the map for where Mýra and Björn were. They were together, and toward the edge of the Colosseum. Their Health status showed they were still alive, though Karl couldn’t guarantee for how long, and there was no way he could help them.