Read Online Steel Scars by Victoria Aveyard - Free Book Online Page A

taking different shortcuts to the same destination. On another day, my team would spend hours tracking them all to their homes, only to watch them sleep off the long journey. Not so now. Because it’s First Friday. Today is the Feat of July.
    A ridiculous Nortan tradition, albeit an effective one, if the intelligence is to be believed. Arenas in almost every town and city, casting long shadows and spitting blood once a month. Reds are required to attend, to sit and watch Silver champions exchange blows and abilities with the glee of stage performers. We have no such thing in the Lakelands. Silvers don’t feel the need to show off against us, and the storied threat of Norta is enough to keep everyone terrified.
    â€œThey do it in Piedmont too,” Tristan mutters. He leans against the poured concrete fence edging the promenade around the arena’s entrance. Our gazes flick in unison, one of us always watching ourmarks, another always watching the band of officers directing people into the gaping maw of Arena Rocasta.
    â€œCall them Acts, not Feats. And we didn’t just have to watch. Sometimes, they made Reds fight too.” I hear the tremor of rage in his voice, even above the organized chaos of today’s spectacle.
    I nudge his shoulder as gently as I can. “Fight each other?” Kill Reds, or be killed by Silvers? I don’t know which is worse.
    â€œTargets are moving,” he simply growls.
    One more glance at the officers, now occupied with a band of mangy kids halting foot traffic. “Let’s go.” And let that wound fester with the rest .
    I push off the wall next to him and slip into the crowd, eyes trained on the four red uniforms up ahead. It isn’t easy. This close to Corvium, there’s a lot of Red military, either marching through to take their places in the Choke or attached to different convoys like the one we’re tailing. But the four men, three bronze, one dark skinned, all bone tired, keep close to each other. We haunt their footsteps. They manned a horse cart for the convoy, carrying what, I’m not sure. It was empty when they returned with the rest. But judging by the lack of Security and Silvers, I know their supply train isn’t for weaponry or ammunition. The three bronze men are brothers, I assume, judging by their similar faces and mannerisms. It’s almost comical to watch them spit and scratch their behinds in staggered unison. The fourth, a burly fellow with vividly blue eyes, is subdued in his itching, though he smiles more than the rest put together. Crance, I think his name is, based on my eavesdropping.
    We enter the arches of the arena entrance like prowling cats, close enough to hear our marks but not be noticed. Overhead, harsh electric lights flicker, illuminating the high-ceilinged chamber connecting theouter promenade to the interior. The crowd thickens to our left, where a variety of Reds wait to place their bets on the ensuing match. Above it, the boards announce the Silvers to fight, and their odds of victory.
    Flora Lerolan, Oblivion, 3/1
    Maddux Thany, Stoneskin, 10/1
    â€œHang on a second,” Crance says, halting the rest by the betting boards. With a grin, one of the bronze men joins him. The pair dig in their pockets for something to gamble.
    Under the pretense of doing the same, Tristan and I stop no more than a few feet away, hidden in the swelling crowd. The betting boards are popular among the Reds of Rocasta, where a thriving military economy keeps most from going hungry. There are several well-to-do among the crowd—merchants and business owners in proudly clean clothes. They make their bets and hand over dull coppers, even a few silver tetrarchs. I bet the till of Arena Rocasta is nothing to sneer at, and make a note to pass on such information to Command. If they’ll still listen to me .
    â€œCome on, look at the odds—it’s easy money!” Still smiling infectiously, Crance points