The second day of the Coliseum began with a dull roar.
Lyra couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was different from the first day. The excitement of the crowd had changed from festive to something primal. Anticipation settled over them as they waited for the first event to begin, as if the arena held its breath together as one. The stones where the previous day’s activities were held were a deep red, stained by blood that could no longer be washed out easily.
Lyra sat beside Merrow once more, her posture rigid and upright. She composed her face into what she hoped was an acceptable false smile, and the crowd ate it up as something to worship. Gold gleamed at her wrists and throat, feeling more like a gilded version of her collar and shackles than jewelry. Draped again in silks a
