Page 42 of Rise of a Fallen Man

“I don’t need charity. I have a practice.” He hiked up his chin with pride.

“It’s not a charity. Let’s make it a compensation for the poor treatment you endured at the gladiators’ quarters.”

He chuckled. “If I were compensated for every ill treatment I’ve endured, I’d be living in the palace by now.”

I knew for a fact there were no warlocks in the royal palace, and it wasn’t the matter of riches or skills.

“Good day.” Leaving the coin on the table, I hurried back into the fresh, warm air outside.

Chapter 11

Salas

The streets, meanwhile, had gotten even more crowded. So many people moved on foot that wagons appeared to be frozen in place, with no room for the horses to stir in any direction. There was no point in looking for a ride in a wagon. I might as well walk.

As I made my way through the crowd, trying to ignore the pictures of the royal couple holding hands on the banners and the paper flyers everywhere, I found myself being carried off route by the stream of people. Instead of turning left and heading along the city wall to the gladiators’ quarters, I ended up being shoved right, toward the open gates of the royal palace.

Apparently, I hadn’t made enough effort to combat the crowd and now ended up in the place I had no intention of coming to today. The only sane, reasonable thing to do now would be to turn around and proceed on my way against the constant stream of people. But when it came to Ari, both sanity and reason deserted me long ago. The closer I got to the place where she was, the stronger the pull grew. I didn’t fight the crowd, going with its flow instead.

The guards stopped me at the gate.

“Are you invited?”

“Yes.” I presented them with my ring. “I’m with the gladiators.”

“Gladiators?” The guard leader pivoted in my direction from the door to the gatehouse. “Really?” She squinted at me, then moved her gaze up and down from my head to my feet.

The shadows from my hood obscured my face, but my figure betrayed me.

“You’re the Mountain Bear, aren’t you?” She waved at the guards to let me through and for me to come closer. “By Goddess, you’re even bigger up close.”

The comments about my size were nothing new, and there wasn’t much to say in reply.

“Yes, madam. I come from a family of tall people.”

“Tall and massive.” She nodded with delight, then grabbed a piece of paper and an ink pad from the gatehouse. “This is for my son. Could you please?” She thrust the paper to me.

Realizing what she wanted me to do. I dipped my ring in the ink then pressed it to the paper, leaving an imprint of the gladiators’ crest—the Rorrim’s crown inside the oval of the arena.

The woman cooed excitedly, smiling at the piece of paper as if it was a real treasure.

The public admiration still felt new and a little overwhelming. People who didn’t know me as a person, who’d never met me outside of the arena, appreciated me and didn’t hesitate to express their admiration whenever they got a chance to speak to me.

It was addictive. Every time I stood in the arena after yet another successful performance, showered with cheers and applause, I soaked up the public love, even as I knew the same people would rather see me decapitated if my past ever came to light.

I took the quill the guard leader handed to me and wrote my arena name under the gladiators’ crest.

“Mountain Bear,” she read with a bright smile. “Oh, this will make my little boy so happy. You’re his favorite gladiator. He’s been dragging me to the games every week since they trappedyou.” She gave me a once-over. “You’re not really as wild as they claim, are you? Or have they tamed you?”

“Somewhat.” I grinned. “Enough to let me go out in public unsupervised.”

She laughed, matching my tone. “So, it’s safe to allow you onto the palace grounds then?”

Except that getting onto the grounds wasn’t easy. More guards gathered around me, along with the people from the crowd. After borrowing the ink pad from the guard leader, they asked me to stamp their royal wedding invitations, the flyers with the portrait of the couple, and everything else that would hold ink.

“Press it right here, handsome.” A woman yanked down her dress, offering me her bare shoulder for the stamp. “I’ll never wash it off.” She winked.

Another woman pulled on my arm, bringing my ear to her mouth.

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