Page 79 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘What are you—’ I began as Gideon cursed next to me. Only for a young boy to arrive in the doorway. A small trut, earth-born fey with bark-like skin, and dull green hair.
‘Simon.’ The Lady smiled. ‘We have our fighter. Tell Mr Briggs we’ll begin shortly. Bring the patrons.’
‘Sorry ma’am, he says he’s not happy with the prize money for the delay. Wants an increase,’ the boy stuttered, wringing his flat cap nervously between his palms.
Sigrid stepped forward as if to sort out the issue but the Lady lifted a graceful hand, her smile wicked. Those golden, amused eyes coming to my own.
‘Tell the bastard we’ll throw in a kiss from the Kysillian girl who burnt down the Institute as an extra reward,’ she grinned. Gideon swore and Emrys’s magic became a deadly static in the air. ‘Just to sweeten the deal.’
Bollocks.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kat
Smoke curled thickly in the air, the stench of body odour mixing with the reek of tobacco. Rowdy men from the docks wearing flat caps with rolled up sleeves sat on benches below, sipping from flasks, wedged around the fighting pit. Small messenger boys shook bags of nuts or betting slips frantically trying to catch a buyer’s attention.
Then there was the ethereal faded flicker of white light in the shadowed corners. Spectres lingering. Fey that had died here. Probably in that very fighting pit.
Damn Emrys.
I curled my hands more tightly around the viewing rail on the second floor. A box Lady Ramsey had moved us to after Emrys had vanished to play his part in this awful, stupid plan.
‘Stop fretting,’ Gideon ordered from where he leant next to me against a pillar covered in peeling, floral wallpaper. Emrys’s coat slung over his arm for safekeeping.
‘Follow your own advice,’ I snapped back, unbothered about keeping my voice down. ‘You don’t have tokissanyone.’
Gideon let out a grunt of amusement, but his eyes remained fixed on the ring below.
‘Emrys has had worse fights than this. For far lesser stakes,’ He offered. Making me wonder if those words were to comfort me or himself.
‘He failed to mention that.’ I bristled, sounding more like a perturbed alley cat in my annoyance.
‘He didn’t get the Council to fear him by writing incantation papers and chasing ghosts,’ Gideon added as he watched the waiting crowd gather before turning to where Sigrid counted betting slips in the corner of the room. ‘Put one hundred on Emrys knocking him out first round.’
Lady Ramsey smiled, stirring her tea where she sat in an extravagant wing-backed chair. Unbothered by all the chaos she’d created.
‘You’re absurd,’ I hissed, unable to believe he was encouraging this. Mirocs were dangerous. Especially ones that apparently loved beating other fey to death in that very ring for coin.
‘You’re right.’ Gideon frowned, turning back to Sigrid. ‘Make it five hundred.’
If I didn’t have more restraint I would have hit him. Instead, I tightened my grip on the rail and tried to find some patience. This was mostly my fault after all – my foolishness setting us on this path.
There was a roar from the crowd as the first fighter appeared. The miroc and my apprehension began to spiral. Emrys was an imposing form, but the miroc was a huge hulking mass as he entered the fighting pit, stomping hooves covered in coarse blonde hair just like most of his bare barrel-like chest. His horns were short and sharp. The ends tipped with silver studs that did little to calm my dread.
Gideon went tense. Finally, he was taking this seriously. His energy seemed to crackle around him. Making the hairs on my neck stand on end.
‘Now you decide—’ I began but he was already turning.
‘You bitch,’ he seethed. Aether practically vibrating off him as he glowered at Lady Ramsey. Sigrid moving forwards to block his path.
‘Watch your tongue,’ Sigrid snapped, hand moving to her blade.
‘That’sRegus,’ Gideon spat the name, aether curling up his arms, making his eyes glow.
‘Never agree to a bargain until you’ve read the fine print.’ Lady Ramsey continued to sip her tea as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
‘Who?’ I frowned, my eyes moving from the ring and back to our suddenly tense gathering.
