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On his right, Agatha Marchment was in conversation with one of the city’s dockmasters. Her figure was slight and unsparing. She did not look like the most vicious creature in the northern hemisphere, but Dahvid knew better. Even after a cursory inspection, he saw eight different weapons arranged neatly about her person. He could trace the potential movements—and attacks—that would force her to reach for each one. Dahvid knew she was older than she’d been when she won her gauntlet, but Darling’s head general was likely one of the few gladiators that he simply could not beat in a duel. He quietly hoped that she’d retired from brawling.
It was hard not to notice the other legendary gladiators in the crowd. There was Little Ben, who’d famously died three separate times in the arena—only to drain his opponent with a final spell that brought him back to life. Next to him, Dahvid spied Beatrice Lively—who rode a livestone warthog into her duels. Even the Bearling was there, sipping a dark beer in the shadows. That was a surprise. Dahvid had left him for dead on the arena floor. He was glad the man had pulled through. He wore his graying hair slicked neatly back and respectfully raised his glass in salute when he spotted Dahvid.
As Cath led him deeper into the crowd, they finally saw the evening’s main attraction: a fighting pit. Of course. The circle was carved out of the wooden beams with great precision. About twelve feet below them, two creatures kicked up sand as they probed at each other’s defenses. Dahvid could hear the clacking jaws and pincers. He moved close enough to get a proper angle on the action. Two armored crabs. By far the biggest he’d ever seen. Both the size of full-grown dogs, their claws extending out from hardened carapaces. As he watched, the larger one bull-rushed the other.
There was a resounding clank. The crowd roared as the smaller crab skidded back through the sand. It barely kept its footing. The big one backpedaled, gearing up for another charge, when Dahvid finally spotted Darling. The warlord sat directly across from him—or at least the beautiful version did. His face was bright and oiled. His dark curls were arranged neatly. He looked like a painting in the dying light. Dahvid resisted looking just over the man’s right shoulder. He could sense someone watching him from that darkness, and he saw the linked chain running in that direction. That was where the real Darling sat, a god in the shadows.
The big crab committed to another bull rush, but at the very last moment, the smaller crab darted to the right. Dahvid saw a claw shoot out beneath the other’s carapace. There was a painful hiss as it found its mark. The iron claws clamped down tight on the back leg of the larger crab and started to twist. No matter how much the bigger one writhed, it wasn’t fast enough to free itself. Everyone was shouting. Darling’s proxy smiled down with satisfaction. Dahvid guessed the smaller crab was their champion.
The fight ended with a sickening crunch. The back leg had been severed, and the larger crab slumped to one side. There were shouts to finish the creature that turned Dahvid’s stomach. All of it felt too familiar. How long before it was him down there? Facing his own life and death?
“I’m going to go look inviting,” he whispered to Cath. “Stay here.”
He grabbed a drink from a passing servant. There was an empty space by the railing. He leaned against it and sipped, hoping the reason he’d been invited tonight would appear. He did not have to wait for long. There was some satisfaction in watching Darling’s handservants cross the distance to join him. Just like his first visit, the pair made a great show of wanting to talk, but it was all an effort to veil their master’s approach. One complimented him on his recent victory in the Western Pits. The other asked if there was anything that they could arrange for him before his next battle. All pointless chatter. A suspicion that was confirmed by the fact that as soon as Darling arrived, the servants melted back into the crowd as if they’d never been there at all. The beautiful Darling leaned almost flirtatiously against the railing, perfectly blocking Dahvid’s view of the other one. He raised his glass to the warlord.
“To your health.”
Amusement flickered over Darling’s pretty face. He raised his own glass with the barest of efforts. “And to yours. I was not present at your recent match. How did you like Golden?”
“I nearly fell asleep fighting him.”
That dragged a laugh from both Darlings. “Paladins aren’t very interesting. Effective but boring. That’s why I like them, though. I’ve found if you set them beside a proper fighter, it draws out the colors even more. I’m told the crowd was pleased with you.”
Dahvid nodded. “In the end, yes.”
“The end is all that really matters,” Darling noted. “They only ever talk about how it ended. Not the feint you made at the start of the fight. Not the strategy that positioned you to make your killing blow. No, all they’ll tell their friends the next day is which fighter is still breathing.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
The pretty face stretched into a too-bright smile. “Once upon a time. Now that we’ve displayed you, it’s time for a proper title bout. If you want to be paid like a champion, you have to beat a champion. Look around. All my best are here tonight. You can be one of them.”
Dahvid followed the gesture. His eyes located Cath first. She was standing right where he’d left her, sipping a drink, watching the next fight. Then his eyes were moving from gladiator to gladiator to gladiator. This was what Nevelyn had warned him about. Her fear had been that he was advancing too quickly and would be put to the test far too soon.
“Normally, I would choose someone that I felt was a perfectly balanced match for you,” Darling said. “I like a coin flip as much as the next person. Maybe you win. Maybe you die. It’s the kind of fight that separates the wheat from the chaff. All of my favorites face a test like that.”
Dahvid was listening closely. “You said ‘normally.’ ”
“Yes. I did.” The chain rattled as the pretty Darling shifted his stance. “The Broods have increased their presence in Ravinia. If they’d come to my city making threats, I would have shoved my boot straight down their throat. But they didn’t make threats.…”
Dahvid sighed. “They offered money.”
“They offered money,” Darling confirmed. “A onetime payment, but that’s not all they offered. They wanted to send their own fighter. Someone they knew would draw a crowd.”
For a brief moment, Dahvid allowed himself to believe that they were sending Thugar Brood. He wanted it so badly. He’d hungered for that fight for so long. But that didn’t make sense. The rest of the world had not survived by feeding on this hatred. Darling couldn’t possibly know about it. And Dahvid suspected the Broods would not be foolish enough to send their heir to fight in a gladiator pit. There were other, more rational answers.
“I do not like being ordered around,” Darling said. “I serve no man. But their offer was tempting. Too tempting for me to refuse. We have agreed to terms. You will duel Able Ockley.”
Dahvid’s entire world spun. Until now, the concern had been preserving his secrets. Nevelyn had known that a champion duel in the Western Pits would force him to use several key abilities. He also knew that some of his tattoos took longer to restore than others. He could summon his sword once every five minutes, as needed. But the scarlet traveler? He could use that tattoo once a month, at best. Burning one of his tattoos in a match had meant potentially not having it for his gauntlet attempt—which then meant not having certain abilities for his showdown with the Broods.
Able Ockley changed everything. Dahvid would be lucky to survive the fight even if he burned all his tattoos. The man was notorious. By far the most respected duelist in living memory.
“Well,” Dahvid finally said. “That is unfortunate.”
Not just unfortunate. It was a death sentence. At best, it would ruin their plans entirely. He could not hope to defeat Ockley and then turn around and win a gauntlet within their desired time frame. Darling’s decision would ruin them. Dahvid turned back to look out over the ocean, leaning his forearms against the railing. His eyes traced the barely visible waves—brief slashes of white against the endless black. Darling unexpectedly grabbed his forearm.
“I don’t want to die,” the pretty man begged. “I don’t want to die.”
There was a sharp pull on the chains. The dancer’s entire body was dragged back a few steps, stumbling away from Dahvid. The desperation on his features smoothed out instantly. Dahvid could only stare in shock as the bright smile was forced back onto that pretty face. What was that? Had Darling’s spell faltered for a moment? He stared until the two voices spoke, and he could hear the gravelly voice more audibly than ever.
