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Darling looked surprised by his frankness. “Yes. My associates have identified you as Dahvid Tin’Vori of the fallen House of Tin’Vori. You were one of the only image-bearers in all of Kathor. It’s a rare trait, even for someone with as much Tusk lineage as you. According to a great number of witnesses, you died seven years ago. Yet… here you are. Standing outside my villa.”
“What is it that you want to know?”
“Is House Brood going to come sniffing around for you?”
“I think that would be likely, yes.”
“And? Will they cause me trouble?”
“Less likely. When their spies come, they’ll see a brawler. A man who makes his living day to day in the arena. Sure, one day I might make decent coin in your service, but they’re coming to make sure I have no followers, no contacts, no possible incentive to return to Kathor and take my revenge. And I will make sure that’s what they see. You’ve nothing to fear from them.”
Dahvid could tell that last line annoyed the warlord, as he’d intended.
“I have nothing to fear from anyone,” Darling answered. “Ravinia is mine. The Broods could sail their entire army north, and they’d be lucky to make it up the beach without getting slaughtered. I do not fear them, but I will not suffer lapses in efficiency. A house as powerful as theirs could inconvenience my business. You will put on a good show. Content their spies you’ve forgotten all about their precious city. Do that and you can make a name for yourself here.”
Dahvid knew he could never truly forget Kathor. Not the way the sun struck the water outside the back windows of their estate. Nor the smell of cocoa and cinnamon as he walked through the streets in the Merchant Quarter. Bright memories came to him, waking or sleeping, of the only place he’d ever truly thought of as home. Nor could he forget that dark night all those years ago. Waiting like a coward in the escape tunnel. Hearing the swords scraping overhead as guards died to save them. Knowing his brother was already dead and his parents were already burning. He saw all this in quick, painful slashes of memory. But when he answered, his voice did not tremble.
“Consider it done.”
“The contracts are on the table behind you,” Darling said. “Sign them and go. My agents will be in touch. We’ll have to figure out a good name for you. Build your reputation. People do not buy tickets to watch sacks of meat run into each other. They swarm through the gates to see men and women that we’ve convinced them are their dearest friends. We will do the same with you.”
The warlord’s eyes roamed Dahvid’s body more openly, now that he imagined him as a possession. He’d grown accustomed to such appraisals as a boy. All his outfits were tailored—once by his mother and now by his sister—with his famous battle tattoos in mind. There were clever slits in the fabric where normal people would never bare their skin. Each displayed one of his tattoos, or at least made them accessible. It was especially necessary in a fight, as he needed physical contact in order to activate their magic.
“I’ve read that Tusk image-bearers can combine their tattoos.…”
Dahvid nodded. “They’re called berserkers. I’m not one of those.”
Curious, Darling pointed to the marking at Dahvid’s throat.
“What’s that one do? The flower?”
Dahvid couldn’t see the image, but every time he’d ever looked in a mirror over the last decade, that flower had stared back at him like a third eye. He’d memorized the design over the years. Thirty-seven scarlet petals circled a golden center. Sunlight graced the right half of the tattoo, as if an unseen sun floated above Dahvid’s left shoulder, casting its light across. It was the first one that his brother—Ware—had drawn. Before the Broods executed him.
“The flower is a scarlet traveler.”
“I know what it is. I was asking what it does.”
Each tattoo housed a powerful magic. Dahvid currently wore nine. The scarlet traveler was undoubtedly his most powerful one. “It allows me to exist outside the laws of nature.”
Darling smiled at the vagueness of the answer. Both chains were drawn taut, forcing the pretty figure to backpedal toward the other. Toward the master, Dahvid saw. The one who is conquering.
“All magic is an abomination. Some spells are just prettier than others.” Darling sighed. “I look forward to watching you fight. Sign the contracts. I’ll see you in the pits.” And then to his two attendants. “Pay the man.”
Dahvid turned his attention to the contracts. Both of Darling’s escorts came forward, making a lot of noise, guiding him through the details of the arrangement. One filled the sack they’d used to blind him earlier with a tantalizing amount of coins. A down payment for his services. He knew this was by design. They were enticing him, drawing his attention to hide their master’s retreat. Against his better judgment, Dahvid risked a glance back. The dancer had picked up the smaller man. The man that he knew was the original Darling. He ferried his master across the dunes, carrying him like a child. The dark chains trailed them, kicking up dust. Before the escorts could scold him, Dahvid turned around and signed his name.
This was a beginning. Even if it was coming sooner than anticipated.
He smiled at the idea of blood.
“When’s my first fight?”
3 REN MONROE
Dinner concluded.
Ren watched the others around the table rise, drinks in hand, conversations filling the air around them. She knew they were about to be subjected to even more mingling. Theo would be congratulated on his new post. Each repetition would be performed with the slightest hint of mockery. She caught his eye as they stood. It was startling to see the effect the news had on him. It reminded her of the way he’d looked right after he’d been gutted by the blade-sharp claws of a wyvern. After Cora’s surgery had stitched him back up. Nearly all of the life drained from him.
It made sense. His confidence had always been rooted in his name. He was a Brood. An heir to one of the great houses. It was only logical that his father was the one person who could steal that from him and leave him looking so barren.
