by Alex Lidell
A moment later Jasper disappeared from view. He reappeared at a side door on the spectators’ side of the bars.
“There is a passage, then.” Cory inclined his head toward the door. “But I dinna think it direct. The walk took him a bit of time. Ye ready?”
With a nod, Renee stood and waved like a dolt. “Jasper!”
He didn’t look up. A tall blond woman dressed in green and gold—his mother the Madam—was talking to him between blowing thick rings of white smoke from her tobacco stick. Beside her slender, athletic build, the boy seemed a scrawny kitten. A serving girl rushed by them. Like a trained fighter, the Madam shifted her weight just enough to clear the path, while Jasper lurched out of the way. Renee called his name again, but the words lost themselves in the din of the crowd.
“Boulder preys on Cat, first round!” a bookie shouted in her ear. The reek of stale beer drifted from his coat. “Place your bets, place your bets! What does your heart tell you, my lady? Will today pass the five-minute mark?”
First round. Seven Hells. Ignoring the now irritated bookie, she pitched her voice over the arena. “Jasper!” Nothing. She turned to Cory. “I must go down to him. No.” She touched his rising shoulder. “Alone.”
Ignoring Cory’s bristling, Renee picked her way between the benches. Her clean trousers collected stains and spills, her sword’s scabbard knocked against shins. She needed to beat the trumpets. She needed to get there before Boulder started tearing at Savoy’s limbs. Faster. She pushed past the shouting people, already tipsy with excitement and cheap wine. Curses and catcalls followed her.
“Lookin’ for a seat, my kitten? Plenty o’ room on my lap.”
“Wiggle on over for a kiss, darlin’.”
Other voices joined in with more descriptive offers. Renee kept her focus on Jasper and her feet moving.
A waitress carrying an overfilled tray scurried down the aisle. Renee pressed herself against the spectators to let her by. Instantly, a hand pinched the curve of Renee’s hip. Bloody wonderful.
“Ah!” yelped a male voice. “Whaddya do that for?”
Renee turned to find the man behind her, presumably the pincher, holding a bleeding nose. His neighbor lowered his hand. “That be m’lady,” he said to the bleeding man. “You touch her again, and you won’t need to be watching no fighting. She’ll cut you wide open, she will. Isn’t that right, m’lady?” He looked at her and grinned.
It took a moment to recognize the man from the alley. “You’re right, Nino.” She schooled her face to a cool smile. As she let out a breath and moved on, she heard Nino educating his friends.
“. . . and then she turns to me, her sword all dripping with blood and I think I’m next for sure. But no, she looks at me and says, you’re a great man, Nino. I want you to live! Just like that, and . . .” The story continued, detailing how she summoned a pack of wolves and slaughtered a dozen armed giants.
By the time Renee reached Jasper, the Madam was gone. Renee glanced toward the west exit and received a ready signal from Mag. She took a breath. “Jasper!”
He turned, his smile lighting with recognition. Then a tightness came over his face. “Cat’s match is first,” he told her.
“He’s but one pup.”
“Of course,” Jasper said, but there was no heart in the words.
For an instant Renee considered bringing the boy in on the plan. No. Jasper was putting down a prize horse. He would mourn the loss, but he would not uproot his life for it. “Would you spare a moment for me?” She motioned toward the door.
“Certainly.”
Relief washed through her.
“Just after the first fight,” he added. “Sit beside me. This won’t take long.”
Renee’s nails dug into her palm. After the first fight was one fight too late. “No. We must go now.”
He shook his head. “I cannot. The trumpet will call in but a moment. Sit.”
“But . . .” The words died in her throat. The trumped wailed. People behind her hissed that she stop blocking the view.
And the crowd raised its voice in cheer.
“Crush him, Boulder. Crush, crush! Crush him, Boulder. Crush. Crush!”
Renee barely had time to signal Failure before someone pushed into an empty seat.
* * *
Savoy watched Renee dance around Jasper, her face dark with frustration. The trumpet called. The girl’s hand rose above her head. Failure.
“Cat, wake up!” Den pushed him from behind. “Go!”
Savoy stepped forward, but his attention remained with the signals. He followed Renee’s gaze up bench rows. It was easier to see now that people were seated. And he did see. Blood rush to his face. The figure at the door was Mag, who now signaled, Ready to fire.
Without time to ponder how the Seventh got here, Savoy accepted the fact and calculated the consequences. Fire at whom? From their perspective, the threat was either Den or Boulder, neither of whom Savoy wished pierced. “Take cover,” he called to Den before launching himself at Boulder, trusting that no arrow would fly with him in the line of fire.
Boulder absorbed Savoy’s collision without a stagger. The crowd roared, laughing. Boulder scowled at the stands, his eyes filled with hurt, like a teased child’s. “They mock me,” he whispered. “But I don’t wanna fight you, Cat.”
Thank the gods for that. In the ample time Savoy had had to think, he’d conjured nothing more brilliant than theatrics. That was, after all, what the crowd sought. “Pretend, Boulder,” he whispered, his voice calm. “Pretend to fight me.”
“Hit him, you moron,” growled the referee. He held a rope’s end to encourage action, but had yet to strike.
“Cat?” Boulder sucked his knuckle. He shuddered when the crowd laughed again. “Cat, what do I do?”
Savoy ground his teeth. “Hit me. Big swing, little hit. Now. ”
The large man shut his eyes tight, raised up his fist, and swung.
Ducking a right hook that would’ve broken his jaw, Savoy circled around. Now what?
The crowd hissed, agitated at the lack of blood. Boulder’s eyes darted chaotically. An animal seeking refuge. The referee yelled in his ear, and Boulder flailed his fists. One clipped Savoy’s side, stopping his breath. When he could gulp air again, he staggered from the sharp pain of cracked ribs.
Boulder’s gaze turned wide and wet. “I did bad.”
“Fight!” The referee hefted his rope. When the threat failed, he swung his lash across Boulder’s shoulders.
The giant howled.
Savoy took a step back, understanding the danger. Enraged with pain, the already upset Boulder would turn uncontrollable. Deadly. Exactly what the Vipers wanted. The referee hefted the rope again, his gaze sharp; no good to anyone if Boulder turned on him. Savoy had to do something. Now.
He shot in, locking one hand behind Boulder’s head and the other around his waist. The action momentarily satisfied the crowd. There wasn’t much time.
“Boulder. Boulder, look at me.” Savoy kept his voice calm. “Good. Can you trust me?”
“He hit me!” Boulder sniffled. “My shoulder hurts.”
The crowd resumed restless booing. The moment of reprieve was slipping away. The referee cocked his rope. Swearing under his breath, Savoy spun the pair so the lash cut him instead. “Boulder, look at me,” Savoy repeated. “Can you trust me? I will make your shoulder not hurt.”
The giant nodded.
“Good. Be still.” While Boulder frowned in confusion, Savoy spun behind him and snaked an arm around the giant’s thick neck. He tightened his hold, squeezing the arteries with his bicep and forearm. “Sleep now.”
Boulder jerked upright, clawing at his neck. Savoy swore and readjusted the choke to stay clear of the windpipe. This had to be painless.
“Easy. Sleep now,” he whispered again, gently tightening the hold. Boulder stopped fighting. Another few seconds passed, and the large head darkened from the diminished blood flow. Continuing to whisper, Savoy w
alked the dizzying man toward the cage wall and braced against it. Shutting away the crowd’s roar, he focused on his task: balancing the risk of Boulder awaking too early and not awaking at all.
“Korish!” An unfamiliar voice just beyond the bars demanded his attention. “Korish!”
He glanced up to see a small, mouse-like man scurry forward. Before the guards could reach him, the man thrust a wrapped package between the bars. He stared Savoy in the eye. “A present from your uncle, Korish.” The man hissed and ran off.
“What uncle?”
Savoy received no answer. Because just then, all Seven Hells broke loose.
CHAPTER 42
“Fire!”
The scream tore Renee’s attention from the ring.
Fire.
A rain of blazing, oil-filled jars fell over the arena. A new shot of flames burst everywhere the jars shattered. Spilling oil fed the blaze. The fire lapped up the liquid fuel, then jumped to the wooden benches. The scent of tar and burning wood filled Renee’s nostrils. More screams. And then another odor; the sickening smell of charcoaled meat. Panicked voices rose around her. Bodies stampeded up toward the exit, pressing, crushing, shoving.
Jasper shot from his seat to the side door exit. A fireball landed at his feet and he shied back to Renee’s side.
“Commander!” Renee called.
Savoy turned. Sweat ran from his shoulders. He stood two spans away from her, no distance at all except for the bars. The large man he’d been fighting stirred awake but stayed huddled on the ground, huge hands clamped over his ears. Savoy’s chest heaved but his voice was steady. “Your work?”
She smiled. “Not quite.” Renee turned to point out the Seventh’s men and her smile melted. They were cut off by burning columns that split the chamber in two. Until the fire was tamed, the Seventh could do nothing for either Savoy or the spectators. People darted like panicked rabbits around her. She had made a vow to King Lysian when she agreed to return to the Academy. These people were her responsibility. Turning back she met Savoy’s eyes. If he could care for himself a while longer, he’d have to.
He nodded. “I’m all right. Go.” He started to turn away when his eyes narrowed. His hand shot out between the bars to grab the front of Jasper’s tunic. A jerk of the wrist and the boy’s face slammed against the metal. “Keep away from her, mage,” said Savoy. “Understand me?”
The rage in Savoy’s eyes told Renee the extent of Jasper’s deeds. Nausea climbed her throat.
Blood ran from the boy’s nose down to his shirt. He extended a glowing hand toward his captor but the pitiful wisps of blue flame died. “I understand,” he whispered. His pleading gaze sought Renee.
She grasped Jasper’s shirt and yanked him away from the bars. He fell to the floor and stayed there, sniveling. There was no time to address him now. Hundreds of terrified spectators darted in all directions. Fire jumped between wooden benches, ceiling beams, columns. People cursed, shoved, and struck each other. They tripped over their victims as often as they gained headway. One man’s shirt caught flame and he flailed his arms, screaming at the gods until someone found the sense to throw a jacket over him. Traffic and debris plugged both exits.
Renee filled her lungs and climbed onto a bench. “Freeze where you are!” she shouted, pitching her voice over the crowd and the crackle of rising flames.
Heads turned. The momentary attention of the mob rested on her. It was drunk on fear. Crazed with it. Above all, Renee tasted the people’s indecision; should they pummel her to the ground or tear off her limbs? A burning splinter fell on the bench next to her. “I will cut the throat of the next man who runs.” Renee stomped the flame out with her boot. “The doors are still blocked. We need to clear the area of wood and other fuel or the fire will consume us all. The rows below us are empty. You”—she pointed to a large man with a scar in place of one eye—“pick up that bench and—”
“I ain’t no lumberjack!” He pushed forward. A vein pulsed in his bald temple, his skin flushed from the heat. “Who are you to cry decrees, wench?”
Shouts chorused agreement.
The advancing man raised his fist.
Renee struggled to keep her shoulders relaxed despite her racing heart. Smoke was filling her lungs. She knew this would happen. She expected it. She knew what to do. Didn’t she? Her hand dropped down. The small blade in her sleeve slid discreetly into her palm. The hair on her arms shriveled, singed away by the increasing heat. Renee made herself breathe.
The man lurched into arm’s reach. Seen up close, his scar was jagged and messy.
Now! Before the man could strike, Renee spun him around and pressed her knife to his neck. The metal blade flickered, reflecting the growing flames. The crowd fell silent. Her hand tightened on the knife’s hilt. What next? The mob had to respect her over the fire. They had to. And she had to make them.
The man choked out a laugh. “You bluff, chit.”
Renee’s jaw tightened.
“She ain’t bluffin’, Gus,” said Nino, emerging from the crowd. “M’lady, she don’t bluff.”
Beneath her knife, the man, Gus, stopped laughing. Seizing the moment, Renee snugged her hold. Gus’s voice changed to a high-pitched whimper. Renee pinned Nino with her eyes. “Will your friend here do as he’s told?”
Nino and Gus nodded together, the latter nipping himself on the blade and gasping. Renee withdrew the knife and shoved the man to the ground. “Let us get these benches moved, then. You four,” she yelled, pointing to men and tasks.
While Nino enforced her orders, Renee folded her arms across her chest, wondering how anyone in the room could miss the deafening pounding of her heart.
* * *
Shouts rose around Savoy and spread like the flames themselves. Jars of burning oil continued to fly. Flames burst wherever jars shattered. The fight’s spectators were now the fire’s prey; some frightened, some injured, some dead. The cage exits blazed hot, forcing the fighters to the center.
Stepping away from the bars, Savoy unwrapped the bundled gift from his mysterious benefactor. It was wet—a soggy face mask coiled around a knife and a clipper tool sturdy enough to cut the crown of barbed wire. The man who delivered the present was long gone. Savoy tied the mask around his face and showed the tools to Den. “From an uncle,” Savoy said wryly.
Den’s brows rose. “It seems the day favors you.”
“Hm.” Savoy focused beyond the bars. Renee herded a frightened mob toward the Seventh, who were there despite his own and Verin’s orders. Bloody impressive. And suicidal.
He shook himself and touched the bars. Hot but not scalding. Not yet anyway. “Rip your pants for face masks and wet them in the drinking pail.” His voice soared above the chaos, but would take time to penetrate everyone’s confusion. Savoy pointed to Den and the referee. “You two, make it happen.”
Before either could move, Boulder shoved passed them and leaped onto the cage wall. A burn on his shoulder blistered where a hot ember had landed.
“Boulder, stop!” Savoy shouted, but the man’s own screaming drowned out the words. Hand over hand, Boulder hauled his bulk up toward the barbed wire. Savoy wondered whether he even saw the razor barbs before he crashed into them.
Boulder floundered like a fish on dry ground. His screams changed from fear to agony to a fit of choking. Smoke gathered thick by the top of the cage. He twisted again and blood poured from his wounds, slicking the metal bars. When he fell, his body sent a cloud of sand into the air. Savoy saw that the barbs had claimed Boulder’s eye. Gravity had claimed his neck, and he moved no more.
Savoy swallowed. “Rip your pants for face masks and wet them in the drinking pail,” he repeated, this time to a silent audience. “You will climb out after I remove the barbed wire.” Taking the referee’s rope to attach to the top of the cage, Savoy began to climb.
* * *
Renee’s troops made headway against the flames. A wide, wood-free wedge of cleared floor reached halfway toward the exit.
Cory and his bucket brigade reached them from the other side. Faces she recognized from Atham’s guard had joined the cause, dispatching the remaining flames and directing the surviving spectators toward the narrow exits. News of the fire had spread faster than she’d expected. Renee blinked. How much time had passed? She didn’t know. Bodies lay sprawled, some charred beyond recognition, others crushed by the crowds or collapsed ceiling beams.
“Who started the bloody fire?” said a familiar voice.
She turned, regarded Savoy for a breath, and threw her arms around him. “Your uncle,” she said into his shoulder.
“I don’t hug,” said Savoy.
“Idiot.”
He chuckled and pushed her away. “What uncle?”
Cory cleared his throat. “If you permit a wee interruption, rumor seems to have assigned us a bit of a rescue mission. An irrelevant matter of child hostages.”
Savoy squeezed Renee’s shoulder and moved away, his back relaxing into a commanding presence no less steady for lack of uniform or lost weight. He accepted a flask of water from the sergeant and drained it.
Renee’s fingers brushed her sword hilt. The coming hostage rescue rested on the quality of her information, the accuracy of her maps. “I can guide us through the tunnels, sir.”
Savoy’s jaw tensed and he looked from her to his sergeant.
Cory shot Renee an apologetic glance but spoke to Savoy. “I have Renee’s maps memorized, sir. The Crown’s forces are already securing the perimeter and the arena.”
“Very good.” Savoy spared Renee a glance. “Continue clearing everyone out until relief arrives.” Without waiting for her reply, he called out something about an amulet to Den, and the three jogged up the smoldering rows, leaving her behind.
Renee stared after them, then kicked a charcoaled bit of wood against the remains of the column.
“You’re just as useless as I am.” Jasper laughed bitterly.
