He looked at the spectators. They seemed so close, just a few paces away. But they weren’t close. Seven-span-high bars, topped with barbed wire, separated him and them.
“Boulder, weighing in at twenty-two stone!” shouted a voice deep in the crowd. “Place your bets on the human animal!”
Green-clad young men gripping notepads scurried about the rows, stopping and making notes whenever a spectator beckoned. Women in clothing that revealed more than it hid carried trays of drink. The smell of stale wine mixed with sweat and tobacco settled over the place like a dense cloud of fog.
Savoy frowned at Den. “All I’ve seen Boulder do is move stones. Who pays to watch him fight?”
“No one.” Den’s flat voice set Savoy further on edge. “They pay to watch him kill.”
Ah. Savoy nodded, tightening his jaw. “And if he kills the ref?”
“He won’t.” Den looked toward the sand. “Jasper trained him not to.”
Savoy digested the thought while trumpets sounded and the crowd’s voices quieted to a dull roar. It was almost time. Squaring his shoulders, Savoy raised his face to challenge the room. And his heart froze.
In the second row of the middle section sat Renee and Diam.
* * *
Renee stilled her foot’s tapping. Yes, she was wasting time. And yes, the hours spent supporting Vipers’ sport were hours taken from her mission. But she had made a promise to Diam and it would not do to sulk over keeping her word. She was here. She might as well try and learn something.
Diam jerked forward, startling Renee from her train of thought. He pointed down, jostling a serving girl who scurried by with a mug-filled tray. Stale dark liquid sloshed into his lap. “Korish!” he yelled.
“What?” Renee threw her arms around the boy to keep him seated. The pounding of her heart drowned out the din of cheering drunks as her eyes followed Diam’s extended finger. She gasped. It was impossible. No, it wasn’t.
Savoy stood in the right-side holding pen, his eyes stoically sweeping the room. Centuries stretched on until all at once, their gazes met. She tensed, holding her breath. It lasted no more than a second, but then his head gave a small shake and turned away.
Beside her, Diam yelled for his brother. Renee clamped her hand over his mouth until he quieted. And then she cursed herself, digging her nails into her thighs. She should have known. Or speculated. Or found a bloody bookie and beat him into speaking. There was no better candidate for the Vipers’ games. Hadn’t Seaborn told her that? In all gods’ names, the Yellow Rose in Diam’s demand note was the same bloody Viper pit that sold fight tickets. She scrubbed her trembling palms over her face.
In the seat beside her, Diam regained all the self-control his eight-year-old self could muster and sat on his hands. “Why do they put barbed wire on the bars?”
Renee reined in her silent tirade and looked down through smoke-filled air to where vertical metal bars separated the fighters and spectators. The smooth rods rose seven spans—almost four times a man’s height—into the air to a crown of tangled barbs. The Vipers took no chances. “So no one climbs out,” she told him.
He squeezed her hand.
Music bellowed again while Renee wiped the sweat from her free hand on her thigh. Announcers shouted names and measurements, prompting bookies to close the records. A man holding a knotted rope’s end entered the cage, bowed, and pointed to the holding pens. Another roll of the drum. From Savoy’s side, a large man in white pants stepped onto the sand and gazed at the cheering crowd. On the left, a scrawny fighter in blue was shoved out, skidding to a halt in the sand.
The man in white, a bald behemoth, stopped walking and gazed about. His hand came up to his mouth and he sucked his knuckle. The referee bounced his rope-end. Once. Twice. Shouts of “Crush him, Boulder!” cascaded from the stands. The third time the referee raised his rope, he brought it down hard across the man’s bare shoulders. Boulder flinched and advanced toward his opponent.
The small man trembled. He covered his head with his hands, stretching skin taut over protruding ribs. Unlike the other Predators awaiting their turn, this one looked pitifully underfed.
“Excuse me, what are the odds?” Renee asked the spectator beside her.
“Three to one,” the woman answered.
Renee’s eyebrows rose. A one in three chance of Scrawny’s victory sounded beyond optimistic. “And if, er, Boulder wins?”
She frowned. “Of course he’ll win.”
“But the bet?”
“Can you not see it’s a death match? Boulder only fights death matches. Three he kills before the five-minute bell, one, after. On you go, Boulder! Move!”
Gods. Boulder now towered over his opponent, and still nothing happened. The growing din of the crowd encouraged the referee to use his rope’s end. Boulder roared, cocked back his ham of a fist, and waited too long. The small man launched forward, like a rabid cornered rat, aiming his fingers at Boulder’s eyes.
That was a mistake.
He missed the eyes, and Boulder’s massive hands closed around the man’s arm. He broke it, snapping the bone to a hideous angle. Then, wearing an expression of a pouting child, he struck his knuckles against the man’s nose. Again. And again. The wound opened wider with each blow. Blood gushed down Scrawy’s chin, onto his chest, and dripped out to the sand. Renee smelled the copper.
“I gotta be sick,” whispered a voice at her elbow. Even in this light, Diam’s face had taken on an unmistakable green tinge.
Grabbing hold of his arm, Renee ushered the boy toward the stairs, ignoring the curses of the spectators whose view they blocked as they passed. She should never have agreed to bring him.
They just made it. Khavi pounced on Diam the moment they emerged outside. The boy clutched his wolf’s fur—she could no longer think of Khavi as a dog—took a breath, and jerked away to retch onto the ground. Renee rubbed a circle on his back, grateful they left before he could see his brother pushed into the cage.
“Renee? Are you well?”
She jumped and turned at the sound of Jasper’s voice. The skinny mage closed the door behind him and adjusted his glasses. Khavi let out a low growl, but Renee welcomed a familiar face. “A bit more gruesome than expected. What brings you here?”
“You didn’t see me?” He looked disappointed when she shook her head. “In the right pen,” he prodded. “With the white pups. I’m their keeper.”
Renee’s mouth dried, as much from Jasper’s words as from the fear that Diam would blurt out Savoy’s identity. The child, however, remained silent and held Khavi’s fur in a death grip. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to see them fight, but . . . ” She jerked her head at Diam, and Jasper nodded in understanding. “What’s a keeper?” she asked.
“Me. I take care of them. Feeding, vet care, all that. I keep the trainer in check too, you know, or else he’d run the poor pups into the ground. If not for me, Den would’ve killed the newest one.”
“Amazing,” she managed. A thunderstorm after a week of drought. Gods, she should have considered Predator fights days ago. “That’s, well, unbelievable.”
“It’s true,” Jasper continued eagerly. “The new one, Cat, he won’t stop thanking me. Den’s hard on him, but that’s the trainer’s job, too, to be hard. I ensure it keeps under rein of reason.”
She cleared her throat. “Is Cat the blond-haired one? I wished to see him fight. He’s . . . pretty.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Jasper gleamed as if discussing a prized horse. “He’s fighting now, though, if you wish to hurry down to the pit.”
Renee pointed to Diam and turned up her palms. “I wish.” She took a breath. Nothing to lose. “Jasper? Do you think I could meet him, the pretty one? Can you do that?”
The boy smiled. “I can do most anything here. Take the wee man home and meet
me here after the fight.”
Jasper wasn’t there when she returned. She waited. A quarter hour after the last of the spectators left the arena, a large man calling himself Den appeared at her side. He weighed her with his eyes, but beckoned her to follow.
“Did Cat win his fight?” Renee asked her escort.
“Yes,” he grunted, and said no more.
They walked down past the arena, through a door on the right, and into a corridor she recognized from her foray underground. At a juncture where she and Savoy had once headed east to find Diam—the stones where Renee first took a life were forever branded in her mind—they now turned west. A few more turns brought them to a closed door. Renee sketched the map in her mind.
“In there.” Den pushed the handle.
She faked a smile and moved past him. Then stopped. The thick rug on the floor and a bench with scented candles said the small room was meant for visitors who paid to enjoy the fighter’s company. Inside, Savoy knelt on the floor, his hands tied uncomfortably high to a ring in the wall. He was still shirtless from the fight, with drawstring pants hanging on his hips. Green eyes betrayed no sign of recognition. Den loosened the ropes—enough to give Savoy some movement while permitting Renee to step out of his reach, should she wish to.
“I promise not to damage him,” she told Den, glancing pointedly from him to the door. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Will you untie him for me?”
A hint of surprise flickered across Den’s face, but he schooled it away and complied. “Call out if you need anything.”
Savoy massaged his shoulders and stared at the man’s receding back until the door closed with a click. His eyes flowed to Renee. She thought she caught a momentary warmth in his gaze, but if it was there, it disappeared in a blink. He did not smile.
“Commander—”
He put a finger to his lips, cutting her off. “Cat. And you shouldn’t be here.”
She hugged her arms to her chest and lowered her voice to match his. “Neither should you.” It wasn’t the reception she’d imagined. She took a step toward him, and Savoy stood. Exhaustion shadowed his face and he favored his right knee when rising, likely a souvenir from his fight. It had to be bad if he let her see it. She avoided looking down, pretending not to notice the limp. She could not, however, ignore the leather bands on his wrists or the fading welts covering his back and shoulders, crisscrossing the ones Verin’s old discipline had left. Her hand reached out toward him but she stayed its course, sensing he did not wish to be touched. She could do that much for a friend. “Are you well, then?”
Savoy followed her gaze and turned to hide his back from view. “Not my first beating. Nor last.” He sighed. “That is a hazard of being me. I also happen to be alive, which trumps other details. Agreed?”
She nodded. “How do we get you out of here?”
“You don’t.” He braced his hand on the wall beside her head and bore down with his gaze. “You stay clear. Understood?”
“You are in a poor position to issue orders.”
He grasped her shoulders and twisted her roughly toward the western wall. “That way are cells they call barracks. Is that where you wish to be? Or do you imagine Vipers make use only of boys and men?” He looked pointedly at the candles and rug.
She stepped away and turned to him. Her life was hers to risk, but there was no reason to add more weight to his conscience. She would do what she must. “No, of course not. A captured rescuer would be of little help.”
His brows tightened in suspicion.
Renee hurried on. Better to keep her words confined to truths. “I will go to Atham and inform Verin of your exact location. Seaborn’s already there, laying the groundwork.” Although gods know what’s keeping him. “Is there something else I might do?”
Approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. Savoy looked at the door and spoke quickly. “Diam?”
“Healthy. He misses you. He’ll be safe with Alec while I’m gone.”
The steps grew louder. Savoy nodded. “The man who brought you here is named Den. If I had to trust someone here, it would be him. Not yet, though. If—”
The door swung open to admit Jasper. The boy’s smile dissolved to alarm. “Gods, how did he get loose? Are you all right, Renee?” He came up beside her and extended his hand toward Savoy.
Savoy retreated. His shoulders hunched defensively and Renee’s heart squeezed at the sudden paleness of his face. A blue glow sparked at the tips of Jasper’s fingers and Savoy’s wrists twisted behind his head, as if the leather bracelets overpowered twisting muscle.
Something felt very wrong, like a bow straining in the distance, arrow poised. “Jasper?” Renee touched the boy’s shoulder, hoping her voice betrayed nothing of her thumping pulse. “I . . . I want to leave. Will you lead me out, please?”
For an instant she feared he’d refuse and the bow would loose its arrow, but he nodded at her and held open the door. Her shoulders relaxed and she preceded him out. Just before the door closed, Jasper paused to bid Savoy farewell.
And Savoy flinched.
* * *
After the arena, Renee stopped at Hunter’s Inn only long enough to check on Diam. She needed Alec, and there was no point in looking for him at the inn anymore. She hugged Diam and, by silent agreement, said nothing about his brother’s fate.
“A message came for you,” Diam said, unburying himself from her shoulder. He extended a strip of paper he’d been clutching, unabashed at having read Renee’s mail.
She unrolled the strip and read its single word. Palan. Written in Sasha’s hand. Renee’s skin crawled.
Diam slid down and peered at the ink. “What about Uncle Palan?”
“I asked Sasha to discover who was responsible for your brother’s assignment to the Academy this year.” She tossed the paper into the fire. “Why do you call him Uncle, Diam?”
The boy shrugged. “’Cause he asked me to.”
Renee frowned. Why in the Seven Hells would the head of the Family do that? She shook her head. Time enough to worry about it later. For now, she had to be off to Zev’s.
Renee pounded the door with more abuse than the aging wood warranted.
The door opened. Letting her inside, Alec marked his place in a book with his finger and looked over his shoulder. “Sorry, Master Zev, no more visitors, I promise.”
“Mmm,” Zev grumbled, sparing a nod for Renee before frowning at Alec. “Did you pick up the tea, boy, as I asked?”
Alec winced. “No, sir. Renee and I can go now, though.”
Renee stiffened.
Zev waved his hand and limped out. “Never you mind. I will buy it myself.”
Instead of sighing in relief, Alec blushed and frowned at the closing door. “He’s just saying that. We should fetch it.”
Enough. She stepped into his line of sight. “Quit worrying about tea. Jasper . . . ” She stopped. The words she expected to pour out refused to do so. She had never seen Savoy afraid. “Your friend Jasper, he’s—he’s a Viper.”
Alec leaned against the wall. “Yes, I know.”
Her eyes widened.
“I thought you knew. Most everyone in Catar is a Viper.” He rubbed his face. “Did something happen?”
“I found Savoy.”
Alec froze, then sat on the floor, pulling her down beside him. The scent of sweet spice, like Zev’s, drifted from his shirt.
Leaning against him, she started at the beginning. The words tumbled out now, detailing the arena, the fights, the meeting in the carpeted room. “I think Jasper is hurting him,” she said at last, resting her forearms against her knees. “I cannot explain it otherwise.”
An impatient sigh rose beside her. “Being a mage doesn’t make him evil, Renee,” Alec bit out. “Just because you can’t do something doesn’t mean
those who can are diseased. You said it yourself—the man had welts. That isn’t mage work.”
Renee’s eyes narrowed. “You saw Grovener cut an arrow from him, Alec. Savoy isn’t afraid of bruises. You didn’t see . . . ” She shook her head and sat upright. Alec hadn’t seen, and her proof amounted to analyzing pallor. She breathed evenly to douse the fire in her blood. “I never called Control a disease. But it’s not an assurance of virtue either. Will you agree that we each know too little about Jasper to judge his integrity?” She thanked the gods when Alec nodded. “All right. If a mage, some mage, was hurting Savoy, could he shield himself?”
Alec’s face reclaimed it usual introspection. “Break a mage’s concentration and he’s useless. Pain, fear, distraction, anything like that and, well, you saw Jasper and Ivan in that alley. As for shielding . . . ” His eyes scanned a large bookshelf and returned apologetic. “The Keraldi Barrier provides natural protection, but it’s no better against force than skin against a knife. Not much help there.”
“Better than nothing.” Renee rested her forehead against her arms.
“I don’t know. It’s like holding off a sword by gripping the blade with your bare hands; the steel will win anyway, just later and more painfully.”
The description nauseated her. “If Jasper were registered—”
“The Crown could ship him off to disarm Devmani mage traps. Or kill him.” Alec’s shoulders tensed. “Good solution.”
Her temper gave way at last. “If he were registered, the threat of punishment from the Mage Council would keep him from puppeteering people to begin with!”
Alec rose. “People commit crimes every day, Renee. It’s not fair to single us out for special penalty.”
Renee looked at him for several heartbeats before shifting her gaze to the fire. “Us used to mean you and me, Alec.”