Astraia watched as he delivered one final blow, and the man on the ground went limp, eyes closed. Blood began to trickle out of his ear, and without even looking for the rise of his chest, she knew he was dead.
Another man stepped into the pit, grabbing the Bear’s fist and raising it high in the air. The onlookers cheered, men clapping each other on their backs, women screaming his name.
It made her ill.
The Bear stood, sweat dripping down his back, blood coating his hands, and walked out of the ring without looking back at the man he just killed.
She watched him stride over to a corner table, slumping down in the chair. A woman brought him a pint of ale, and he downed it instantly, wiping the blood off his hands onto his pants. Hegestured for more ale and flung his head back, resting it on the wall behind him.
Now was her chance.
She pushed back through the throng of people, toward the corner where the Bear sat. At first, she was worried the crowd would follow her, eager to congratulate their champion, but another set of brutes had entered the pit, and they had already forgotten the life taken for their sport, moving on to the next victim.
Taking a deep breath, she brushed her hand over her tether in comfort. Marching up to the Bear’s table, she pulled out the chair across from him and sat, leaning back against the wooden frame.
His eyebrows shot up as she sat down, then his face turned into a scowl. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled in the common tongue.
This caught her by surprise, but she ignored him. She picked up the mug of ale the barmaid had just delivered and took a sip, the liquid burning her throat as she swallowed.
“You’re the one they call the Bear?” she asked, narrowing her eyes on him as she set her mug down on the sticky worn table.
“Depends on who’s asking.” He lowered his voice, challenging her.
Before she could answer, her bonds leapt to her core, dry, soothing heat wrapping around her waist and flowing into her hands and feet. There was no need to turn around to know who had walked up behind her.
“Watch your tone, or I’ll give you a fight you don’t walk away from,” Draven growled, looming over her.
The Bear eyed him, then stood, bare chest glistening in the firelight from sweat and blood as he stalked over to stand toe to toe with Draven. Astraia’s breath hitched, and she stood,prepared to flare if need be. The two warriors stared each other down, their lips pressed into a firm line.
The Bear’s arms moved, but before Astraia could intercept, he clamped his hands on Draven’s upper arms as Draven did the same.
“Good to see you, Arcas,” Draven said, a smile on his face.
“And you. It’s been too long, brother,” the Bear, or Arcas, replied, then pounded Draven on the back. “Sit. Drink.” Arcas gestured for them both to sit and waved down the barmaid for more ale.
Astraia’s mouth dropped, then she snapped her mouth closed, fuming. Another half-truth the bounty hunter kept from her. At this rate, she could fill the Aetherdeep Sea with the secrets of this insufferable man. She slammed her hands down on the table, heat rising to her face as she stared at the pair of them.
“Stars help me, if someone does not tell me what is going on, I will murder both of you and make it look like Dominion took you,” she snarled through gritted teeth, holding tightly to her tether, ready to unleash fury on them both and watch their grins boil off their faces.
Arcas chuckled, reclining in his chair. “Who’s this lovely creature?”
“My name is Traia, but you will call me Deathbringer if you don’t answer me,” she retorted, casting Draven a loathsome look.
“Sit down before you cause a scene, and we’ll talk,” Draven replied flatly.
Seething, she lowered herself into the chair and crossed her arms. Power banged on the door in her mind, feeding off her irritation and aching to tear apart the mead hall. She bit the inside of her cheek to refocus her mind and calm her bond.
“I’m waiting,” she murmured.
“Arcas and I fought in many battles together. I have known him for years,” Draven explained. “When you told me about the Bear being your informant in Asynjur, I had my suspicions it was Arcas.”
“You could have just told me.” She raised her voice, unable to control her indignation.
“I told you some truths can be dangerous. I wanted to be sure.”
“Wait…” Arcas interrupted, leaning forward in his chair. A few tendrils of his hair fell in front of his face as he eyed her in disbelief. “You are the contact in Volpes?”
“Well…secondhand. Lord Caelan has been the one receiving your messages.” She held his stare, refusing to succumb to whatever egotistical game he was playing.
