The first drunk comes at me wild, fists swinging. I dodgeone blow, but the second cracks across my jaw, causing stars to burst behind my eyes. Anger surges through me. I drive my fist into his gut, then hook him hard across the cheek. He staggers back, wheezing.
“Not bad,” Torin shouts, his arm locked around the other man’s neck. “When you said you didn’t know how to use a weapon, I assumed you didn’t know how to fight at all. But clearly, you do.”
“You forget I work in a tavern? Now, shut up and fight,” I snap, ducking another swing.
The tavern erupts in shouts of encouragement, insults, and laughter. The barkeep bellows something about taking it outside, but no one listens.
I catch another fist to the ribs and snarl, slamming my opponent into the edge of our booth. Tankards topple. Ale spills across the floor.
The man comes again, heavier this time, and we collide. My back slams into the wood, pain flaring through my side.Shit. That had just healed.I snap my fist upward, catching him under the chin. His head jerks back, but before I can finish it, his friend breaks free of Torin and barrels into us.
The three of us go crashing to the floor.
I grunt, half-pinned under dead weight. Torin swears and yanks the second drunk off, tossing him aside like a sack of grain.
“Stay down!” Torin barks.
I roll to my feet, spitting blood onto the floor. My opponent lunges again. I catch him with a wild swing that sends him sprawling.
Breathless, bruised, and aching, I glance at Torin. His tunic is torn, his hair a mess, his eyealready swelling purple, but his grin is wide.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse him.
“Maybe a little.”
That’s when the barkeep storms toward us, red-faced. “OUT!” he roars. “All of you! Before I toss you out myself!”
“Gladly,” I mutter, wincing as I rub my jaw.
Torin hauls me toward the door. Behind us, the two drunks are still cursing as the barkeep throws them out, too.
The cool night air feels good as it hits my bruised skin. We look at each other, then erupt into laughter. I can’t stop grinning, even as blood drips from my lip and my raw knuckles. For the first time in years, despite the bruises, despite the pain, I feel lighter.
We limp through the cobbled streets, both of us laughing under our breath. The pain in my jaw deepens with every step, but it’s easier to bear with Torin stumbling beside me, still grinning like a fool.
“You’ve got blood all over your teeth,” he says, pointing.
I spit again and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’ve got half a tavern bench in your hair.”
He reaches up, pulls out a splinter, and winces. “Worth it.”
By the time we reach the outer gates of the palace, we’ve sobered just enough to realize the state we’re in. My knuckles are raw, my ribs throb with each breath, and Torin’s eye is swelling shut.
“Brilliant,” I mutter. “How do we explain this?”
Torin’s grin dims. “We don’t. We can’t go to the healers; they’ll ask questions. If they figure out I dragged you out during the trials, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Then we go back to our rooms and hope no one notices.”
He shakes his head. “Not a chance. You’ll never train tomorrow looking like you got trampled by a mule.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” His tone is sharp for once. “You need mending.”
I give him a flat look. “And where exactly do you suggest we go?”
He hesitates, then says, “Well…there issomeone...”
