And just like that, my haggling flutters out the window, but at least I get Mittal to throw in wood cleaner and two sets of bubble air masks for high flying. But the little man knows he got us good; I’ll never live this down. Mr. Mittal even waves as we leave, wooden fingers knocking against one another.
Kalyan buckles the skyglider to his belt. “Don’t think you’ve gotten away with it.”
I look over. “What?”
He smirks, actually smirks. “How many, Smoke?”
I carry on, barreling through the crowd. “Gods, you’re persistent.”
“Come on.” He steps in front of me, arms open in a shrug. “I did almost die for you last night.”
“Ah, I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?” I duck around him. “How about this, I tell you and we don’t bring that up ever again?”
His boots crunch in the dirt behind me. “Just to clarify, do you mean the part where I threw myself in front of that arrow or the part where we slept together?”
My pulse jumps. I hold myself back from clapping a hand over his mouth, instead going for a casual wheel around to make sure no one heard. “We didn’t sleep together,” I whisper-yell. “And both. We never mention either of those things!” He’s driven me to panic.
Kalyan whistles. “It must be even worse than I thought.” He pretends to ponder before, “Deal.”
I stop, the market bubbling with barter and gossip. A troop of monkeys skirt along rooftops, adding to the chatter. “Thirty-seven,” I mumble.
He leans down, invading my space. “What was that?”
I fold my arms. There isn’t a way out of this. “Counting today.” I nod to Hubris the Third hanging from my belt. “It’s thirty-seven,” I annunciate. “Happy?”
He doesn’t have to answer. He smiles and it’s so blazingly joyful. There is something wrong with him if this measly piece of information makes him this pleased. And maybe myself for letting it infect me, too. “You never disappoint,” he says through his smile.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sneaking into my room and falling into bed.
And I can’t sleep.
You never disappoint.I don’t fully believe him, of course, but still—I don’t disappoint. The females populating the kitchen would say Jatin’s fake love letters that jabbered on about destiny would be considered more romantic than that statement. But for someone who feels like a disappointment and is struggling to never do so again? Kalyan’s words produce…comfort.
I grab a pillow and yell into it. This is wrong. All wrong. My birthday approaches like a wild storm. I fight Beckman tomorrow. And I’m in love with a man I have no right to be in love with. Everything seems to be teetering on an edge and about to crush me. Yet, I still fall asleep imagining the warmth of my blanket comes from a different source.
Sims may be a sleazy Vencrin abettor, but he sure knows how to market a fight. Slogans such asrising fire against the insurmountable monsoonpepper the walls in fake blood splatter. Black magic illusions of Beckman and me trying to rip each other apart artfully dazzle the crowd in anticipation. It shakes me to the bones, but it’s impressive all the same.
One foot settled into the stench of the Underground, and Kalyan and I are already surrounded. Voices question my mental state, how I plan to win against the biggest fighter in cage-casting history. Kalyan, after thatonefight, has risen through the ranks at the Underground, a personal favorite with witch viewers. Or at least with the few we have. Several female figures lob their support for the White Knight. Kalyan only frowns and points to the board, showing them he’s obviously not on the roster. It’s nice to pinpoint jealousy in the swarm of other emotions swallowing me. But once I shrug it aside, three other emotions wreaking havoc with my body demand attention. Fear clouds. Anxiety swirls. Anger bites.
I can’t take it anymore. With a wave of my hand, I swerve through the mirth and retreat to the locker room. Normally, I would be happy to have a fan base because that means I’m more valuable to Sims. And more valuable to Sims means I can get more intel. But tonight? Tonight irritation and fear grip me like a second skin. Most of these wizards and witches have no idea what kind of operation they fund when they gamble here. These same people buy my firelight and pay taxes. Also, like me, they have no idea what kind of man Beckman truly is.
I shove the door to my room open and it slams against the wall. Sonna, a fellow female fighter, sits on the bench, meditating. One eye pops open as I enter.
“Hey, Smoke. Still dealing with those anger issues, I see.”
“Hey, Mist.” I follow her gaze to the dent in the door. “That wasn’t me. This time…”
She laughs lightly and closes her eyes again. Blue smoke rises and falls from her arms like they’re breathing.
The door opens again and Kalyan enters. He nods to Sonna, then turns to me. “Hey. Why did you leave?”
“Just wanted to get…settled.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to do this. It’s not too late to back out. Maybe you should.”
We stare at each other. “I can’t.” I miss this fight and Sims will hunt me down personally. I just have to get through it and not die.
“Could you two look at each other somewhere else? And you do know this is the women’s locker room, right?” Sonna snaps.
