Suri smiled conspiratorially at her.
“No,” she said, her voice flat. She wriggled out of Suri’s grip. “There are far more important things that require my attention.”
She expected the pout to return, but Suri’s face turned serious. “Phineas knows you stole from his distillery.”
Nes shrugged. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think he’d find out.”
If she hadn’thopedhe’d find out. Because Phineas dogging her steps was something she knew how to handle.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“The only kind I know how to play.”
“Good luck in there,” Suri said.
Thanks, she mouthed before gesturing to Toran to follow her around the corner.
A wall of sound loud enough to skip a heartbeat greeted her as she turned and stepped to the forefront of the fray. Stomping feet, screeching catcalls, clapping laughter, and the congruous plucking of five strong basses. But all that noise had nothing on the incredulity that rose in Toran’s voice.
“A brawlhouse?”
Toran stood at her side, every muscle strained beneath the clean sleeves of his button-down shirt, his suspenders stretched taut.Damn. Suri was right. Even the dark cloak he’d thrown over his shoulders couldn’t hide his strength. With his stiff posture and hands in fists, he looked no different than the men lining up for a fight.
At least he’d forgone his uniform and that massive sword. She’d fully expected him to show up decked out in all his pins and regalia. He’d surprised her by listening.
“Brawlhouses are illegal,” Toran said in her ear.
“Then this isn’t a brawlhouse.”
He scoffed. “Not a brawlhouse, my ass.”
She flicked her eyes to his rear. “I can neither confirm nor deny such a statement without seeing said ass.”
When Toran looked back over at her, he didn’t seem amused.Pity.
“Are you always this—”
“Charming?” she supplied. “Appealing?”
“Vexing.”
She frowned.
“If this isn’t a brawlhouse,” Toran said, “then what do you call those?” He gestured to the fighting pits.
There were eight of them—seven spreading in a circle around onein the center. Eight giant craters dug out of the ground, deep enough for the walls of dirt to reach high over your head and wide enough for two full-grown men to lie down toes to head, head to toes.
“Graves,” she said, throwing a bit of nonchalance on her tone.
“That’s exactly why the King made brawlhouses illegal.”
“People die every day from less exciting causes.” She idly tapped the tips of her fingers against her thumb as his words ran through her head. “Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
She raised her shoulders and puffed up her cheeks. “Brawlhouse,” she croaked out in imitation.
Toran stared at her, the corner of his lips twitching. “I don’t sound like that.”
