Eight times the man tried to ram Toran. And eight times Toran used the man’s own momentum to drive him into the wall, letting the rock do all the damage. Eight times and Growlsabob crumpled to the ground.
Silence.
He waited for someone to break it. No one did because no one had bet on him. A shame. Had anyone known he was the Crown, they could have made a fortune.
Nes knew. Yet she’d still bet against him.
“We have a winner!” the announcer shouted. “And a new champion, Frederick the Beheader!”
Cheers sprang up from the faces gathered, but Toran wasn’t looking at them. His eyes swept the pit. No sign of Loriana. The remains of his love oozed into his stomach, making it churn.
He needed a drink. Or a shot. Anything at all. Even that shit vodka from Kohen’s seventeenth birthday that tasted like clean piss. He’d drink it. As long as—
A hand appeared. Fingertips so close to his eyes he could see the way the cuticles curled over the nail beds.
He followed the slim fingers up to a wrist, then further to an elbow, all the way to Nes’s freckled face. Her lips had thinned, her brow furrowed. Her blue eyes were somehow darker under the weight of her concern.
All thoughts of alcohol faded from his mind as he took her outstretched hand. She didn’t ask if he was okay. They both knew the answer.
He didn’t look back at Growlsabob, still lying on the pit floor, as Nes yanked his hand hard enough for him to grasp the edge of the pit and pull himself out. She was small, but she was strong and steady.
“Congratulations!” the announcer boomed, and Toran felt something round fall atop his head.
He reached a hand up, pulling off the object. In his hands, painted silver with small weathered pieces of glass on each point, was a wooden crown. He stared at the ugly thing and then burst out laughing.
Beside him, Nes smirked. “You’re the brawlhouse’s new Crown.”
He placed the crown back on his head. “Why did you bet against me?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “Phineas did. And Phineas doesn’t lose.”
He frowned. “But he did tonight.”
Mischief lit up her eyes. “Exactly.”
Before Toran could ask more, the scrawny boy he’d seen Nes watching earlier appeared beside her. Despite looking no older than fifteen, everyone around them gave the boy a wide berth. Everyone except Nes.
“Nes,” the boy said in the way a parent might scold a child.
“Minot,” Nes said with about as much enthusiasm as someone picking food from their teeth.
“Phineas wants to see you.”
Nes cast her arms in one direction, bending low. “Then do be a dear and lead the way.”
The boy—Minot—turned, tossing Nes the middle finger over his shoulder. Toran choked on a laugh.
Nes’s glare promised death. “There are plenty of other pits in here, Captain. Take your pick,” she said in a low voice. Her eyes flitted from his face to the back of Minot’s head. “When we get in there, do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut.”
He followed her and Minot through the crowd of spectators. Minot led them to a small door opposite the bar. Toran handed the boy the wooden crown before ducking inside.
The room was small, as if it were meant to be a broom closet rather than the office it was. There was barely enough space for him, Nes, and Minot inside. He had to press himself against Nes just so Minot could close the door. He waited for her to jerk away, but she didn’t.
Door shut, Minot squeezed around them to deposit the crown in front of the man seated behind the narrow desk. Except it wasn’t a desk. More like a thin slab of wood folded out of the wall.
The man seated behind it was neither narrow nor thin. He was quite possibly the most beautiful man Toran had ever seen. Large green eyes watched them from beneath thick brows. His lips looked as if they’d been sculpted from wet clay, and his jawline was no different. The man’s hair shone in the dim light, waves of it flowing over broad shoulders. Every part of him looked meticulously polished.
The man’s eyes flicked to Nes, and his lips curved into a smile. “My little hound,” he crooned, and everything Toran had found appealing about the man burned to a crisp. “When I said I wanted you to bring me new talent, I admit”—his eyes flashed to Toran, his tongue sliding over his top lip—“this wasn’t what I expected.”
