Page 43 of The Space Between Stars

Ah. So he was still keeping score. Niklaus batted his eyes. “Thirty, then. And I’ll owe you five-fifty.”

No one would have taken the offer if they didn’t know Niklaus had the funds to back it. Trokus rolled his eyes, but his pen hovered over the last open entry slot. “What’s the name?”

“Nameless.”

“Nameless?”

“For now, yes.”

“And you have his permission for entry? I won’t be handing out spots to no-shows. Bad for business.”

“He’ll show.” Niklaus chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll know him when you see him. And smell him, admittedly.”

Trokus lifted the paper and held it closer to his face as though counting the slots again. His jaw worked. “I don’t recommend this, Meyernes. If anything happens to him, as I said, I’m not liable.”

“Trust me, he’ll be fine.” He winked and reached across the table to pat Trokus’ shoulder.

Trokus scowled. “Alright, he’s in. It’s five silver notes now for the entrance fee.”

“It’s what?”

“I said it’s five notes for entrance, Meyernes.”

Niklaus drummed the tips of his fingers together. “Do you take interest?”

Trokus put his head in his hands. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re on restrictions too?”

“Well—I mean—it’s just while—yes. Yes I am.”

“And you’re descending?”

Was it so obvious? Niklaus held his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. In a last-ditch effort, he stuck out his bottom lip and blinked pleadingly.

Darial rolled his eyes. “Damn you. Twenty percent.” He spat into the sand.

They shook on it.

In the evening light, the endless canvas tents of the encampment’s northwest quadrant looked like paper notes, folded and scattered. The line where tents ended and desert began was hard enough to sharpen a blade. As Niklaus and Thedexemore moved across it, Niklaus’s hand patted at his breast, where a tin was usually stowed away. He fought back a now-familiar tremor, trying to focus past his tunnel vision to find the rally.

The full moon was a shimmering echo of the silvery sands below, as if a piece of the Jiradesh had been broken off and hurled into the sky. Beneath it, Aetech lamps on stakes lined the perimeter of a thirty-foot ring, casting ghostly shadows against the sand. Nearly five hundred people crowded around the impromptu arena. There were sure to be many more as the moon continued to rise.

Niklaus scanned the crowd for the mute and spotted him in an instant, a monument against the flat horizon.

“There.” Thedexemore pointed to him at the same moment. The boy had removed his dark glasses, since the sun had gone down. His eyes were like black pits.

The mute leaned against a water station on the ring’s perimeter. His gaze was already locked on Niklaus. He had not changed from the dirtied black sirwal and tunic he’d worn while sparring with the boy that morning. He was lean but barrel-chested, with a jawline which might break an adobe wall if put to contest with it. If that same jawline were put to contest with his stony expression, it was hard to say which would win out. His features were quintessentially Nelfinden—chestnut skin and thick dark curls.

Well, Creation always had played favorites.

Niklaus fought to form words past the dryness in his mouth. “Evening.”

the mute signaled.

That did not bode well. “Ever fought in a ring before?”

Promising. “How did you fare?”