Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DAPHNE
I t’s Friday night, so I know exactly where to find Monty. The evening sky is overcast, and soon a drizzle begins. As much as I’d love to luxuriate in the gentle rainfall, I’m on the opposite end of town from where the industrial district is. It makes more sense to hail a hansom. Everything inside me buzzes—with hope, with terror—and I can hardly sit still in the cab. I want to shout at the coachman to drive faster, to reach outside the window and slap the horse’s flank and prod him into a gallop myself, but I settle for sitting on my hands.
Finally, the cab enters the industrial district, and I ask him to drop me off. The abandoned textile building isn’t yet in sight, but I’m not sure I should direct public attention to the club’s location. The rain has let up to an even softer drizzle, coating me in mist as I run the rest of the way. I don’t hesitate when I reach the fence; I dart through the gap and race toward the door. There’s no line this time, as the fights have likely already begun.
I knock at the heavy door, politely at first, and then slam on it with my fist. The kangaroo fae who served as doorman and referee appears through a slim crack in the door, eying me with suspicion.
“I’m late,” I say, my words breathless. “I’m here for the fights.”
He assesses me through slitted lids. Then he opens his palm and extends it to me. “Six emerald chips.”
I hand over the gemstone currency, and he begrudgingly lets me in. Before I stride toward the rush of noise that beckons from ahead, I face the kangaroo fae. “Have you seen Monty—” I snap my mouth shut, remembering that none of the fighters go by their real names. What was his stage name again? “Have you seen Lucky Lovesbane tonight?”
“Ah, right,” he says, his countenance softening. “I remember you. His special guest from a few weeks back. Yeah, he’s in the ring right now.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “Thank you!” I rush the rest of the way into the main portion of the building, swarmed with an onslaught of scents and sounds. My insides scream at me to cover my ears, to shrink down, to leave this chaotic, busy place, but I tamp down my fear. I can’t see the ring from here, with so many tall figures crammed around it, but I glimpse a flash of motion from up ahead, illuminated by the spotlight formed by the cluster of yellow fire sprites that fill the enormous glass orb overhead.
With a deep breath, I start forward, pushing my way between bodies and offering muttered apologies. I exhale a cry of relief when the ring comes into view. Just a few more bodies stand between me and the stage, so I push my way through, all the way to the front, until my view is clear.
First I recognize Gabby Stabbington, the broad-shouldered butcher who fought in the first match I watched. She’s dressed in the same ensemble as before, including her blood-splattered apron. She shuffles on her feet, back facing me. Then she steps to the side, and I’m granted my first glimpse of Monty.
My chest tightens at the sight of him. One of his eyebrows is split, blood running down the side of his face, mingling with the sweat that coats his skin. Bruises bloom over his bare torso, and his heavy movements make it clear he’s exhausted. Their match must have been going on for quite some time.
They circle each other, and Gabby lands a punch to his sternum. He doesn’t so much as raise his arms to block it, and instead heaves in on himself and stumbles to the side.
His name leaves my lips with a sharp cry. “Monty.”
His gaze shoots to mine, and his eyes widen with surprise. I don’t hear what he says next, but I can make out the shape of his lips. “Daph?”
Just then, Gabby Stabbington sends a vicious right hook into his jaw and sends him toppling to the floor.
Monty doesn’t get knocked unconscious this time, but he does stay down long enough to mark his defeat. My guts writhe with anxiety. Monty mentioned how his fights are fixed, allowing him to work off his weekly loan payments. I was hurting too much when he told me about this, so I didn’t dwell on what I heard, but now I can’t help wondering if he was meant to lose tonight. If not, did my presence distract him at a critical moment? Was it a mistake coming here?
My feet beg me to flee, but I don’t. I root myself in place, determined to face this head-on, no matter what.
Gabby and Monty meet at the middle of the ring in a friendly handshake. Monty descends from the platform, and as soon as his feet hit the concrete, I’m there. Our eyes meet, and I don’t know what to say, what to do. Monty’s expression is impossible to read, obscured by blood, sweat, and bruises. For several shallow breaths we simply stare at each other as if trying to make sense of a sudden apparition. Then he heaves a sigh, drops his gaze, and gathers his belongings from the base of the stage. He toes on his shoes, retrieves his shirt, and pulls it over his head, not bothering to secure the top buttons. Once both arms are through, his fingers come around my wrist and he drags me away from the stage.
His grip is gentle, but his manner is curt. I follow him through the swarm of bodies and out the door. He pulls me across the vacant lot and onto the quiet night streets of the industrial district. The sky continues to drizzle a soft mist of rain.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
He walks ahead of me, picking up his pace whenever I try to catch up with him. “I’m getting you in a cab back home.”
“Monty, stop, it’s raining.”
“Good. I need a fucking shower.”
“But you’re sensitive to rain. Why don’t you have an umbrella? Shouldn’t you carry one with you?”
He halts, releasing my wrist and whirling to face me. “Why are you fretting over me? You’re supposed to be on a date.”
I pull my head back. “How did you know about my date?”
He averts his gaze, jaw tight. He says nothing as he stares off into the dark streets and alleyways around us. The overcast sky leaves us with little light, save for the occasional streetlamp or the subtle illumination coming from a few surrounding factories that run overnight. But my vision works well in the dark. I can see the still-open cut on his brow, the way the mist coats his skin and sends trails of blood down his face, soaking his open collar. He hasn’t done up his shirt yet, and his trousers are still rolled up to his calves from the fight.
My eyes lift back to his face, taking in the bruises Gabby left there, the largest being the most recent from her final right hook. I step closer and lift a hand to his jaw. “You’re hurt.”
He intercepts my hand before I can touch his face, clasping my fingers. “I heal quickly.”
My pulse quickens at the feel of his hand around mine. It isn’t a warm touch, but it isn’t harsh either. And he hasn’t released me. “Even in the rain? You’re the one who told me you’re sensitive to it.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can argue, the sky opens up, turning the rainfall from mist to a deluge in a matter of seconds. It feels incredible after the stuffy, smoky club, but I don’t imagine Monty feels the same. He bites out a curse, but I can barely hear it over the downpour.
I shift the hand he holds until I’m the one grasping his fingers, and I tug him down the slick streets. With my keen nocturnal eyesight, I can find us an alcove in which to wait out the storm, or perhaps to leave him while I find a cab. He follows me without question, turning down the next street where a large warehouse looms on the corner. I recognize it from my much slower, much more curious trip to find the club with Araminta. The warehouse consists of two towering brick buildings with a system of bridges and walkways that connect them and their many floors.
I pull him into the alley between the buildings. The ground is mostly dry, and only a trickle of rain falls through the gaps between the crisscrossing walkways overhead. As soon as we pull to a halt, a green glow emanates from one of the walls. I startle at the sudden light, but it’s only a bioluminescent mushroom growing from the brick. It’s as wide as a dinner plate with a shelflike shape. No sooner than it brightens to an emerald glow does another illuminate, then another, as if set off by the previous mushroom’s glow. Soon the entire wall is alight with mushrooms, and each one’s color changes, from green closest to the mouth of the alley, to blue, then purple, to pink at the far end. Whether the mushrooms were encouraged to grow here intentionally to brighten the space during late-night work hours or the fungi simply chose this place to grow of their own accord, I know not. Either way, it’s stunning.
Forcing myself out of my awe, I turn to Monty and find him catching his breath, his gaze on the mushrooms. His hair is soaked, and he’s slicked it back, revealing a forehead that’s normally covered with his messy waves. The rain has washed away some of the blood on his face, but the cut on his brow remains open.
“Why did you come here?” he says through panting breaths as he slides his fingers from mine. “I didn’t want you to have to see…I didn’t want you at tonight’s fight.”
He meant for the latter words to sting, but it’s too late. I heard what he was about to say. He didn’t want me to see tonight’s fight, probably because he knew he was going to lose. “Your defeat was predetermined, wasn’t it?”
He curls his fingers into fists, battling with himself not to answer. Then he heaves a resigned sigh. “Yes, it was predetermined, and it was meant to hurt as punishment for having missed last weekend’s payment. I was directed to stay on my feet until the final round, taking as many punches as I could without being defeated too early.”
My chest tightens. “That’s what happens when you don’t pay? Isn’t there another way? Can’t you refuse to fight?”
“If I refuse to fight, I have to pay in currency, and the interest has made my weekly payments outrageous. I can’t afford them. I can’t refuse to pay altogether, for every time I miss a payment, the due date for my debt moves up a week.”
“When is your current due date? And how much do you owe?”
“The sixteenth of July. My remaining sum is just over twenty thousand emerald rounds.”
My eyes nearly bulge from my head. “You have to pay twenty thousand emerald rounds in a month and a half?”
He gives me a cold, humorless grin. “I told you my life is a mess, Daph. Now do you believe me?”
I realize that’s the only reason he’s answering my questions honestly. He wants to show me what a mess he is. “What happens if you don’t pay off your loan by then?”
He hesitates again, eyes narrowing. His face is awash in the blue-green glow from the nearest mushrooms. “My lender deals in secrets,” he says, voice low. “If I don’t pay, he reveals my secret publicly. He’ll sell it to every prominent gossip columnist on the isle. Only the most trusted ones with reputations for being correct about the gossip they share.”
“What is your secret?”
“I can’t tell you,” he bites out. When I arch a brow, he adds, “I physically can’t tell you, even if I wanted to. The only reason my lender knows about it is because his magic allowed him to extract my most closely guarded secret with a single glance. If it gets out, my family is ruined.”
I puzzle over his words. There’s only one explanation for what he’s saying. “You made a bargain.”
He throws his head back, drops of rainwater falling from the ends of his hair. “If only you knew the weight of the bargains I’m buried under.”
So there’s more than one, and I have a feeling ours isn’t one of the bargains he’s referring to.
I take a step closer to him. “Like the one you made with your father?”
His posture stiffens. Slowly, he lowers his head to meet my gaze, eyes narrowed.
“I overheard your conversation on the train platform,” I explain. I hadn’t been certain then, but I am now. His reaction makes it clear.
His expression flashes with apprehension before he speaks. “After my engagement to Briony ended, I assured my father I would never marry. I convinced him I would mess it up again and again. That I couldn’t be his heir. He was at his wits’ end and made the only good choice he’s ever made—disinheriting me and naming Angela his heir. But not before I made a bargain that I would return to my place if I ever settled down. In precise terms, I would return to the family if I courted someone. I would reclaim my role as heir if I married.”
I reflect on his words, replaying them, stacking them up against everything else he’s said. He really meant it when he said he couldn’t marry. He’d made a bargain not to. Yet this can’t be the big secret he unwittingly sold to his moneylender. He said he physically can’t tell anyone that secret. Which means this marriage bargain is only secondary to whatever he’s hiding. Yet how did he make these bargains in the first place?
Keeping my voice even, I ask, “You used a bargain broker, then? To conduct the bargain between you and your father?”
A bargain broker is necessary for bargains forged between humans. Or even between fae, if a formal record is desired to make the bargain both legally and magically binding.
Monty stills at the question, shoulders tense. His eyes go wide.
Like cornered prey.
The remaining pieces click together in my mind.
I heal quickly.
I’m a little sensitive to rain.
My eyes rove over his rounded ears, then the bruises marring his skin. It only occurs to me now that while I’ve seen him beaten up and noticed scabs on his knuckles, his wounds have never been there long. Why would a human consider himself a fast healer? Why would he be sensitive to one of the elements?
My heart clenches tight in my chest, the answer spilling from my lips. “You’re half fae.”