Chapter 2 Silver
Silver
Mance is hiding something from me,” I tell Vie, ducking under an outcropping of rock.
“Hmm,” she responds indifferently. “Sounds to me like your entire relationship is doomed and you should probably just cut and run while you can.”
I frown at her, annoyed. “I’m not worried about it. I just wonder what it is. Also, just so you know, most friends would offer sympathy in a situation like this.”
“You shouldn’t have sought me out right before a fight,” she retorts, sidestepping a stalagmite. “It’s not my most sympathetic time.”
“When is your most sympathetic time?”
“Once a month or so I get a five-minute window.”
“Ah.” The stone tunnels we’re walking through take a sharp dip downward, and so does the temperature. We’re almost to the heart of the mountain, where illegal betting thrives. “Well, I didn’t come here for you, actually.”
She scoffs, like she doesn’t believe me. “So what are you here for, then? Gonna place a bet?”
“Nah. I’m looking for a kid.”
Her expression darkens into a scowl, and when she speaks, her tone is no longer humorous. “Oh, right,” she sneers. “I forgot you’re the Academy’s lapdog now.”
I wince at the phrasing.
But she’s not exactly wrong.
After Mance took power and rewrote the laws of the land, Rooftop, Vie, and I had the chance to go back to our original professions.
And Rooftop actually did it. He could slip back into being a baker as easily as slipping on an apron. But that’s because he never really left that life. He was a chef on hiatus, but he was always a chef.
Vie, on the other hand, didn’t feel right working for the only other butchers in town, since they were her parents’ rivals.
At least, that’s what she says. But I think the truth is that she’s no longer comfortable in that world.
Vie was a butcher, but now she’s something else.
And I don’t think she knows how to go back.
Or wants to. So she still shows up for battles in the fighting rings, even though Rooftop and I beg her to stop.
And then there’s me. I made candles and then I was a thief, and now neither one seems to fit at all.
To be fair, I did give being a candlemaker a go. At first. But I would fall into bed at the end of a long day with hardened wax under my fingernails and a dozen different scents clinging to my skin, feeling restless and unimportant.
So when Petrice, Mance’s former Captain, finished her transformation of the Academy and approached me about helping her track down the runaways who were still missing, I leaped at the opportunity.
It seemed like the perfect combination of my Outskirts skill set and my brand-new commitment to Do Good.
Only now we’re running out of kids to find, and I still have no idea what’s next. What else I could possibly be good for.
I shake my head, clearing the thoughts. Because none of that matters right now. I got a lead on someone in the rings telling everyone he used to be Academy, which means that at least for tonight I have a job to do. I’ll worry about tomorrow tomorrow.
Vie and I reach the end of the rough stone hallway and she leans forward to knock a particular rhythm on the heavy wooden door. It swings open, and the noise and light on the other side are momentarily overwhelming.
The place is packed. Money is flowing. Fighters are going hard. Blood hits the stone to raucous cheering, and there are so many torches lining the walls that it feels like stepping into the middle of a bonfire.
We elbow our way to the moderator so Vie can check in, then find a spot near the wall, so close to the torches that I start to sweat. Vie snarls at several people along the way, and I realize she’s doing her best to look tough so bettors will think her worth their money.
“There’s my opponent for tonight,” she says around an exaggerated glower. “You see him?”
I follow her eyes to a stocky guy at least five years older than her with the face of a pug. He spits on the ground when he notices us looking.
“He’s trying to intimidate me,” Vie snarls. “Help me intimidate him back?”
“Sure,” I say. “What do you need me to—”
She throws a punch, and without thinking, I catch her fist in one hand.
She frowns. “You’re supposed to let me hit you.”
“You want me to just let you punch me in the face so you can look tough in front of someone you’re probably about to wipe the floor with anyway?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
I throw her fist back at her. “Give me info on the guy I’m looking for and I’ll at least fake it for you convincingly.”
“Fine,” she says through narrowed lips. “Who is it?”
“Goes by Ruin.”
She hisses, but this time it feels genuine.
“Don’t you dare say that name to me,” Vie seethes.
I can’t help it. I laugh. “He beat you, huh?”
“He cheated.”
“By?”
“By . . . having too good of a right hook.”
I smirk. “What can you tell me about him?”
“Not much, really. He kinda came out of nowhere. No one had ever heard of him, but then he showed up and climbed the ranks in a matter of days. He’s a good fighter obviously, but there’s something . . . off about him.”
“Interesting,” I say, turning that over in my mind. “Is he here tonight?”
“You’re in luck,” she growls. “He just walked in.”
My eyes flick to the entrance to see a kid emerging from the tunnels, half obscured by shadow.
He’s tall and skinny, but somehow manages not to look gangly.
Maybe it’s because every muscle in his body is tensed, like at the slightest provocation he might snap.
He has shaggy black hair that reaches his shoulders and a scowl twice as fierce as Vie’s.
But it’s his eyes that really give me pause.
They’re a light green that’s almost yellow, like the scales of a mamba snake.
Like the magic that hangs on the horizon.
And the way he swings them around the room, it feels like they’re blades, cutting down every single person with one dismissive slash.
“He seems nice,” I say.
And then Vie punches me in the face.
I steal some of the ice from the fighters’ bucket and hold it against my cheek as Vie takes the ring. It provides some semblance of relief against both the pain and the oppressive heat of the torches.
As I predicted, Vie takes her opponent down easily.
He’s big, but he’s slow, in more ways than one.
After a few jabs into sensitive areas that he’s neither fast enough nor clever enough to cover, he crumples at her feet to the uproarious support of the crowd.
As the jeering fades and her opponent hoists himself up with a glare, the cavern fills with the sound of clinking coins, and Vie slides out of the circle with a triumphant smirk.
And then it’s Ruin’s turn.
I sit up straighter with interest as he enters the painted circle, because the crowd gets rowdy when they see him.
He doesn’t pander to them, though. Instead, he prowls around the ring like he’s just waiting for someone else to enter, and he doesn’t really care who it is.
Finally, a freckled redhead with a scar across his nose steps up, mouth grim, and Ruin’s attention locks onto him in a way that makes me lower the ice from my cheek so I won’t miss what happens.
The bell has barely rung before Ruin launches himself forward, grappling his opponent and delivering his first blow to the redhead’s gut.
After landing the hit, I expect him to dance back, but he doesn’t.
He keeps going, delivering a torrent of brutal-looking jabs, with no space for even a breath between.
It’s like once he’s started, he can’t stop.
And there’s an unsettling burning in his snake-scale eyes, like a dog that’s been abandoned by its owners and turned feral.
His opponent folds and sags beneath his onslaught until he’s on the ground, unmoving.
And Ruin just keeps going, hitting and kicking with that cold-burning rage in his eyes.
The bell rings again to signal that his match is finished, but Ruin pretends not to hear it. He’s ramming his foot into the redhead’s stomach, causing him to vomit blood, when the moderator finally pulls him off and away.
Based on the reaction of the crowd, I’m the only one sickened. They stamp their feet and jingle their coins in praise as the redhead empties the contents of his stomach on the ground in front of them.
I angle my eyes toward Vie, who leans next to me on the wall. “Was he like that when he fought you?” I ask tightly.
She nods. “He broke my leg.”
I hiss through my teeth and grab her arm, spinning her to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand in a low voice.
“Because I don’t need a babysitter,” she replies coolly, wrenching back her arm. “And Ruin’s leaving, by the way, so if you want to catch him you’d better hurry up.”
For a moment, I war with myself. I want to stay, want to convince her to leave this violence behind for good.
But it doesn’t seem like she’s in a listening mood right now anyway. So I might as well go after the one I have an actual shot at helping.
“We’ll talk about this more later,” I tell Vie.
“Sure we will,” she says.
Ignoring her dismissiveness, I shove my way through the mass of people, weaving through sweaty onlookers and keeping well clear of the chalk-drawn rings.
Only by the time I make it into the cooler air of the tunnel, Ruin is out of sight.
I hurry down the passageway, then look around the tavern when I emerge.
He isn’t there, either. Fortunately, when I burst through the doors I catch a glimpse of him turning at the end of the street.
Relieved, I quicken my pace to catch up to him, but wherever he’s going, he’s not taking a direct route.
I know these streets pretty well, but Ruin is weaving through alleys seemingly at random.
At one point, I lose him completely and come face-to-face with a dead end.
I turn to double back and retrace my steps when someone slams me against the wall, yellow-green eyes burning and an arm braced across my throat.