You Bit Me
That night, Esme pushed through the streets of North Amaris with two goals:
First, to discover how Magic flooded the city in hopes she might dam it.
Second, to be completely stupid.
Luckily, the fighting pits would assist in both ventures.
Fighting pits were exactly what they sounded like—big holes in the ground where people could bet on the brawls raging inside. There were pits in every corner of the city, though the ones in the Hand were the nicest. In the Foot, you were lucky if your pit wasn’t an emptied grave.
The one Esme shouldered her way towards now was one of the nicer ones.
Pit wasn’t even an accurate word for it.
This was a bricked basement sitting at the end of a street, just before the city wall.
Crimson curtains hung off a washed iron railing around the edge.
Lanterns threw light into the depths of the ten-foot drop.
Onlookers oohed and hissed at the scuffle below.
Esme had a theory that Amaris’s natural proclivity to everything sticky had drawn Magic to the city, but it couldn’t just manifest, not without a Void.
She’d seen Omniel destroy his with her own eyes, which meant she had no clue how the slippery fiend had gotten here.
She shuddered at the idea of a pus-filled gash in the street belching up Magic.
She elbowed her way up to the matchmaker, a bird-faced man named Quail who’d been running this pit since he’d retired from fighting in it decades ago. Now, his cheeks were sunken and his skin loose, but he retained the ghost of his edge.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Quail laughed, throwing his arms around Esme.
“Her Highness’s insufferable nature,” Esme said, pulling back from their hug. She scented the air and found it sugared. Magic lingered—not too much, just enough.
“It is a gift that never stops giving,” Quail said, kissing her cheek. “Match is good tonight. Newcomer’s on a winning streak. You might want to sit the night out.”
Esme snorted. “I doubt he’s that good.” She needed a fight tonight, something to blow off a little steam.
No matter how good the winner was, she was fighting him.
She looked over the crowd to find the second fighting pit Quail ran empty and closed.
A large wooden cover was slapped atop of it. “What happened over there?”
“Bad fight last night,” Quail said, back straight.
“Guts in the grout. Can’t get it cleaned until tomorrow.
” He pulled down his gilded doublet. It was a nice piece of clothing to wear while prowling around a bloodbath.
Before she could comment on it, he pressed a hand to her spine like he might drag her to the tavern, but she was here for a fight.
She shoved herself up to the edge of the railing, barely carving out a space in the thickening crowd.
When she leaned closer, the reek of candy-sweet madness singed her nostrils.
It grabbed at her hips in a tidal rush. Onlookers damn near threw themselves headfirst into the hole, screaming at the men circling each other below.
One of them was seconds from collapse, with black bruises blooming across his arms. His nose was crooked the wrong way, and three of his fingers swayed a bit too loosely.
The other man was sweating, but he didn’t have a bruise on him.
His back was to Esme, but she had a feeling he wasn’t even panting.
The uninjured newcomer rushed for his battered opponent, and to that haggard man’s credit, he at least tried.
He punched his attacker in the stomach so hard Esme was sure the newcomer would crumble.
But the newcomer made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a laugh and threw his knee into the man’s side.
The beaten man dropped, hacking and heaving.
The newcomer wrapped his massive arms around his opponent’s neck and wrenched his chin up. They struggled just enough for the pair to whip about, giving Esme a view of the man she’d have to beat in a few minutes, and—
Balthazar Joh’el, what the fuck are you doing?
He chuckled as his opponent’s face went blue and purple, and then he locked eyes with her.
Bal’s grin fell. His arms loosened, and his opponent elbowed his side.
Bal ate the hit without even a wince. With his eyes still on hers, he grabbed his opponent by the scalp and slammed his face to the dirt, over and over, until he left a gory print of his features.
When the man’s body went limp, Bal dropped him and stood.
He didn’t spare a look to the face he’d just ruined.
Esme gaped at her gentle, child-collecting Bal. The crowd roared for their warrior-king Balthazar.
“To the winner, his spoils!” Quail shouted above the noise of the masses. “For the night, eight thousand, one hundred and ninety-three talons!”
Song’s balls. If he didn’t stop, he’d be rich.
Balthazar gave a show, strolling around his ring, bowing and waving, before turning back to Esme with alarm in his eyes. He went to climb out of the ring, but Quail pulled the makeshift ladder at his feet out of Bal’s reach.
“Ah-ah, sir! Give us just one more fight?” Quail crooned down at him. Bal stuttered, and Quail took the bait. “Surely, you have proved yourself the strongest man here tonight. But I pose you a question: are you stronger than a Wraith?”
Quail swept to the side to unveil Esme to the crowd, and the crowd went wild. Esme managed to veil her panic only barely.
“He’ll be an easy upset,” Quail whispered to her with a wink. “Make it quick and go have a nice night.” He obviously didn’t know who Bal was, which was at least good.
That meant that Esme couldn’t let on that the man pummeling professional fighters in a hole was heir to the throne.
Bal took a step back, waving his hands.
“Where’d all of your bravado go?” Esme asked him, tapping her nail to her lip. “Are you giving up?”
She took a step into open air and dropped into the pit. Magic sloshed against her legs when she landed, but it was thinner than it was up among the crowd. That meant it hadn’t come for the fight itself, but for people’s fanaticism.
She swaggered up to Bal, brushing by him and whispering, “Just keep pretending. I promise I won’t beat you too bad.”
Something in her tone made his back straighten. He looked sidelong at her, and his full lips curled up at the edges. “You think you’d beat me? I just beat ten men.”
“They were your warmup,” Esme purred.
“You’re my main event?”
“Of course.” She lifted her shoulder and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “You know, when I beat you, you’ll owe me an explanation. Why are you down here?”
Bal dipped down, so close their noses brushed. “Why are you?” he countered.
Esme’s ears burned red.
“The bets have been wagered!” Quail’s voice cut through their flirting. Oh, yes—they were in public. “The pot, twenty thousand, one hundred and ninety-two! The split, down the middle!”
Twenty thousand talons was a fortune. She didn’t know whether the amount was a compliment or that half-and-half split was an insult.
“Half?” she demanded, spinning on the crowd. “Half of you think I’ll be bested by a human? Dear Amaris, you wound me.”
She turned back to Bal and held her hand up. A sword of shadow condensed to life in her palm. She twirled it before tossing it to him.
“What’s this for?” he asked, marveling at the blade.
Esme smirked. “You’ll need the help,” she said. “Until first blood?”
Bal nodded. “First blood.” And then he lunged.
In the blink of an eye, he swallowed the space between them, sword blazing for her throat. Esme ducked under the blade then spun around to his back and shoved her boot into his spine. Bal slapped on the ground, then leapt up and turned on her again with a wide smile.
Bal feinted a jab at her side, and when Esme stepped to avoid it he switched to punching her left rib. The hit landed and he cringed, then stepped back, shaking out his hand.
“Are you made of iron?” he asked very seriously, surveying his warming fingers. They would bruise by tomorrow.
“Are you calling me hard and cold?” Esme cooed, touching her chest. “You’re so mean. I thought you liked me.”
She tried to kick his side, but he caught her by the knee.
He threw away his shadow-sword and yanked her by the leg into his body.
With her back to his chest, he tried to wrestle her arms up and away, but she slammed her heel into his toe and her elbow into his chin.
She slipped away as his head snapped back, but he was slinking down into a dirty stance in a second.
“I do like you,” he said, shaking out his hand as if to whip off the pain from punching her. “Do you like me?”
Esme’s face heated so hot it stung her eyes. She didn’t answer, instead fixing her form.
“That looks like a yes,” Bal said. “Look at me.”
She didn’t even realize she’d averted her gaze until it snapped back to Bal’s. She didn’t realize she’d followed his command, either, until a big grin spread across his face.
“You really do like me, huh?” he teased.
When he kicked for her head, Esme dropped and swept his leg out from under him. As soon as he hit the dirt, he threw himself up to his feet and lunged to tackle her.
She was iron against him again, and Bal huffed out a laugh before hauling her up over his shoulder. She almost smiled, but instead kneed him in the side. He faltered but didn’t drop her, flinging her down to the dirt instead. A shadow caught her and righted her before she could feel the blow.
“Cheater!” Bal yelled.
“I thought you were going to beat a Wraith?” Esme asked, kicking his side and quickly snapping the same kick up for his head. He dodged her narrowly, grabbing her leg and throwing her across the pit behind him.
She skidded to her feet. He was fun to fight.
“If you wanted to kill me, could you?” Bal asked, panting.
“In three moves,” Esme said, standing straight and rolling back her shoulders. “Want me to show you?”
“Please do.”