Chapter Seventeen #2
“Just water, please.” I answer, unable to keep the smile from my face.
“You can’t come out to a fight and not drink, Ves.” Eve says in cajoling tones. “I’m not saying get sloppy, but you deserve to have at least one drink.”
Sighing, I purse my lips. “Alright. One.”
Camille gives a wicked, playful grin.
“Surprise me,” I relent with a shrug. “Just not ale.”
With a firm nod, Camille sets to work.
As I watch her, I ask Eve, “You know her?”
“You can say that,” Eve responds, and I catch her smile in the corner of my eye. She also watches Camille. “It’s hard not to know folks when you’ve lived in the same city for a few hundred years.”
Camille returns, her blue curls bouncing around her shoulders as she moves along. She sets down a frosted glass pint of golden, frothy ale before Eve, giving it a little push. As it travels across the bar further than it should, a cool breeze reaches me.
My brows raise. Camille possesses a wind innate. Repeating the process with a glass of dark red wine, it sails toward me. I snag the glass by the stem, lifting it from the bar.
“One ale, one winterberry wine,” she says in dulcet tones. “Come by sometime when we’re not so busy, Eve. Let’s catch up. Bring Ves with you.” She pivots and heads toward the other end of the bar, taking the next patron’s order.
“Do we not need to pay?” I ask, raising the glass to my lips.
“She’s added it to my tab, I’m sure,” Eve says and drinks heartily from her tankard.
I do the same. The wine is surprisingly sweet, much sweeter than the blush wine that had been served at the induction ceremony. This will be easy to enjoy.
“Let’s go. From the sound of things, Tarron’s already in the ring,” Eve urges with a gesture of her head.
Taking my hand once again, Eve pulls away from the bar, our space immediately reclaimed by the males we’d wedged between.
She leads me toward the back of the tavern, working her way through the crowd with a seasoned ease.
I attempt to peer past her, but there are too many bodies, many of which are much taller than I, robbing me of any potential view.
The sounds of blows landing against flesh and feet scuffing on the wooden floor reach my ears the deeper we amble. I’d thought the crowd at the front of the tavern was thick, yet before long, we’re met with a wall of bodies.
Veering right, Eve approaches a tall, burly human man standing at the bottom of a flight of stairs. The stairs, roped off, lead up to what appears to be a viewing floor over the ring.
“Eve,” the man greets with a friendly smile, and he pulls her in for an embrace, clapping her on her shoulder.
“Nicholas,” she returns the greeting with the same warmth. She draws back. “My table still open? You haven’t given it away, have you?”
The man scoffs, “Never, Eve,” his voice coarse, as if he’s smoked one too many cigarillos. He gestures with a thumb over his shoulder. “Get up there. Lorella is working tonight. She’ll be excited to see you.”
Unhooking one end of the rope, he clears the stairs, waving us through.
Ascending the staircase, we step into an open space, a balcony area with a less crowded view of the ring below.
Eve moves to a table along the right wall, near the end of the banister.
An ideal table. I can sit with my back against the wall, giving me a view of the ring below and those who come up the stairs.
“It won’t be quite as loud up here,” Eve says, peering down at the fight. “But it will still be loud.”
“You know the staff and have a designated table?” I ask in a teasing tone, as I remove my cloak, slinging it over the back of the chair. “I feel like I’m in the company of high society.”
Eve gives a hearty laugh. “Far from it,” she replies, smiling. “The Lioness is one of my favorite haunts. While I no longer run with cutpurses, this place is the one thing I can’t bring myself to let go of. The staff here are like family.”
My brows raise at her casual mention of thievery. At the same time, the crowd bursts into cheering, the sound vibrating in my chest, drawing my attention to the ring below.
“That’s Tarron,” Eve shouts over the noise, pointing with a slender finger.
She points at an orange-haired fae as he lands several strikes against his opponent’s face.
Both fighters are bloodied, shirtless, and muscular.
Tarron stands taller than the other male and has a longer reach.
Swinging again, his fist meets the male’s jaw and the roaring of the crowd grows feverish.
I wince at the sound, and Eve takes notice.
“Not a fan of large crowds?” she asks, shouting in my direction with a smile on her face.
I shake my head.
Even in the hells, massive gatherings like this were uncomfortable.
During Bloodhallow, a yearly celebration—the largest in the hells—I would be forced to attend.
Forced to sit in a viewing box with Netharis and my siblings.
While it put space between the cheering and jeering horde and myself, by the end of the day, I’d still have an unbearable migraine from the noise.
Tonight will be no different, it seems.
Returning my attention below, the fighters circle one another, moving with a predator-like grace. I have to admit, a fight without magic is far less interesting, but I won’t deny the appeal of the bodies on display.
As the night wears on, I finish my wine and Tarron topples his opponent, sending the whole of the tavern into a frenzy. Without warning, Eve leaps over the railing, plummeting into the ring, and throws herself at Tarron. He catches her, surprise on his face, laughing as the entire tavern rumbles.
Eve says something into his ear, and his blue eyes race straight to me.
He flashes a grin, followed by a wink and my jaw sets.
It’s then I realize Eve is putting Tarron on offer for consideration in my hunt.
I scoff a laugh, shaking my head, and meet Eve’s stare.
She slings an arm over his shoulders and together they vanish under the balcony, likely to join me here.
I’m not sure Tarron is the right choice for what I need. If he and Eve grew up together, and Cora said Eve is only a few hundred years old—will he be strong enough to stand against an archdemon?
No. I don’t think so.
But I’d only mentioned needing someone to leave Ollora, not fending off demons. Were I to contract this fae, I would be all but guaranteeing his death. And I’ve an inkling Eve would never forgive such a thing.
That doesn’t mean I don’t understand her perspective. If vanishing into Eldoterra were my only goal, her friend would be perfect. She mentioned him staying in Aeros for the time being. And being with him would give Eve the means to keep in contact.
Glancing over the crowd, a figure in a black hood catches my eye. The male I’ve seen thrice before—my brows furrow as I search for a head of crimson hair. She’s not anywhere in the crowd that I can see, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here.
My lips work themselves into a fine line.
Save for the night I met Celesta, each time I’ve seen this male, he’s been with Lilith. Escorting her to the induction celebration, keeping watch while out shopping… It’s hard to believe she’s not here now.
But would a place like this—I scan the scene before me, filled with loud and rambunctious people—draw the Sovereign Queen Emeritus?
I doubt it.
I watch the black-clad fae until he disappears from sight, heading in the direction of the bar. Instantly, my mind begins to turn. Approaching him in public will be easier than seeking him out afterward.
Eve and Tarron appear, startling me as they throw themselves into the empty chairs at the table. A barmaid follows, setting down a tankard of ale before the orange-haired fae before retreating.
“Ves, meet Tarron,” Eve says with a full smile on her face.
Tarron wipes the sweat and blood from his brow using the end of a black towel thrown over his shoulders. He offers me a genuine smile.
“Congratulations on your win, Tarron,” I greet, offering a small smile of my own.
His eyes gleam with pride. “Thank you, Ves,” he says, lifting his tankard. “I’m happy to see Eve could make it, and that she decided to bring a friend.”
Friend.
The word rattles around in my head.
Eve lifts her own tankard, finding it empty. She glances around the balcony for the barmaid. “I’ve no idea where Lorella went off to. She was just here,” she says with an exasperated sigh.
“I’ve got it.” I stand from my seat, taking her empty tankard and my empty glass.
Leveling a suspicious glance in my direction she says, “You sure? I don’t mind waiting for Lorella.”
“It’s fine,” I reply. “Give you guys some time to catch up. I shouldn’t be long.”
Eve nods, her smile returning. “Have Camille add it to the tab.”
Crossing the balcony and descending the stairs, I stop before the rope. Nicholas takes notice and removes the barrier, grinning.
“Amazing fight, girlie, wouldn’t you say?” he beams a smile, his lips parting his bushy, graying beard.
“It was.” The pleasant toned lie floats between us as I descend the last of the steps.
Maneuvering around him, I veer left.
Or at least try to.
The crowd has grown monumental around the bar.
I sigh.
Nicholas peers around the stairs before turning back to me. “Just push, girlie,” he encourages, “otherwise you’ll be standing here all night.”
Drawing a deep breath, I push into the crowd shoulder first, following a tingling pull in my chest. People part easier than I’d anticipated, shifting their bodies away to provide room.
After what feels like an eternity of sliding through close-knit groups, I slip into a spot at the bar, the corner closest to the stairs.
Scanning the line of figures along the bar, I search for the fae in black.