Chapter Eight Sock Puppets
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOCK PUPPETS
A PLAIN-CLOTHED PHYSIC was waiting for them, and he handed over tubs of sweet-smelling salve to coat their burns. He tended to Desil first, checking him over for any permanent wounds the beast had rendered.
“Lythlet,” Desil called weakly from where he lay. He held out his arm, sleeve pulled back to reveal a white bone rosary soaked red with blood. “If you could, please.”
She took it to the basin in an alcove at the back, cupping water from a pail to rinse it. Her thumb drifted over the lone jade-green bead carved with Tazkar’s spiraling insignia—an indicator that Desil was his ward—then over the remaining twelve ivory ones, each representing a different prayer.
Fellowship , she read the rune off one bead, diligence, another. Justice was one of the Four Grails—which of the Eight Virtues did it require? She scrunched her nose, digging deep into her memory.
Her head was a jumble of mismatched prayer formulas, knowledge dulled from much too infrequent shrine visits. The only thing she could confidently recite was that amongst the twelve, fellowship was considered the preeminent prayer—though she couldn’t quite understand the theology behind it.
Surely honor or bravery would be of greatest importance? Why consider the vow of fellowship the most sacred to make to another after that of matrimony and filial piety?
Leaving the question unanswered, she set aside the cleansed bracelet, then rinsed the blood and ichor off herself.
Towel in hand to wipe herself dry, she sat on the bench, eyeing the physic apprehensively.
If he was servicing the conquessorial arena, she doubted he was accredited by the Einveldi Court.
He was likely bound under the Eza instead.
The physic left after Lythlet declined an examination.
“You still have blood on your face.” Desil took the towel from her and dabbed her swollen eyes gently.
“Thank you.” She stared down the corridor leading to the arena.
It appeared an entirely different world, one completely disconnected from her daily existence, and now, sitting in the dimness of the armory, she could not fathom how she’d survived out there.
“I haven’t cried so much in a long time.
Last was the day I left your home when we were children. ”
Pity crept into his eyes. “I know.”
A long, shuddering breath escaped her. “You’re all right?”
“The physic says so, though I need plenty of rest.”
“Good.” She took the crimson-soaked towel back. So much blood . She spread it out and folded it neatly, needing something to occupy her hands.
“What’s on your mind?” he pushed gently.
“I thought you were about to die,” she said in a small voice.
He stroked her back. “You saved me before it was too late.”
“But I didn’t save you with my own skill,” she said quietly, casting a glance at the door to ensure they were alone. “Someone helped me.”
“Who?”
“A spectator. Black hair. Highborn, by the looks of it. He was sitting by himself in the furthest row, so no one noticed him showing me what to do.”
An intrigued look on his face, Desil was about to ask something, but she gestured for him to shut his mouth as the door slid open.
In strode Master Dothilos and a servant, the latter carrying a tied pouch that clinked with every step.
“My champions!” Master Dothilos roared, clapping his hands as he approached.
“A stunning show—by far the best I could have ever hoped for from raw debuts! Dare I admit my faith was faltering? I feared I’d be left carrying Desil’s frozen corpse out of the arena!
You’ve astounded the spectators, my dears, and I am proud to deliver your prize.
” He snapped his fingers, and the servant stepped forth, holding out the pouch.
Lythlet rose to accept it. Weighing it in her hand, she was amazed at the considerable bulk. She passed it on to Desil. “The master bidding ledger?”
Master Dothilos handed it to her with a knowing smile.
Lythlet flipped through it, checking the records of every bet placed that morning. Balancing and totaling the sums scrawled in smudged ink and small handwriting, she came to the same number as Desil, who was laboriously counting the coins under his breath.
“That’s thirty-seven black valirs and twenty-seven...eight. . . nine dumasi—ah, no, thirty-eight full black valirs.” He was nowhere near as quick with numbers as she was, but she respected his effort.
She sat down, overwhelmed. “We won thirty-eight black valirs?” A veritable fortune to a slumdog. It would take out yet another substantial chunk of Desil’s debt to Tucoras.
“Quite a sum compared to the last jackpot, isn’t it? Lythlet’s stunt with the yutrela last month fetched generous attention. And after today’s show, I imagine spectators are more eager than ever to witness your next round. That, my dears, is what we call growing a stable of loyal bidders.”
“Well, that’s good,” she said, still stunned.
“It is indeed. I see a spark in the two of you I haven’t seen in a while, not since the days of the Poet and the Ruffian.
Ah, those two were truly majestic to behold.
The crowds they drew! The Poet is a world-class beauty by any measure—there was this ineffable grace to the way he fought.
Brought to mind all those heroes of yore the Oraanu poets speak of.
Bit batty in the head though—one time, I had a peek into that ratty old journal he used to tote around between fights, and what did I see?
Things to Do Once I’m Governor of Setgad, and top of the list was normalize teahouse cats.
But perhaps that touch of oddness was why he got along so well with his partner, the Ruffian.
A lovable rascal, that one. Used to complain to me about receiving second billing, but always in good fun.
He knew how to throw caution to the wind and fight like a madman.
But you two may yet surpass them given enough time—”
“I do not wish to continue,” spoke Lythlet abruptly.
Both Master Dothilos and Desil turned to her in surprise.
“What’s this now?” said Master Dothilos, eyebrows rising.
“As I spoke. I will withdraw.”
Desil stared at her hesitantly, expression cloudy with confusion. But after belabored thought, he sat down by her side. “ We will withdraw.”
The match-master looked flabbergasted. “Are you not thrilled with your jackpot? Did I not just say you’ve done a remarkable job for second-rounders? That you have the potential for much more?”
“We won by the skin of our teeth today. I will not risk Desil’s life once more, not for coin, and most certainly not for the entertainment of your spectators.”
He considered her gravely, his blue eyes making her feel like an insect put under a shard of glass and a noontime sun. Disappointment flickered over his face, then he appraised her for a moment longer with—pity?
“Come,” he said, demeanor softening. His hand was warm as it rested on her shoulder. “I understand your decision. It was an emotional match, and your spirits were put to the test.”
“I won’t change my mind,” she said, suspicious of his kindness.
“And I will respect that. But please, allow me this. I shall schedule your next match and send your invitations. Should you decline, I’ll make no further contact with you.
Your supporters will inevitably grumble, but I’ll do my utmost to appease them.
Simply allow me to send the invitation. Refuse then, if you will. ” He stuck out his hand amiably.
A sensible request. Lythlet shook it. “Very well.”
“May I ask something?” he said. “How did you deduce the key to ending the anzura’s frost-burn was to finish off the heart?”
She contemplated the benefits of being honest and found them lacking.
“I could think of nothing else,” she answered, meeting his gaze with a pretense of forlornness.
“I tried the eyes, as that made the most sense. When that failed, I guessed I had to dig deeper to end it. Even if the eyes carried the curse, it must originate from deeper within. After all, our ancestors may have used their hands as conduits of their bloodrights, but those weren’t the source of their divine blessings—their hearts were, the heavens hearing the most desperate cries of their hearts and answering their prayers.
So I searched for the heart and struck gold. ”
If he were at all suspicious, Master Dothilos made no show of it, simply nodding in response. “Very keen of you. You’ve been nothing but surprise after surprise. Perhaps I ought to expect better of you from now on—should you choose to stay.”
Despite knowing better, Lythlet found herself flushing with pride.
If only he didn’t sound so genuine , she thought ruefully.
· · ·
T HE SPECTATORS DEPARTED the arena in slow streams, dissolving into the ruins of Inejio, fading into unseen paths that would take them home.
As Desil leaned on her for support, a few straggling spectators took the opportunity to squawk excitedly at them like seagulls.
“You won me a full white valir,” a woman whooped, enthusiastically shaking Lythlet’s hand.
“Had me worried toward the end there,” said a young man strolling past, taking a brief moment to clap Lythlet’s back. “Thought I was about to lose my week’s pay in yet another bad bet till you stabbed the demon’s heart. Bless you, lass.”
She flushed even more, quietly noticing how so many were praising her in comparison to the last match.
She whispered to Desil as they walked along at a pace he could handle, “I don’t know how you cope with this.
Being recognized and praised by strangers.
But I suppose you’re used to it from your brawling days. ”
“Somewhat,” Desil dismissed half-heartedly. “But seeing how well you’re doing, you ought to get used to it.”
She shook her head with the slightest pinch of regret. “No more after this.”
“You’re certain?”