The Assassin's Saint, page 18
explained Ashton. Ashton deepened his voice dramatically as he spoke the next line.
“Then what of the real House Traibon? Or even our real roots as the Thompson Clan?” I swallowed, the history untangling with each piece of the puzzle pulled to light, filling gaps I was unaware existed. “That means John’s a descendant of the emperor if our speculations of him being of relation to Raphael somehow ring true. That’s why I was wondering and suspected a name swap had unfolded. You and Raphael decided to literally swap names to protect and pull attention to us instead of him? He still had Fallen Arbor’s attention. Wasn’t there something special about the former emperor of the Old Continent? Was he not a direct line to even sit on the throne?”
Ashton paused and corrected, Ashton’s voice quieted.
“Would I be overstepping to ask if the gods really exist?” A shudder rattled through me, and I could feel Ashton balk. “John follows the Holy Trinity, and I follow The Fates, though it would be more correct to say I believe in having faith, not necessarily the idea all powerful entities overlord behind the scenes. There’s no churches or clergy left of the older sects of each faction, but I always found The Fates’ teachings in alignment with my core values. Both religions have intriguing ideas that could even go as far as to support and coexist with one another in principal and the roles of the gods within.” I waited while Ashton said nothing. “Were you not a Paladin of the Fates? Unlike myself who doesn’t believe the gods really exist at all, I imagine you’re a strong believer and devout follower of the Fates.”
There was a rumbling of anger in his voice, and my stomach knotted as the emotion burned into me.
“I recall it’s a choice to believe, not something one is forced to do. What do you mean not willingly?” Swallowing again, I turned to travel down the docks and toward the Sardine Warehouse. “Are you implying you didn’t want to be follower of the Fates and ended up with no choice in the matter?”
The resentment coming from the blade vibrated the sheath and sent shivers through me again.
After a long moment, I managed, “I’m sorry. This must be a hard topic to talk about.”
Ashton went silent, the life in the blade seeming to dull. My heart ached for him. What a miserable existence he had before and even now. He’s been at the epicenter of it all and so much more. When will this man ever rest in peace? Will there ever be a chance to get him to the point of being laid to rest now that he’s been rendered a weapon of war? I gripped the strap tighter, heart racing with the fear and sorrow eating at me. This time it was my own, but I knew the emotion well as it had slipped from Ashton on occasion despite him wrestling it back And here I intend to drag the past out of him, and he’s going to allow it despite the pain it brings. Now which of us is the bigger fool, big brother? Perhaps we’re both guilty of sacrificing ourselves for the greater good, but to have a god show before you… surely, he’s exaggerating. Perhaps his memories are muddled?
I waved at Gordon. He scrawled something on his paper, and the guards let me pass to the locked chests. Stripping my coat and shirt off, I slammed the chest closed. I held onto Ashton, the massive blade earning several bewildered glares from bystanders. Why bring a weapon to a fist fight at all? With the new wave of strangers as of late, they only made me more aware how foreboding the claymore was. The weapon, Ashton, was as tall as a small man and wider than some of them. The blue leather and lapis lazuli ornate hilt was covered in gold inlays and gilding. The whole weapon was gorgeous and brilliant as any treasure made fit for a king. Or a prince in this case. To think I have cut enemies down with him. Shaking the thoughts free, I turned to the fighting that had started before I walked through the door. Shouts and whistles rang out as a right hook from one fighter sent the other stumbling before tripping over the rope. Out of bounds. They lost.
“He’s out!” Gordon signaled and men plucked the fighter off the dirt while the other fighter threw his arms up in victory. “Winner is…”
A heavy hand hit my shoulder and Rum Finger whispered, “Careful against Kelly Turnpin tonight.” I shot a look at the chalk, so few names remained listed now as the end of the tournament pushed closer to the Ice Breaking Ceremony. “He’s from the Old Continent and a mercenary assassin for hire.”
“Is that so?” Huffing, I licked a fang. “Why tell me to be careful now?”
“Because he fights dirty,” retorted Rum Finger. “Low blows, and rumor has it he’s been banned at other ports for pulling a weapon and taking out other fighters. Kills and maims for the fun of it.”
“Well, sounds like someone needs to put him in his place.” Arching a brow, Rum Finger gave me a skeptical look. “Or do you think I can’t handle him?”
“If he gets desperate, he’ll do something. Just watch yourself out there, okay?” pressed Rum Finger shaking me where he gripped my shoulder tighter. “You understand?”
“Okay, okay, I got it.” Prying his hand off, I caught the familiar signs of bruises and whelps. “You already fought tonight?”
“Yeah, I was first round, and it looks like you’re in the last round.” Rubbing his jaw, he whined, “He got a good one in, but that was a lucky shot. Speaking of lucky, shocked you’re still coming to fight. Figured you’d get your affairs sorted and drop out by now. Ole Henry says you’re in good standing with him these days. Debt closed and then some.”
“Does everyone know my debts better than me?” I gave him a disapproving glare. “Whatever happened to discretion on these matters?”
Riley Rum Finger laughed. “It’s a small group of trustees you’ve gotten yourself roped into and under their wing. Includes Brett, Henry,” he counted with his fingers, “Gordon here, myself, and a few blokes you haven’t met yet. Even a captain or two. We talk and we share who’s good news, and who needs to be chased out of town, for the most part.” Poking me in the chest, he chortled, “You’re good news, good business, and a damn good laborer. We talk much about your whereabouts in Terahime, Falcon.”
“Well, I realized the blood exchange could bring much needed experience and extra cash to fund supplies and travel in spring. Brett convinced me to keep going, so here I am.” I sat and leaned Ashton on my shoulder. “But if I had known I was in a house of cackling hens, perhaps I would have gone elsewhere to sort my lack of funds. And now, the lot of you somehow turned this bull’s horns and aimed me into a new addiction of getting punched in the face,” I added sourly.
Ashton’s voice sounded more chipper, and relief filled me to hear it.
“I see. Where are you headed from here? By sea or by land, back home?” Riley sat next to me as the next round of fighting started. “Got another job elsewhere to see to?”
“This house of hens sent you to find out, I imagine.” I arched a brow at him, and he shrugged. “Haven’t decided,” I lied, thinking over the matter more deeply in silence. Actually, hoping by sea now that I’ve thought about it more. Might be the safest means but not sure how much it will cost to convince someone to travel through the Frigid Waves north along the west coast of Grandemere with a bloodeater on board. There’s a small port west of Liefseid, but if there’s any landings or clearings farther, I might brave the Forest of Wayward Souls to cut north somehow to get back home or to Winter’s Perch. Surely it can’t be impossible to travel through there headed dead east with Ashton’s help. It would prove dangerous to go east and use the old Cathedral of the Fates dock after hearing it’s been actively used by several factions. Can’t be much left intact despite the history books claiming it was a vital port in the past and Ashton insisting the library underfoot should be intact. I imagine Fallen Arbor has taken control of the ports in Ferran in the far southeast corner by now, especially since they had so much hold in Captiva City’s own factions. Granted, Terahime seems to be clear of Fallen Arbor altogether and run solely by the Merchant’s Guild. I wonder why that is. Could it be something to do with the distance?
“Well, if you ever need help or plan to go by sea, let me know,” offered Rum Finger. “I’m sure I can convince Captain Calder to give you boarding for a good price.”
Snorting, I replied, “Thank you, I think. Granted, I hear many Merchant Guild ships don’t take in bloodeaters.”
“Hey, don’t you give me your shit. We know you can be trusted. The Scarlett House says you haven’t used any of their services. You’re practically a saint.” Rum Finger chuckled before patting my back hard, leaving it stinging. “Fucking give Kelly hell for me tonight.”
“Gladly.” With that, he left me leaning on the claymore. Saint, huh? If they met the real one, they’d know he is far more uncouth and mischievous.
Ashton seemed curious, falling back into the mentoring phase as the fight gave us a much-wanted distraction.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I suppose I’ll just follow my gut.”
remarked Ashton before cackling.
“It was better than your idea. I can’t decide if you wish me dead or discovered or…” I searched for a word before settling with, “I am supposed to be hidden away from the world. It was a terrible suggestion.”
Ashton reasoned, offended by my judgment.
“I don’t know if you’ve grasped this yet, Brother,” I smirked, feeling the teasing tone his voice and aura projected, “but my heart and body belong to one man, and no woman, fight, or brothel will change my mind.”
he grumbled, disappointed.
“I enjoy it.” My chest swelled with thoughts of John caught in his shirt. “Nothing in the world speaks so loudly to my heart as John does.”
he guffawed.
Watching the fight, I caught the hooded fighter on the other side of the ring. I take it that’s Kelly Turnpin. He’s built like John a little, but that glare says he doesn’t intend to let me win. Let’s see how bold you plan to be tonight, Kelly. What you don’t know is you’re dealing with a man who has been shot, cut, and put through more hells than I want to confess. A blade will not be enough to slay a monster such as myself.
Chapter 20
Sleight of Hand
Abandoning Ashton with the guards, it was at last my turn to step into the ring. Kelly Turnpin tossed off his coat, bare-chested with arms wrapped in thick black bandages, and nothing but shalwar pants and boots for clothes. This style of pants was more common among sailors and those from the Old Continent, and I mused over the simplicity of their design. Okay, this means he may fight in a way I’m unfamiliar with, seeing his attire is primarily from the Old Continent.
Gordon and his men weaved through the crowd, taking money from shouting spectators. Meanwhile, Kelly and I circled one another, and I scanned him as Ashton had taught me in hopes of reading more about my opponent before we came to blows. Look for any signs of your opponent’s past: injuries, factions, anything. Tattoos and scars covered his face, arms, and torso. He’s been injured a few times, so he’s not a stranger to pain or fighting. Some of these look like he’s taken a bullet like me. Perhaps this man has fought for his survival more than once. I rubbed the scar on my shoulder, and Kelly’s eyes lingered on the more gruesome bullet mark in my gut where it had left a large star pattern. He’s reading me too. Inhaling deeply, I steadied my nerves. My thoughts slipped back to the battlefield, calling upon the stoic determination from my most harrowing moments. The wounds were still loud across my skin from my fight with the Berserk Brigade over a year ago. I suppose he can determine the same about me, heh. I have fought near-death and overcome it. That says volumes for both of us willing to keep fighting after injury, so he won’t go down easy nor clean.
“You look like you can take a hit.” The grin on Kelly Turnpin’s face sent every nerve on high. “Bleed real good with holes like that, don’t you, boy?”
Snorting, I didn’t reply as I pumped my fists to get the blood flowing. My skin pimpled, the excitement filling me as we edged closer to starting the fight. I had discovered this was more than enough to make even my fangs itch as I licked one. It’s not always about the lust or blood. There’s some strange sense of comfort knowing that. Again, another breath and the scent of bitter herbs, salty sweat, and a faint metallic sharpness told me more. Kelly’s grin didn’t match the sweat sliding down his temple or the twitch of muscles in his cheek. He’s nervous or tense. Moreso, he’s spilled blood recently, and seeing no signs of injury, it was someone else’s. Herbs? Hmm, he’s never been in the apothecary shop, so he either brought them with him or traveled north to obtain them. Moreso, he doesn’t seem to be from the Guild, so is there a rival assassin’s guild or something else?
Gordon’s whistle rang out, “Last call for bets!”
Kelly stretched an arm across his chest. Definitely nervous. He’s trying to get the tightness out of his joints. Kelly was lean, tightly muscled, and agile as he stretched each limb in every way imaginable. Double jointed? No signs of shaking in the hands or knees, so there’s some confidence or experience there. Thin, straight hair was pulled back firmly with a three-knot pattern. He’s lower class but on the verge of upper-class. He has money, possibly property yet still just below the status of most Scarlett men and women and a long way from nobility. He’s proud of his standing to even keep them in during a Blood Exchange where they encourage removing them. My own hair was pulled back and unbraided. Kelly’s eyes lingered on it. His deep scowl and bitter expression was a peculiar response, as if mirroring where I observed details. Dresses and acts like he’s from the Old Continent but craves a place here in Grandemere’s high society. Yeah, that seems about right.
“Does your Keeper know you’re fighting?” Kelly made an attempt to rile me up.
Not a bad tactic.
A slimy grin crossed Kelly’s face. “Or did your Keeper send you here to make him coin?”
“Rules say we are welcome to come unbraided for these fights, does it not?” I smiled coyly as I motioned to the people around us, my arm swinging as I spun around and called their attention to us. “Even spectators are allowed to be masked or unbraided to protect their standing. I’m playing by the rules, aren’t I?”
Kelly made a disgusted expression and spat at my feet. “You speak like you come from high-knot society. What are you… a Lord? Perhaps a Count’s son? Or used to be.”
He thinks he can discourage me by comparing our standing. For once in my life, I indulged my ego, taking a lesson from Ashton’s book. “I don’t think you know how to count high enough for what would be required for me to wear in public.”
“Come now, we all have seen you scraping barnacles off ships and mopping the shit off floors at the tavern.” Kelly grunted in disbelief. “Surely you’re a Lord down on his luck or high noble who sold himself to servitude.” The spectators laughed, shouting remarks to goad him on and keep taunting me. “Surprised your Keeper didn’t make you cut it down to the nape of your neck, you scamp.”
He’d die to know I was commanded to never cut it again by John. Can I even think of John as my Keeper anymore with how things have turned out?
“One day you will find out exactly how far the knots are between us.” I chuckled, rolling my wrist to pop the tendons. “They say people respect those who aren’t afraid to dirty their hands with an honest day’s work. To that, I agree and take it to heart.” I settled into an offensive position, fists raised, as Gordon whistled again. “I look forward to putting you in your place.”
“Then what of the real House Traibon? Or even our real roots as the Thompson Clan?” I swallowed, the history untangling with each piece of the puzzle pulled to light, filling gaps I was unaware existed. “That means John’s a descendant of the emperor if our speculations of him being of relation to Raphael somehow ring true. That’s why I was wondering and suspected a name swap had unfolded. You and Raphael decided to literally swap names to protect and pull attention to us instead of him? He still had Fallen Arbor’s attention. Wasn’t there something special about the former emperor of the Old Continent? Was he not a direct line to even sit on the throne?”
“Would I be overstepping to ask if the gods really exist?” A shudder rattled through me, and I could feel Ashton balk. “John follows the Holy Trinity, and I follow The Fates, though it would be more correct to say I believe in having faith, not necessarily the idea all powerful entities overlord behind the scenes. There’s no churches or clergy left of the older sects of each faction, but I always found The Fates’ teachings in alignment with my core values. Both religions have intriguing ideas that could even go as far as to support and coexist with one another in principal and the roles of the gods within.” I waited while Ashton said nothing. “Were you not a Paladin of the Fates? Unlike myself who doesn’t believe the gods really exist at all, I imagine you’re a strong believer and devout follower of the Fates.”
“I recall it’s a choice to believe, not something one is forced to do. What do you mean not willingly?” Swallowing again, I turned to travel down the docks and toward the Sardine Warehouse. “Are you implying you didn’t want to be follower of the Fates and ended up with no choice in the matter?”
After a long moment, I managed, “I’m sorry. This must be a hard topic to talk about.”
Ashton went silent, the life in the blade seeming to dull. My heart ached for him. What a miserable existence he had before and even now. He’s been at the epicenter of it all and so much more. When will this man ever rest in peace? Will there ever be a chance to get him to the point of being laid to rest now that he’s been rendered a weapon of war? I gripped the strap tighter, heart racing with the fear and sorrow eating at me. This time it was my own, but I knew the emotion well as it had slipped from Ashton on occasion despite him wrestling it back And here I intend to drag the past out of him, and he’s going to allow it despite the pain it brings. Now which of us is the bigger fool, big brother? Perhaps we’re both guilty of sacrificing ourselves for the greater good, but to have a god show before you… surely, he’s exaggerating. Perhaps his memories are muddled?
I waved at Gordon. He scrawled something on his paper, and the guards let me pass to the locked chests. Stripping my coat and shirt off, I slammed the chest closed. I held onto Ashton, the massive blade earning several bewildered glares from bystanders. Why bring a weapon to a fist fight at all? With the new wave of strangers as of late, they only made me more aware how foreboding the claymore was. The weapon, Ashton, was as tall as a small man and wider than some of them. The blue leather and lapis lazuli ornate hilt was covered in gold inlays and gilding. The whole weapon was gorgeous and brilliant as any treasure made fit for a king. Or a prince in this case. To think I have cut enemies down with him. Shaking the thoughts free, I turned to the fighting that had started before I walked through the door. Shouts and whistles rang out as a right hook from one fighter sent the other stumbling before tripping over the rope. Out of bounds. They lost.
“He’s out!” Gordon signaled and men plucked the fighter off the dirt while the other fighter threw his arms up in victory. “Winner is…”
A heavy hand hit my shoulder and Rum Finger whispered, “Careful against Kelly Turnpin tonight.” I shot a look at the chalk, so few names remained listed now as the end of the tournament pushed closer to the Ice Breaking Ceremony. “He’s from the Old Continent and a mercenary assassin for hire.”
“Is that so?” Huffing, I licked a fang. “Why tell me to be careful now?”
“Because he fights dirty,” retorted Rum Finger. “Low blows, and rumor has it he’s been banned at other ports for pulling a weapon and taking out other fighters. Kills and maims for the fun of it.”
“Well, sounds like someone needs to put him in his place.” Arching a brow, Rum Finger gave me a skeptical look. “Or do you think I can’t handle him?”
“If he gets desperate, he’ll do something. Just watch yourself out there, okay?” pressed Rum Finger shaking me where he gripped my shoulder tighter. “You understand?”
“Okay, okay, I got it.” Prying his hand off, I caught the familiar signs of bruises and whelps. “You already fought tonight?”
“Yeah, I was first round, and it looks like you’re in the last round.” Rubbing his jaw, he whined, “He got a good one in, but that was a lucky shot. Speaking of lucky, shocked you’re still coming to fight. Figured you’d get your affairs sorted and drop out by now. Ole Henry says you’re in good standing with him these days. Debt closed and then some.”
“Does everyone know my debts better than me?” I gave him a disapproving glare. “Whatever happened to discretion on these matters?”
Riley Rum Finger laughed. “It’s a small group of trustees you’ve gotten yourself roped into and under their wing. Includes Brett, Henry,” he counted with his fingers, “Gordon here, myself, and a few blokes you haven’t met yet. Even a captain or two. We talk and we share who’s good news, and who needs to be chased out of town, for the most part.” Poking me in the chest, he chortled, “You’re good news, good business, and a damn good laborer. We talk much about your whereabouts in Terahime, Falcon.”
“Well, I realized the blood exchange could bring much needed experience and extra cash to fund supplies and travel in spring. Brett convinced me to keep going, so here I am.” I sat and leaned Ashton on my shoulder. “But if I had known I was in a house of cackling hens, perhaps I would have gone elsewhere to sort my lack of funds. And now, the lot of you somehow turned this bull’s horns and aimed me into a new addiction of getting punched in the face,” I added sourly.
“I see. Where are you headed from here? By sea or by land, back home?” Riley sat next to me as the next round of fighting started. “Got another job elsewhere to see to?”
“This house of hens sent you to find out, I imagine.” I arched a brow at him, and he shrugged. “Haven’t decided,” I lied, thinking over the matter more deeply in silence. Actually, hoping by sea now that I’ve thought about it more. Might be the safest means but not sure how much it will cost to convince someone to travel through the Frigid Waves north along the west coast of Grandemere with a bloodeater on board. There’s a small port west of Liefseid, but if there’s any landings or clearings farther, I might brave the Forest of Wayward Souls to cut north somehow to get back home or to Winter’s Perch. Surely it can’t be impossible to travel through there headed dead east with Ashton’s help. It would prove dangerous to go east and use the old Cathedral of the Fates dock after hearing it’s been actively used by several factions. Can’t be much left intact despite the history books claiming it was a vital port in the past and Ashton insisting the library underfoot should be intact. I imagine Fallen Arbor has taken control of the ports in Ferran in the far southeast corner by now, especially since they had so much hold in Captiva City’s own factions. Granted, Terahime seems to be clear of Fallen Arbor altogether and run solely by the Merchant’s Guild. I wonder why that is. Could it be something to do with the distance?
“Well, if you ever need help or plan to go by sea, let me know,” offered Rum Finger. “I’m sure I can convince Captain Calder to give you boarding for a good price.”
Snorting, I replied, “Thank you, I think. Granted, I hear many Merchant Guild ships don’t take in bloodeaters.”
“Hey, don’t you give me your shit. We know you can be trusted. The Scarlett House says you haven’t used any of their services. You’re practically a saint.” Rum Finger chuckled before patting my back hard, leaving it stinging. “Fucking give Kelly hell for me tonight.”
“Gladly.” With that, he left me leaning on the claymore. Saint, huh? If they met the real one, they’d know he is far more uncouth and mischievous.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I suppose I’ll just follow my gut.”
“It was better than your idea. I can’t decide if you wish me dead or discovered or…” I searched for a word before settling with, “I am supposed to be hidden away from the world. It was a terrible suggestion.”
“I don’t know if you’ve grasped this yet, Brother,” I smirked, feeling the teasing tone his voice and aura projected, “but my heart and body belong to one man, and no woman, fight, or brothel will change my mind.”
“I enjoy it.” My chest swelled with thoughts of John caught in his shirt. “Nothing in the world speaks so loudly to my heart as John does.”
Watching the fight, I caught the hooded fighter on the other side of the ring. I take it that’s Kelly Turnpin. He’s built like John a little, but that glare says he doesn’t intend to let me win. Let’s see how bold you plan to be tonight, Kelly. What you don’t know is you’re dealing with a man who has been shot, cut, and put through more hells than I want to confess. A blade will not be enough to slay a monster such as myself.
Chapter 20
Sleight of Hand
Abandoning Ashton with the guards, it was at last my turn to step into the ring. Kelly Turnpin tossed off his coat, bare-chested with arms wrapped in thick black bandages, and nothing but shalwar pants and boots for clothes. This style of pants was more common among sailors and those from the Old Continent, and I mused over the simplicity of their design. Okay, this means he may fight in a way I’m unfamiliar with, seeing his attire is primarily from the Old Continent.
Gordon and his men weaved through the crowd, taking money from shouting spectators. Meanwhile, Kelly and I circled one another, and I scanned him as Ashton had taught me in hopes of reading more about my opponent before we came to blows. Look for any signs of your opponent’s past: injuries, factions, anything. Tattoos and scars covered his face, arms, and torso. He’s been injured a few times, so he’s not a stranger to pain or fighting. Some of these look like he’s taken a bullet like me. Perhaps this man has fought for his survival more than once. I rubbed the scar on my shoulder, and Kelly’s eyes lingered on the more gruesome bullet mark in my gut where it had left a large star pattern. He’s reading me too. Inhaling deeply, I steadied my nerves. My thoughts slipped back to the battlefield, calling upon the stoic determination from my most harrowing moments. The wounds were still loud across my skin from my fight with the Berserk Brigade over a year ago. I suppose he can determine the same about me, heh. I have fought near-death and overcome it. That says volumes for both of us willing to keep fighting after injury, so he won’t go down easy nor clean.
“You look like you can take a hit.” The grin on Kelly Turnpin’s face sent every nerve on high. “Bleed real good with holes like that, don’t you, boy?”
Snorting, I didn’t reply as I pumped my fists to get the blood flowing. My skin pimpled, the excitement filling me as we edged closer to starting the fight. I had discovered this was more than enough to make even my fangs itch as I licked one. It’s not always about the lust or blood. There’s some strange sense of comfort knowing that. Again, another breath and the scent of bitter herbs, salty sweat, and a faint metallic sharpness told me more. Kelly’s grin didn’t match the sweat sliding down his temple or the twitch of muscles in his cheek. He’s nervous or tense. Moreso, he’s spilled blood recently, and seeing no signs of injury, it was someone else’s. Herbs? Hmm, he’s never been in the apothecary shop, so he either brought them with him or traveled north to obtain them. Moreso, he doesn’t seem to be from the Guild, so is there a rival assassin’s guild or something else?
Gordon’s whistle rang out, “Last call for bets!”
Kelly stretched an arm across his chest. Definitely nervous. He’s trying to get the tightness out of his joints. Kelly was lean, tightly muscled, and agile as he stretched each limb in every way imaginable. Double jointed? No signs of shaking in the hands or knees, so there’s some confidence or experience there. Thin, straight hair was pulled back firmly with a three-knot pattern. He’s lower class but on the verge of upper-class. He has money, possibly property yet still just below the status of most Scarlett men and women and a long way from nobility. He’s proud of his standing to even keep them in during a Blood Exchange where they encourage removing them. My own hair was pulled back and unbraided. Kelly’s eyes lingered on it. His deep scowl and bitter expression was a peculiar response, as if mirroring where I observed details. Dresses and acts like he’s from the Old Continent but craves a place here in Grandemere’s high society. Yeah, that seems about right.
“Does your Keeper know you’re fighting?” Kelly made an attempt to rile me up.
Not a bad tactic.
A slimy grin crossed Kelly’s face. “Or did your Keeper send you here to make him coin?”
“Rules say we are welcome to come unbraided for these fights, does it not?” I smiled coyly as I motioned to the people around us, my arm swinging as I spun around and called their attention to us. “Even spectators are allowed to be masked or unbraided to protect their standing. I’m playing by the rules, aren’t I?”
Kelly made a disgusted expression and spat at my feet. “You speak like you come from high-knot society. What are you… a Lord? Perhaps a Count’s son? Or used to be.”
He thinks he can discourage me by comparing our standing. For once in my life, I indulged my ego, taking a lesson from Ashton’s book. “I don’t think you know how to count high enough for what would be required for me to wear in public.”
“Come now, we all have seen you scraping barnacles off ships and mopping the shit off floors at the tavern.” Kelly grunted in disbelief. “Surely you’re a Lord down on his luck or high noble who sold himself to servitude.” The spectators laughed, shouting remarks to goad him on and keep taunting me. “Surprised your Keeper didn’t make you cut it down to the nape of your neck, you scamp.”
He’d die to know I was commanded to never cut it again by John. Can I even think of John as my Keeper anymore with how things have turned out?
“One day you will find out exactly how far the knots are between us.” I chuckled, rolling my wrist to pop the tendons. “They say people respect those who aren’t afraid to dirty their hands with an honest day’s work. To that, I agree and take it to heart.” I settled into an offensive position, fists raised, as Gordon whistled again. “I look forward to putting you in your place.”
