The walk to the Window Glow Inn gave Damon time to become sufficiently pessimistic over whether his troupe was still in residence there, or still in Avaricia to begin with. He pushed the door open, hopes extended and ready to be dashed, and blinked in surprise.
Len and Austine were almost exactly where he’d last seen them. Len was poking a spoon into a bowl of stew at one of the tables. Austine was at the bar, chatting up a woman who was either an affordable prostitute or just happened to share the fashion sensibilities of one.
“Rovahn’s balls!” shouted Austine. He jumped to his feet, nearly knocking the woman off her stool. “Damon Al-Kendras! About time you dragged yourself back into the civilized world.”
“It’s good to see you, Aust,” he said, slapping hands with his friend.
“I hope your time away has proven more profitable than our time waiting here,” said Len.
“I’m not sure if profitable would be the right choice of word,” he replied.
“Drinks!” Austine threw an arm over his shoulder and began pulling him toward the bar. “This calls for drinks! And perhaps some frolicking about with this fair night maiden. She’s already paid for, you know.”
“You paid me for last night, not for today,” said the woman.
“Well, I certainly meant to!” said Austine. “Would it be the same rate if the two of us went together?”
“That will never happen,” said Damon.
“Truer words have never been spoken,” said the woman. She cleared her throat, smoothed the fabric of her dress, and headed for the door.
“Fine!” called Austine. “Be that way! You know, one of Leandra’s virtues is maintaining an open perspective?”
“Something tells me she doesn’t base her work off the divine gospel,” said Damon.
Len joined them at the bar, gesturing for the bored old innkeeper to pour them each a mug of ale. “It is good to see you again, Damon, but I can’t help but wonder what caused this turnabout.”
“That’s a fair sentiment,” he said. “I might have a lead for some work for us of the highly paid, prestigious variety.”
He explained his conversation with Vel and her friendship with Princess Kastet, watching the excitement and enthusiasm blossom in his friend’s expressions.
“True Divine, Damon,” muttered Austine. “We’d be performing for the Princess and her retinue, and possibly even the Godking?”
“Our schedule has slowed to a crawl precisely because we weren’t the type of reputable entertainment suited for Merinian royalty,” said Len.
“It’s been drier than an ugly widow’s cunt,” said Austine.
“What a beautiful expression,” said Damon.
Len waved Austine to silence and leaned forward against the bar. “You’re sure that this is a genuine opportunity?”
“Vel seems sure enough,” he said. “I trust her.”
“Well then,” said Austine. “This calls for more ale!”
“Not too much more!” snapped Len. “Leandra’s bush, if this is really happening, there’s work to do! We need to wash the costumes, polish the swords. We’ll need to find the twins, make sure they’re on standby if needed. True Divine, the two of you need to practice!”
“When have we ever needed to practice?” Austine grinned and punched Damon in the shoulder. “We’ve got reflexes and instincts and incredible rapport!”
Damon flicked a copper cent toward Austine’s face in an attempt to give him a chance to illustrate his point. It struck him on the nose and fell forward into his mug with a froth splashing thunk.
“I wasn’t ready,” he muttered.
“At the very least, make sure you work out the basics of your routine tonight,” said Len. “I suspect I’ll be needed elsewhere if we want to secure this potential contract?”
Damon was about to answer when he saw Austine’s head swivel toward the door on the edge of his periphery. He turned around on his stool to find Vel shyly pushing her way into the Window Glow inn’s common room.
“And just who is this positively mesmerizing beauty?” asked Austine, standing and even offering a small bow. “Austine Treymore, milady, at your service. My I be the first of no doubt dozens of men to inquire about sharing a drink with you tonight?”
Vel cleared her throat, looking more put off than flattered. “I’m here for Damon.”
“Vel, meet Austine and Len,” he said. “They’re both members of the Gleaming Scythe. Len, Austine, Velenor and I grew up together on Malon’s farmstead.”
“A pleasure, milady,” said Len, dipping his head.
“You found the place easily. I take it?” asked Damon. “I’m glad.”
“As am I…” Vel pulled a folded slip of parchment from underneath one arm and smiled as she passed it to him. “Princess Kastet loved the idea when I proposed it to her. She had the Godking’s clerk draw up a writ of performance on the spot.”
“An official writ of performance?” Len came to stand next to Vel and Damon, eyeing the parchment with an expression that bordered on awe. “Am I reading this correctly? Five hundred silver sables for the company, with another two hundred for each of the performers?”
Austine whooped. Damon nearly choked on his ale mid-sip.
“You’ll be in the Gilded Amphitheater, too,” said Vel. “I hope that’s workable? The Godking insisted that it be used in place of the Mid City Arena, which I assume you’re more comfortable with.”
“That’s where the Gilded Swords used to fight,” muttered Austine. “We’ve dreamed about performing there since we first began in Avaricia. Are you quite certain that I can’t buy you a drink, milady? Or at the very least, grovel at your glorious feet?”
“I’m certain,” said Vel.
Damon was feeling a similar cocktail of emotions to what he could see on the faces of his friends, with an extra dash of suspicion. Vel knew that they mainly frequented the Mid City Arena, which, while public information, was not the sort of detail he would have expected her to pick up by accident given her supposed unfamiliarity with Avaricia.
“Well, it seems as though you’ll finally get a chance to see me perform,” said Damon.
“Ah. Yes, that’s right.”
“I can hardly wait to look up and see your adoring face in the crowd,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a piercing stare. Vel blushed and locked her gaze back down on the writ.
“This will need to be signed and returned before tomorrow morning,” said Len. “I should head out and take care of it before it gets any later. The clerks in Veridas Keep work late, but no sense in taking any risks when it comes to an opportunity like this.”
“By all means,” said Vel, passing him the writ.
“If you can, keep an eye on these two,” said Len, playfully slapping Damon’s shoulder. “They’re allowed three ales, two if it’s the strong brown stuff, and not a sip more. True Divine, if you’re both sick from drink tomorrow morning…”
“We won’t be, Len,” said Damon. “Travel safe.”
***
Austine shattered past the three ale limit within half an hour of Len’s departure, despite Damon and Vel’s best efforts. He was busy attempting to subtly proposition a woman who Damon suspected wasn’t actually selling sex, rather than just playing coy.
The innkeeper deigned to let Vel buy ale, and she’d been gracious enough to buy Damon a refill, too. It felt strangely familiar to sit at the bar with her, sipping their drinks, talking about nothing and people watching as the night wore on.
“I should walk you back to your lodgings before it gets too late,” he said. “It’s not as though it would be seemly for you to spend the night here, with me.”
He gave her a smile with a teasing edge open to interpretation.
“Of course not!” snapped Vel. “Um…. But I would appreciate that, if you don’t mind.”
Damon stood up and extended his arm crooked at the elbow. She looped hers through it and, after giving Austine a quick wave and hoping for the best, Damon led her
out onto the street.
Eldritch was waning and partially covered by a cloudy sky, but there was a sufficient amount of stray lantern and torch light to see by. It was warm, and the city felt deceptively peaceful with mostly empty streets.
“Princess Kastet will be staying in Avaricia for the next few months,” said Vel.
Damon furrowed his brow. “Which means you’ll be staying here too, as her lady in waiting?”
She nodded. “I think it might be nice. I prefer Hearthold, to be truthful, but there’s so much new to me in this city. It also brings me comfort to know that I’ll be only a few days from aesta and the farm, rather than weeks removed.”
“You’ll be close to me, as well,” he pointed out.
“That’s true.” Vel sighed and leaned her head to the side, resting it against his shoulder. “I hope we can have more nights like this one.”
The Legacy Fountain stood outside of the Veridas Keep and the nearby Royal Lodgings. It was one of the few genuinely impressive fixtures of the city that had been restored from the original Remenai ruins, though the statues in the center had been re-carved to represent historical figures from Merinian history.
A green sliver of the ghost moon was visible in the central pool of water. The air felt crisp and cold as they drew near, each of them staring into the pool and seeing their own separate truths in the reflections of their faces.
“Velanor,” he said, speaking to her eyes reflected in the water. “Is there anything that you feel I should know?”
He watched her blink, but she didn’t look away, as though seeing him through the fountain’s pool gave distance to the moment.
“Damon,” she said. “I enjoy having you in my life again. I never realized how much I felt your absence during my time abroad, and now that we’ve been growing close again, I really appreciate it. Appreciate you.”
“Vel…”
She turned to face him then, the cool night wind rustling her dress and tangling her blonde hair. “It’s so fragile, Damon. I don’t want to be the one to break it.”
He saw the instant her expression was about to break and pulled her into a tight hug before it could. He held her, feeling more like who he was to her than he ever had before. A protector, a friend, nearly an older brother, regardless of blood or sin.
“I love you, Vel,” he whispered.
“I love you, too, Damon.”
He squeezed her, and they stood there, the moment sliding sideways, out of time. Vel reached a hand up, touching his face and chin. She gave him a soft, slow kiss, her lips pressing against his for long enough to leave him confused and ashamed of his own sudden desire for more.
“I should take you back to your lodgings,” he said.
“Right,” she whispered. “You should.”
It was fragile. Damon pulled back, extended his arm for her, and began walking her toward the gate.
CHAPTER 42
The makeshift gladiator pits of the Gilded Amphitheater were both posh and totally impractical. Most of the waiting area was taken up by a massive stone bathing basin, which servants kept at optimal temperature for the gladiators by making never ending trips with wooden buckets of steaming hot water.
Exactly one person was taking advantage of the bathing basin, which could have easily accompanied a dozen. Damon had stopped nagging Austine about getting out of the water and into costume when he realized that a bath might be just what he needed to shake off the lingering effects of ignoring Len’s ale limit the previous night.
“The crowd is already filing in,” said Damon. “You can spend another five minutes in there, and then you need to get into costume.”
He was already wearing his. It was one of the finer and, subsequently, more garish outfits that the Gleaming Scythe owned. Tight black britches with the crotch tailored immodestly tight, along with a similarly tight jerkin that only had buttons for midway up the chest to reveal his neckline in the fashion of a flaunting maiden.
There was also a cape for each of them, white and blue for Damon, black and red for Austine, but they were still waiting for those to arrive, along with their swords, which Len promised
“This feels beyond marvelous,” muttered Austine. “I wonder if they’ll let me linger for a while once the bout is finished.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if some other distraction stole your attention first,” said Damon. “The theater is packed. This may well be the largest audience we’ve ever performed in front of.”
He could hear the footsteps of people filing into the stands, which were directly above them, neatly encircling the arena setup to provide even the cheapest seats with a clear view of the action.
“Len picked out the nice costumes, right?” called Austine.
“Yeah.” Damon heard the sound of dripping water as his friend climbed out of the bath.
“True Divine,” said Austine. “The two of us will have an actual princess leering at our manly assets.”
“Put your pants on before you get too excited,” said Damon. “We need to talk about how this show is actually going to go.”
Someone approached from down the hall at a sprint. Damon turned just as Len slid to a stop in the pits, carrying their swords and capes, breathing heavily. He steadied himself and shot Austine an impatient glare.
“You’ve got less than ten minutes to get ready!” he boomed. “What are you doing? Damon, how much did he drink last night?”
“Three drinks,” said Damon. “I was watching him like a hawk.”
Austine let out a small groan as he tripped while trying to pull on his overtight britches, landing in a sprawl.
“Well, I hope for your sakes that’s the truth,” said Len. “My part in this is done for today. Here are your capes, and here are your swords.”
He passed the bundle to Damon, who whistled with appreciation at the fanciful adorned sword pummels, each one with rubies or sapphires set into the pummel and crossguard which matched the capes. Len set a hand over his as he moved to draw one from its scabbard.
“They have a bit of polish oil still on them to make them really gleam in the sunlight,” said Len. “Best you keep them sheathed until the start of the performance.”
“Duly noted,” said Damon. “Is there anything else we should know before heading out there?”
Len looked conflicted, and hesitated as he started to speak. “Ah… This is a different sort of audience. The Godking, the Princess, the nobles, they’re all powerful people. Best to play to the crowd. Give them what they want, because they are rather accustomed to getting it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Damon.
Len slapped him on the shoulder, gave Austine one last disapproving shake of the head, and disappeared back down the hall. Damon busied himself adjusting his cape and sword belt while waiting for his companion to reach a similar state of dress.
“What say you, Damon?” called Austine. “The saint and the scoundrel? I don’t mind playing the scoundrel again, given how much of it comes naturally to me.”
“No objections here,” said Damon. “We’ll start with a few easy passes, run the clench flip, followed by fast taps into a disarm.”
“Repeat from the beginning through the second time, except into a low blow instead of a disarm,” said Austine. “Should we have come up with a new routine last night after all? We could run this in our sleep.”
“Are you nervous, Aust?” asked Damon.
“No,” said Austine. “Well, yes and no. If we excel in this performance, Damon, there’s no telling how far we might rise. We could even end up on the short list to join the Gilded Swords.”
“Which is why it makes more sense for us to run one of our old routines,” he said. “We can focus on playing to the crowd instead of tripping over our movements.”
“That’s a valid point.” Austine had just finished pulling on his jerkin and began shaking out and tying on his cape. “Damon… I love this.”
“So do I,” said Damon, grinning. “I
didn’t realize how much I missed it while I was away at the farm.”
“I never had anything good in my life growing up, let alone anything that caused people to view me in a positive light,” said Austine. “I was weak and worthless, unremarkable in every sense of the word.” He strapped on his sword and did a circle with his hips. “And now, a princess is going to be leering at my ass and manhood.”
“Rovahn’s balls,” said Damon. “Best we put on a good show for her, then.”
He joined Austine with matching hip circles that threatened the integrity of the tight stitches of his britches.
***
The roar of the crowd was unreal as one of the Gilded Amphitheater guards led them out into the dueling circle. They were in character from the moment they entered the crowd’s view, Austine playing up his swagger, while Damon walked with slow, stoic movements.
It was a warm morning, with the sun high in the sky and only the slightest breeze. The stands were packed with far more people than Damon could ever remember having come to watch one of their bouts before. The sound of the audience, even when they weren’t reacting and cheering, was enough to keep him from being able to hear much of anything else.
The Godking Avarice and Princess Kastet sat in a private section of the stands directly across from the entrance to the pits, both of them clad in expensively tailored outfits and shielded from the direct sun by attendants holding the poles of a portable shade canopy.
Damon felt his nerves edging up into his throat as he and Austine dropped into deep, respectful bows. He was glad it wasn’t going to be a performance with any speaking lines, as he doubted whether he’d be able to trust his voice in the moment.
His nervousness was tempered by his excitement, and the latter outstripped the former as he saw Austine rise from his bow and pump his fists brazenly into the air for the crowd. This was their moment, their chance to break out into the wider world of gladiatorial fame. He wondered if years down the line, he’d look back on the current day as a turning point in his life.
The Godking Avarice stood up from his seat, holding his arms out in an attempt at ushering the crowd into silence. Damon furrowed his brow, his surprise shifting into awe and respect as the Godking’s voice boomed out over the arena with enough volume and presence to be heard, regardless.
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