The Cage King

by Danielle Monsch

  SNAP. The crunch of bone carried loud and clear through the stands, the sound still echoing when the corresponding roar of pleasure rose up. Men of various races on their feet, cheering the carnage. Almost all men, and the few women who were without a male escort were limited to the groupies and the ring workers. And her.

  Five years she’d been away from this crap, since that day she walked with Laire and Fallon, neither telling her where she was going. Five years, and seeing the fight now, it was as if not a moment had passed, as if she had just risen from her ringside seat, cheering him because of another win, consoling her brother over a loss or draw.

  She’d grown up with the matches in all their forms, from midnight fights behind garbage bins to private fights in rich people’s mansions. Since joining the Guild, there was the thought, the expectation maybe this was no longer her world. Tonight proved that wrong. Wherever her life led her, this would always be where part of her belonged, and that part would be comfortable nowhere else.

  Not that she was comfortable here, not with this job. She should go back and tell Fallon to shove it, though fat chance the words would work. No matter what the swordswoman said, there had to be another way than this path that had her skidding down memory lane and breaking through all the STOP signs along the way.

  A whiff of rank body odor hit her full force, and Nalah shrank further into her seat, wrapping her coat around her in a doomed-to-fail bid for invisibility. A couple of guys eyed her with interest, their leers and comments growing louder with each additional fight, each additional drink. Not that she couldn’t put them in their place if necessary, but who needed yet another level of annoyance?

  And then a different sensation, a charged energy raced over the crowd. Everyone quieted, their gazes and rapt attention on the fighting cage in the front. Nalah straightened and looked at the ring.

  He was in the cage, bigger now than the last time she’d seen him – any gangliness of body or baby fat in the face gone from this version. Here was sculpted muscle and hard edges as he walked the ring, not showboating to the crowd but projecting his confidence, his superiority all the same. No shirt, only worn light-denim jeans, scuffed black boots, and a chunky silver-linked bracelet around his wrist.

  She couldn’t see his eyes from this distance, but the dark brown hair was shorter, a bit spikier on top rather than the mop from her memory, and his skin was the same sun-warmed brown it always was. She had placed her hand on that chest, marveled at the firm muscle and enjoyed the contrast of their skin, how he was a few shades lighter than she. The melding of tones looked perfect together.

  More noise signaled another man entering the ring – tall and blacker than she was, bigger than his opponent but nowhere near the same presence. The crowd burst forth with an equal amount of cheers and boos at this entrance, as well as quite a few catcalls.

  “Destroy the King!”

  “I’m going to spit on your grave, you dumb fuck!”

  “Beat him and make me some money!”

  The announcer came forth, a short, fat man with a too-tight T-shirt, strutting around like he thought he had the same build as the fighters. Maybe once upon a time, but that time was now long ago. He started to talk, too high of a voice, but before she could even begin to focus on the words his head shot up, the direction of his gaze coming straight at her.

  She ducked. No. No, no. This wasn’t…She wasn’t ready to face him, was still entertaining daydreams of telling Fallon to stick Tenro somewhere impossible. Besides, there was still the smallest of chances this assignment wouldn’t be necessary. She was here to watch him fight and go back to her apartment and completely and absolutely not talk to him.

  The crowd was on its feet, upping the energy with smack talk while last-minute bets were made hand over fist.

  She shouldn’t have come. She wasn’t ready yet. She’d never be ready, but now was stupid, when there was still a chance she wouldn’t need to convince him.

  Time to go.

  She rose from the seat, keeping her body low and tight to hide from that damned gaze of his. Growing up, she had always been exposed before his eyes, secrets laid bare and willpower gone, and the fire that lived in his eyes danced because the bastard knew it. When she was a child the fire had an affectionate, familial warmth, and then she got older and the cast changed, hunger and desire replacing unassuming and comfortable. Now was a different time, and she was a different woman, older, harder, but still, she didn’t want to test if she was immune to his eyes.

  A meaty hand wrapped around her wrist. “Hey little thing, where ya goin?” a slightly slurred voice asked, and dammit, she really wasn’t in the mood.

  She kept her voice even, the same way she always spoke to drunks. “Need to use the bathroom. Can you watch my seat for me?”

  The hand pulled her toward its owner, a middle-aged man who was all potbelly and faded glory, the type she’d seen thousands of times at the fights. “Nah, you don’t need to leave now. How bout after this match we go ta my place? You can use anything you want there.”

  “I really do have to leave unless you want a big mess. Can you let me go?”

  “Told ya no.” His voice got determined, mean, and Nalah glanced around for anything she could use as a weapon.

  It was too easy. A twist of her arm broke his grasp and in quick turn she had his arm pinned behind his back. A jerk upwards wrenched his arm enough that he yelled in pain, falling away from her and onto his knees.

  People turned at the man’s cry and took in the scene, though no one stepped forward to help. A part in the crowd gave her a clear view of the ring, and he stared at her, eyes burning bright and as intense as she had ever seen.

  Five years fell away, and it might as well have been yesterday when she saw him last. The sweat that beaded off him had the same effect it always had, the desire to nuzzle into him, the desire to stick out her tongue and follow each individual droplet down to wherever it led.

  She stepped back to fade into the crowd. He started to follow, but his opponent took the opportunity to throw a punch, and as if someone had called out action, everyone turned their attention back to the ring and to the fight they had come to see.

  As she ran, in time with her heartbeat, the name she had not allowed herself to think of for five long years beat itself in her brain.

  Esh, Esh, Esh…

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Four. Five. Six…

  Safe in her apartment, Nalah counted off the locks as she engaged them, the pattern calming, bringing her down little by little until the last one clicked shut and her heartbeat approached something close to normal.

  Her head fell forward, resting on the door. Safe. Safe now, from the stupidity she had – no, Fallon had – inflicted on her.

  “The Cage King is im-pressive. How did you manage to walk away from that again?”

  Speaking of…“Why are you in my apartment, Fallon?” Long practice stopped the irritation from coloring her voice, but only just.

  “Is she asking as a serious question, or is she angry?” And there was Laire, of course. It would be too much to allow Nalah to deal with the memories on her own terms.

  Fallon’s voice again, pitched higher to make sure everything she said was heard. “I’m going with rhetorical.”

  As much as this situation begged for alcohol, Nalah needed her wits about her, so tea would have to do. Walking into the small kitchen, she said, “The briefing is tomorrow, and I like my privacy. I don’t belong to the Guild.”

  Once in the kitchen, Nalah looked over the small island to the living area, and sure enough, sitting on the arm of her sofa was Laire in a yellow dress that fell to her ankles, but with random cut-outs along the sides, showing patches of pale skin. Her black hair was the same length as the gown and had thick streaks of yellow running through it, and on her feet were yellow shoes that consisted of two thin straps and seven-inch platform heels.

  Fallon stood next to her in the usual black leather, th
e long coat cut to suggest her figure without being skin tight. “Don’t try that line around Kyo. Trust me, Bossman makes sure it never ends well for the speaker.”

  “I’m not speaking to Kyo, and you don’t need to be following me around and entering my house uninvited.”

  Tenro gleamed in its usual spot above Fallon’s shoulder. Five years of training, of familiarity with the sword, and Tenro still battered against Nalah’s magical shields. Fallon continued, “I needed face-to-face time to make sure you’re in the right spirit for this job.”

  Always the job, though she had just seen Esh the first time in five years and was still shaky. Fallon never let up.

  And then it was too much. “I can’t do this job,” Nalah said, slamming the kettle on the stove.

  Neither Fallon nor Laire so much as flinched, and gods damn if that didn’t make her feel a foot tall. Inhale, exhale, inhale again. For several moments she played in the kitchen, readjusting the kettle and turning on the heat. “I can’t do this job,” she repeated, making sure the right amount of apology came through in the tone.

  Nalah twisted to grab a cup from the cupboard and shut the door only to find Fallon so close, the fine lines around her eyes were noticeable. While there was nothing overt in Fallon’s manner, Nalah’s urge to flee went into overdrive.

  Fallon spoke, her voice a deep freeze. “Three weeks ago, twenty people I called friend died. So did dozens of others who all went to their death on my watch.” She tilted her head, lowering her voice, clipping the words. “I can’t bring them back. All I can do is try to make things right. So while I realize this is the guy who makes the demons in your head run amok, the fact remains you are the only one capable of doing this job, which means you’re going to do this job. And I really don’t want to hear any more crap.”

  A bubbling cauldron of emotions roiled in Nalah’s stomach. Shame was there, guilt as well, because while she hadn’t lost any friends during the break-in at Guild headquarters, she had seen the aftereffects. But there was also anger that Fallon dismissed with such ease her memories that had been brought back this last week in the form of sleepless nights and crying jags.

  Displaying an emotional maturity rare for her, Laire came over and motioned Fallon back to the living area while putting her arm around Nalah’s shoulder. “Forgive Fallon. It’s still raw for us, but the truth is you are the only one who can do this. Besides,” and here Laire squeezed Nalah’s shoulder before retaking her own seat, “I think you’ll want to when you hear this.”

  “What?” Not that Nalah thought Laire could say anything to convince her of that.

  “The item we need you to retrieve is your mother’s ring.”

  The cup shattered on the ground, the sound echoing in her head. “It was in the vault?” She’d never been able to discover why the Guild found the ring so valuable. Every once in a while she asked to study it, but the magic was as confusing to her now as it had when she’d started her training, the last time being a mere three months ago.

  Dumbass. Of course it was in the vault. Stupid she hadn’t realized that before. “Are you going to tell me now what’s so special about it?”

  Laire shook her head. “Really, you shouldn’t know, because you don’t need that info to find it. Plus if you get captured and tortured, they won’t be able to get any answers from you.” Any emotional maturity Nalah had ascribed to Laire in the kitchen now withered and died on the vine with that little statement. Always a smooth move to mention torture before sending someone on their first mission.

  Fallon shook her head, though in the uncomfortable three-second silence that followed, she didn’t gainsay the mage’s words. Fallon’s own emotions were under control again as well, because her voice was neutral when she spoke. “The good news is Beylor doesn’t seem to know what it does. He bought it to have a pretty ring that came from the Guild to put on his latest blonde. It’s a brag piece to him, nothing more, so we hope that means his security won’t be too tight.”

  Nalah put aside her own hurt for the moment and made an overture to the swordswoman. There was logic in their conclusions, whether she liked it or not. “I’m not trying to piss you off, Fallon, and I know what you lost. You understand, though, this is hard for me. I left with the intention of being gone forever.”

  Fallon drew a deep breath and softened her stance, though her posture was still dominant. “Do you hate this guy? As in, really hate him and what we’re asking is impossible?”

  Go straight for the vulnerability, that was Fallon’s way. How to answer that question, though…how to answer. “I don’t.” And damned if that answer didn’t surprise her almost as much as Laire, if the slip of emotion that appeared on Laire’s face was any indication. “But that doesn’t change the pain of what happened. It doesn’t change the fact my brother’s gone.”

  As usual, Fallon’s gaze bore the weight of someone who was searching for the soft underbelly. After a few moments, she gave a slight nod. “I sympathize, I do, but you’re not stupid. You see the chain of events. You know the ring’s signature, you don’t have to worry about your abilities not working if we’re right and this is a blackout zone, and you can get into the Underground Tour in such a way that’ll give you the freedom to look for it. Maybe if we had more time we could set people up, but the Tour is already gathering the fighters. We’re pressed.”

  “But I’m not Blackguard. I don’t have any thieving or sneaking ability, and I certainly can’t get into a safe. Someone like that would be more useful.”

  “Someone like that will be there and will work with you.” As if she heard the protest rising in Nalah’s mind, Fallon pinned her with a stare she usually reserved for fighting orc invasions. “You are the one who will find the ring because he can’t, and he’ll steal the ring and get it out – because you can’t. Both of you are necessary. He’s already there and will meet up with you at the Tour.”

  “And the best way to get you to the Tour is the Cage King, and may I say, meow,” Laire supplied, sounding supremely unconcerned about any objections and pushing her long hair over her shoulder. The urge to pull it hit Nalah hard. She resisted, but damn, it was close.

  “What if Esh has no interest?” There was the desperation, and damn again, because she really really wanted to get through this conversation without sounding whiny.

  Laire made a rude sound, waving her hand in airy fashion. “We saw him at the match. You were running away so you might have missed it, but that boy was interested.”

  “It’s been five years.”

  “Yeah, but you still have that ass and it’s obvious he’s an ass man.” Laire gave a firm nod before laying down her pronouncement. “I have a sense about these things. Plus that was where his gaze was locked.”

  Oh hells no. She was not getting sexually harassed by some damn canary. “What is wrong with you?”

  “We’re still figuring that out,” Fallon answered, with the same long-suffering look that Nalah remembered from that first meeting.

  “It was a compliment,” protested Laire.

  “Oh sure, I understand. I can see why someone as flat as you would be overwhelmed.”

  Laire’s scowl was immediate, and indicative that maybe not many people responded to her in kind. “I’m perfectly proportioned.”

  “Yeah, for a board.”

  “Can we catalog physical traits another time?” Fallon said, reaching out and pushing Laire back down into the couch when it looked like she was going to do a takedown. To Nalah she said, “You need to contact him as soon as possible.”

  Nalah rubbed her arms to bring some warmth to her now cool skin, a swamp of memories chilling the flesh in an otherwise warm apartment. “You don’t know him. He’s not going to agree to this. He didn’t-” her voice cracked and she paused, clearing her throat. “He didn’t help me with my brother’s situation, even though I asked him to. So all this arguing and angsting is over something that’s not going to happen.”

  “Maybe not, but let’s say we
tried, huh?” To Laire she said, “Time to go.”

  Without a word – another rarity for the tiny mage – Laire rose from the couch and walked toward the door with as much dignity as a banana could muster.

  The door slammed shut the same moment Nalah spied the long yellow scarf. “Dammit Laire, pick up your shit,” she said under her breath, grabbing the item and heading to the door to stop the two Guild members. As she opened the door her gaze slid across the multiple locks.

  Four. Five. Six…

  And she swung the door wide to see him.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Esh’s massive body dwarfed the doorframe. His fire-lit eyes held her attention as they always had, not allowing her to look away, to back away – not allowing her a moment to think or reconsider or remember why shutting the door right now and pretending she had not seen him would be a very good idea despite the conversation not two minutes ago.

  “Nalah,” he said, his voice good-whiskey-smooth and going down just as easy. “Let me in.”

  “No.” The word slipped out, but there was no intent behind it. No closing of door, no backing away from temptation.

  Not that either of those actions would have helped as he said, still calm, still easy, “Let me in or I’ll rip this fucking door from its hinges.”

  When put like that… Nalah stepped back and Esh stepped forward, his presence too large in the tiny apartment, filling every corner and nook.

  His eyes never left her, as if he was afraid that by looking away, she’d disappear again. She, on the other hand, did her best to look everywhere but at him, no matter that she felt his gaze on her, hot as flame.

  Once again a hand wrapped around her wrist, but this time no disgust crawled through her at the sensation. The stroke of his fingertips over her inner wrist had her heartbeat go staccato and sparks flick along nerve endings. “How did you find me?”