With a dry grin, Ethenn shook his head. “No, old man, I’m offering you a deal.” He gestured toward the patrons. “This fighting ring of yours brings in good profit, yes? You put on a show, garner a crowd, earn lots of coin. Yet, it costs you, doesn’t it? Three gold crowns? And what’s our ringleader there get toorganize the event for you? At least a crown of his own, right? And I’m guessing the Hammerfist isn’t a lightweight when it comes to ale. He probably drinks you just about dry.”
The barkeep eyed him curiously, clearly unsure how Ethenn could know all this information.
“What I’m offering you is a chance to keep three crowns and a whole barrel of ale.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ll fight him.”
The barkeep didn’t look impressed. “Ye’ll lose,” he said flatly. “Yer a strapping lad, but Aangus has got twice yer size. Perhaps ye’ll beat two or three of the men on yer way to him, but he’ll stop ye cold.”
“Then you’ve got no reason not to take my deal,” Ethenn argued. “If I win, I get your room for the night, and you get to keep the prize purse. If I lose, you’re out nothing,andI’ll pay the prize. Including the Hammerfist’s ale.”
“Yer daft,” the barkeep laughed.
“I’m confident.”
With a hearty guffaw, the barkeep held out a hand. “Pay the prize regardless, and ye’ve got a deal, laddie.”
Though Ethenn didn’t know where he was going to get three gold crowns, he accepted the handshake, nonetheless. He turned and headed for the announcer. After giving his name to the bald man and getting on the lineup, he returned to his troop. With the number of patrons in the tavern, they’d had to split themselves between three tables. Isla and Brea had broken off to sit at a two-person table on a raised section near the hearth while Evylin, Deckard, and Auden sat nearby, leaving Thom, Vayden, and Ilain at their original spot. Rafferty had weaseled his way into the card game a few tables over, and Ethenn took his vacated seat across from Ilain. She eyed him upon his approach but turned back to her meal.
They hadn’t spoken all day, and this moment of avoidance confirmed his earlier suspicions: She was nervous now that Thom had approached him, and yet still, Ethenn hadn’t sought her out.
Choosing to ignore her discomfort for the time being, Ethenn settled into his chair.
“You forgot your ale,” Thom remarked.
Ethenn looked over at him, confused.
Thom gestured toward the bar. “You spoke with our host for quite a while, yet you’ve returned empty-handed.”
“I was working out a deal,” Ethenn said.
“Eh? Have anything to do with that chat you had with the blighter by the hearth?”
Ethenn shrugged. “Might’ve.”
Thom smirked. “You gonna put on a show, Loxley?”
Vayden tipped his chin up, listening with interest. Ilain shifted awkwardly at his side.
Leaning back, Ethenn flashed a grin he didn’t feel.
“Well, this ought to be fun,” Thom remarked.
Ethenn disagreed. He’d win, of course. In Trollenston, he’d regularly fought in the underground fighting rings. One of his less reputable friends, Finn, whom his uncle called an uneducated lout, introduced Ethenn to the ring when he was only thirteen. Though it took some time, Ethenn quickly got the hang of the fights and found his way to victory in practically every bout. He’d won nearly two hundred crowns through the endeavor, managing to buy Terrina all the pretty fabric, quality threads, and sharp scissors she’d needed to become the best seamstress in town.
Then Uncle Vernon got greedy.
Despite his success, Ethenn didn’t enjoy the fights. Winning didn’t mean you came out unscathed. He often wound up with a split lip, black eyes, and bruised ribs. When he was only fifteen,Auchter MacGaans, the butcher’s twenty-six-year-old son, had even broken Ethenn’s right wrist during a particularly brutal fight. He’d missed a month of hunts to the injury, and since his uncle couldn’t use him in the smithy either, he and Terrina had struggled through that blistering hot summer.
But now, he was a Warrior, and he wasn’t afraid of what injuries the fight might bring, only of who he might become during it.
Ethenn stretched his shoulders, scanning the tavern around him. Several men were shaking out their arms or downing their ales in preparation for the fights to begin. None of them were as big as the Hammerfist, but they were burly and looked mean enough to fight dirty. They wouldn’t go down easily.
Suddenly, a tingle shot up Ethenn’s arm as Ilain took his hand. He looked up at her, finding her green eyes cutting into him sharply. “What are you up to?” she asked quietly.
Ethenn didn’t pull away, but neither did he return her touch. “Taking a friend’s advice,” he said.
