Page 116 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“Sure.” She swings it up to me, and I take it and sip. The liquor is strong and smoky, dissolving on my tongue like I’ve inhaled a mouthful of the flames. It’s powerful, but not entirely unpleasant, and I take a larger swallow.

“Anyway,” she goes on. “I just got to thinking. The final match of the Ascent is tomorrow, right?”

“Right.”

“Everything is going to be decided there.” A shiver runs through her, and she huddles in on herself, her hand gripping her wrist tightly. “Everything. Right?”

I hesitate, but I can’t exactly deny it. “Right.”

“We could both die. Or get thrown in prison forever, or whatever the fuck Devon Dreikin will do to me if he gets the chance. Or—”

“You don’t,” I interrupt, “have to list all the possibilities.”

“Sorry.” She takes a deep breath. “So if I want something, or I think I want it, even if I’m not really sure and everything feels weird, it seems like I ought to do it now or else I might lose the chance, right?”

“I… What?” I shake my head and turn to her. “Ky, what are you talking about?”

She turns to me, fixes me with those huge eyes, her cheeks flushed pink. I stare back, frozen, as she lifts one hand very slowly to touch my cheek.

“Do…” She swallows, licks her lips. “Do you want to—”

There’s a loud knock on the door.

“Miss? Master Taj?”

Ky’s face abruptly turns beet red, and she scrambles to the other side of the couch as though I’d grown thorns.

“Bradley!” she shrieks. “I thought I told you—”

“Forgive me, miss,” the old man interrupts. “But there’s been a messenger. From… Master Alzimyth. He requests Master Taj visit him at once.” Bradley gives an embarrassed cough. “I thought that you ought to know immediately.”

THIRTY-SIX

The carriage ride isn’t long, but there’s plenty of time for my brain, fogged by exhaustion, to finally pick its way through what Ky had been saying. Heat creeps up under my collar, along with an urge to tell Alzimyth to go fuck himself and rush back to the house, but there’s no point now. Besides, one doesn’t blow off an invitation from a visitor from Above, especially when he’s judging the tournament.

Alzimyth is staying in a small (by Hod standards) guest house not far from the tournament grounds. In spite of its limited size, it practically groans under the weight of its decorations, the facade crammed with every precious material and aesthetic flourish Hod has to offer. The overall effect is a little bit desperate, too eager to impress.

The runic carriage pulls around to the front door, and I immediately spot Gestian and Devon Dreikin outside, talking with heads together. It occurs to me abruptly that this might be a trap, with a dozen Arbiters—or Quech and Vripiai—waiting in the shadows to tear me apart. For a moment I wonder if I should flee. But the house’s massive door is already swinging open; Alzimyth strides out, waving the pair away as though they were servants. I get out of the carriage and give them a pointed look as they retreat, getting a poisonous glare from Gestian in return.

“Taj,” Alzimyth says, ignoring the most powerful man on Hod. “Come in.”

I follow him into a magnificently appointed sitting room. Servants bustle after us, placing crystal glasses and a basket full of strange fruits on a small table. The knight waves them away impatiently. When we’re along, he pulls a metal flask from an inner pocket and offers it to me.

“Drink?” The corner of his lip curls upward. “I guarantee it’s nothing you’ve ever tasted.”

I hesitate, then nod. It seems to be a night for finding new flavors, and how often do you get to try a drink from Above, after all? Alzimyth pours a half centimeter of cloudy gray liquid into two glasses and hands me one, then stands waiting until I take a sip.

The taste is simple—a little acid, a little salt. But it seems to unfold as it passes over my tongue, and keep unfolding, an expanding geometry of strangeness that opens up the inside of my head and splays the inner parts naked to the cool evening air. I blink, not even aware of swallowing, and set the glass down on a table that suddenly seems a thousand kilometers away. Fortunately, my arm is equally long and has acquired a dozen extra joints.

“That’s… interesting.” I shake my head. It feels like something inside sloshes back and forth. “Maybe a little strong for me.”

“Perhaps.” He tosses back his own glass and just breathes for a moment with a satisfied smile. “Are you looking forward to the final match?”

“I’m looking forward to winning,” I say, a little more forcefully than I intended. The strange sensations are fading, but my heart still pounds and my blood feels fizzy.

“Confidence,” Alzimyth says. “I respect that.” He sets the empty glass down beside mine. “And I understand you are not even from Hod?”

“I’m not.” I wonder if he’s about to call me a barbarian.