Page 119 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“I’m sure I don’t. But that’s part of why I’m not going to take it.”

“This is foolish.” Alzimyth turns away from me, shaking his head, and stalks across the room. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Probably not.”

“You’ll likely die tomorrow, do you understand that? This Quech is the largest brute in a world of brutes.”

“Maybe. But I think Star and I can take him.”

“But why bother, it’s just—” He presses his palms against his forehead. “Apex defend us, the waste. How can I make you understand?”

“You don’t need to. I’ll fight tomorrow, and if I win I can go Above regardless, right?” Whether I actually plan to or not. “Once I know a little more we can meet again, and—”

“You arrogant little savage,” he snaps, all trace of friendliness gone from his tone. “You think you’re being clever, don’t you? But you’re like a baby crawling through a boiler room. You look at your pathetic cage of a world and imagine that what’s beyond is more of the same.” He lets out a long breath. “I can tell you this much. What you get for winning the Ascent isn’t a free pass to… to Above, you understand? You get to continue the tournament. And in the next round you and your little toy runic will be ripped to shreds before you can blink. What I’m offering is so much more than that, a chance to become genuinely powerful—”

“But if I take it, you’ll own me, right?”

It’s exactly what I’d worried about, when Ky first made her offer. Going to Hod with her placed me completely in her world, in her power, with no appeal. But after Malkuth and the Heap and nearly dying more often than I can count, I trust Ky. I don’t trust Alzimyth farther than Star can throw him.

“It’s—” He glares at me. “It’s not like that.”

“Besides, Star is mine and nobody else’s.” That had rubbed me the wrong way, too. I certainly wasn’t going to hand him over to some tutor because they think he’s dangerous. I know what happens to dangerous things. “So I think I’ll take my chances.”

“You utter fool,” the knight growls. His jaw works back and forth, grinding his teeth. “I could take you. Have the Arbiters bind you and then drag you along.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“Don’t assume you know anything about what I can and can’t—”

“Because,” I interrupt, “if you could, I think you would have done it already. You wouldn’t go through this charade if you didn’t have to. It doesn’t suit you, you know.” I grin at him. “There are rules, aren’t there? And you can’t break them.”

“Worm,” he spits. “Insect. Even if you win tomorrow, all you’ll be is a roach, waiting for the first boot to smash it into paste.”

“You’ve never lived down in the Heap,” I tell him. “Stomping a roach is no easy business. The damned things just keep getting back up again.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Tomorrow arrives with unseemly haste.

To my surprise, I did sleep after my return from Alzimyth’s, though my dreams were shot through with nightmare figures making strange, incomprehensible offers. When I wake up, I hardly feel rested. There’s barely time to eat and bathe and dress in a brand-new fighting outfit laid out by Ky’s indefatigable seamstress before the trip to the arena grounds. Ky is waiting for me in the carriage in fresh clothes of her own, hair tightly braided in a club thicker than my arm, her sword at her side. Her mind is clearly heavy with her own thoughts, and she barely looks at me as we pull out of the driveway.

The tournament field has been rebuilt yet again, repairing the damage done by the previous rounds. The stands are larger now, reaching all the way around the arena, and they’re already packed nearly to bursting. As we dismount from the carriage, I’m surprised to hear people cheer; albeit in a restrained, decorous way that would have been inaudible back on Malkuth. I look back at Ky as she steps down.

“I guess we’re the popular choice.” Not hard when your opponent likes to grind people’s skulls into the dirt “by accident.”

“What?” Ky says, blinking as though seeing the crowd around us for the first time. “Oh. Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” She squares her shoulders and looks up at me. “Just a little… distracted.”

Better her than me, I guess. We haven’t discussed what happened—or might have happened—last night, much less my conversation with Alzimyth. Time for that afterward. Hopefully.

Hisham is on the judge’s stand, talking about something that nobody is paying much attention to. Quech and Vripiai wait in front of it, the big man in a sleeveless vest showing off thickly muscled arms, the snake newly enameled with fresh jewel patterns. Behind them Devon Dreikin waits with Gestian and a suite of other guards. The Dreikin Councilor has a satisfied look on his face, and he picks me out for a contemptuous smile. Ky, meanwhile, only has eyes for Gestian.

“Hey!” A voice from the front of the stands breaks through the babble, and I look over and see Niami’s violently green hair in the front row. She waves and gives me a wide grin. “Tear him apart!”

Alzimyth appears—coming from over by the Dreikins, I note—and mounts the platform, which makes Hisham trail off in mid-sentence. The knight scans us with his usual superior air, but he lingers on me in particular. I try to give him a cheeky grin back, but I suspect it looks queasy instead.