The Royal Thief

Chapter Twenty-five: Almost As Good

The stink, the smoke, the yells, the groan of the old wood stage and grunts of pain, the deep, flickering red light washing the scene in amber and blood, the crack and splinter of angry screams, hoarse insults, curses ricocheting off the walls and up to the cobwebbed ceiling. The thing about the match house was how easy it was to get yourself lost, or make yourself noticed. There in the crowds of people and ear-splitting chaos, I'd learned how to do the former. Tonight I was going to step on the stage and make people pay attention. And Jaden just had to accept that.

"If I have to tie you up and drag you back to the castle, I will."

"We both know you don't mean that," I said, although looking at his face, it seemed that he might.

His only response was a long glare.

I tried a different tactic. "You brought me here because I couldn't train in the yards anymore. What's the point in not fighting?"

"You're not ready."

"You keep saying that. But I am. You told me the first time we came that I had to learn out the rules. Well, I've figured them out. There are no rules. It's depend on yourself, look out for yourself, fight for yourself. You keep your mouth shut and your ears open. You learn who's in charge and you stay on their good side, you lie when it's convenient and keep the truth to yourself. Stealing and lying are just tools to survive. And so is fighting."

"I think you're fighting a losing battle," Gordan commented. "Like it or not, she's ready."

The two men exchanged a glance, one angry and the other calm, if slightly exasperated. 

"I'll leave," he threatened.

"Then who'll help me find a healer when I get my nose broken?"

Gordan chuckled as Jaden crossed his arms.

"If you get your nose broken, it will be because you deserve it."

"So you'll stay?"

"No. We're both leaving."

"Jaden," Gordan said wearily, "You've got to see how this shaping up." They shared another look. I was starting to feel left out of their silent conversation. "She's not Wes."

"She may as well be!"

For the first time, I wondered if perhaps being compared to Wes wasn't such a great compliment after all. 

Yet another very long, very heavy look between them, and then Jaden turned on his heel and strode through the crowd and out the door.

"I'll talk to him," Gordan murmured, and pushed through the throngs of people after him. Somehow, I reflected, people always moved out of Jaden's way, as surely as if he held a bare sword in his hand.

I wasn't waiting for him. I didn't know where the over-protectiveness was coming from, but he could play father some other time. Almost eighteen years old was too late to be dealing with this. Instead of dwelling on it, I wound my way to the man who stood next to the stage. That area was kept mostly clear of watchers, but he was always there, with a permanent scowl on his face. I've said it before, I'm sure-- important people are always scowling.

"Excuse me," I said, stepping in front of him. "I'd like to fight in a match." I may have said excuse me, but I made sure he could tell from my tone that I wasn't being friendly.

"So?" He had a sallow face and the kind of excruciatingly slow drawl that marks a person who thinks other people are a waste of space. 

"You're in charge of that, right?" I matched my voice to his bored tone.