Sylah caught the eye of Turin in the crowd smoking a cigar and blowing red smoke into the face of the man next to her. A sly smile spread across Turin’s face when she saw Sylah looking.
“Didn’t take you for a fan of Turin’s maiden house.” Fayl handed her some water. She rinsed the sweat from her face and blue blood from her hands.
“Trust me, I’m not.”
“She never smiles at me.”
“Just settling a debt.” She wiped her wet face with her tunic.
“That was a good show. Loot’s really happy. People are betting big on you now.”
“Yeah? What’s the prize money for the winning fighter today?”
“Two hundred slabs.”
Sylah whistled.
“Doesn’t matter, though. Loot will settle the fifty slabs with you after. Lose this round, but don’t make it quick.” Sylah was no longer listening. Two hundred slabs was a lot of joba seeds.
Loot and Sylah had entered into their partnership six years ago. When it was clear she was going to win every round, Loot knew he had to ban her or lose out on profits. The preplanned outcomes were Sylah’s idea. Anything to keep her in the Ring. To fight and feel normal. At least her years of training could make her some money.
Savior turned entertainer.
“Round three, commence.”
Sylah wasted no time. She went on the offense and landed two kicks to Lazo’s gut. Although it was as hard as whitestone, he moved ten handspans closer to the edge. He growled and launched for her waist. Sylah dropped to the ground and rolled, springing up in time to kick him in the back.
He was one kick away from the edge, but she had to make it look like a mistake. She pranced to the side and let him gain ground, giving her enough time to flip backward. But instead of landing the flip, she twisted her body to the side, landing heavily on her hip in front of the edge of the ring.
But Sylah had timed it perfectly. Lazo launched a kick at Sylah’s midriff and she caught the heel in her hands. From Loot’s view it simply looked like Lazo had tripped, but those on the other side of the ring could see the trick Sylah pulled.
Lazo, robbed of his balance, flew forward and out of the ring.
The crowd was deafening.
“Fairly won, Sylah.” Lazo pulled himself up and shook her hand.
Sylah was grinning, soaking in the fever of the crowd. “Thanks, Lazo.”
“The winner is…Sylah.” Loot sounded like he was choking on his own words. Sylah caught his eye, and his stare promised violence. She didn’t care; the crowd had piled in around her, people touching her hair, handing her firerum and compliments. Shame no joba seeds.
By the time she made it to Loot, he was well and truly steaming.
“Well played, Sylah.”
“Thank you.”
“You broke our contract.” Two Gummers moved in behind her. One of them, the woman, had a scar running from the bridge of her nose to the tip of her collarbone. She smiled at Sylah, making her shiver. They were in public; he couldn’t do anything.
Could he?
“He slipped, I tried to—”
“I’m not an idiot, Sylah.” He pulled off his gold spectacles with a sigh. The black spider brooch watched her with its glittering diamond eyes.
The evening’s entertainment over, the crowd dispersed, and a Gummer handed the winnings to Loot. He rummaged through the bag and pulled out fifty slabs.
“Here’s your lot.”