Asher leaned against a wall with one hand, bent over as his vision cleared.

  “You alright, boy?”

  He glanced sideways at Beastman. The beef mountain had his jaw clenched in concern. To reassure him, Asher stood up straight and stretched his shoulders.

  “Course I am.”

  The current match ended.

  “Now for the show of the night!”

  The announcer’s voice boomed and echoed into the tunnel. Making Asher close his eyes in a wave of dizziness.

  “Are you sure, boy? Do you want me to call a referee?”

  Was he sure? No, fetch it! But he couldn’t back out. If he didn’t do this match, he’d lose his chance to win his freedom.

  His last chance.

  And there were people watching for him. He’d yet to see their faces or talk to them directly, but they’d been slipping him notes over the walls and through bars wherever they could.

  “From the capital, trained by the elite Jamborine group, Huntsman!”

  The crowd boomed and applauded.

  Asher listened to them. His people were out there. Somewhere in the crowd or watching from the shadows. They knew he was there.

  “From Cresh City Arena, Gray the Basilisk!”

  “Boy,” Beastman whispered urgently. “You’re not in any state-”

  He couldn’t let them, his people, down. So he shrugged off Beastman’s hand and ignored his trainer’s frantic whispers. Then stepped through the gate barring the tunnel.

  Everything right in front of him was more or less normal. But he noticed that the stands and anything further away than twenty feet seemed to blur together. And every step felt heavier than the last.

  He took his place on the starting square, watching an opponent who was oddly wavy in his vision.

  He cussed under his breath and waited for the usual array of weapons to be offered to him. Picking out a sword, he waited for his opponent.

  Swords. They both chose swords.

  Cussing again, he readied himself. Not taking his eyes off the other man as the non-competitors scurried off the field.

  Another wave of dizziness almost made him lose his balance. Making him wish he had one more dose of the strengthening potion they gave him his first two years. Before he was strong enough to handle it alone.

  The whistle blew and the other man charged.

  Training saved Asher. He turned his body to the side and the other man’s sword ripped past him. Then he swung upward, redirecting the blade up and away so the man couldn’t easily maneuver back at Asher.

  Giving Asher enough time to retreat a few steps before once again blocking.

  His ears rang and his heartbeat pounded fiercely in his ears. But his muscles knew what to do, even if his mind was growing more and more sluggish.

  Up, down, jab.

  He jumped to avoid a sweep at his legs and landed wrong, his knee throbbing as he stumbled back a few steps. Barely turning his sword in time to block a blow aimed at his neck.

  Each blow was gradually feeling more and more like someone hitting him with a dragon-sized hammer. Each time he felt himself getting closer and closer to the end.

  He had to end this. Now!

  Desperately, he searched for a weakness, an opening. The man favored his left side, but not out of pain. It was due to weak training on that side. But his right defense was good and his footwork excellent, making up for his weakness.

  Clang, clang, clang!

  Dimly, he was aware of the roar of the crowd. Aware of his breathing becoming ragged.

  Aware that his footwork was becoming sloppy.

  But, maybe he could use that.

  Deliberately, he allowed his knee to collapse. With a triumphant crow, the other man took a swing at Asher’s shoulder. Which Asher ducked then propelled his weight forward, head butting the man in the gut.

  His opponent stumbled back with a grunt and Asher grabbed his wrist.

  Cleanly disarming the other man.

  His opponent rammed his knee into Asher’s gut, taking the wind out of him. With a gasp, he stumbled back. The dizziness hit again, this time making him stumble to his knees.

  Meanwhile, the other man snatched up his fallen sword. Asher angled his sword to block, barely keeping the blow from being fatal.

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  But the other sword scraped down and off his blade, missing his fingers and lodging into his hip.

  Pain exploded in Asher’s head.

  He didn’t pass out. But his body could no longer fight what was happening. He collapsed on his side and heaved desperately. Still, he dizzily tried to push himself up and barely raised his head.

  He couldn’t feel his sword anymore and had to glance at his hand to confirm he was still holding it.

  Also, the surrounding sound had gone strange. He was aware of a roaring noise similar to the crowd. But it was distorted and far away. Nothing broke through as a single recognizable thread.

  Stubbornly, he pulled his sword toward him. Intending to use it as a cane to get up.

  It felt like dragging an anvil. And he couldn’t prop himself high enough to stand it up, much less push himself to his feet.

  His opponent must’ve decided to spare him.

  Because the next thing he knew, the referee was calling the match and the medical staff were hauling him off the field.

  The pain cleared his head a little.

  He could feel blood streaming down his leg and soaking his pants. Becoming aware that the wound wasn’t just in his hip but also had cut his side.

  Did it get anything vital?

  He laughed and it sounded like a wheeze.

  Now that there wasn’t so much noise, he started picking up individual sounds. Mostly people talking.

  “Should we even bother? He’ll probably die with a wound like that.”

  “Yes. He’s still under contract.”

  “Not for long. That was his last match, right?”

  They worked quickly, but in the end decided he wouldn’t live through the night with normal methods.

  Pain ripped through him as someone applied just a little healing magic. After only three seconds, he passed out.

  He didn’t know how long he was out.

  All he knew was the next time he weakly opened his eyes, he could see the night sky. The world was dark outside the mage light. People in dark cloaks shuffled around him.

  Most of them were silent.

  Someone was carrying him, but he was too tired to lift his eyes or focus on the man.

  “Put him here.”

  Obediently, the person carrying him put Asher down. He was being gentle with his movements and the blankets which he laid Asher on was softer than the usual cot.

  Asher’s eyesight was blurry, but he was close enough to the other man that he briefly saw his face.

  Beast?

  Beastman took a step back from the open carriage door and turned to one of the cloaked people.

  “What is your master going to do with him?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  Beastman grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him onto his toes. Eyes hot with anger.

  “I helped you sabotage the match because you said it was necessary for his survival,” Beastman spat. “Instead, I watched him nearly die! Don’t you dare tell me it’s none of my concern!”

  Someone else put a hand on Beastman’s arm.

  “First, we’ll see that he gets proper medical care. And if you don’t want to see him die in the carriage, we need to leave now.”

  Asher couldn’t see her face, but it was definitely a woman who spoke. And Beastman responded by going still for a few seconds. Then he slowly released the other man, who stumbled back a step.

  “I apologize. The drug should have taken him out of the fight before he entered it.” The woman bowed. “It just shows how strong your student is. I wouldn’t worry about him surviving this.”

  “If he dies, I’ll hunt you down and break your necks.”

  The woman bowed again then signalled to the other man.

  The carriage door closed. With the windows covered, that left Asher in pitch darkness.

  ***

  Duchess Waghorn was just over forty. As far as most women in the empire were concerned, she was far too old to be having a child. Em didn’t know if it was the woman’s desire for a child that kept her trying… or the shame that she’d been unable to bear her husband an heir.

  Whatever the Duchess’s motive, here she was. Beaming up at Em with a tiny newborn held firmly in her arms.

  “Do you want to hold him?”

  Em nodded mutely and awkwardly accepted the small bundle.

  The child barely stirred with the transfer.

  “He’s such a quiet baby,” the Duchess gushed. Beaming. “His wet nurse told me if he doesn’t start screaming soon, it’s likely he’ll stay this way.”

  Em smiled. She put a finger into his tiny fist and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “He’s lovely.”

  “Of course he is,” the Duchess said primly. “I’m his mother.”

  “Didn’t his father have a part in it?”

  The Duchess rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid my son takes too much after that man. As long as his brain and mouth take after me, it’s fine if he looks like his father.”

  Em grinned. The Duchess frequently grew frustrated with her husband. But that was all it was. Frustration. She didn’t actually dislike the man. And though Em didn’t understand the appeal herself, she was fairly certain the Duchess found him attractive.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Callahan.”

  Em raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a fort.”

  The woman chuckled. “It does, doesn’t it? Then maybe he’ll grow up strong. He’ll have to be strong if he has to deal with your brother in the future. Did you hear what he did last week?”

  “What did he do?”

  “When the Duke asked for more details to the last report, the Marquis sent a report so detailed it took the Duke three hours to read. My husband came to bed growling about obnoxious… Well, he used a name not befitting a woman to say.”

  Em chuckled and wrinkled her nose in a smile.

  “If it makes your husband feel better, Flint feels the same way about him.”

  Both women chuckled, and Em bounced the baby gently.

  “Oh, no. Not on the bed, dear.”

  Em quickly stood up, alarmed.

  “I’m so sorry!”

  The woman waved away Em’s frantic apology. “There’s no need for that. I’m just not recovering well. If not for your physician friend, I’d probably be in a lot more trouble.”

  “Mister Sager is an excellent physician.”

  “Indeed.” The woman smiled. But there was something calculating in her gaze that made Em shift with sudden discomfort. “Without his help, I wouldn’t have carried to term.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And his assistant was amazing as well.”

  “Was she?”

  “How did you know it was a she?”

  Em looked away. “I think Callahan is hungry. Should I call his wet nurse?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Why would I change the subject?”

  With a huff that was halfway a laugh, the Duchess carefully leaned forward. Trying to avoid pulling her stitches even as she fixed Em with a hard stare.

  “I know about your experiments at the March.”

  “I’m sure everyone has heard about them by now.”

  “I also know that you’ve had an unusually high success rate. But only as long as you’re involved. Otherwise it’s mediocre at best.”

  Em met the Duchess’s gaze without flinching.

  “The tincture is, unfortunately, more receptive to me and my mana.”

  “Tincture?!” The woman threw back her head in a laugh. “I spent hours pretending to have private tea parties so I could show you the basics of alchemy, and you want me to believe it’s a simple tincture?”

  Em shrugged.

  “Believe what you want, Duchess.”

  “You’re just as infuriating as your brother.”

  “We are related, your grace.”

  Unable to hold the pose any longer, the Duchess tiredly leaned against her pillows. “If you bring me the recipe, I can figure out what’s wrong with it.”

  Em narrowed her eyes. “For what price?”

  “I want half the shares for distribution.”

  “You already get a third for the azuremere.”

  “I have the connections. You don’t.”

  Em pursed her lips thoughtfully. Then she shrugged and began bouncing on her toes. She looked at Callahan but spoke to the Duchess.

  “Fine. Since none of my legitimate ventures will work, you can have half. But only if you can figure out why it isn’t working well for other mages. If you can’t figure that out, then it won’t matter.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Now, tell me the truth about why it works so well for you.”