Chapter 19

The Bet

The pretend fortress hasn't changed. It never changes really. The only true difference is the people who the houselord is playing host to.

The kitchens exit directly into what can only be described as a feasting hall. Where most houses try to outdo each other in opulence BloodRock has cultivated an appearance akin to the barbarous folk of the north.

Rather than marble pillars and over-the-top art. Here are two long tables not dissimilar to the ones we slaves eat at. They sit atop a furred rug from some massive beast.

The dark stone walls are absolutely covered in various trophies of war, only occasionally broken up by a doorway or one of the four unlit fireplaces.

There isn't anyone in the hall yet today which feels oddly unnatural. I used to cut through here as a kid a lot, but in the last few years, the only times I've been allowed in the manse proper have been for some event or another. So even though I know nothing is happening today, some part of me still expected it to be full of rich people. Shaking my head at my own thoughts I head for the doorway on the far right side of the hall. That will take me to BloodRock's personal office. I say office, but it also fits the barbarous aesthetic resembling some centaur lord's war tent far more than a place of business, or the sanctuary of a Far Mantyian houselord.

When I was little Atar's sanctuary had been a much larger room above the dining hall, nowadays however stairs and his knees don't go together so well. A few months back I overheard a pair of the domestic girls talking about how he hasn't gone above the first floor in years. Good, fuck Atar BloodRock. I hope the pain in his joints is so bad it keeps him awake at night. That sort of thing will be my future eventually, assuming the pits don't outright kill me first. So I have very little sympathy for the man inflicting it upon me.

I had been expecting BloodRock himself, and maybe Xael. I'm partly right, they are there. Atar in his big throne of carved rock, Xael standing a few feet away in the black and white tunic he seems to have a thousand versions of.

What I'm not expecting is Kalon and his pit-partner Tota, standing on the other side of the houselord's big chair.

Instantly my fur stands on end. I was fairly sure I knew what this was about, and while the inclusion of Kalon’s team doesn't mean I'm wrong, but it does put me on edge. Maybe I'm just still feeling anxious after I was attacked in the kitchen of all places.

As I enter the room that strange water on hot stone smell fills my nostrils, and my hatred flares. I don’t know the right words to describe the depth of loathing I feel whenever I smell the houselord up close. The feeling goes to war with the finely honed sense of self-preservation every slave develops. The conflict inside makes me a little less cautious than maybe I should be. Instead of greeting Atar I stomp over and glare at Kalon. “ Your mother just tried to stab me.” I snap at the blonde boy. He blinks a few times, then as the words register he lets out a groan and covers his face with a hand.

“Oh she didn’t,” he says through the hand, clearly embarrassed. “You didn’t hurt her did you?”

I can’t help it, a little grin crosses my face. “I knocked her down, but she’s fine.” It isn’t really a lie, broken noses aren’t a serious injury. She won’t even need to go to the tower or anything.

Kalon is about to say something back when I let out a snarl of pain, and jump backward with my left hand going to my face. It only takes a heartbeat for me to figure out what happened. BloodRock has flicked some of the burning liquid that drips from his hair at me. The scalding fluid catching me on the cheek and quickly searing my flesh.

Hand still on my face I glare my resentment at the still seated houselord.

“Ahh glad you have deigned to give me your attention lord North.” Sneers the ridiculously blessed crimson-skinned man. His voice drips with sarcasm worse than his hair drips with…..I’m going to ask Gori what that burning rock stuff is called. It has a name, there is a big painting in house Tariff of it flowing down a mountain.

My glare deepens but I don’t say anything. I’m not that stupid. There is a limit to how much disrespect I can get away with. It's more than none, no matter what BloodRock says when he’s beating me senseless. I still can’t push it much more than this. Atar’s first, last, and favorite solution to any problem is violence. Disrespectful slaves are very much not excluded from that list.

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So I do my best to ignore the pain, and just stay silent. I probably should have made that decision before I walked in here. BloodRock meets my glare, amusement at my impotent rage shining in his eyes.

“If you broke my favorite cook you are a dead man North,” he says matter of factly.

“But if you didn't, I couldn't care less. All of you shut your mouths till I say I'm done talking.”

All four of us obey. Not even Xael complains. However, I notice his hand tighten on the hilt of his sword a little.

The lucky jerk gets to just wear his weapons in the open whenever he wants. I wonder if the blade could even hurt Atar. I've never had a chance to attack him with something that wasn’t a part of my body, and I imagine myself ripping that sword off Xael’s belt and plunging it right through the neck or chest of the houselord.

It wouldn’t work. I know that, but it's a nice fantasy.

“ The four of you will be the two teams representing BloodRock at the Storm Herald invitational, before you ask yes it's just two teams from us this year. Saffron decided they wanted most of the slots.” Well, that answers that. What Saffron wants, they get. At least if the other party wants to keep doing good business in Far Mantys.

“Plus HighSail had a few teams invited this year.” He continues with a dismissive wave of his hand. That was a bit stranger, the explorer house tends to provide all manner of rare and dangerous creatures for the pits. But in terms of producing actual pitters, they don’t tend to do a very good job.

“ The flame witch,” I say in surprise, before slamming my mouth shut.

The houselord looks furious for a moment before a little smile crosses his lips.

‘Shut up North, just fucking listen it's not hard’ I berate myself.

“ The flame witch.” He confirms. “HighSail and his little nephew have been bragging all over the city that their Itti’atti can’t be defeated.” He tilts his head in a mannerism I hate to admit I picked up from Atar. “ So I bet all four of my Azazellian trade pacts against The Mocking Leviathan that it would be a BloockRock team that eliminated her and her partner.”

My eyebrows raise and my recently shut mouth hangs open. I don’t know much about money or trade, but I do know Azazel is the largest northern city by far, and the pacts must be worth a fortune if HighSail put up The Mocking Leviathan.

There isn’t a person walking the streets of Far Mantys who doesn’t know the flagship of house HighSail. I of course have never seen it up close, but you don’t have to. The boat is enormous. A traveling town comparable even to the twelve-house compounds. A monstrous lord of the waves with a lot of sails, a lot of oars, and sometimes even a sea monster pulling it.

Still surprised, I look at Kalon and Tota again, then back to Back to Old Man BloodRock. I try to hold back. I really do, but I find myself talking again.

“Me and the foreign kid I understand, but them?” I ask incredulously. “ Where are Morean and Task or Neston and Fugu? That bitch will murder Kalon and Tota.” I can’t imagine Kalon and Tota are particularly impressed by my outburst. I guess they are just better at self-control than I am as they don’t say a word. Xael also remains quiet, though he frowns a little at my words.

Atar once again flicks the burning fluid at me like a slap. I duck under the spray this time. That’s weird. Even though I hadn’t been actively disrespectful I had just disobeyed him in front of two slaves and a guest. That would normally warrant a much harsher reaction from the houselord.

“I said Shut it.” He hisses. Yet the old man does answer my questions. I’ll give him that much, Atar likes to keep us informed about the who’s and why’s of the pit.

“ Fugu and Neston aren’t a team anymore, Fugu is too old, and Neston got hired as a bodyguard companion for one of the Saffron kids.” Neston has always been good, he was the last human in BloodRock who could beat me alone, but I didn’t think he had That in him. Companion bodyguard for a Saffron kid is second only to freedom in terms of heights a slave can rise to. Assuming the Saffron’s like him he will have a cushy job that makes both him and BloodRock money for the rest of his life. They might even buy his freedom at some point.

“Morean and Task are leaving the city for about two months. I've already committed them to the Graceless Islands for that big tournament those pirates down there put on. They will be back once one of them wins it.”

There isn't a hint of doubt in him that Morean or Task will win the tournament down there. I'm inclined to think he's right. One of them will, probably Morean.Gods above and below! I had forgotten how much old man BloodRock loves the sound of his own voice. ‘No more questions. It will just make him talk more.’Which is of course when Xael decides to ask a question.

“The Storm Herald Invitational is in just over three weeks. Not a lot of time. Will you let me take North for specialized training?”.

Almost instantly I transfer my glare to the accented boy. Evidently, he and BloodRock have already decided my fate. I'd come in here knowing I was going to end up with Xael in the pit with me. Honestly, I'm not even disappointed by the choice, he's exceptionally talented. It just would have been nice if they had run it by me first.

“Do whatever you want with him.” replies the houselord dismissively.

“Wait. What on the seven worlds does that mean?” I demand.

The two of them fucking ignore me, Just go on talking like I'm not even there.

“And I can take him out into the city?” presses Xael. It causes the old man to snort. “ take him wherever you want. North can never escape, no matter where he goes.”