Chapter 24 Dahvid Tin’vori

Dahvid's training sessions had an audience now.

Every time his boots crunched down on the arena sand, Darling's observers were already there. They would take meticulous notes as he stretched, as he moved through swings and stances. When he began the walk home, a new set of observers would trail him through Ravinia's streets. Dahvid knew every breath he took from now until the day of the gauntlet would be counted, every gesture weighed. Darling was searching for weaknesses. Anything that could be exploited in the duels to come.

Cath eagerly worked to give him a new strength instead. She had been sketching day and night to perfect the next potential tattoo. Today's session in the cleansing room might be their last chance. Out of superstition, Cath had not allowed Dahvid to see what she'd been working on. While he wouldn't mind another weapon in his arsenal, he thought the session would be far better if they used it to smuggle her out of the city.

"We'll have an hour, Cath. There are passages below the parlor. I can have you on a ship before Darling's crew even knows what happened. I'll fight better if I know you're safe."

In answer, Cath slammed down a set of brushes.

"And what about me? I get to sit in some foreign city, waiting to hear if the man I love is dead? No. I will not leave you. Quit asking."

She returned to her sketching and refused to speak on the subject again. Dahvid came behind her, gave her shoulder a light squeeze, then began his ritual stretches. The two worked in mutual silence until it was time to leave. The cleansing room awaited them.

He let his fingers tangle through Cath's as they navigated the busy streets. He did not bother pointing out the man and woman who both neatly folded the papers they were reading and began following them some fifty paces back. Cath still spotted them.

"He's afraid you'll win," she whispered. "If he's watching you this closely."

"Very few people win," he corrected. "Because he watches this closely."

The two of them turned a corner, skirting a few of the larger markets. Darling's spies could follow him every hour of the day, but there was some pleasure in knowing they could not unearth the only secret of his that mattered: the tattoos. All of that hidden magic pooled in his veins. They were his only advantage in what was coming.

They arrived at the cleansing house. Cath set a hand on the small of his back. She was giving him the lightest of pushes. "Go ahead and lie down. I'll be in in a minute."

The stone table waited for him. The spell had not been activated. Not yet. Dahvid moved inside the room and began undressing. He was on the table, towel covering in place, when the magic began the way it always did. He felt it digging down—half pain and half pleasure—into his skin.

And then the lights flickered.

Every muscle tightened. Dahvid's eyes snapped open. He was not alone in the room.

"Hello again."

The beautiful Darling strode out of the shadows. He looked even more eerie in the strange white glow of the cleansing room. Every feature slightly askew. A perfect mockery of beauty. Dahvid saw the chain trailing from his wrist, winding over the stones, and vanishing through a door in the dark. He'd had no idea there was a second entry to this room. Darling paused at the edge of the stone table, eyes boldly wandering Dahvid's length. Even hooded and bound, he had not felt so vulnerable before the warlord as he did now.

"Hello, Darling."

"That was so very clever of you," Darling replied—and Dahvid could just barely hear the scraping voice echoing from the shadows. "The other night. Acting before I could announce the match with Ockley. My own mistake, really. I shouldn't have given you the chance. It was clever and daring and very much on the verge of rudeness."

"I thought it was gracious of you to accept the challenge."

Darling snorted. "As if you gave me a choice. You knew what the rules were. Alas, here we are. The gauntlet is set. I will make nearly as much money on that event as I would have on the other one. Still, gauntlets are nerve-racking. There's always the potential cost of losing, isn't there? That tantalizing prize. A single wish. Ask anything and I will grant it. Gauntlets are especially worrisome when a mysterious little creature like yourself is involved.…"

His eyes roamed again, gliding from tattoo to tattoo.

"I'll admit I find it titillating. I've hosted hundreds of gauntlets, dear boy. I began hosting them before you were born. And I have predicted—with absolute certainty—which challengers would win… and which would lose." He leaned forward, hands pressed to the stone mere inches from Dahvid's bare feet. "But you are the first real mystery of the last few decades. It is going to be so delightful to see how it all unfolds. Before we get to that, however, we need to have a discussion."

Dahvid wished he could sit up. He wished he had clothes on. He wished he knew how many guards were waiting in the dark behind that empty doorway—ready to intervene.

"A discussion?"

Darling nodded. "I need to know what your request will be."

Dahvid couldn't hide his surprise. In all their research, he'd never heard of challengers being asked to make their request in advance. He'd always imagined it more like a scene in a play. The victor heaving a great breath, wiping blood from their hands, bellowing out a demand.

"What if I haven't decided?"

Darling shook his head. The chain attached to his wrist rattled slightly. "That will not work for me, and it will not work for you. We are beginning a negotiation. You can have anything—within reason. The conversation starts here and now, because I need to make sure that we can actually come to terms before the gauntlet occurs. You will tell me what you want, right now, or I will make sure there is no possible chance for you to survive the fights to come."

Dahvid's surprise edged into shock. He stood for a long moment, unsure what to say. In the silence, he heard the slightest hiss. The sound was impossible to ignore. On the ground, the chain linking the two Darlings was beginning to smoke. Dahvid realized the white magic in the room was attempting—and failing—to cleanse the spell written in those chains. A dark passage of souls, an unholy conquering. It was a small reminder that this man did not operate within any set of rules besides his own. Dahvid would do well not to challenge that now.

"Fine. I want an army."

Darling's eyes narrowed. "An army. How many soldiers, exactly?"

"I want a thousand men. Your third and fourth company would be my preference. We watched all of their training sessions—down by the beach. Those are your best soldiers. Good generals too. I would like to borrow them for one month. Not so long that you'll be exposed without them."

Now the warlord's eyes glittered.

"That is a very interesting request. Would it have anything to do with House Brood?"

Dahvid shrugged. "I just like the sound of boots marching."

That earned a rare laugh from both Darlings. Both the musical and the guttural, weaving in and out of each other. Dahvid watched as the warlord began to pace.

"That is quite an expensive request," Darling said. "Maybe the most expensive, with the exception of Agatha, but she's more than earned her keep over the years. I highly doubt you intend to remain in my service. When you march south, you won't be marching back, correct?"

Dahvid nodded. "Correct."

"And my soldiers… if they don't return? That would be very costly."

"What if I offered them a percentage of spoils? The soldiers remain on your bankroll, but they can benefit from my… conquest. Would that work?"

Darling considered that. "It might, but there are other costs to discuss. What do you think will happen when you march an army south? You might just end up starting a war."

"Remove your insignias," Dahvid suggested. "Let them march as mercenaries. Then all responsibility would be set at my feet. If I fail, none of this will matter. If I succeed, well, I doubt you'll have to fight any wars. There won't be any retribution."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Because if I succeed, one of your great rivals will be wounded."

Dahvid knew the truth. Nevelyn had walked him through the economics. Ravinia always benefited from a weakened Kathor. Historically, if the larger city struggled, it invited an opportunity for other powers to rise. Ravinia had grown twofold during the War of Neighbors for exactly that reason. If he could destroy House Brood, he would be doing the warlord a grand favor. Darling surely understood that, even if he was pretending to muse over the subject. There was nothing but greed in his eyes.

"An army," Darling said. "Very interesting indeed. I will take all of this into consideration. It is not out of the question. I needed to see if we were close enough on terms to proceed. I'm sure you can understand. There have been challengers in the past who demanded vaults full of gold. Asked me to bring dead dragons back to life. Such men cannot be reasoned with, but you are what my scouts have all reported you to be: measured. A man who appears entirely in control. We shall see how long that quality lasts once your gauntlet begins. Enjoy your session."

He glided out of the room. The chain rattled twice before vanishing after him like an iron snake. When the door slid shut, Dahvid watched as the edges blended perfectly back into the wall. No wonder they'd never noticed it before. He sagged back on the table. His chest heaved with each breath. The cleansing spell had been waiting all this time, distracted by the darker magic in the room, and Dahvid surrendered himself to it now. The pain was a welcome distraction. For a time.

Eventually fear returned. It was no small task to stare this city's god in the eye and speak as he just had. It was not easy to admit what they'd been planning for the last seven years to a man he did not trust at all. He could tell, though, that he now possessed something very valuable:

Darling's curiosity.

Cath's tattoo failed again. Dahvid told her not to worry. It was not pivotal to their plans. She seethed for the rest of the day, until they tangled together in bed, both eager to help the other forget the day's events. Long after she had fallen asleep, Dahvid found himself turning restlessly. Sleep eluded him.

He went to the window. The place was too poor to afford proper balconies, but when he shoved the window open, a breath of night air rushed in that was equally satisfying. He could hear movement below. Shadows moving between circles of lamplight. Conversations echoed up to him. The passing scent of flavored cigarettes. Dahvid stood there for a long time, listening to the world.

After a time, his naked body began to shiver. It wasn't winter yet—but the nights in Ravinia were brisk, and on the verge of true chill. Goose bumps ran up his thighs, down his arms. He looked at the tattoos stretching over his skin. For the first time in years, he allowed his eyes to linger on the edges of Ware's final tattoo. The one that Dahvid had never used, never called upon. He reached out and shut the window. In the reflection, he turned so that he could inspect the whole image.

A hand was reaching down, from his shoulder blade to his lower back. The stretching fingertips fell just short of a body of water. Ware had rendered the surface dark—a sort of muddled swirl of shadows that ran horizontally, from the middle of Dahvid's back to his hip. As he stared into the depths of the tattoo, he thought he could see another hand—beneath the surface—reaching up. He could almost convince himself there was a fingertip breaching the surface of the water and that the two hands were separated by the smallest strip of his own pale skin.

Curious, Dahvid reached back and let his thumb hover there. Just above the surface of the tattoo. He could feel immense power pooled there. It had continued growing all this time. That wasn't true of every tattoo, but it was true of this one—and of the scarlet traveler. Not using them was like allowing a tree to keep growing to its fullest height. Dahvid had used the scarlet traveler two or three times a year, though not once since arriving in Ravinia. But the reaching hand? It had never been activated. Its power had been growing for nearly a decade now.

As his thumb hovered, he could sense qualities in the magic as well. It wasn't an exact science. Truly, he never knew how a tattoo would manifest until he actually activated the spell and watched it take shape. But every single one of his tattoos had a feeling. A core quality. He could tell this one was an exchange. He had no idea with whom or for what. He simply knew that if he activated the magic, there would be a trade of some kind.

Dahvid had memorized Nevelyn's plans for them. Every careful step that would lead from this lonely, claustrophobic apartment and to the Broods' estate. Plans were all well and good, but if life had taught him anything, it was that something would go wrong. He saw Ware's two tattoos—the flower and the reaching hand—as last resorts. If the plan failed, he'd need their power.

He moved his finger away from the tattoo. The underlying hum of magic faded. He could hear Cath stirring in her sleep. The room felt cool enough now for him to lie down without sweating. He settled back in beside his love, but his mind was far from that bed, that place. His thoughts raced ahead. He was dreaming of the gauntlet—and eventually, the Broods. He imagined Thugar Brood broken before him, begging and at his mercy.

It was that image that finally put him to sleep.