2. Josie

2

JOSIE

I wipe down another sticky table, my arms aching from hours of scrubbing and serving. The tavern's dim light does little to hide the grime, but I've long stopped caring. Another night, another shift that'll barely keep food on our table.

A raucous laugh cuts through the din, making me flinch. I glance up, my jaw clenching as I spot him again. Sarod. The orc who struts in here like he owns the place, flashing his wealth and that infuriatingly smug grin. My stomach churns with pure disgust at the sight of him, mortified that everyone in here bows down to his every whim.

Tonight's arm candy is a willowy blonde, all curves and fluttering eyelashes, giggling at his every word as if he's the wittiest creature in all of Protheka. I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of my head. Does he have a new girl every night? It certainly seems that way, not that I'm keeping track or anything.

"Oi! More ale!" A gruff voice calls out, snapping me back to reality.

I hurry to fetch another round, weaving through the crowded room with practiced ease. The smell of sweat and stale beer assaults my nostrils as I dodge wandering hands and sloshing mugs. As I pass Sarod's table, I can't help but catch snippets of his boasting. His deep, rumbling voice carries over the noise, filled with tales of zyrphix glory and wealth beyond measure. I grit my teeth, willing myself not to look his way again.

"—scored the winning goal. You should've seen their faces when I smashed through their defense. Bunch of weaklings, really. They didn't stand a chance against me."

The blonde coos, "Oh, you're so talented! I bet no one can match you on the field. You must be the best player out there!"

I snort, unable to help myself. Talented at being an ass, maybe. And inflating his own ego, that's for sure. As if we haven't heard this same story a hundred times before. I roll my eyes, focusing on wiping down the sticky bar top instead of listening to more of his ridiculous boasting. It's almost impressive how he manages to make every conversation about himself and his supposed prowess on the zyrphix field.

Still, my shift continues. My arms strain as I carry the heavy tray of ale mugs back to the bar. The weight seems to increase with every step, and I can feel my muscles protesting. One more hour, I remind myself. Just one more, then I can go home to Ma. She'll need help with her evening medicines, and I promised to read her a chapter from her favorite book. The thought of her smile when I walk through the door is the only thing keeping me going right now.

The night drags on endlessly. I lose count of the mugs I fill, the messes I clean, and the lewd comments I dodge. All the while, Sarod's booming laughter grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. His voice seems to carry above all others, as if the entire tavern revolves around him.

Finally, my shift ends, and I can't get my apron off fast enough. My fingers tremble with exhaustion as I hang it up, my muscles aching from hours of hauling heavy trays. This gives me a much-needed chance to rest, but it also gives me the opportunity to observe what's going on around me. And I'm not too sure I like what I see.

I lean against the bar, trying to catch my breath, and watch as Mira, one of the other tavern girls, practically trips over herself to serve Sarod another round. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson as she giggles at something he says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. It's pathetic, really. I roll my eyes, unable to fathom how anyone could fall for his act.

"Can you believe it?" Mira gushes when she returns to the bar, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "He scored three points in today's match! Three! That's practically unheard of!"

I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to point out that his "accomplishment" hardly makes up for his boorish behavior. Instead, I just nod, wondering how much longer I'll have to endure this circus before I can escape home to Ma.

"It's just a game, Mira," I remind her, unable to keep the exasperation from my voice. "One where they beat each other into bloody pulps just for a bit of wealth, food, and slaves. Is that really something to get excited about?"

Mira gasps, her eyes widening as if I'd just blasphemed against some sacred deity. "Just a game? Josie, how can you say that? Zyrphix is everything! It's not just about the prizes - it's about honor, skill, and raw power. And Sarod," she sighs dreamily, "he's the best player in the league. You should see him on the field, it's like watching poetry in motion."

"If you say so," I mutter, unconvinced and frankly a bit disgusted by her blind adoration. I turn away, wiping down the bar with more force than necessary. From what I've seen, zyrphix is just an excuse for orcs and dark elves to beat each other senseless while the rest of us cheer like idiots. It's barbaric, really, and I can't understand why anyone would willingly participate in such brutality. But I keep these thoughts to myself, knowing they'd fall on deaf ears.

As I fill a water cup for myself, readying to head home for the night, my gaze drifts back to Sarod's table. The dim tavern light catches on something shiny around his neck, and I can't help but squint. It's a gold chain, thick and gleaming. My eyes widen as I notice more – rings adorning his green fingers, a jeweled bracelet clasped around his muscular wrist. Each piece probably costs more than I make in a year.

That jewelry could feed Ma and me for months, maybe even a year. Hell, it could get us out of this dump entirely. I allow myself a moment to imagine it – us finally getting off of Tlouz, away from the scorching heat and constant danger, to somewhere better for humans. Somewhere I wouldn't have to scrub floors and dodge grabby hands just to survive. My stomach flips in excitement at the mere thought, and I have to grip the edge of the bar to steady myself. It's a foolish dream, I know, but for a second, I let myself believe it could be possible.

I chew my lip, weighing the risks. If I'm caught... No. I can't think about that. This might be my only chance. The consequences are too terrifying to consider, but the potential reward? It could change everything.

I watch, my heart racing, waiting for the perfect moment. Sarod leans in close to the blonde, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispers something. She throws her head back, laughing loudly, her golden hair catching the dim tavern light. The sound grates on my nerves, but I push the feeling aside. This is it. My fingers twitch at my side, itching to make a move. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frayed nerves.

Now's my chance. I can't mess this up. Everything depends on the next few seconds. I steel myself, pushing away any doubts. It's now or never, and I refuse to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

I grab an empty tray from a nearby table, my palms sweaty against the worn wood. Weaving through the crowd, I dodge elbows and sloshing drinks. The closer I get, the louder my pulse pounds in my ears. As I pass their table, I time it just right and pretend to stumble. My hand shoots out, brushing against Sarod's thick, green neck as I steady myself. The heat of his skin startles me for a second.

"S-sorry," I stammer, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor. I don't dare meet his eyes, afraid he'll see right through me. My fingers close around the chain, feeling its weight and coolness for just a moment before I yank hard. The clasp gives way easier than I expected, and I have to stifle a gasp of surprise.

It snaps free.

Panic surges through me as I straighten up, heart thundering in my chest like a stampede of wild beasts. My hands tremble as I smooth down my clothes, desperately trying to appear normal. I mumble another hasty apology, avoiding eye contact, and hurry away on unsteady legs. Every step feels like an eternity as I silently pray to any god who might be listening that he hasn't noticed.

I finally make it to the back room, collapsing against the wall as my legs threaten to give out beneath me. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temples as I clench the stolen necklace in my fist so tightly that the metal bites into my palm. The cool weight of it feels impossibly heavy, a stark reminder of what I've just done.

I did it. I actually did it. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

Now I just have to get out of here before?—

"Hey! Where's my necklace?" Sarod's angry bellow cuts through the tavern noise like a knife, making me flinch violently. His deep voice, usually so enticing, now sends icy tendrils of fear crawling up my spine.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. My mind races, searching frantically for a way out of this mess I've created. But as the sounds of chairs scraping and heavy footsteps approach, I do the only thing I know how to do well.

Run.