Page 84 of As Above, So Below

Swinging herself around, Eve opens the door, holding it open as I approach. She gives me a smile as I step into the hall. Closing the door, she falls in beside me, and we begin toward the stairs. The temple lies mostly empty as we wander through, with witches attending an extended prayer and acolytes turned in for the evening.

Emerging through the front temple doors, we’re greeted by the night sky—darkened with swift-moving clouds, stealing my view of the stars. The night is cool, the wind cooler, and it causes my skin to pebble.

Rubbing my arms with my hands, we begin through the courtyard, making for the streets of Ollora.

“What are the rules of this fight?” I ask, watching the dancing moths attracted to the magelights that line the deserted street.

Eve follows my gaze before answering. “Rules are few and simple. No innates, no killing, first to be knocked out of the ring wins.”

My lip curls. “No magic use?”

Eve laughs. “In a space like a tavern, magic use can go very wrong, very quickly. Magic use in any establishment is usually forbidden.”

“Peoplefighting without the use of their innate sounds less entertaining,” I say, rolling my eyes over to Eve as she laughs.

“I disagree,” she says, a dark brow arching. “Innate use is too easy. Defeating an opponent without it is an amazing display of strength and forethought.”

The further we move away from the temple, the less empty the streets become. Before long, sidewalks are filled with many spilling into the street, forming a line. As we walk down the middle of the street, I glance to Eve.

“Is that the line?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah, but we don’t have to stand in it,” she answers.

“We don’t?”

“Nope.” She flashes a wide grin. “We’re on a shortlist. Tarron’s guests.”

Reaching the end of the street, Eve leads us left, following the bending line around the corner. The street traces the shoreline, several docks jutting into the waters of Kevus Lake on the right, a line of shops and taverns along the left.

Tracing the line, it carries on for another half block, stopping before a single tavern. There has to be hundreds of people waiting, most dressed in common attire, a handful wearing slightly finer clothing. I’m going to assume this isn’t the kind of event Lilith or the Sovereign King will attend.

“The Lioness is right there,” Eve says pointing to a sign.

It hangs over the end of the line, swaying slightly. Upon it, in a bold red script, lies the nameThe Lioness. It features an interesting artistic rendering of a female lion in a violet dress and gold crown, holding a bloodied sword.

As we walk past, a few heads turn, watching us as we approach the tavern. A chilly breeze drifts in from the lake, and I shiver against it. It carries the scent of the lake water interlaced with aged ale, tobacco smoke, and roasting meats—presumably from the kitchens of the taverns. Not an entirely unpleasant mixture.

“Aye, Eve!” the tall, blond-haired male standing at the door calls with a wave of his hand. “Glad to see you could make it. Tarron’s been asking about you.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Eve returns. “Evening prayer went longer than it should have.”

The male waves her words away with a callous gesture and a grimace-like smile. “He’s not gonna care. Head on inside. His fight starts soon, if it hasn’t already.”

Stepping out of the way of the open door, Eve enters the tavernand I follow in her wake. In the street, the noise had been tolerable, not confined by walls. But inside the tavern, the chatter is deafening. Eve’s warning had not been enough for what I stepped into.

The tavern atmosphere swallows me whole.

Packed to the rafters with bodies, I can hardly move once through the door. Eve reaches back, taking my hand in hers, grinning over her shoulder as she does so.

“You ready?” she asks in a shout.

Not wanting to shout in return, I nod once.

She leads us deeper into the crowd. Tables filled with humans and fae enjoying ale, wine, and meals everywhere I look. Females sitting on laps of males, laughing gregariously, corners filled with patrons standing, waiting for a seat to open.

A high-hanging haze fills the space with billows of exhaled smoke adding to the cloud. Many pull on cigarillos or tobacco pipes, leaving the room foggy. It diffuses the bright silver light of the magelight chandeliers hanging overhead.

On the right, a long, polished dark wood bar stretches down the length of the tavern, staffed by three female barkeeps. Dressed provocatively in low cut shirts, they move with a practiced quickness, pouring ales and mixing drinks.