Page 86 of As Above, So Below

As I watch her, I ask Eve, “You know her?”

“You can say that,” Eve responds, and I catch her smile in the corner of my eye. She also watches Camille. “It’s hard not to know folks when you’ve lived in the same city for a few hundred years.”

Camille returns, her blue curls bouncing around her shoulders as she moves along. She sets down a frosted glass pint of golden, frothy ale before Eve, giving it a little push. As it travels across the bar further than it should, a cool breeze reaches me.

My brows raise. Camille possesses a wind innate. Repeating the process with a glass of dark red wine, it sails toward me. I snag the glass by the stem, lifting it from the bar.

“One ale, one winterberry wine,” she says in dulcet tones. “Come by sometime when we’re not so busy, Eve. Let’s catch up. Bring Ves with you.” She pivots and heads toward the other end of the bar, taking the next patron’s order.

“Do we not need to pay?” I ask, raising the glass to my lips.

“She’s added it to my tab, I’m sure,” Eve says and drinks heartily from her tankard.

I do the same. The wine is surprisingly sweet, much sweeter than the blush wine that had been served at the induction ceremony.This will be easy to enjoy.

“Let’s go. From the sound of things, Tarron’s already in the ring,” Eve urges with a gesture of her head.

Taking my hand once again, Eve pulls away from the bar, our space immediately reclaimed by the males we’d wedged between. She leads me toward the back of the tavern, working her way through the crowd with a seasoned ease. I attempt to peer past her, but there are too many bodies, many of which are much taller than I, robbing me of any potential view.

The sounds of blows landing against flesh and feet scuffing on the wooden floor reach my ears the deeper we amble. I’d thought the crowd at the front of the tavern was thick, yet before long, we’re met with a wall of bodies.

Veering right, Eve approaches a tall, burly human man standing at the bottom of a flight of stairs. The stairs, roped off, lead up to what appears to be a viewing floor over the ring.

“Eve,” the man greets with a friendly smile, and he pulls her in for an embrace, clapping her on her shoulder.

“Nicholas,” she returns the greeting with the same warmth. She draws back. “My table still open? You haven’t given it away, have you?”

The man scoffs, “Never, Eve,” his voice coarse, as if he’s smoked one too many cigarillos. He gestures with a thumb over his shoulder. “Get up there. Lorella is working tonight. She’ll be excited to see you.”

Unhooking one end of the rope, he clears the stairs, waving us through.

Ascending the staircase, we step into an open space, a balcony area with a less crowded view of the ring below. Eve moves to a table along the right wall, near the end of the banister. An ideal table. I can sit with my back against the wall, giving me a view of the ring below and those who come up the stairs.

“It won’t be quite as loud up here,” Eve says, peering down at the fight. “But it will still be loud.”

“You know the staff and have a designated table?” I ask in a teasing tone, as I remove my cloak, slinging it over the back of the chair. “I feel like I’m in the company of high society.”

Eve gives a hearty laugh. “Far from it,” she replies, smiling. “The Lioness is one of my favorite haunts. While I no longer run with cutpurses, this place is the one thing I can’t bring myself to let go of. The staff here are like family.”

My brows raise at her casual mention of thievery. At the same time, the crowd bursts into cheering, the sound vibrating in my chest, drawing my attention to the ring below.

“That’s Tarron,” Eve shouts over the noise, pointing with a slender finger.

She points at an orange-haired fae as he lands several strikes against his opponent’s face. Both fighters are bloodied, shirtless, and muscular. Tarron stands taller than the other male and has a longer reach. Swinging again, his fist meets the male’s jaw and the roaring of the crowd grows feverish.

I wince at the sound, and Eve takes notice.

“Not a fan of large crowds?” she asks, shouting in my direction with a smile on her face.

I shake my head.

Even in the hells, massive gatherings like this were uncomfortable. During Bloodhallow, a yearly celebration—the largest in the hells—I would be forced to attend. Forced to sit in a viewing box with Netharis and my siblings. While it put space between the cheering and jeering horde and myself, by the end of the day, I’d still have an unbearable migraine from the noise.

Tonight will be no different, it seems.

Returning my attention below, the fighters circle one another, moving with a predator-like grace. I have to admit, a fight without magic is far less interesting, but I won’t deny the appeal of the bodies on display.

As the night wears on, I finish my wine and Tarron topples his opponent, sending the whole of the tavern into a frenzy. Without warning, Eve leaps over the railing, plummeting into the ring, and throws herself at Tarron. He catches her, surprise on his face, laughing as the entire tavern rumbles.