Page 57 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

“I know, I know. Behave.” He gave a little huff. “You seem to forget that I’ve been in town longer than you, Ronan, and haven’t ended up on the wrong side of a cell yet.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Ronan muttered under his breath as a blissfully unaware Sebastian continued speaking.

“I’m perfectly capable of conducting myself in an appropriate manner. I was raised in court, after all.”

“Appropriate is not a word I would choose to describe you or your behavior.”

“Fair.” Bast grinned, taking the words as an unintended compliment. “Come to think of it, neither would I.”

They moved deeper inside, Ronan taking in every detail of his surroundings. Everything spoke to wealth and excess. The gleaming floors, their honey-colored planks unmarred by so much as a dirty bootprint, the red, paper-lined walls with their subtle damask pattern, the lack of a tavern’s usual aroma. Instead of stale beer and vomit, there was a spicy tinge in the air, as if the owner of the establishment had found a way to pump cologne through the space without it becoming overpowering.

The place was also three times the size of the hole in the wall where he’d met Bast, meaning it was impossible to see everyone in attendance with only a single sweep of his eyes around the room. But he did spot a few familiar faces, which supplied him with answers to his earlier question about who else had won their matches.

Dichen’s veiled figure was seated at a table he would have selected for himself. She sat with her back to a corner, her dark eyes focused on the door. No one would be able to sneak up on her there, and she had an unobstructed view of the room at large. The woman kept to herself, so he hadn’t seen her in action yet, but he had little doubt she was as skilled as everyone claimed. He almost looked forward to testing his blade against her own. Almost, because it would be a pity to kill one with such talent.

He also spotted the muscled blonde beauty, Marin, who was chatting animatedly with one of the bartenders. He couldn't make out their words from where he was standing, but it was clearly a topic she was passionate about. She held a knife in one hand and a fork in the other, looking a bit like a conductor as she waved them around to emphasize her point. More than once, the bartender’s eyes nervously darted down as if to ensure she wasn’t about to use her silverware as weapons.

They’d nearly completed their circuit around the room when Bast stopped dead, his eyes flaring wide and a flush stealing up his neck. Ronan followed his gaze, his own lips twitching when he found the object of Bast’s fascination.

“If I'd known all it would take to shut you up was to get you in the same room as him, I would have made a point to seek him out,” Ronan drawled with a smirk.

“I will have you know that by all accounts, Loren is a lovely man and a very skilled warrior.”

Ronan cocked a brow. “So am I, but you aren’t rendered suddenly mute by my mere presence.”

“Perhaps you’re not nearly as impressive as you believe yourself to be.”

“Doubtful. My ego is well-deserved, thank you very much.”

Sebastian glared at him. “Oh, piss off.”

“If you insist.”

His friend’s eyes widened with panic. “Ronan, stop. Where are you going? No. Wait,” he pleaded, trying and failing to pull Ronan back as he made his way over to the table where Loren was holding court with his adoring fans. “Ronan!”

He ignored the whispered shout, giving Bast no option but to follow him or go off on his own. Which, come to think of it, was a dangerous gamble, but he couldn't resist the chance to find out what happened when Bast was forced to interact with the city's favorite hero.

Ronan couldn’t pretend to know Loren well. Outside of a handful of grunted pleasantries, they hadn’t interacted at all. Which seemed to be the status quo among the contestants. What was the point of getting to know someone you might have to kill in a few days' time?

Despite that, Loren’s smile seemed genuine when he noticed Ronan’s approach. “Excuse me, friends,” he said, breaking off in the middle of whatever story he’d been telling. “It would appear the stars are watching over me. I’m finally going to get my chance to learn about the mysterious fire mage.” He clapped one of the men on the shoulder and walked the rest of the way to Ronan. “So, Butcher, was it? Are you here to ferret out my secrets?”

“That depends. Are there any you’re willing to part with?”

The other man grinned, revealing an unnaturally white set of teeth. “None. You?”

“I’m fresh out of secrets.”

“Now that I find hard to believe. You’re one walking mystery, aren’t you?”

“I’ve always considered myself an open book.”

“Yes, you would. Wouldn’t you?” Loren laughed, his amber eyes twinkling with amusement. “We have no secrets from our own selves, so I suppose your opinion of yourself is as valid as mine.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Undecided. After that little display in the hall, I’m willing to bet your fire is the least of what you’ve got up your sleeve.”

The man was far more perceptive than he had any right to be. Ronan made a mental note to tread carefully. He may play the role of amiable city son, but he was every bit as ruthless as the others. The nice ones almost always were. For what better way to lure in an unsuspecting victim than with honey?

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