Two Cats

Chapter 12

Walking through the entrance of the Circles served to remind me of the fact that I would be walking down that same path tomorrow.

I hadn't given any thought to who I'd ask to be my second, but I assumed I would have Cyrus do it. He's no slouch at swordplay when it comes right down to it, and being head of my security implied that serving as my second for duels was one of his responsibilities.

The Stables appeared to be mostly empty, maybe four couples sparring in total and a handful of people enjoying beer near the front. I recognized no friends among those seated at the tables, but received a couple of respectful nods from some tolerably familiar faces, which I returned.

A few moments exploring the building confirmed that the young Lord Teuring was not practicing fencing in one of the runs, nor could I see any sign of Theo anywhere. I hung around to ponder for a few moments before heading back outside onto the sandy, hard-packed ground of the arena floor.

If Teuring wasn't there, I suppose it would be understandable. Not everyone is comfortable attempting to practice swordplay in an environment where their every move could provoke peels of mirthful laughter. If Theodore had arrived and been unable to find Teuring, what had kept him? Was he still here, perhaps waiting? If he was, I could all but guarantee where a social creature such as himself might be.

I looked to both of the tall, slender buildings that lined the opposite sides of the arena, and began walking towards the North Tower, which I noted had a collection of liveried messengers and lackeys hanging around outside of it. Upon arriving not ten feet from the main entrance, I spied one of Theodore's knights standing outside, tight-lipped and grim.

He saw me. I smiled cheerfully, just to annoy him.

The fellow scowled blisteringly at me for a moment, and then looked away towards nothing in particular. For a brief moment I thought I saw an expression of worry flicker across his face as I was walking up to the dark copper-bound wooden doors.

Theo was here. The first words to run through my head were simply “By all the gods, if he's been drinking and entertaining himself while I've been stewing in my keep...”

I let that thought die without following it through to its conclusion.

The entrance area was dark to my eyes, having just stepped out of the sunlight, and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. As I stood there, my other senses busied themselves by urgently telling me things. I heard uproarious, booming laughter coming from the direction of the second floor above me, and I could smell the thick, oily stench of ha'laschi that was hanging so heavy in the air that I could taste it.

I instantly became more alert, realizing a sudden need for caution. Though I didn't care for it myself, I didn't begrudge others the occasional enjoyment of an intoxicant like flitleaf.

Ha'laschi is in a different category altogether, and not even the most seasoned debaucher would treat the drug with anything but the utmost caution, even when diluted in candle wax and burned in a large room. It was highly valued for its soul-numbing properties back when assassination was not looked upon with the distaste it is today.

It provided a pervasive sense of well-being, and made the user dangerous and unpredictable. They might attempt to stick a knife in your kidneys after the same amount of consideration they'd give to, say, drinking a glass of water.

The faces I saw, once my eyes had adjusted enough for me to see them, contained expressions that showed they shared my anxious unease. They’d likely been forced to retreat to the ground floor either out of a sense of propriety or self-preservation.