The Grey Blood #2

Red

Even as famine, war, sickness, and rebellion flooded the streets of Muovea like a dam being opened within the high walls, the racetracks were always thriving. When life is dire and hope is dim, distraction is the only thing most are able to grasp.

The Zalanas held the key to the racetracks, raking in enough money and influence to sit them beside kings and queens. If she had kept to the path paved for her, Alicia Zalana would have been the most powerful person in Muovea.

Oliver thinks on this as he weaves through the crush of the crowds on his way to one of the boxes that offer a prime view of the racetracks away from the casual rabble. His eyes scan the rows upon rows of seats gathered on the grass under the sun, recognising men in their flat caps as guards belonging to the Ronavics.

Katya has taken her security measures seriously and Oliver has to wonder if she suspects he'll try something.

News hasn't yet spread to him about Ivan's body being found. Knowing the men who disposed of the body, it's been sunk to the bottom of the canal where it'll fester before being fished out when someone notes Ivan's absence.

One of the men catch his eye and dips his cap to Oliver. He answers with a nod and makes his way towards the long line of wooden buildings that surround the entire track where the nobles of Muovea flock to.

Outside are men guarding the open doors. They let him pass without an argument, not bothering to check him for weapons as none of them meet his eye, as though he doesn't exist.

The scuffed floorboards creak under his weight as he takes the stairs up into the bright interior of one of the boxes. Inside is a bar along the far wall being tended to and on the other wall is a wide expanse of windows overlooking the track. Before those windows sits Katya, sipping at a glass of wine, her shoes kicked off and her feet propped up on the low table before her.

A guard approaches her, leans over the back of the couch, and mutters something in her ear. Then she waves him away and inclines her head. "Come, Oliver. Sit. The race is about to start."

He moves to the free leather sofa and sinks into it, ignoring the continuous pain that throbs throughout his body.

"I trust you're here to report on the success of your mission," she says, sliding her knowing, black eyes to him, a frown marring her painted lips.

"The racetracks of Muovea are being sold."

"No Zalana deaths made it into this morning's paper," she notes, tapping the paper draped over the arm of her chair.

"They decided to sell. No one needed to die."

The drink that she brings to her lips pauses midway there and her brows raise. She's quick to wipe the shock from her face and takes a sip of her wine. "That wasn't our deal—"

"Of course, you're too late," Oliver continues, squinting to watch the excitable crowd beyond their window like ants clamouring over a crumb. "The King of Muovea has already bought the tracks and revoked the betting licenses of those he doesn't like. Seems he doesn't like the Ronavics."

Her lips part and the shock is back. This time she doesn't bother to hide it.

Oliver studies the tracks where the horses are being showcased, leather shining and manes trimmed. "I don't want you dead, Katya. I hear Viedan is nice around this time of the year." He meets her eye. "Start over. I don't give a fuck what you do, just as long as it's not in Muovea or near my family. But if I see you again, I will kill you."

Katya ponders him for a moment, searching for the joke within his words. When she finds none she grabs the gun from the holster under her arm.

Oliver exhales through his nose, already tired of having guns waved in his direction.