Lucian had seen enough of the pits to know most men lied about why they fought. Some said coin, others glory, a few swore it was for pride. Strip away the words and it always came down to the same thing—they wanted to beat someone bloody. Whether the match was rigged or not, the excuse never mattered. He wasn't any different. His reasons were his own, but they all ended the same once fists started swinging.
Tonight felt different. The backroom of Deluos smelled like stale sweat and cheap wine. Lucian leaned against the wall, watching Casalus came limping over with that sheepish grin, the one that meant trouble was about to land in Lucian's lap.
"Stop pacing," Lucian said. "You're getting on my nerve."
Casalus shot him a look. "You should be nervous. This could change everything for us."
