The tavern shutters rattled with the morning wind. Orin lay starfished across the bed, drooling onto the pillow, his stomach swollen round as if he had swallowed a barrel whole. His snore rumbled like a badly tuned drum.
Code had left before dawn with no explanation—something about supplies, something about sharpening discipline. Orin hadn't listened. He was halfway through dreaming about fried fish dancing in a line when the knock came.
He ignored it. Rolled over. Pulled the blanket over his head.
The knock came again, sharper.
"I said five more minutes," Orin mumbled into the mattress.
The door creaked open. Boots clicked across the floorboards. Orin groaned. "Code, I swear, if you're here to make me—"
"Code?" The voice was not Code's. It was lighter, silkier, carrying the faint lilt of nobility.
Orin flinched and sat up too fast, whacking his forehead on the bedpost. "Ow! Who—" His eyes blinked wide, trying to adjust to the sunlight pouring in behind the figure. Emerald cloth shimmered. Dark hair glinted.
Yullan Veyra stood in his room. The mayor's daughter.
Flanked by two guards at the door, she crossed her arms and looked at him as though she'd discovered a beggar living in her pantry. "You sleep like a dead pig."
Orin scratched his hair, which now stuck out in all directions, and blinked blearily. "Pretty Eyebrows?"
Yullan's cheeks colored instantly. "Excuse me?"
"I remember you! You winked at me after the fight!" Orin said brightly. "Well, maybe you blinked. But I decided it was a wink."
The guards stiffened. One looked ready to spear him. Yullan sighed, shaking her head. "Get dressed. You're coming with me."
"I don't wear dresses," Orin said solemnly.
"Idiot." She turned on her heel.
Velaris shimmered under the sun. Banners hung across streets, food carts lined every corner, musicians tuned lutes and horns in anticipation of the semifinal celebrations. And in the middle of the noise walked Yullan, graceful as a queen, and beside her stumbled Orin, shirt half-tucked, hair still wild, gawking at every stall like a boy who'd never seen a city—which he hadn't.
"This way," Yullan said, nodding toward the plaza.
"Do we get food? More skewers? I'm good at skewers."
"We're not here for skewers."
They passed the great fountain at the plaza's heart. Jets of water arced into the air, scattering rainbow light. Children chased each other around its edge, squealing. Yullan leaned on the marble rail with elegance; Orin dunked his entire head in and slurped noisily.
The guards groaned.
"Cold!" Orin sputtered, shaking his hair like a dog, spraying droplets onto Yullan's dress.
Her jaw tightened. "You are insufferable."
"Thanks!" Orin beamed.
She led him next through the market district. Stalls of blades and armor glittered. Orin grabbed a longsword from one rack and swung it twice. The merchant screamed.
"PUT IT BACK!" Yullan shouted.
Orin did, though upside down. The sword clanged against the rack, knocking another blade to the ground. The guards scrambled to catch it.
"I'm testing quality!" Orin protested. "That one's not balanced. Almost killed me. Dangerous to sell that."
The merchant sputtered but accepted a pouch of coins from Yullan with trembling gratitude.
Their last stop was the high library. Rows of tomes stretched into shadows, dust motes dancing in shafts of light. Yullan walked reverently, fingers grazing spines. Orin climbed a shelf like a tree and sat among the books.
"These don't even fight back," he said, poking one. "Boring."
"They fight ignorance," Yullan snapped.
"Sounds boring too."
A librarian gasped as Orin tried to balance three heavy tomes on his head. Yullan dragged him out by the wrist before the building collapsed.
By the time the sun leaned westward, they reached a balcony garden overlooking the city. Below, rooftops stretched to the horizon, the Grand Coliseum visible even from here, a hulking crown of stone lit by torches that never seemed to die.
The breeze tugged Yullan's hair, softer here, carrying the scent of roses and distant smoke. She rested her hands on the railing. Orin leaned over it dangerously far, whistling.
"It's big," he said.
"Yes."
"Bigger than our village barn. Twice."
"That's hardly a useful comparison."
He grinned at her, then tilted his head. "Why'd you drag me around, anyway? Don't you have noble stuff to do? Fancy dresses to wear? Princes to reject?"
Her lips pressed thin. "I wanted to see what kind of person Velaris has placed its bets on. You act like a fool. You laugh when you bleed. You fight like you don't care if you live or die." She turned, emerald eyes sharp. "So why do you fight at all?"
Orin's grin faltered. He scratched the back of his neck. "Because… food tastes better after a fight?"
"Idiot."
"Because it's fun?"
"Idiot."
The word stung more than usual. He looked down at his fists. They were nicked with scars from the morning's training, dried blood clinging in tiny lines. His voice was softer when it came again.
"Because… if I'm strong, nobody can take away my family. My village. My stupid sister. Even if I'm dumb, if I can punch hard enough, nothing gets past me." He paused, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. "And… maybe… if I'm strong enough, I can protect pretty girls too. Lots of them. All mine. A big family."
Yullan froze. Heat rushed to her ears. "You… you…" She couldn't finish, so she turned away, hiding behind a curtain of hair.
Orin blinked, then smiled sheepishly. "See? Not all answers are dumb."
Her laugh escaped, sharp and nervous. "Idiot," she muttered again, but softer this time.
They lingered until the sun painted the city gold. Before leaving, Yullan tugged something from her sleeve—a narrow ribbon of dark blue silk. She tied it clumsily around Orin's staff, knotting it twice.
"A souvenir," she said briskly. "Don't lose it."
Orin stared at the ribbon, then at her. His grin split wide. "Now my stick's married!"
The guards inhaled sharply. Yullan slapped her own forehead. "You're hopeless." But her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
That evening, the tavern filled with song, and Orin sat on the rooftop, staff resting against his shoulder, ribbon fluttering in the breeze. He chewed on roasted nuts someone had tossed him and stared at the looming silhouette of the Grand Coliseum. Its torches blazed brighter than stars, crowds already beginning to gather for what was promised.
Down in the streets, criers shouted the news. "TWO DAYS TO THE SEMIFINALS! THE BRACKETS ARE SET!"
The words rose clear even to the roof.
"First match: Orin of Riverbend versus Elyas Veynar, the Academy Prodigy!"
Cheers echoed, mixed with laughter and doubt.
"Second match: Draven, the Devil, versus Sir Galven Ironcrest, the Northern Knight!"
The crowd roared.
Orin lay back, hands behind his head, ribbon flicking against his cheek. His grin returned, stupid and fierce. "Two days," he whispered. "Better be ready, 'cause I'm gonna win shiny fights for you too, future wife."
The city buzzed below. The coliseum burned ahead. The storm waited.