I consider it. “Ortem is stern, but loyal to Milthar. Still, he might prioritize protecting the city’s image over exposing the truth. We could try him—just be cautious.”
The clerk wanders off, leaving us with the dockmaster. We confirm a few details about the barge’s schedule, then exit the warehouse. Outside, midday sun glints off the water, and the tang of salt thickens the air. Mira squints at me, concern etched in her expression.
“You’re breathing heavier,” she says softly.
I roll my shoulders, wincing at the ache in my ribs. “I’ll manage. We should head back, piece this together, then decide how to present it to Ortem. If Vaelen’s involved, we must avoid him until we have proof.”
She nods, stepping aside to let me pass, though her stance suggests she’d catch me if I stumbled. I grimace at the unspoken worry in her eyes. This infiltration is bigger than I hoped, and the city’s illusions keep tangling around us. For a brief moment, I wonder if stepping down as champion would free me from these entanglements—but then who would protect Mira from Senate or orc machinations?
We make our way through the bustling harbor plaza, the crowd thick with merchants shouting their wares. A group of minotaur youths trails behind us, whispering excitedly about the champion. I pretend not to notice, but the weight of eyes on my back intensifies my headache. Mira keeps pace with me,occasionally glancing at the passersby who ogle her. A few bold onlookers call out compliments or snide remarks, uncertain if she’s my property or a curiosity. She lifts her chin and ignores them all.
Approaching the uphill road to my estate, I glimpse a Senate guard detachment at a corner intersection, scanning the crowd. I steer Mira down a side alley to avoid them. Paranoid, maybe, but I can’t risk a confrontation now. We navigate a winding route, slipping into narrower streets lined with humble shops and modest dwellings. The air here carries the scent of fresh bread and simmering stew, a comforting reminder that not all of Milthar is dominated by the Senate’s pomp.
Eventually, we emerge onto a quieter lane that leads to my gates. The moment we step inside, I exhale a shaky breath. My side throbs from the exertion, but the relief of returning to a familiar space anchors me.
In the courtyard, Mira pauses, shading her eyes from the sun. Her gaze roams over the columns, the fountain, the carefully maintained landscaping. “Even if this place feels like a prison sometimes, it’s… peaceful.”
I nod. “I built it to be a haven from the arena’s chaos. Didn’t imagine it would become another type of battleground.”
She looks at me, lingering on the bandage at my side. “Go rest. I’ll sort through the new notes from the dockmaster and see if I can cross-reference them with your shipping ledgers.”
The sincere concern in her voice surprises me. “All right. But if you find anything important, let me know.” I hesitate, then add, “We’re in this together.”
She holds my gaze a moment longer. “We are.”
Sparks seem to dance between us, an acknowledgment of how entangled our fates have become. I swallow the urge to say more and head indoors, leaving her to those suspicious records. My personal chambers lie upstairs, near a corridor thatoverlooks the courtyard from a high balcony. I climb the steps, mindful of the dull ache in my ribs. At the top, I make my way to a modest room with tall windows, pushing the door open.
Sunlight spills across a bed with simple linens, a single wardrobe, and a small table. I drop onto the edge of the mattress, gingerly loosening the laces of my tunic to check the bandage. It’s stained with fresh spots of blood, not dire but enough to confirm I’ve pushed myself too hard. A soft knock comes at the door, and I brace for another Senate envoy.
Instead, the door cracks open, and Mira steps inside. She hesitates, as though uncertain if she’s welcome in my private space. “You left some notes on the dining table about shipments. I wanted to—” She notices my bandage and stops short. “You’re bleeding again?”
I grimace, wiping sweat from my brow. “It’s fine. Just reopened the wound, a little.”
She advances, brow creased in worry, ignoring my attempt to wave her off. “That’s not fine. Let me see.”
I stiffen, not used to anyone fussing over me, but her expression brooks no argument. Carefully, I peel the bandage aside, revealing an angry cut that’s slowly oozing. Her lips press into a tight line.
“Stay put,” she orders, voice sharper than I’ve heard before. “I’ll find a clean dressing.”
Before I can protest, she’s gone. The hush of the corridor returns, and I rub my temples. Part of me balks at needing help—especially from the very person forced into my custody. But another part acknowledges I’ve never had an ally like her, someone who sees the city with fresh eyes, unafraid to call out hypocrisy.
She returns within moments, bearing a fresh bandage roll and a small bowl of water. I shift on the bed, letting her approach. She kneels, dipping a cloth in the water. I brace myselfas she dabs at the wound. A hiss escapes me, but her touch is gentle.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “This might sting.”
I grit my teeth, beads of sweat gathering at my brow. The cloth passes over the cut, soaking up blood. Her face is close enough that I see the scattering of freckles across her cheeks, a detail I never noticed in the arena’s uproar. She bites her lower lip in concentration, applying an herbal salve that stings pleasantly.
“You handle that like you’ve tended wounds before,” I say, voice tight.
She flicks a quick glance at me. “My father was a traveling scholar. We often had to treat our own injuries on the road. Bandits, beasts… you name it.”
I grunt softly. “Glad you learned, though I’m sorry you had to.”
She doesn’t reply, focusing on tying the bandage snugly. Her deft fingers brush my skin, and a wave of heat flutters through my chest. A moment passes in silence, the pressure in the air far from hostile. When she finishes, I exhale shakily, feeling both relief from the pain’s dull edge and a sudden awareness of our proximity.
She looks up, face inches away from mine. Her eyes catch the sunlight streaming through the window, making the green in her irises glint. My pulse thuds, memories of each scathing argument swirling with the sense of her unwavering spirit.
“Thank you,” I murmur, uncertain what else to say.
