Chapter 16: Round 2 Drink

  Medical attention didn’t take terribly long. Most of the wounds Ambrose had taken were mild burns, and the bad bump from when Raeva’s final attack sent him flying face-first into the barrier. If it hadn’t been for the blunt force trauma, chances were he would’ve come back for a win.

  She hit him in the right place, the right time, and it was enough to threaten his future. Just a lucky shot, and a miscalculation on his part. That’s all it took to crater his dreams.

  Well. Not entirely, but it forced his hand.

  The healing itself took only about twenty minutes, and he could’ve taken in the fourth years’ final duel of the day, but with his clothes and dignity burnt to a crisp, Ambrose instead went home wearing a hospital robe. It was only marginally better than walking with his ass hanging out of his torn trousers.

  His apartment wasn’t of much comfort, but the solitude helped. Ambrose showered, changed into fresh clothes, and grabbed a book to lose himself in.

  Fifteen minutes later, he had to admit that it wasn’t happening. There was no distracting himself from the loss. If it wasn’t him beating himself up about it, it would be the rest of the class, no doubt ready to call his confidence nothing more than hubris and mock him for his fall.

  And why not? He would do the same if the situations were reversed. Ambrose would be merciless and enjoy every second of it, if it meant feeling even an iota of relief from the constant pressure coming down on him from every direction. Everyone felt it, but Raeva and the others would likely be fine, no matter what. They didn’t have their family’s ruin hanging over their heads.

  He got up from his comfy chair and went to the cupboard, where he pulled out a bottle of expensive whiskey and a tumbler glass, and sat back down with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  After debating with himself, he poured himself two fingers, but right as he was about to drink it, his door handle jiggled. Finding it locked, his guest banged on the door. “Ambrose? Are you there?”

  It was Jessica, naturally. The past week had her getting maybe a bit too familiar. He ignored her and took a sip of his Roschellan 1459. It was probably the last bottle his family had, and drinking it out of self pity seemed as appropriate a time as any.

  “Ambrose? C’mon, I know you’re in there. I checked with Gordo first, and he hadn’t seen you since your match. So unless you’re licking your wounds in public, you’re holed up in there. Would you please just let me in?”

  Groaning, he downed the rest of the glass and opened the door. “What do you want?” he barked, not moving to let her in. “I haven’t forgotten my wager with Raeva. I’ll make an appearance and make my apology to the knuckle-dragging barbarian when I’m good and ready.”

  Her silky black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and the pitying look she gave him from under her bangs infuriated him. “I know you’re good for it, Ambrose. But are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said automatically. “I’m just going over strategy for tomorrow. I still have a chance if I win every other match.” It was true, but one loss was all he could afford. It just had to be his first match, didn’t it?

  “Strategy, huh,” she said, eyeing his tumbler glass. “So are we. Why not put the no-doubt classy stuff away and join us for some tonics and talk of tactics. No one’s going to make fun of you.”

  “Who cares if they did?” Ambrose snapped. “I’m not so fragile as to need people to walk on eggshells around me. I can handle losing.”

  Jessica crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw. “Then prove it, asshole. Come make an appearance, laugh about it, say good match, and get drunk with us. Otherwise I’m going to go back and tell everyone you were too much of a coward to show your face.”

  His first instinct was to yell at her to leave, but she wasn’t the type to stand up for much. Jessica usually folded like a deck of cards at any aggression, but even he could see she wouldn’t budge an inch.

  “Fine. Give me two minutes,” he said, closing the door most of the way.

  There wasn’t actually much to do other than splash his face with water and quickly brush his hair. Most of it was taking the time to breathe and prepare himself for dealing with his classmates. When he was done, he locked the door and stormed off, trusting her to follow.

  Jessica wisely didn’t say much on the brief walk there. She just jogged to keep up with his longer strides and occasionally waved well-wishers and spectators away, rather than engage with them.

  The second they opened the door to Meli’s Place, an onslaught of cheers and screams met them. At the bar were Raeva and Raeleq, Luthor, Kim, and Molly. Not all of their class were there, but enough to represent them. They all cheered enthusiastically upon seeing Ambrose.

  The flush of shame and anger burned, and he nearly walked out. Only Jessica’s hand on his elbow kept him in place, and only barely. He finally gave in when Raeva motioned with her hands for him to come there, a big, perfectly white smile on her face.

  “Here he is, the best challenge I’ve had all year!” she cried out. The rest of the tavern broke into applause, and Ambrose had the weirdest feeling that it really wasn’t to mock him. Raeva danced forward and threw her arm around his side. “Come on, jerk, I promised you a drink to celebrate.”

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  “Pardon me if I feel less than stellar about everything,” he grumbled. It was hard to fight the growing smile on his face. “You deserve congratulations though. Looks like this is your chance to make it to the top.”

  “After last year’s embarrassment in the finals, I had to get you back,” she said, squeezing his side before releasing him. “I’m sure that next year, you’ll do the same. Come, eat and drink, on me. Don’t even think about the joke you’re about to say.”

  Ambrose opened his mouth to lie and say he wasn’t going to, but just shrugged. She winked and returned to the bar to say something barely unintelligible to her younger brother. Others watched him, but Ambrose decided to ignore it and take his rival up on her offer. He grabbed a bottle of cheap beer and sat on the outside of the group, next to Luthor. There was a massive platter of fried chicken wings and a bunch of smaller plates, so he took one and filled it with food he’d otherwise never dream of eating.

  Turns out, greasy and salty was the perfect pairing with slightly-skunky beer and an entire school year’s worth of stress eating at him. Ambrose went through two plates and beers in mere minutes. Maybe he’d have to thank Jessica later for coming to get him.

  “Here’s to an honorable loss,” Luthor said, raising his bottle up in a toast.

  Ambrose play-scowled. “I thought your denomination didn’t drink. You slumming it with the rest of us?”

  Luthor half-smiled. “Some choose not to, but life’s too short to not enjoy the fruits of one’s labor. A farmer deserves a cold, hard drink at the end of the day, and so do soldiers, mercenaries, and combat wizards. I just shouldn’t drink so much as to show a lapse in judgment.”

  “Talking to a dirty shadow wizard doesn’t count as a lapse in judgment?”

  Ambrose nevertheless raised his bottle and they clinked it together before finishing them off. Their bartender, Andrea, was quick to replace them. It seemed Raeva really was treating everyone, no matter what they ordered. He’d have to take advantage of that.

  “It’s true, your natural affinity leans towards corruption, death, darkness, and evil,” said Luthor with a shrug. “But only a fool would throw away a potential ally just because of reputation. And poor manners. And I might also bring up the sadism, black market connections, and -- “

  “You coming around to a point eventually, Graves?” Ambrose guzzled more beer. It was funny: it was awful, but the more he continued to drink, the better it tasted.

  Luthor sat sideways in his chair, leaning against the bar. He rested his head on his fist. “Eventually. My point is that we’re emphasizing duos and teams next year. It’s officially on our syllabus, but I think we could gain a lot from showing some initiative and going further.”

  Ambrose looked past Luthor to the rest of them. “And who exactly do you plan on including in this?”

  “Whoever makes it to year four,” he said. “When we graduate, there will be plenty of job offers…But what if we formed our own team, our own rules and guidelines, and took on tasks that were too much for just one or two wizards? Small at first, and then building up our decks and funds until we’re made.”

  Ambrose thought about it. The first startling thing was that Luthor sounded serious, and like he’d put in some serious thought about it. “What do you think will make them hire a bunch of fresh graduates together, instead of us being on a more established team? And what makes you think I would be a good fit for it?” For once, he didn’t sound insulting, just curious.

  “Because of all the people in power all over the Amaric empire, few people give a shit about the smaller powers,” he said seriously. “We spend a year or two making a name for ourselves by working with people we know we can trust, and then we take on bigger jobs to compete with the ravenous wolves out to just enrich themselves. You’d make a great addition, because despite your affinity, you aren’t truly cruel or a madman.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I seem to recall everyone calling me cruel, monstrous, amoral, and a number of other things. They’re not entirely wrong.”

  “Pretty sure, yes,” he said. “If you were as bad as you pretend to be, you wouldn’t be having this beer or chat with me. Your bark is way worse than your bite.”

  Ambrose conceded the point with a nod. “But this is making a hefty bunch of assumptions. Like the idea that either of us will graduate. Your record isn’t too hot, Graves. What if you don’t even make it to fourth year?”

  “Then I’ll still form the group,” said Luthor with a small, confident smile. “But I’ll have to wait a year to get the people I want on it. The team will include me, Raeva, and Raeleq for sure. We want you, potentially. Assuming you’d be willing to ‘slum it with the rest of us’.”

  Upon hearing his name, Raeleq turned away from his sister and featured them both with a grin. “You really telling him about our plans? I’m not sure I’m willing to work with a man like him. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe if certain things were said…”

  Ambrose sighed. “You’re not very subtle.”

  “Never claimed to be,” Raeleq rumbled.

  Raeva laughed and motioned for everyone to pay attention to him. “I do believe this is the perfect time for your side of the wager. Shh, shh, quiet down everyone! Ambrose has something to say!”

  The tavern went from a dull roar to just a constant bustle as the third years at the bar watched him expectantly.

  He rolled his eyes and steeled himself. A promise was a promise, and apparently his reputation was both better than he expected, and mattered to these people. Ambrose made a show of grabbing his beer and draining the rest of it, like he needed liquid courage for this bullshit. It wasn’t a complete lie.

  “Alright,” he said, sighing. “Raeleq, I’ve spent the last three years denigrating you and acting like you’re stupid. Denigrate means to insult, by the way.”

  His classmates booed him, but Raeleq just laughed. Smiling, Ambrose continued.

  “The truth is, I greatly admire your prowess in combat, and you had easily the best win of the day. You work hard and don’t get enough appreciation for all you do. So here I am saying…Let’s hear it for Raeleq Ransa, prince of the southern savannah and the greatest of the Ransa family!”

  Raeva quirked a brow at him. “That sounds suspiciously less like an apology and more like using this as a chance to dump on me.”

  “Nonsense,” said Ambrose. “I haven’t once mentioned how lucky you got, or how badly he’s going to crush you when you two are paired together. That would be in poor taste, obviously.”

  His classmates groaned, and some even threw chicken bones at him. He spread his arms and welcomed the hate, and eventually it became laughter. Both of the Ransa twins smiled at him and slapped his shoulders and back. Hard enough to hurt, but he’d earned that.

  Luthor’s offer wasn’t the worst idea, if he was being honest. It would make for a good backup plan. He’d lost the first match, but there were at least six or seven more, depending on if he’d get a round off for Cara’s departure.

  Seeing his classmates have fun made it a bit easier to relax. Ambrose had all the time in the world to win the Wildcard legitimately…And if it looked like he was about to lose, he could always steal it and run.

  Ambrose got himself another beer, lying to himself it would be his last. Whoever faced him tomorrow was in deep trouble.