The carriage was still waiting outside. Jun had paid for the driver to speed from the Island to the Tranquility Boarding House, a cheap eight-room inn where his father had been settled in one of the outer wards of the city. Now he paid nearly double for the driver to rush him back. By the time he sprinted back into Warrior’s Park, he’d been gone for less than two hours. The afternoon matches were in full swing, the eager crowds at peak numbers.
Jun pushed his way through a tide of people headed for the central Gold Arena, the only one remaining. Each contest between the ten remaining contenders was being fought before the emperor’s pavilion and the entire park full of spectators.
“Ghostface is back! He’s in the quarterfinals!” an eager boy yelled to his friends. “I knew he wasn’t done!” Jun didn’t stop to see what was going on, but he registered surprise at the sight of the masked fighter stepping into the main arena to face an opponent brandishing a monk’s spade. Ghostface nimbly spun the long staff he carried and dropped into a dramatic ready stance. The crowd went wild with cheers. Their favorite folk hero come to life didn’t seem as if he’d broken his arm. Or been injured at all.
He did, however, appear to be a couple of inches taller than he’d been in the morning.
Unlike the spectators, General Cobu did not appear pleased by the mystery fighter’s unexpected reappearance. He waved away the nervous servant who offered him wine and sat forward, his scowl aimed down at the arena like the menacing stare of a hawk.
Everything happening around Jun dropped out of his head like sand through a sieve. He hurried on without slowing to watch Ghostface or to wonder about how any of the other matches had concluded in the time he’d been absent. What the hell did any of it matter anymore? All he could think of was how quickly he had to get back to his father with help.
When he reached the competitors’ pavilion, he found Doctor Lim walking around, checking on fighters injured earlier in the day and imperiously dispensing first aid to patients and orders to her underlings. Jun ran up to the breathmarked healer. “Doctor, I need you to come with me, please.” The candidate whose broken fingers Lim was splinting glared at him for barging ahead of those waiting, but Jun barreled on, heedless. “My father—he’s here in the city and very sick. His lungs are failing and another doctor wasn’t able to do anything. You have to help him.”
Lim didn’t look his way. “My job is to treat the Guardian candidates, not their families.”
“Please,” Jun begged. “He’s dying and you’re the only breathmarked doctor I know.”
“Hey, you,” slurred a competitor behind him with a broken jaw, “wait your turn.”
Doctor Lim waved Jun away impatiently. “As you can see, I’m busy. Even if I could help your father, leaving the tournament while the matches are still going on would be a quick way to lose my position as a royal physician. Not to mention probably earn me a dozen lashes with a thick rod.”
“When do the matches end?” Jun asked, not moving aside.
Lim sighed as if he were a persistent but dim-witted child. “The quarterfinal matches just began, and they’re occurring one at a time. An hour at least, maybe two.”
“How are we already in the quarterfinals?” Jun exclaimed in disbelief.
Lim shrugged. “Three winners from this morning were too injured to continue. The general gave the word to move straight into the next round.”
“Can you come afterward?”
Lim shook her head. “Even if I could, you can’t afford my fees.”
“I…” Jun cast about desperately for a reply. “I’ll win you the money. Today.”
The doctor finally looked at him. She frowned, the wedge of bronze scales on her forehead drawing down like an arrow. “Candidates are forbidden from betting on the tournament.”
“So are the attendants and staff, including the doctors. Isn’t that true?”
“Ssssh.” Doctor Lim took him by the elbow and pulled him into a corner of the tent, away from the protests of waiting patients. “I haven’t broken any of the rules, understand?” she hissed.
Jun barreled on. “The young man who’s been betting big and winning—is he your son? Nephew? Or just a partner of convenience who’s going to split the winnings with you?” Doctor Lim was certainly in a position to provide valuable inside information about the physical condition of the fighters.
Doctor Lim drew herself up with an indignant intake of breath. “I use Dragon’s gift to treat every single patient to the best of my ability,” she insisted. “If you think you can threaten or blackmail me just because I occasionally drop a hint to—”
“Who am I supposed to fight this afternoon?” A few hours ago, Jun’s next match would’ve been all that was on his mind. He would’ve hovered over the posted results, waiting to find out who his next opponent would be, then stalked about the arena strategizing on how to beat them.
None of that mattered anymore. Not unless it could save his father.
Being one of the most gifted and sought-after doctors in the country apparently didn’t put Doctor Lim above the common greed that surrounded the biggest tournament in the West. Or perhaps she had an addiction to gambling that she could indulge better than most. Lim took a step back from Jun, thin lines compressing around her eyes as she regarded Jun with a suspicious scowl. “You’re scheduled to face Hsu the Boss. He’s rumored to be the best knife fighter here.”
Right. They’d reached the quarterfinals. Weapons were now involved. Jun had missed whatever announcement or fanfare had preceded the especially large and excited crowds.
“What are the gamblers saying about my chances right now?” Jun asked the doctor.
Lim glanced back and forth as if she weren’t allowed to be talking to him about this, which she probably wasn’t. She drew Jun even farther away from the handful of grumbling people still waiting impatiently to be seen. “Hsu is practically uninjured after the preliminary rounds, and he hasn’t even had a chance to use his famed skill with weapons yet. Two-to-one odds he beats you in under ten minutes.”
Despite everything, Jun had the temerity to be insulted. Two to one? After the whole “Little Dragon” spectacle? By the Blessed Consort’s tits, fans could be so mercilessly fickle.
“I’ll beat him in under three minutes,” Jun said. “Have your friend put money on it.”
Lim looked at him askance. “Why would anyone risk money on your overconfidence?”
Jun’s mouth seemed to be spraying out words before his brain could agree, but he didn’t try to stop himself. “There won’t be any risk to you. Have your friend place two wagers. Either I’ll win in under three minutes, or I’ll lose just as quickly. Either way, the two of you walk away with a nice payout.”
The breathmarked physician must’ve seen all manner of ailments in her career, but she stared at Jun as if he’d suddenly manifested a new and unique type of derangement. “You would fix a bet by throwing a match in the Guardian’s Tournament? That’s madness. Completely illegal. If you’re found out, you’d be publicly caned to within an inch of your life, maybe even executed.”
“I’m not going to throw the fight,” Jun said. “But my father doesn’t have the time for me to play it safe out there. Either I beat the Boss quickly, or it’ll end badly for me just as quickly.”
If only there were another way. One that didn’t run headlong into possible death. But if the emperor’s own breathmarked physician couldn’t save his father, then he didn’t know what else to do. Winning the match didn’t even matter, not so long as she did as he asked.
“If I make you a lot of money and get you out of here early, will you help me?”
Lim hesitated. Despite her opportunistic side hustle, Jun’s desperate scheme must’ve moved whatever innate compassion she possessed as a healer. She muttered, “You’re a good son, I’ll give you that.”
Jun felt as if he’d already been stabbed.
“Tell me where your father is,” Lim grumbled. “So I can find him if you get killed first.”