Kahina removed her pipe from her mouth. A jade thumb ring winked. “Have we met before? You look … familiar.”

Ryber, who was usually so poised—so good at mimicking the people she’d once seen and never forgotten—glanced at Stix with open surprise.

“No,” Stix said. “We haven’t met before.”

“Indeed?” Kahina smiled, a sideways thing. “Well, in that case, Lady Fate must favor you today, for I have just the idea for you.” She turned her face to the Hammer, though her eyes remained on Stix. “Tell the guards that Kahina wants the Water Brawler in tomorrow’s arena.”

The Hammer scowled but didn’t disobey. He simply stalked into the hall, red cloth over the doorway flapping behind him. Meanwhile Kahina popped her pipe back into her mouth. The bowl sparked, sending smoke to wreathe around her white hair.

A Firewitch, Stix thought as she and Ryber aimed for the exit after the Hammer. No one ever mentioned Kahina is a Firewitch.

It was sunset by the time they reached their inn in the Baedyed territory of Saldonica. Streetlights flickered to life, and evening patrols directed crowds as a day’s work segued into a night’s revelry. The voices pushed against Stix’s skull, furious she had left the Ring. Come this way, keep coming.

“I know,” she groaned at them, clutching her forehead as she staggered out of a hired carriage and toward the tidy inn. Though she didn’t lean on Ryber to ascend the stairs, she did regret picking a room on the third floor. It had seemed private at the time; now it seemed impossibly far away. It didn’t help when an orange tabby tangled in her legs halfway up the narrow, creaking steps.

“Where did you come from?” Ryber cooed, scooping the cat into her arms. “Are you a stowaway from the Ring? You are, aren’t you?” She nuzzled the cat’s ear, which was missing a corner, and at Stix’s face of mild horror, she shrugged. “I like cats. Plus, they’re good luck around here.”

This was undeniably true, for as the saying went, Six-fingered cats will ward off mice. Not that Stix had ever heard that phrase before her arrival in Saldonica. Now it and the rest of the rhyme were everywhere her bespectacled eyes could land. On small signs inside the inn, carved into walls over tavern booths, etched into rings, or recited by merchants and pirates and innkeeps alike.

Three rules has she, our Lady of the Seas.

No whistling when a storm’s in sight.

Six-fingered cats will ward off mice.

And always, always stay the night for Baile’s Slaughter Ring.

Nonsensical, though catchy when sung to a tune—and apparently effective at luring gamblers to Saldonica every year for the main fight in the arena.