Except, had he?
She turned it over in her mind, recalling the memory. The waiter’s face before he’d answered. That strange beat of hesitation. Maldenis, leaning forward to meet his eyes.
She’d thought it was just his usual shamelessness. But she’d seen something. A flicker. The faintest flash in Maldenis’s eyes, there and gone so fast she’d almost convinced herself it was the candlelight. Almost. She filed it away.
“Guys.” Zara squeaked. “Hektor’s saying something.”
“What?” Elian asked.
Zara relayed it quietly. “He says we have to earn their respect first. Speak their language, is how he put it.”
Maldenis exhaled through his nose. “He’s right. We walk in here asking questions and we’re already outsiders. We need to look like we belong.” He scanned the room. “We should get into a game. Show them we’re serious.”
“A game,” Liora repeated.
“Yes.”
“We don’t gamble,” Zara said.
“We’re barely old enough to drink,” Elian added.
“I guess it’s up to me then.” Maldenis straightened his shoulders, scanning the room. “Let’s find something I can actually play.”
They shuffled toward the center of the den, where the crowd was densest. Tables of every shape and size were there—dice games, card games, things with boards and pieces that moved independently. Liora doubted any of them would explain the rules to a basilisk wearing two sweaters, let alone three humans.
“Excuse me.”
Liora stopped a waitress weaving through the crowd. Human, she guessed, or at least human-looking, until the woman glanced up and Liora caught her irises. Solid black, like the small lake just outside town
“What game is that?” Liora nodded toward the center table, where the biggest crowd had gathered. The noise around it was different from the others and there was excitement in the air that was palpable, even from a distance.
The waitress followed her gaze. “That’s the Reaping of the Glen.” She said it in a reverent tone. “The most intense game we have. Takes real skill to play, and one game can climb into the hundreds of thousands.” She tsked softly. “I’ve seen it ruin lives.”
“That’s the one,” Maldenis said.
Elian stared at him. “Did you just hear what she said?”
“Yes, but what better way to catch Brontaios’s attention?” He motioned for them to follow. “Come on.”
They waded in, pressing toward the front until they broke through to the front of the crowd. In the middle was a round table with five players seated. The air around it felt different, still, but the tension in the air was thicker than molasses in January.
The five players consisted of minotaurs of various sizes, their expressions ranging from neutral to aggressive. A hulking minotaur with thick braided blond hair plaited over one massive shoulder slowly turned his head toward the opponent on his left.
“Yield the Eyrie to me.”
The opponent snorted, but said nothing.
“I said, yield the Eyrie, Cullenian,” the blond minotaur repeated, this time his voice was more forceful. “And if you lie, there will be a blood forfeit.”
Cullenian grunted, grabbed one of his cards, and threw it on the table.
A slow, sinister smile spread across the blond minotaur’s face as he laid down three of his own cards—all bearing the same symbol in the upper left corner. A hush swept through the crowd.
Cullenian turned to the third player from his left. “Yield the Tundra.”
“Why does this game seem familiar?” Zara murmured.
“Oh my gods.” Elian whispered. “Are they playing Go Fish?”
