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KYLLEN
The shifty human walked them through the door inside a narrow hallway, then downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned around, offering Kyllen his hand.
“I’m Rourke, by the way.”
Kyllen nodded, but didn’t take the hand and didn’t give his name in return. He’d accepted the man’s offer to gamble, but that didn’t mean he was willing to shake hands with him.
Rourke grunted, awkwardly putting away the unwanted hand. “Well, this way.”
Not trusting the man, Kyllen paid careful attention to where he was taking them—down a wide corridor, then to a white double-door with a flimsy-looking gold-tone handle.
Despite them being in the basement of the building, it didn’t look like a dungeon. The space smelled of cigarettes but was well lit. The wallpaper and carpet were plain and worn in places, but not filthy. It was also much warmer here than outside. That alone was worth staying, he decided with a shudder that chased the chill out of his muscles.
Voices filtered from behind the double doors. Rourke opened them, letting the noise spill out into the corridor.
The three of them entered a spacious room with a low ceiling. Though of different architecture, the room had similarities with any gambling hall in Nerifir. He recognized the tables with cards, even though not all games played looked familiar.
He’d spend a fair amount of time playing cards when he was younger. Most card games could be learned, which gave a player some sense of control and a chance to work out a strategy. However, the element of serendipity and luck was always there. It made a card game unpredictable and exciting.
Today, he wasn’t interested in playing cards, however, because he couldn’t afford to leave anything to chance. Carefully peeking from under his hood, he located the roulette table and beelined for it.
Several people lingered around the table. The wheel was spinning. He lifted his head enough to only see players’ bodies up to their chests.
“So,” Rourke rubbed his hands again, the gesture he found irritating. “What are you playing?”
“That looks like fun.” He tipped his chin at the roulette table.
“That it does. That it does,” the human repeated himself, which also grated against Kyllen’s nerves.
Amira gripped his hand, but remained quiet, subdued in the presence of so many people.
The croupier greeted them as they approached. “Where are you from, folks?”
He could think of only one location in this world, the place Amira had told him she’d come from, “Middle East.”
A soft gasp sounded from her direction, but she didn’t contradict him.
People around the table shifted, probably gawking at him. Admittedly, his style of clothing stood out among their boring clothes. The bracks had taken away his weapons long ago. But he’d kept his bejeweled bracers and decorated leather sheaths.
Rourke nudged him with an elbow. “You can take off your hood here, mate.”
Oh, the pesky human dared touching him, didn’t he? It took all he had not to shove the man away. If he did, Rourke would’ve certainly crashed through the nearest wall, for he wouldn’t hold his strength back with this man.
“No, leave the hood,” Amira rushed to protest. “He has to have it on.”
“I thought it’s the broads that cover their faces in the Middle East, not the blokes,” a man’s voice blurted out from the group of the players.
She gripped his hand even tighter. “It’s not that… He’s just… He’s not well.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Rourke asked suspiciously, taking a step back.
As much as he loved for the man to keep his distance, the last thing he needed was being kicked out of the game because of the locals’ fear of some plague.
“I’m fine.” He pried his hand out of Amira’s little fingers and patted her arm in a soothing gesture.
“Nothing contagious,” she assured the crowd. “It’s…um, a genetic condition that he was born with.”
“Is that why he’s green?” a woman asked.
Green?
He inspected his hand. His skin was light brown, like his father’s, with dark-green markings he inherited from his mother. In healthy and well hydrated gorgonians, the markings remained on the senties only, with some showing along their spines, too.
But he’d been perpetually thirsty in this world. His markings had descended down his body. The backs of his hands were covered in the distinct diamond pattern, faint but visible. Its dark-green coloring tinted his light-brown skin with green.
“Right.” He fisted his hand. The dry skin on it stretched, threatening to split.
Amira cleared her throat.
“Are only people with a certain skin color allowed in this place?” Her voice sounded high with challenge.
She gripped his hand again. The woman risked breaking his fingers if she kept clinging on to him like that.
Rourke shrugged. “Fuck no. I don’t care what color he is. Green or purple, whatever. As long as he’s not contagious and has money to place the bets.”
The croupier didn’t appear to be concerned with his coloring, either. “How much do you have? The minimum bet is a hundred pounds.”
“I’ll use silver and emeralds.” Gently freeing his hand from Amira, he unbuckled the bracer from his left forearm.
The leather of the piece had been embossed by the best artisans of Ellohi. The four silver buckles had darkened to pewter while he’d been rotting in the crate, but the emeralds glistened as bright as ever. To his knowledge, gem stones were an acceptable currency in all words of the River of Mists. This one shouldn’t be an exception.
He tossed the bracer onto the table. “How much for this one?”
“Um.” Croupier scratched his chest, somewhat stunned.
Rourke sneaked in from around him. “Are these real?” He inspected the stones in the buckles, then those set in the silver discs on the bracer.
“They don’t look like much,” the croupier scoffed.
Kyllen flexed his jaw, holding back a fiery rebuke that bubbled inside him. What would this peasant know about fine gems?
“I’ll take them to the appraiser.” Rourke shoved the bracer under his arm.
