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Chapter Three
Aika
It’s been two weeks since my sister died.
That’s the only excuse I have for letting Remy catch me off guard tonight.
Usually, I pride myself on vigilance... but I’m two drinks in and still buzzing with adrenaline from the fire I set only hours ago, and I have spent the evening steadfastly avoiding looking at the front door of the tavern.
Well, not the door, exactly. It’s the empty barstool next to it, the one where Zaina used to sit, that I would just as soon never look at again.
It’s bad enough that I can scarcely close my eyes without seeing my sister’s perfect features and imagining the way they must have melted and twisted in the moments before the dragon took her.
At least here, I can escape all of that, losing myself in the drinks and the cards and the noise of the voices around me.
I am raking in my winnings from the previous hand, putting on a show of triumph, when the last voice I want to hear startles me from across the table.
“Care for an actual challenge?”
Celestial Hells.
It shouldn’t be a surprise. The Drunken Pumpkin is close enough to King’s Square that the guards come here often, and this guard in particular.
Hell, this is where I first met Remy.
Seeing him again should feel minor in the wake of my sister’s death and a subsequent slew of arson, but this tavern is as close as I come to a sanctuary. The room I keep in town is just upstairs, and Remy hasn’t come around nearly as often since our... whatever we had over a year ago.
Apparently, Zaina’s ghost isn’t the only one that wants to haunt me tonight.
My mostly steady gaze drifts upward, scanning him from the black-and-crimson tunic that stretches across his broad chest to the unlikely dimple in his strong chin, the arrogant tilt to his full mouth.
An answering smirk blooms on my lips, though it feels as hollow as the rest of me does.
“If only I knew where to find one.”
Remy doesn’t rise to my bait. He only tucks a wavy strand of chestnut hair behind his ear and sinks into the half-broken chair across the table from me like he owns it.
“Deal me in.” He’s talking to the man shuffling cards, but his cinnamon eyes don’t leave mine.
Those were the first words I ever heard him say, back when he was just another mark and I was just a girl at the bar.
I down the rest of my cinnamon-infused sake and signal for another before I speak again.
“Decide to crawl out of whatever hole you sank into and grace us with your presence?”
Needling at him is the best distraction I’ve had all night.
“You sound sad.” There’s a serious undertone to his voice that puts me on guard, but his expression is perfectly neutral as he surveys the five cards in his hands. “Did you miss me, Gemma?”
I don’t bat an eye at the sound of the fake name.
Of my many monikers, that one, the one that represents the card shark and pickpocket, is the closest to feeling like my own. Besides, I can hardly go around telling people I have the same unusual name as Lady Delmara’s stepdaughter.
“If I’ve been sad, it’s only because no one was able to confirm your untimely demise.” My voice falls flat on those last two words, too close to things I refuse to think about any more tonight. “And now this.”
“Bythis, I assume you mean losing at your favorite game.” He flashes me an expression that makes my toes curl, but I stamp down the feeling as quickly as it came.
“This is hardly myfavoritegame.” My savage grin is more a baring of teeth, and I dare him to dance a little closer to all the things we never outright talk about. “And I wouldn’t go right to losing.”
