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My knuckle raps on the worn wooden table, the signal for another card, while I rid myself of the four of diamonds. Remy’s smile broadens as he taps for his next card with a bit of flair. He has always enjoyed the show and entertaining the onlookers of our games, and tonight is no exception.
“No Lawrence tonight?” I ask after his hulking fellow guard, mostly to avoid an outward tell that the six of spades the dealer gave me was worthless to my hand.
I’ll just have to bluff my way to a win.
“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” His tone is wry. “But your friend, Leila? She’s still not back?”
Leila.It was the name Zai went by when she was here, and for a moment, I don’t breathe. That’s what I get for trying to misdirect him with idle chatter.
Hoping he doesn’t notice my lapse, I will my features into neutrality.
“No.” My tone is clipped, despite my best efforts. “She’s not coming back.”
There is no conversation after that, something my expression probably helps along. I order yet another cinnamon sake, hoping that it will help dull the pain that always accompanies thoughts of Zai.
The pile in the middle grows as Remy and I throw in coins of increasingly high value. I study his chiseled features, but they hold no clue as to whether he’s bluffing the same as I am.
He returns my scrutiny. “You have to know when to fold, Gemma,” he taunts.
I throw another silver on the pile in response, and he calls. Flipping my cards across my knuckles one by one, I lay out my pathetic hand.
Two pairs, threes and sevens.
Remy tosses his head back and laughs, a full-bellied sound that mocks me before he splays out his royal flush.
“Bloody hell.” I scowl.
I wouldn’t be concerned about the loss if it were anyone else. The game is only part of why I come to the tavern. Primarily, I’m here for the same reason I do most things in my life.
Because Mother demands it.
This bar nestled near the mid-sector of town is the perfect place to gather information. At least, it was until Remy sat across from me in his very conspicuous blood-red uniform.
Now all of the chatter is centering around tired news stories.
Still, I’m not ready to call it a night, so I don’t argue when Remy signals for another hand. I just order another drink and home in on the steady hum of voices around me.
Half of the bar is talking aboutthe vigilante, which is what the newspapers have taken to calling the mysterious arsonist who is cleaning up the city, one criminal at a time.
If only they knew my reasons weren’t half so noble.
The other half is talking about my sister and the ridiculous lie the Jokithan King spread about her death.
I let the grating voices of the gossiping patrons fade into the background, focusing on my cards, which is difficult when most of the tavern has gathered around us to witness another one of our showdowns.
Oronus, in the case of the barmaid who keeps “accidentally” falling into Remy’s lap, something he is actively encouraging.
“Some things never change,” I mutter, grateful for the distraction from my darker thoughts. “At least you’ll make this one an easy win for me.”
That’s not strictly true, when he is giving no discernible tells.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I’m an excellent multi-tasker, or don’t you remember?” He’s had several ales himself, and he practically purrs the words.
“Idoremember. Multitasking with meand half the town, it seemed,” I reply in an even tone. Not that I can judge him, much, but at least I waited until we ended things to return to my usual parade of unsuspecting marks.
He arches a dark brown eyebrow. “Are you sure about that, Gemma? I’m surprised you cancommit yourselfto that accusation.”
I let out a soft snort. Like the man would have been able to commit himself to anything besides his next drink.
