by Adalyn Grace
“Seven out, seven out, seven out!”
The entire crowd roars, and Ferrick’s face flushes even brighter. “Again,” he says, already digging into his pockets for his coin purse. I’m about to grab his collar and steer him away from this trap he’s fallen into so easily when the lilac-haired woman frees herself from the Ikaean man—much to his disappointment—and instead winds herself around Ferrick. I see a flash of a rose gold bracelet on her wrist, dainty and in the shape of several dozen slender fish bones.
“Why don’t you let me blow on those for you?” Her voice is a low, seductive purr. At once, the rest of us find ourselves nodding.
“Aye,” Bastian says, “that’s her.”
Ferrick, however, doesn’t appear to realize this. He darts a look back at Vataea, as if trying to convey his disinterest in this woman by his sheer looks of panic. Without popping blood vessels, he couldn’t possibly get any redder. His body grows rigid when Shanty loops an arm over his, giggling. As she leans in, she bumps his hands too hard and makes Ferrick drop the dice. She catches them just in time, and places them back in his hands with flushed pink cheeks.
“Sorry!” she says to the table. “Looks like the bubbly is catching up with me.” Ferrick, still stiff as a board from her touch, awkwardly tosses the dice onto the table. I don’t see what numbers he rolls, but whatever it is makes the man running the table bulge his eyes, while the rest of the crowd screams and grabs Ferrick by the shoulders. They cheer for him as though they’ve all been best friends for ages.
“I don’t think I’ve had enough to drink to handle this place,” Vataea sighs, slinking away as she catches sight of the bar. “I’ll be back.”
“Do you need money?” Bastian’s quick to ask, about to dip into his own coin purse when Vataea scoffs.
“Have a bit more faith in me, pirate.” She disappears into a crowd that parts for her, and with Ferrick happily distracted, I’m acutely aware of Bastian’s presence at my side. It’s a comfortable feeling, a warm buzz I want nothing more than to sink into and never emerge from. It takes everything in me to ignore it, keeping my attention ahead as Ferrick throws another pair of dice, greeted immediately by more cheers.
“I would have lost the shoes off my feet to this place when I was younger.” Bastian sighs, trying to make conversation. “With that kind of cheering, I have to imagine our drinks are all on Ferrick’s tab, tonight.”
Not a bad idea. Whatever Shanty’s doing, it’s working. But it’s also drawing attention.
Discreetly, I nudge an elbow into Casem’s side, nodding my chin a fraction of an inch at two men who are watching Ferrick from behind the crowd on the opposite end of the table. They’re less like men than they are walking boulders, built thick and strong, with massive coiled muscles. Based on the amethyst color of their clothing, they’re Kers.
One of the men catches me looking, and recognition sparks a light in his eyes. He elbows his companion, who turns his attention to me. I realize it’s not with interest, like I might expect from people who recognize their queen in public, but with malice.
Quietly, I say, “Something tells me we’re not going to be having those drinks.”
Bastian discreetly catches who I’m staring at and makes a low sound in the back of his throat. “No one would pick a fight with you in public. Attacking you would be grounds for an execution.” The men stand, leaving full mugs of ale behind at the bar so that they can instead stalk their way toward me. “Then again, I’ve been wrong before.”
“Out gambling away the money of your people?” The taller man’s voice is rough and grating. “I shouldn’t be surprised, though I expected more from Visidia’s new queen.”
The crowd’s cheering dies swiftly, and the gambling den quiets to an uncomfortable buzz. Before me, the man stands tall and smug, practically crooning for attention.
“I think we’ll cash out now,” Shanty says, gathering the chips and shoving some into her pocket and others down her chest before disappearing into the crowd.
I open my mouth to speak, only to find my mouth too dry to form the words I want. In the past, I wouldn’t have had any problem putting these men in their place. Now though, Mother’s voice rings through my ears: Make them love you.
This man wants a fight. He wants to make a fool out of me, and for me to lose my temper. He wants for me to be the monster too many of my people already believe me to be. Already Casem and Bastian both have their hands on the pommels of their swords, ready to draw them at a moment’s notice. The tension of Bastian’s body feels like sharp pulses of electricity in my veins, jarring me.
“She wasn’t wasting anyone’s money,” he starts to argue, but I press my hand against his chest, stilling him.
There are too many people watching. Too many people stiffen in their seats, waiting to see how their queen will respond.
“I’m on a tour of the kingdom,” I say as I lower my hood, letting the words flow through my lips without any bite. It’s a struggle to not reach for my dagger when threatened; I instinctively reach for my magic instead, only for my skin to flood with coolness when it doesn’t respond.
“We know all about your tour,” says the second man, his voice firm. He’s shorter, but thick with muscle. “Kerost wants nothing to do with it.”
Again Bastian starts to speak, but Casem elbows him in the ribs before he can say anything.
“The only reason I’m here,” I continue, “is to see how I can continue to support Kerost. To do that, I need to see what’s happening on the island.”
Not defending myself or preparing to slice off their tongues for their slander feels … odd. I’m not used to it, and clearly neither are these men. They seem unsettled by the way I maneuver around their argument, not fully shirking the blame, but also not accepting everything they say.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say firmly, “I’d like to get back to watching the games. But please know that I understand your frustrations, and I’m working to find a solution. If I didn’t care, I’d be on another island right now, as their plans for me involve parties and free food.” A few voices in the crowd entertain my joke with a laugh, and patrons return to their games. I know I’ve won this match.
“Right,” says one of the men, scratching the back of his neck as noise livens up the gambling den once more. No longer is everyone paying attention to him or waiting for an outburst. I could have easily been the villain in this situation, but instead I’ve made him look like the fool. Just like that, the men shuffle away.
Bastian and Ferrick are staring at me in surprise, while Casem exhales in relief. Slowly, Bastian drops his hand from the pommel. “Well, that’s certainly a new way we’re dealing with things.”
The sharpness of Ferrick’s laugh surprises me. “Gods, that would have been nice for you to have discovered ages ago. Can you imagine how many fights we might have been able to avoid?”
I roll my eyes, thankful when Vataea emerges from the crowd with four giant pints of ale in her hands. She hands two to Casem and me, then sets one with a few sips already taken out of it into Bastian’s waiting hand. He’s about to protest when her eyes cut to him expectantly. “You didn’t pay for it.”
He scowls. “Did you?”
A toothy grin crawls across her lips, which is enough of an answer for us all.
Already the gambling hall is in full swing again, but now people watch me more closely, or pull me into the games. They don’t ask for money or for chips; instead they offer them, only wanting me to join in for a game with them. They ask what I’m drinking and order me more. Casem eyes them like a hawk all the while, walking back and forth from the bar every time someone pours me a new drink to make sure they’re not slipping anything into it.
None of us have any idea where Shanty’s gone, but seeing how much coin she snuck away with, I’ve no doubt she’s already taken a different face. Meanwhile, Vataea and I are at a blackjack table with Ferrick behind my shoulder and Bastian over hers. He eyes her cards with a neu
tral expression before he bends to whisper something into her ear.
I find my fingers tensing against the cards, my grip becoming tighter as my mind lingers not on the game before us, but on memories of his breath tickling my skin. Of him whispering into my ear.
I drink, forcing myself to look away. Forcing myself to laugh when someone makes a joke, and to relax as best I can with the pressure of so many people watching me, expecting gods know what. All I’ve ever wanted was for my people to know who I was, and to earn their love.
Why, then, does my skin feel as though it’s crawling? Why does every word out of my mouth feel like I’m trying to talk through lips that are nailed shut?
Hours pass with no break in the action. No one seems to tire, and the crowd doesn’t disperse until dawn. Morning light cracks through the windows and bathes the room. In the brightness, all the cheering feels too loud. All the makeup and shimmering outfits from the night no longer dazzle, but look excessive and out of place.
It’s time to get out of here and find Ronan. I pray he’s found the answers I need; I’m not sure I can handle back-to-back nights in Kerost.
I made sure not to drink too much, only taking polite sips of anything bought for me. Enough to make people think we’re friendly, but not lose my wits. Even so, my head pounds and my eyes blur, though it’s likely more from exhaustion than the alcohol.
Gods, I should have slept hours ago. It’s going to be a long day on Keel Haul.
As the crowd wanes, we make our way back outside, some of us groggy while others—namely Ferrick and Vataea—still buzz with laughter. Each of their footsteps sway a few inches too far, and their cheeks are flushed from both alcohol and breathless laughter.
“Did you hear him?” Vataea laughs, wiping at her watering eyes.
Ferrick barks a laugh in response, the sound so fierce that he’s having to hold his stomach to contain himself. “Oy!” he says in a low, mocking voice. “Aren’t you one of those mermaids?”
Vataea practically howls, and Bastian and I exchange an amused look that makes my stomach prickle and has me immediately glancing away. Ferrick and Vataea continue on like that, making absolutely no sense to anyone but each other, arms slung around one another. While Ferrick’s hand sits comfortably at Vataea’s waist, I watch as she shifts so that his hand drops to her hip. She waits for a reaction, and I catch the briefest, sourest pucker of her lips when Ferrick continues on with his drunken laughter, politely shifting his hand back up. Only when she purposefully takes his hand and lowers it again to her hip does he jolt with surprise. This time, though, he doesn’t move it away.
The two of them walk ahead as I take my time, scanning the streets for a head of shaggy black hair. I catch sight of Ronan in a shaded corner beneath the VICE sign, trying not to doze off. When he spots me, his scowl grows deep and he jumps to his feet. “Did you really have to stay there all night?”
As the rest of the crew stops to look at the boy’s outburst, I draw a sharp breath and freeze, hoping they won’t recognize him. But, sure enough, Bastian squints and steps forward.
“You’re the kid with the shells,” he says briskly. “That was a clever trick you pulled back there.”
Ronan lifts his chin, but I grind my teeth together and give him a sharp look to draw his attention. He stills, eyes widening as he catches on. This isn’t a conversation we can have in front of the others.
“Give me a minute with him,” I whisper to the crew. “Sooner or later someone’s going to catch him, and it’s never a pretty sight when money is involved. Go ready the ship, all right? I’ll only need a minute.”
“We’re not leaving you—”
I don’t stay to listen to Casem’s argument. I pull Ronan ahead by the wrist, ignoring the way the sharpening sunlight spins my head. I lead him to the same alleyway we had our discussion in the previous night, and only when I make sure no one is around do I speak.
“Did you find Ornell?” I try not to let my words sound as urgent as I feel. Too long, and surely some of the crew will come looking.
He nods swiftly. “I met a woman who recognized the name. She said she was a friend of Ornell’s mother, and that the last she’d heard, the family had moved to Curmana.” He works at his jaw, trying not to let his nerves show. “I’m sorry, that’s all I was able to find out. No one knows anything about him, or if he’s still there.”
It’s not much, but it’s a lead. And for now, that’s enough. I fish a small coin purse from my coat and press it into his palms. “Keep that safe, all right? No more swindling.”
He shoves the coins into his shirt, but the smile on his lips lasts only seconds before his eyes lift, looking over my shoulder. Fear settles into him and he shrinks back, making himself smaller. Every muscle in my body rigid, I look to the ground, where not one shadow hulks over me, but two.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Slowly, I trail my hand to Rukan’s hilt.
“Run,” I urge Ronan. He doesn’t need to be told twice. The moment he takes off I spin, narrowly avoiding a knife that spirals for my face. It takes a bite of my hair, and I scowl at the man wielding it. “I’m trying to grow that back.”
It’s the men from the gambling hall earlier. They squint at the sun, one of them with a knife drawn while the other brandishes his sword. I grip my own blade hard, refusing to let my face show the panic that comes from fighting a Ker.
Never fight a Ker. My heart is a monster, raging against my chest as I recall Father’s old warning. They’ll have a knife to your throat before you even see it coming.
Time magic isn’t one to be used freely. It’s the hardest to control, and takes the greatest toll on its wielder’s body. But any Ker would be a fool to enter a fight they mean to win without using it to their advantage.
I reach inwardly for my magic, doing everything I can think of—everything I’ve done a thousand times before—to try to awaken it. But once again, it refuses to listen.
I know my magic’s gone, but still I frantically try to pull it around me and make it heed my call. Because without it, I stand no chance in this fight.
The tallest of the men lashes out with his knife, and I’m relieved that the attack isn’t quite so fast this time. I take a nasty cut to my forearm but manage to dodge the worst of it, countering with Rukan. But the second before my weapon can slice into skin, Mother’s voice rings in my head and I falter. Make them love you. No matter where you are, I’ll have eyes on you.
I stop just short of striking.
My hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. While the taller of the two hesitates, the shorter, stockier one growls, “You think because you sent us some soldiers, we should bow our heads and thank you? That somehow that’s enough to make everything better?”
I sheathe Rukan and make a grab for my steel dagger—maiming but not killing is the only way I can win this. But I’m unable to grab it before the man stands before me, quick as lightning, and slams me against the wall. My back cracks as it hits the stone, knocking the breath from my lungs.
“Get off our island.” Each of his words is its own snarl, and the stench of stale alcohol fouls his breath. I cringe as he leans in close, one hand wrapped tight around my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs while his sword waits ready. I reach desperately for my weapon even as darkness peppers my vision.
Panic rises, bubbling over as I beg my magic to listen. To protect me. As I beg for my hand to reach just a little farther around this man to grab the steel blade waiting for me, if only I can get to it.
His friend, the tall one, starts to back away, face panicked as the one gripping me by the throat lifts his blade. It presses against my coat and I brace myself for the bite of steel I’ve grown far too familiar with.
But it’s not me who’s bit.
I fall to my knees, gasping for desperate breaths. My fingers dig into the cobblestones as I heave and blink the fog from my vision.
“You’re going to be fine.” I know at once it’s Bastian’s hands that se
ttle upon my shoulders because my lungs breathe easier and my vision sharpens at his touch. I let myself fall into him, rubbing my tender throat.
My attacker lies face-first on the ground, two long needles poking from the skin of his neck. Shanty stands behind him, tucking the remaining needles into the tiny spaces between the bones of her bracelet, and a tiny vial of thick white liquid down her sleeve.
Ferrick’s on my left, and I jolt from the sharp sting of his restoration magic on my throat. It flares once at the sharpest point of pain, then ebbs away to nothing but a dull ache. Still, my voice itself is raw as I ask, “Is he…?”
“Dead? No.” Shanty kicks at the man’s hand, pressing her boot down upon one of his fingers until he groans. “See? Just unconscious. Might wake up with a killer headache, but nothing he wasn’t asking for. Casem took off after the second guy.”
Good. I could have killed them with Rukan, but the kingdom cannot love a queen who they see as a monster; I’ve already learned that the hard way. My people expect a queen to be kind and fair, not someone who will bloody their hands unnecessarily.
If I use Rukan’s poison to kill, these men will get what they want; I’ll forever be thought of as a ruthless, dangerous ruler. It’ll go against everything Mother wishes for me to show Visidia, and she would have had me sailing back to Arida within the day.
“We should have never let you out of our sight,” Vataea growls, teeth bared at the unconscious man. “We have to arrest them.”
I’m about to stop her when Ferrick beats me to it. “We can’t. If others found out Amora was attacked at our first stop, after Kerost already refused to participate in our Visidian tour, how do you think that’d look? This could ruin our journey before we’ve even gotten started.”
Bastian practically preens at that news, but Shanty shakes her head.
“Maybe not.” She crouches, lifting my chin with a finger to inspect me. “If there’s one thing my magic’s taught me, it’s that people will always see what you show them.” Straightening her spine, she turns to Ferrick. “Go get me as much parchment as you can find. And you”—she turns to Vataea—“do something with this man’s body. He won’t wake for a few hours; put him in the sun and let him burn somewhere.”