Serena planted her feet wide and set her arms on her hips. ‘From cards and gaming, how much do you expect the Queen to take in that time?’
‘Anywhere between eight hundred thousand and one million aerons.’
‘How’d you like to make sure it’s closer to the top end?’
‘Serena…’ Gallows’ voice carried a note of warning.
One corner of Vabrizio’s mouth curled. ‘That is the kind of enterprising I can get behind.’ He sat back in his throne and rubbed his hands together. ‘How do you propose to shore the odds in my favour?’
‘I worked among Raincatchers,’ she began. ‘You’ve heard of ’em, right?’
‘Roughnecks made of war criminals and scoundrels, yes?’
Serena’s nails dug into her palms at the insult. ‘When we weren’t out slinging rainwater, we were playing cards. Drinking. Gambling. You learn to see the signs, read the patterns. You learn to influence the game.’
Laughter burst from Vabrizio. ‘And you believe you’re suited to direct the flow of games better than the people I already have planted at every table?’
‘I’m better than your people. Give me an hour to show you—I’ll make you more’n the rest of your plants combined. One hour. What have you got to lose?’
The captain’s fingers drummed on his armrest. ‘And if I’m happy with your results, you stay aboard my airship?’
‘Just for a week. Just until we get to Rhis. And no confining us to our rooms.’
Vabrizio leaned back in his ridiculous chair, fidgeting with the buttons on his waistcoat. ‘A tempting offer, young lady, a tempting offer. How do I know you can accomplish what you claim?’
Serena’s heels ground into the floor. ‘I did it often enough for my captain back in Dalthea. Won us some lucrative contracts, pissed off a few crews in the process. It was fun.’
‘Really?’ Vabrizio said. ‘As simple as that?’
The hair on Serena’s neck prickled. ‘As simple as that.’
‘Serena.’ Genevieve’s voice sounded heavy, like the last gasp of an ignium canister when its gas is depleted. ‘He’s playing with you.’
What?
‘He knows,’ Genevieve continued. ‘About your gifts.’
A pit opened in Serena’s belly.
‘Shit,’ said Gallows. ‘You told him.’
Genevieve’s head hung like a wilting flower. ‘I didn’t mean to. I… wasn’t myself.’
‘The hell does that mean?’
Genevieve’s eyes glistened. ‘I’d taken my medicine…’
‘You mean laudanol.’
Fabian gasped.
‘Don’t judge me.’ A sheen of sweat glistened on Genevieve’s brow. ‘This tour… It’s been unrelenting.’
Vabrizio clapped his hands. ‘Lucrative, is what it’s been.’
‘Is that why you kept your distance until now?’ Gallows asked the singer. ‘To give you time to sober up?’
‘You’d still be in Dulwin if I hadn’t persuaded Vabrizio to send his mercenaries in—remember that.’
‘You’ve put every one of us in danger,’ said Gallows.
‘Do you think I need reminding of that? But as long as you’re aboard the Queen, you’re safe. Vabrizio is many things, but you can trust him.’
The captain clapped his hands. ‘A paragon of virtue, I am—a paragon.’
Captain Vabrizio had the most famous singer in the world aboard his airship, bringing in Gods know how much money—and Genevieve resembled an overworked mule. Her eyes had lost their sparkle, and her shoulders slumped. If Vabrizio could rob even Genevieve Couressa of her spirit, then the last thing Serena wanted was to be in his debt.
‘This asshole would sell us out in a heartbeat and you know it,’ Gallows said.
‘Only if there was profit in it, Mister Gallows,’ said the captain. ‘And so far, I don’t see much of a market for you.’ Vabrizio clapped once. ‘And now all the cards are laid upon the table.’
‘We’re getting off this rig now,’ said Gallows.
Serena raised a hand. ‘It’s fine.’
‘You’re in danger, we’re all in danger.’
‘And I don’t need to be talked about like I’m not in the same room as you, Gallows. I’ve been in danger my whole life—this changes nothing. Actually, I reckon it’s better.’
‘How?’
‘Because now Vabrizio knows it ain’t so much of a gamble.’
Vabrizio rested his chin on his knuckles. ‘I’m not convinced by fairy tales, Miss Serena. In fact, I believed Genevieve’s story to be fairy tale, like the Lost Prince of Ryndara or Aurien tal Varaldo’s long lost treasure—and so far, none of them have come up trumps for me. However… I may be willing to acquiesce—following a demonstration. One hour, you say? I’ll give you all night to take a specific prize from one of my guests.’
‘No way,’ said Gallows.
‘It’s not your choice,’ warned Serena.
‘Serena, think about this,’ said Myriel. ‘Remember what happened in Dalthea.’
Yeah, I remember. Roarke’s anguished face… His wild eyes staring at me after he shoved his knife into his own heart—when I made him shove his knife into his heart.
But I’m better now, stronger—in control.
‘If anyone has any other ideas to keep us from being chucked overboard, let’s hear ’em.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Great. Tell us what you need, Captain.’
‘There’s a Mercurian diplomat aboard,’ Vabrizio began. ‘Ludovic tal Nyrsson. He’s here under an assumed name—not even his country knows. He has a secret woman you see, and his wife is something of a horror. But I digress; he is wealthy—obscenely so—but the man does not gamble big, just small stakes to keep himself amused. He is also in possession of a rare trinket—a war medal, the Order of the Chimera, reserved for soldiers who display gallantry and valour on the field of battle—which Nyrsson has not. I want it.’
‘You want a medal to pawn off?’ Gallows asked. ‘You ain’t got enough cash?’
‘The medal is a mere bonus; if he paid for it, then so can I. The real prize is having him in my pocket—I could do a lot of things with a diplomat indebted to me. Serena, if you can persuade him… not to be so averse to risk, then you and your friends have a place aboard the Queen of the North.’
Serena felt Gallows’ gaze burn into her, but she refused to look his way. ‘Deal.’
CHAPTER FOUR
The Primrose Lounge reminded Gallows of the bars and clubs in Dalthea before the Night of Amberfire. Its low lighting, circular booths and generic piano music could belong to any bar in the world, but there was enough familiarity to make him think of home. Leave a canvas half-painted, and it’s easy to fill the blanks in your head.
Gallows eased himself onto a stool. ‘Rum, no ice.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ replied the kid behind the bar. He didn’t look anything more than sixteen and his black waistcoat hugged him like a straitjacket. ‘We have Tú Borracho, a Phadrosi premium rum with notes of coffee, clove and orange. Or Sarabi spiced rum from Nom Ganald—delicious, with its subtle notes of vanilla, fig and peppercorn.’
‘Got any Captain Crimsonwing’s Golden Reserve?’
The bartender’s face contorted like he was chewing nettles. Made of steel. Coated in piss. ‘Yes.’
‘Great, that’ll do. And grab one for yourself.’
The bartender poured the thick, treacle-brown liquor into a glass. ‘Sir is most kind.’
Gallows didn’t have the palate for fancy concoctions with expensive labels—except for Glenfortoshan whisky—but Golden Reserve was Dalthean, and they hadn’t made any since before the Night of Amberfire. Aurien tal Varaldo would turn in his grave if he knew his books were being licensed out in this manner, but Gallows reckoned the kids passing each other half-bottles of the stuff would at least get exposed to the books. After all, that’s how he got into reading.
‘Cheers.’ Gallows downed it in one gulp. That was the thing with Golde
n Reserve—it was only good if it didn’t touch your taste buds.
Myriel materialised in the stool next to Gallows. ‘Drinking alone?’
‘Not any more,’ he replied, signalling for another two drinks.
They clinked glasses and drank. Gallows enjoyed feeling its acidic warmth in his gut, and his head. ‘Who doesn’t enjoy a taste of home?’
Myriel examined her glass from a distance. ‘Do you miss Dalthea this much?’
Gallows ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Honestly? Sometimes. Funny, when I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to leave. But every time I came back, it… I don’t know.’
‘I understand.’ Myriel let out a long, content breath. ‘There’s nothing quite like coming home.’
Gallows turned the glass in his fingers, watching light refract through the glass. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was the threat of Vabrizio kicking everyone off at any moment, but Gallows got the feeling he wouldn’t see home again—not for a long, long time.
‘Remind me,’ Myriel started, ‘what did you do before the Hunters’ Guild employed you? Before the war?’
‘I found trinkets for people rich enough to afford ’em. Sometimes just for myself.’
‘Ah, a treasure hunter. Yes, that’s exactly the kind of non-profession that suits you, Tyson Gallows.’
‘You’re one to talk, Guildmaster. I like relics for the same reason you do. Myths. Stories. Everything has a history; the whole world’s a secret waiting to be uncovered. Damn, it used to drive me crazy—knowing I’d never uncover every mystery, solve every riddle.’
‘I know exactly what you mean. I didn’t realise you had such a… childlike verve to you.’
‘Blame Varaldo and his Crimsonwing novels. When I was a kid, bloodlung swept through Dustwynd like a tidal wave. Books were the only things that didn’t die on me.’
‘So you packed your things and left, seeking adventure. My story is much the same. After we’ve escorted Serena to Musa’s temple, what will you do?’
‘I don’t know. After I lost Sera, I didn’t think I had a future. I’m just taking it one day at a time. You?’
‘Hmm, now that’s a question. I’m devoted to assisting Serena in finding the answers she needs—no-one knows what she is, not even her. I fear she won’t like what she discovers… But for now, I’ll simply take pleasure in the journey. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Tarevia.’
‘And you’re okay with what Serena’s doing right now?’
Myriel’s brow furrowed. ‘I believe that compromises must be made. Am I worried for her? Of course. But she has us looking after her. And is it not better that she plays parlour tricks instead of manipulating Vabrizio directly?’
Gallows had thought about that himself—if Serena was going to manipulate anyone, then why not the slippery bastard in charge? But it’d mean Serena exerting her will over him for the entire journey, maintaining the illusion without a break—and Gallows knew the toll even just short stints could take on her. Anyway, when it came time to leave and Serena’s power wore off, what was to stop the asshole from coming after them?
Maybe she’s not as reckless as I thought. ‘Yeah,’ Gallows sighed. ‘Guess so.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Tyson, but in truth, I was afraid of the answer: How is it that you’re immune to her powers?’
Gallows’ stomach churned. The sensation of Serena reaching into his mind had never quite left him. Did Myriel feel the same? Did Valentine? How close had Serena come to killing them all while she was manipulated by Pyron Thackeray’s drug?
And now she’s playing with her power like it’s a toy.
‘I… I’ve met someone with Serena’s powers before, but nowhere near as strong. It was closer to the drug that Thackeray used in Dalthea. Hells, maybe it was the drug. I don’t know how it works, but I guess being exposed to it built up a resistance. But Serena can still get inside my head. It’s different, more subtle…’
‘Mm. When she commanded me and your soldier friend in Thackeray’s Spire, I didn’t even realise what was happening until afterwards. It’s like the thoughts were my own. Fascinating, isn’t it? And frightening. It brings everything we think we know about free will, spirituality—even religion—into question. Even now, you and I could be part of some game played by beings beyond our comprehension and not even realise it. Are we even real?’
Gallows didn’t know what to say to that, so he ordered another round. The kid behind the bar nudged two glasses over, a napkin covering his hand like he was afraid a spillage might melt the skin from his bones.
‘Regardless, there has to be some measure of joy,’ Myriel said. Gallows wasn’t sure if she was talking to him—it wouldn’t be the first time he caught the Mages’ Guildmaster talking to herself.
‘Existing isn’t enough, Tyson—you need to live. What you’ve suffered, what that horrid Confessor did to your fiancée? I can’t even begin to imagine how awful it is for you. But there has to be some happiness at the end of it all. If not, then what’s the point?’
Gallows swirled the drink in his glass. ‘What indeed.’
Myriel’s bony knuckles dug into Gallows’ arm. ‘When we get back to Dalthea, I’ve a mind to fix you up with one of my friends’ daughters.’
‘Daughters?’
‘Fine, granddaughters.’
Gallows couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Sure, why the hell not?’
The notes from the piano floated high, mixing with the fuzziness in Gallows’ head.
Myriel raised her glass. ‘To hope, and happiness. And whatever lies beyond our quest.’
They drank, and Myriel’s face screwed up. ‘Well, I believe that’s my cue to retire. Mister Gallows, I bid you a goodnight.’
Gallows raised his glass, and thought about Myriel’s words. He missed Sera every day—that would never change. But Myriel had a point: He still had a life to live.
He leaned over the bar and asked, ‘What were those expensive rums again?’
For a diplomat travelling under the guise of someone else, Ludovic tal Nyrsson stood out: He wore a wine-red military uniform adorned with various medals, and his raucous laughter boomed across the entire lounge.
Serena found him at a card table, counting out ten single-aeron chips. His balding head gleamed beneath a chandelier, and what hair he did possess had lost all colour.
‘You know,’ she started, ‘Aerulus said that peace comes only after war. If you’re gonna play small stakes all the time, how can you ever hope to reap the rewards?’
The skin around Nyrsson’s topaz eyes crinkled. ‘And who might you be, young miss?’
‘My name’s Alisabeth,’ said Serena. ‘I waitress here.’
‘Splendid. A Phadrosi white, please. Bottle.’
‘I’m not on duty. No, sir, I’m here for leisure only. Mind if I join you?’
Serena squeezed onto a chair before anyone else at the table could answer.
‘The game is Knave’s Harp,’ called the croupier, sending the cards gliding across the green felt table. ‘One aeron minimum.’
Nyrsson made a show of counting out a Æ1 chip.
We’ll be here all night.
Serena leaned in closer to the diplomat. ‘Look at the Coxswain’s Bluff table. See the Phadrosi there with the wolf’s grin? It’s all show—he’s gonna fold at the next hand.’
Nyrsson eyed her with suspicion. ‘How do you know?’
Because Vabrizio told him to. ‘I can read people,’ Serena said. ‘Just something I’ve picked up working in places like this. You get a feel for it—see the signs, feel the rhythms of the room. You really want to have fun here? Go over there, bet big and give ’em something to remember—your excellency.’
Nyrsson’s face paled. ‘“Excellency”? Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
Serena leaned in and whispered, ‘The world is too small for a man like Ludovic tal Nyrsson to disappear.’
The diplomat squirmed.
‘As I
say, I can read people.’ Serena slid off her seat. ‘But if you’d rather not be bold—if you’d rather hide aboard an airship halfway across the world than be in the same room as your own wife, then maybe the world is too big for Ludovic tal Nyrs—’
‘To hell with that.’ Nyrsson got up and strode over to the Coxswain’s Bluff table.
And I didn’t even need to use my power.
Sure enough, the Phadrosi with the wolf’s grin folded. Nyrsson exchanged a glance with Serena and took a seat.
With expert precision, the croupier sent the cards flying to each of the six players. ‘The game is Coxswain’s Bluff.’
With Serena’s help, the four regular players lost more and more to Nyrsson. The diplomat bet bigger and bolder, winning every single time, until it was just him and the Phadrosi left.
‘Fold,’ spat the Phadrosi an hour in. ‘Just not my night.’
Nyrsson collected his winnings. ‘Seems not.’
Serena punched Nyrsson on the arm. ‘See?’
‘I do see, I do. I haven’t bet that big in a long, long time. Not since my wife made me stop. She’s a… Well, I shan’t bore you. My dear, I’d say you earned this.’ Nyrsson handed Serena a Æ10 chip.
He has the equivalent of twenty thousand aerons in his hands. ‘Thank you, how generous.’
‘Now, ahem, I should like to retire—’
‘Surely not so soon, your excellency?’
‘Ah, I must, I must…’
‘But haven’t you heard it said that you never walk away from a hot streak?’
‘I’m not sure I have—’
‘Aurien tal Varaldo said it.’
‘Varaldo? A madman.’
‘A rich madman,’ Serena pointed out. ‘He took life by the reins and didn’t let go. What some call madness, others call genius.’
‘Hmm, I suppose they do at that…’
‘Follow me. It’s time to find a game that matches your ambitions.’ She took Nyrsson to a high-risk table Vabrizio had pointed out, sticking only to card games where she could influence what people did.
As Nyrsson’s confidence grew, so did his stakes—all Serena had to do was make the other players fold. The power flowed from her, nudging the other players to her will. It was wrong—she knew it was wrong—but wasn’t she doing it for the right reasons? Didn’t she need safe passage? Anyway, Nyrsson was a fraud and a liar—he’d bought his Order of the Chimera medal—didn’t he deserve a little punishment?
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