The echoing yells of the fight faded as Alōs walked on.
“Well?” Niya prompted.
He glanced her way. Niya’s hair was halfway pinned up this evening, the rest a wave of red down to her waist. A waist that Alōs noticed with dark amusement was now tightly cinched with Prik’s old vest, her white shirt underneath cleaned. It appeared she’d even polished her dagger hilts at her hips.
She must have been excited to finally get off the boat, he thought, be around other people, as most of his crew was after such a long sail.
“We’re going to a shop,” he said.
“What kind of shop?”
“One that sells items.”
“Come off it, Alō—I mean, Captain,” she corrected sourly. “If you need my help, you’ll need to tell me why.”
Rounding a corner, they squeezed onto a footbridge that dangled over open water.
“As you just pointed out, I’m indeed your captain. I don’t need to tell you anything but my orders.”
“Your predictable responses grow tiresome,” she said just as she was forced to press closer to him as a cluster of citizens walking the other way passed. He could smell her honeysuckle fragrance, and he was none too pleased about it.
As soon as they crossed to the other side, he stepped away. “Then I suggest you cease trying to converse with me,” he countered.
Niya frowned before her gaze snagged on a few people who stared at them as they walked by. “You must come here often.”
“Why do you say that?”
“People seem to know to give you a wide berth. Like him.” She pointed to a round man in an ostentatious purple paisley suit who hid behind a bodyguard, his bug eyes peeking out from the larger man’s side. “And them.” She gestured to a group of men and women who shrank away as soon as his attention landed on them.
“They merely know who not to cross,” said Alōs as they entered the garment district, where brightly painted sails hung from masts rising high above the stacked ships.
“Mmm,” was Niya’s only reply.
“We’re here.” Alōs stopped in front of a storefront that was made from a bow. A welcoming yellow light streamed from the port windows. He gestured for Kintra and Niya to walk inside and stepped in behind them.
The air was warmer as he entered, thick with lilac incense. Every inch of the small shop was covered in drapery, fine silks, exotic tops, and hardly there bottoms.
“I agree you’re in need of a wardrobe change,” said Niya, fingering a fur hat on display. “But nothing here quite screams lunatic pirate captain.”
“That’s because all those items are in the back.”
A woman in a blue feathered dress stepped from behind a rack of clothes. A jeweled monocle sat over one of her eyes, highlighting their mismatching blue and green. Her blonde hair was pulled up with an assortment of pins that sparkled in the lantern light, and a woven orange wrap was draped around her shoulders. She gave off the impression that she made a game of dressing in the dark.
“Regina.” Alōs bent to kiss the woman’s round cheek. “Looking fresh as always.”
“If I had known to expect a visit from you, my wicked prince of the sea, I’d have worn my best frock.”
“All your frocks are the best.”
“What an incorrigible charmer you are.” She swatted him playfully. “But yes, this isn’t called Regina’s Regalia, the Finest Finds on the Southeast Seas, for nothing. Now what can I do you for, my lord?”
“We’re here for her.” He nodded to Niya, who was watching his and Regina’s exchange with curiosity.
“Me?”
“You’ll need an outfit for tonight,” he explained. “I’ve brought Kintra to help get you sorted while I make a few other stops.”
“An outfit for what?”
“You’ll be dancing.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She plunked a fist on her hip.
“I’ll need it to be . . . persuasive.” He turned back to Regina. “She’ll be performing at Fate’s Fall.”
The shop owner gave him a secretive grin. “My specialty. Do not worry, my lord.” She eyed Niya’s form. “I have just the thing.”
“And I have just the thing to cut it up.” Niya’s hand slipped to her daggers.
“Kintra will make sure she behaves,” Alōs assured. “And will settle our payment.”
Before Niya could protest further, he turned and strode out of the shop, rejoining the crowds in the streets. He could have stayed to argue with her, but he preferred to have Kintra and Regina do it in his stead. He had enough to get in line for tonight—he didn’t need the added headache of extinguishing a fire dancer. And if he was perfectly honest, he did not think he was up to the task. Not again.
Alōs’s pinkie felt uncomfortably empty as he watched the small man in front of him examine his ring under a magnifying glass. The jeweler’s back room sat quiet, as Alōs had asked for private service as soon as he had entered. Two large oil lamps burned on either side of the man’s desk, casting an orange glow onto his delicate hands as he turned the ring this way and that. The red jewel in the center glowed like fresh blood.
“How extraordinary,” said the jeweler. “I have only ever seen a stone like this . . .” Round eyes, made rounder by his spectacles, peered up at Alōs. “We have met before, haven’t we?” he asked.
“It’s best for you if you remain uncertain,” said Alōs.
The jeweler’s throat bobbed. But he nodded, understanding.
“How long will it take to remove the stone from the ring?” asked Alōs.
“You can come back in—”
“I will stay here until it is done.”
“Yes, of course,” he corrected himself. “But you might be waiting for some time.”
Alōs placed a bag of coin on the table between them, the top loose to reveal a gleam of silver.
The jeweler licked his lips. “It will be ready in a half sand fall.”
“Perfect.” Standing, Alōs retrieved the pouch. “When it’s done,” he explained. “And I cannot stress enough that not even a grain can be chipped from this stone. It must remain exactly as when it was fitted inside the ring.”
“Yes,” said the man. “I remember from when we originally split it from the other—”
“Thank you,” Alōs said, cutting him off. “I appreciate your care in this matter.”
“Of course. Exactness is needed when it comes to precious items such as this.”
Yes, thought Alōs, especially when they are more precious than your life. Or mine.
Striding to the corner of the room, he leaned against the wall, watching the man work. He did not care if his presence made the jeweler nervous; he would need to deal with it and adjust. Alōs would not let that ring, or more specifically that stone, out of his sight. It had cost him dearly to reacquire, a trade in phorria that had left him hunted by the Thief King.
He only hoped obtaining the other piece would not be filled with similar consequences.
Which was why he was glad to have Niya’s talents this evening.
It had been many years since he had seen the woman whom he had sold these pieces to. It would only draw further suspicion for him to show up asking after them now. She’d no doubt wonder why he wanted them back after he had so quickly asked her to rid him of the stones.
Alōs needed his next moves to be discreet, untraceable, unquestioned.
Better to have another gain this information. Someone who had the power to spin minds into putty. A woman who had lured him in with her dance.
Tonight, Alōs would make her lure another.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alōs sat playing a hand of Cutthroat in one of the opulent lounges within Fate’s Fall. His attention drifted over the other tables, filled with patrons in some of their finer clothes, pretty purchased pets perched on laps. This establishment’s eclectic and exotic entertainment alone brought in visitors to Barter Bay just as much as trades. It reeked of money and desp
eration and took up two entire ships, their hulls fused together, at the north end of the city.
Save for Macabris in the Thief Kingdom, Fate’s Fall might be the next best place to go for a high-stakes gamble, to indulge in illegal dining, or to fulfill fantasies.
Alōs caught sight of Saffi and Boman tucked in a far corner, taking turns at Fat Chance, a dice game where the odds were almost always against you, but the winnings were large. Saffi howled in excitement, gray braids swinging as she slapped Boman on the back.
They had secured all they needed for tonight—the private room, Niya’s place among the dancers—and so far the information they were going off was holding up. If the night continued to go well, Alōs would let the rest of his crew out for a bit of fun before they set sail again.
Pirates needed buffoonery as much as they needed blood.
Alōs turned to find Kintra’s tall form weaving through the tables toward him.
“She’s ready,” she said as she came to his side. His quartermaster had put on a finer black tunic tonight, the gold rings in her ears shining in the low light.
He glanced back at the cards in his hand. “Well?” he asked his opponent, a thin man in a pin-striped robe who sat in front of him. “Cutthroat or fold?”
The man had been stalling his answer for the better part of a quarter sand fall, and Alōs’s patience was more than used up.
“You must call it now, sir,” the dealer urged him as well.
His opponent swallowed. “C-cutthroat,” he said, displaying his cards: three swords and three boulders.
Alōs laid down his two vipers and four daggers.
The man turned pale.
“You know the rules, sir.” The dealer cleared the cards from the table. “Empty the entirety of your pockets and billfold.”
“But it’s all that I have!”
The dealer sighed, bored. “It’s called Cutthroat, sir. That’s rather the point. Now, do I need to call management over?”
“No.” The man slouched. “It’s just, how will I be able to pay my way back to my boat?”
“Perhaps you can swim,” suggested Alōs as he stood. “I’ll collect my winnings upon my leaving.”
“Of course, Lord Ezra.” The dealer bowed.
Alōs loomed over his still-seated opponent. “And be warned, sir. If you keep even one silver from me, I’ll know, and I’ll be more than pleased to show you the real reason it’s called Cutthroat.”
The man’s eyes bulged, and Alōs shot him a smirk before turning to leave.
“How did it go?” he asked his quartermaster as they descended the rugged stairs to the lower floor.
“It was not easy,” admitted Kintra. “She put up quite a fight after you left, once she learned of her actual task. She’s got a temper, that one. But we left in one piece, and I paid Regina a bit extra to keep her in our good graces.”
“Thank you.”
The pair walked past a second saloon that stretched the breadth of the ship, the lavish chandeliers lighting the red couches and tables filled with more merriment and patrons. Alōs nodded to a few he knew and winked at others he knew better, though he didn’t have the time to stop and chat. Perhaps later, after he got what he’d come here to find. But even then, while his crew could rest, he knew he could not. Despite the leisurely aura he often gave off, Alōs hadn’t rested in a very long while.
Not since he’d been given the sandglass that sat on the desk in his quarters, the trickling hiss of falling grains reminding him of the potential loss of the only thing he had ever truly cared for in his life. Alōs had sacrificed everything for him, for them, only for his actions to return to haunt him.
Could he never have peace?
There was too much at stake now, too much to fix, and Alōs’s mind was in a constant state of whirring, of fast actions to get quicker results. Which was always how mistakes were made, like the mishap with the phorria from the Thief Kingdom. But there had been no other choice. Which appeared to be his forever curse: anything done for good, he could only fulfill with great evil.
Why try to be virtuous, then?
It was a question Alōs had stopped asking himself long ago.
If the lost gods were determined to make him a villain, then a villain he would be.
As they came to a lushly decorated corridor lined with private entertainment suites, Alōs turned to Kintra. “Does she look the part?” He knew he didn’t need to ask such a thing, but the question fell from his lips anyway.
“See for yourself.” Kintra gestured to where the dancers’ dressing rooms sat at the end of the hall. “She’ll be the one in green.”
Alōs strode past the guard at the entrance, acknowledgments given, and pushed aside a curtain to enter an overperfumed, chittering room. Glass mirrors leaned above stretches of tables where men and women painted their faces with extravagant imaginings. Some were designed like wild beasts or tear-stricken kittens, others like voluptuous beauties and wrinkled hags. Their bodies were adorned with an assortment of tantalizing fashions, from a sequin-covered bodysuit to sheer frocks to complete nudity. Alōs’s gaze skipped over it all as he walked the rows, ignoring the whistles and catcalls as he passed.
“Tell me what number you’ll be in tonight, darling.” A man dressed in little else but silk stockings smiled, leaning against his friend. “I’ll be sure to give you the lounge special.”
“Another time, perhaps,” said Alōs as he kept walking.
Reaching the very end, he was about to turn down another row when he spotted her, for how could he not.
Niya was surrounded by a horde of other dancers, all preening. Some touched her green silk robe or complimented her mane of red hair, sections swept up to create an intricate braided crown, while others threw their heads back in laughter from something she’d said. Niya was at center stage, as if back in the Mousai’s dressing rooms beneath the Thief King’s palace after a performance. She would have been masked there, hair tucked away, face shrouded, but her energy was much the same. Alōs had often watched her then, merely one of many others invited to the Mousai’s connected rooms for a postparty, where finer spirits and debauchery were always promised. Niya was glowing now as she’d glowed then, resplendent, though she carried a hint of danger. A heady mixture that burned any who drew too near.
Except him.
Because for Alōs, the threat of the fire dancer ran deeper than attraction or power. Niya represented the temptation to be reckless, to react without thinking, to act on basic instinct and desires. And these were luxuries Alōs could never afford. Even when his actions appeared negligent, they were in fact the result of carefully calculated decisions. Years of rebuilding a life he could control after suffering an old one that had controlled him.
This was why Alōs had made sure to never get singed by Niya’s tantalizing fire. He had done so by extinguishing it.
As Niya noticed his approach in her looking glass, her smile dropped, the red haze of her energy pulling inward. At the evident change in her mood, her admirers glanced up at him. With a quiet word from her, they dipped away, though a few curious gazes still lingered.
“Regina and Kintra did well,” he said, stopping behind Niya and meeting her gaze in the mirror.
Niya’s eyes thinned. “I know better than those two about creating an outfit to dance. I could have put something together with my eyes closed.”
“Did you create this?”
“Practically.”
“Then you did well.”
She seemed unsure what to do with his compliment. “I also remember saying that I would not be the entertainment. Yet here I am.” Niya gestured to her costume. “Now explain.”
“I only ask for tricks you’re well accustomed to performing. Just think of tonight like any other night you go scheming for your king.”
“Except you are not my king.”
Alōs smiled sharply. “I am for the next year.”
Niya laughed at that, the sound sending a cloud of magic f
lowing off her. Alōs stood utterly still as the warmth washed over him. “Sure,” she said, mirth still twinkling in her eyes as she picked up a jar of powder and began to dab her nose. “Whatever you men need to tell yourselves to help you sleep at night. Now, who is this Cebba Dagrün? Kintra says she’s who I’m to perform privately for?”
Alōs slid onto a stool beside her. “She is the most notorious trader in Barter Bay,” he began quietly. “She can flip any item, hide any trail, and pay the highest price. Once she sees something she wants, she will obtain it, even if the item was not intended to be sold.”
“She sounds lovely.”
“She’s ruthless.”
“Even better.”
“Yes.” Alōs regarded Niya’s profile, her smooth skin made tan from her days working in the sun. “She’s entertaining company if you’re not in her debt.”
Niya’s brows lifted. “And you are?”
“Not exactly. But I need something from her.”
“Then why not go ask her for it yourself?”
“Because I do not want her to know that I’m looking for it. And before you riddle me with more questions”—Alōs raised a palm, cutting off Niya’s next words—“it is not your place to doubt your captain’s orders: only to obey.”
“You are enjoying this binding bet entirely too much,” Niya replied dryly as she leaned forward to put down her powder. The movement caused her robe to reveal a sliver of her emerald-corseted chest beneath. Despite himself, Alōs glanced down.
It was a mistake.
Alōs had seen many beauties in his lifetime. Had bedded most of them. But here stood the definition of a temptress.
Images of his body pressing against Niya’s flashed before him, warm skin on skin. The tangle of red hair through his fingers.
Memories of their past.
Alōs gripped the hilt of his sword, disturbed by visions that had not swum forward in many years. Shaking them off, he refocused on where he sat and on Niya’s last words. “Is it a sin to enjoy what little entertainment this terrible life gives us?” he asked.
“When it’s at my expense, yes,” replied Niya. “It is a sin punishable by death, actually.”
Dance of a Burning Sea Page 14