The Towers, the Moon

by Andrea K Höst

  The dealer gave the opportunity for a break, but no-one took it. In the second set, Henri maintained his Tears, and Rian dropped to eighty with an incautious bluff. At the end of the third she was up over a hundred, with two small wins, and had eight of Henri's. He was down to nine ten-Tears.

  That was probably enough to gain the answer she needed. No great secret, surely, to ask what he had done with his 'borrowed' mask. Frustrated that there would be no claiming of forfeits until the end of next set, Rian could only hope that she could maintain her small advantage for another five hands.

  They took a brief break, and settled back at the table with a sense of heightened anticipation that was likely due to the fifty Tears that the Court member had lost. Especially now that they had reached the sets that counted, where forfeit could be claimed.

  Rian folded immediately in the first hand, and then bluffed and lost nearly two whole ten-Tears to the woman on her left. All the players were taking greater risks now, and few dropped out immediately. Rian stayed in with a moderate hand on the third, but lost to a better one, and did not stay past deal for the fourth. She still had Henri's eight Tears, but she would lose them in the end-of-set exchange if she did not regain her losses.

  The last deal gave her reasonable cards, not brilliant. There was no spurt of pleasure from the other players to suggest any of them had had better luck, but Henri, down to seventy Tears, relaxed in his chair even as his pulse quickened. By now the combination was unmistakeable: he had watched their reactions to the deal, and decided to bluff.

  Rian's problem now became the rest of the table. Two folded in the first round, but Henri, the women on either side of Rian, the fox mask, and the Court member all offered up two Tears to continue.

  At five, the woman on Rian's right folded. Henri, with a wonderful air of indifference, took a Tear from his veil and tapped it so that it fell into ten. He flicked five of these into the centre of the table, and settled back. Both the man in the fox mask and the member of the Court also paid five Tears and the cat-masked woman on Rian's left, after a moment's hesitation, did the same.

  So did Rian.

  The Court member was a significant problem. Her pulse had not altered to any marked degree with the raising of stakes, and Rian's ability to sense emotion had not triggered at all with her – a not uncommon difficulty with those who belonged to a power outside the Forest. Rian's Sun-Moon-Stars hand was good, but there were a dozen combinations that bettered it. The fox and cat, like Henri, were bluffing.

  At ten the cat dropped out.

  The order of play now became particularly important, because Henri was first of those who remained: the best position for a bluff play. And he made a wonderful production of it, with a barely visible hesitation before he lifted a hand to the five ten-Tears still hanging from his veil and removed two of them. He paid them in with a slow flick of his thumb, and then sat back with a show of casual relaxation, even while his hands closed tightly on the table's edge. Trying and failing to hide nerves. And yet, in some ineffable way, exuding complete confidence.

  Only that racing pulse made Rian certain this was not a man with a brilliant hand pretending to bluff, but instead a man with a bad hand acting his socks off. Henri's intense pleasure in the performance washed over Rian and left her feeling faintly soiled. This was what Henri played for. Money, yes, but more than that: a glory in his own brilliance.

  Fox mask folded, which did not surprise Rian at all. The member of the Court played on.

  Now came real risk. The woman was completely relaxed, watching Rian through the firebird mask as if there were no surprises in the world. The members of the Court had abilities linked to their Towers, but none that should give them an advantage at a game of cards. The Tower of the Drum had strength – such that the younger members were able to venture outside the low gravity of the Towers – and the Gilded could mesmerise. The Snow Tower controlled temperature and the Sky Tower could manipulate light. And all of the members of the Court could create certain objects, like the Tears.

  "Mademoiselle?"

  The dealer had been waiting too long for her bet. Rian thought a moment more, then paid in her two ten-Tears. Henri's bluff had already failed – he did not have the forty Tears needed to play further, while Rian could stay in and just manage to keep the eight Tears of Henri's she'd won, even if the Court member won the hand. But most likely no-one would play on, and so the three remaining would split the pot.

  Henri, with every appearance of unalloyed delight, paid in every remaining Tear he owned, and then flicked his fingers at the dealer, murmuring: "Soleil."

  She'd underestimated him. Not his hand. He was bluffing, Rian was completely certain of that. But he was the breed of gambler who would take matters right to the edge, and then step beyond, bringing into play a Tear of the Sun – a bet beyond his limits – to bridge the tiny shortfall in his stakes.

  The dealer gestured, and a mote of golden light dropped into Henri's hand. He flicked it into the centre without hesitation, and sat back with the air of everything being now accomplished. Only someone with an unassailable hand would dream of paying forty Tears to test that apparent confidence.

  The Court member folded, sparing Rian any number of tenterhooks. And Rian, who had no taste for torture, did not draw matters out, adding four ten-Tears to the glimmering centre pile.

  "Thus the reveal," the dealer murmured, and Henri Duchamps was done.

  (iv)

  Every Tear of the Sun equalled a debt to the Tower of a hundred Tears of the Moon. Henri had paid a steep price for that final bluff, and Rian, more than aware of the man's chagrin and anger, was glad of the minor end-of-set business of exchanges that delayed moving on.

  Accepting the compliments of the cat-masked player with a nod, she kept her reaction as tamped down as possible, simply ensuring she ended the trades with all of her original Tears – and all of Henri's.

  "And now," said the dealer, "there is fifteen minutes before we recommence. Are there to be any forfeits claimed?"

  The cat-mask player immediately claimed forfeit from the Court of the Moon player, and Rian said, very carefully: "I will claim from the maskless one."

  Perhaps it was the steely note to her voice that changed Henri's dominant emotion to one of wariness. Or recognition. In any case, he looked at her sharply, before assuming an air of mild gratification.

  "Any other claims?" the dealer asked, but gained no response. "Then the next set will commence in fifteen minutes."

  Rian's ever-constant awareness of blood warned her of the descent of two people from above, but the only other warning was a faint disturbance of air behind her. She turned and looked up into the faces of two members of the Court that were neither masked nor veiled, and who were dressed in simple tunics and trousers. Their wings, still spread, were dappled curtains of black and deep purple. Arbiters of the Tower of Balance.

  The one immediately behind Rian was a very pale woman, with a great deal of loose hair the colour of champagne. It drifted in sinuous rills, settling slowly downward in the gentle gravity, and had not quite finished its fall when the woman touched Rian's arm and they moved to another place.

  The Tower of Balance owned two abilities not given to other members of the Court: translocation, and the power to 'follow lines of consequence'. This was not quite the same as seeing the future, apparently, but instead involved navigating possibility.

  The pale-haired Court member had brought Rian and Henri to a room where only the floor glowed with the steady light of the Towers' outer walls. Rian was still seated, on the opposite side of a small table from Henri, with the Court member standing to her right, and Rian's collection of Tears laid out on the table between them.

  Henri, who had been gazing at Rian through narrowed eyes, said in a richly enunciated and highly disgusted voice: "I should have known."

  "You probably should have, Henri," Rian said, eternally weary of him. "I wish you would leave Martine alone."

  "Is that
the forfeit you request?" asked the Court member.

  Henri laughed. "She'd not thank you for that."

  "No," Rian said, despite a moment's extreme temptation. "I am here for the Mask of Léon, of course. What have you done with it, Henri?"

  She could not see the lower half of his face, but was certain his mouth twisted into a bitter smirk.

  "I will at least enjoy knowing you're on a fool's errand."

  Rian looked up at the member of the Court. The dim lighting from the floor threw shadows of distortion over the woman's face, making it difficult to read her expression, but she waited with seeming indifference. The Tower of Balance did not permit gossip about arbitration, and supposedly anything done here would go no further.

  "I want him to tell me what he did with the Mask of Léon. That is my forfeit."

  "This is the cost," the arbiter said, and fifteen Tears lifted from the table, surprising Rian, since Étienne had said that a simple question would only be a few Tears. But, for Martine at least, this was not a matter of 'low import'.

  Accepting the payment with the faintest nod, Rian turned her attention back to Henri.

  "I surrendered the Mask of Léon as forfeit to Lionel D'Argent," Henri said. "Two hours ago."

  His voice was flat, uninflected, and Rian shivered to hear it. This was exactly why she did not find the idea of Forfeit 'delicious'. If you did not pay your forfeit willingly, you still paid it. That was the power of the Tears.

  Then Henri snorted, adding: "And much good that will do you. I heard you had come into money: how much will you throw away on a raw-boned nag?"

  Rian only looked at him, her hatred cold, unstirred, for she had long known that Henri cherished not one ounce of affection for Martine, not at the beginning, nor after so many years and so much sacrifice. She had no idea who this Lionel was, but she expected Étienne would, or would be able to find out.

  Even so, she glanced up at the arbiter: "Is it permitted to take more than one forfeit?"

  "Yes, throw it all away," Henri jeered, as the arbiter nodded. "Beggar yourself."

  "A binding promise, then," Rian said.

  "You think she won't know? What will you say if she asks what forfeits you took?" Henri didn't seem to know whether to gloat or be furious. "These things," he added meaningfully, "have a way of coming out."

  Rian shook her head. "I wish the world were so simple that I could force you to stay away from Martine and that would fix everything. But I can't make that decision for her. No, Henri, what I want is for you to stay out of Milo's career. Don't help it. Don't hinder it."

  She had guessed correctly. He did not quite manage to hide the split-second fury, and she felt it roiling below the surface even as his face smoothed and he waved a hand in apparent indifference.

  "I've already refused to put that brat forward. He has to stand on his own feet if he expects to live up to me."

  "This is the cost." All but two of Henri's remaining Tears rose from the table, including the Tear of the Sun.

  Rian accepted with barely a glance, head swimming with the hatred beating at her. She had never understood how anyone could love this spiteful, self-involved creature, but Martine did. If Rian tried to keep him from her friend, he would most definitely go out of his way to make sure Martine knew it, for he considered Martine a resource marked for his use. Not a friend, or his lover, but a fall-back source of money and sex.

  And there was the problem.

  She turned once again to the impassive Court member.

  "He has no Tears left. What happens during the last set?"

  "A player may stake anything carried or worn, except the veil. If the value of those items is exceeded, each action takes a Tear of the Sun."

  The end result: humiliation. And probably a greater plunge into debt. Henri already owed the Gilded Tower the cost of one Tear of the Sun, and to escape what was likely to be a less-than-pleasant period of service, he would need an enormous amount of money, fast.

  Rian was all too familiar with the consequences of Henri Duchamps needing money.

  "Can I give him Tears?" she asked, failing to quite repress a heavy sigh.

  The arbiter nodded.

  Rian had started the last hand with eighty-five Tears of the Moon, and had gained one hundred and forty-four, along with the Tear of the Sun, which was worth a hundred Tears of the Moon. After everything she'd just spent, she now had a hundred and fourteen Tears left. If she used a hundred to buy back Henri's debt, and gave him five to pay the cost of the deals, she would be left with nine.

  It would mean abandoning any hope of finding this Lionel person and attempting to gain the mask back with another forfeit. Not that night.

  Resigned, Rian paid over the Tears. She couldn't decide what to do about the mask until she knew more about the man who had it, but she was absolutely sure that drastically increasing Henri's debt was a bad idea.

  Not expecting gratitude, Rian was unsurprised when he merely swept up the five Tears with a grunt – and possibly an irritated click of his tongue. Rian retrieved her tiny remainder, said to the Court member: "That is all, thank you," and had barely finished the sentence before she found herself back in the great, curving room, seated at the original table.

  Henri, the only other occupant, flung himself out of his chair and stalked off. Rian, after a moment's pause, took herself to the conveniences to wash her face and rid herself of the question of how long it would have taken to earn the money she had just thrown away on a man she despised.

  Étienne was waiting on her return, his entire stance a question.

  "Lionel D'Argent," she said, wasting no time, for the break had only been fifteen minutes. "Do you know who that is?"

  His reaction told her the news was bad.

  "Oh, yes," he said. "I'd heard he comes to the lower tier sometimes."

  "And?"

  "One of Princess Heloise's myrmidons. He's been lurking around the Sun Court the last few years, and there's not much more I can tell you, since the name's obviously an alias. I can look about for him, if you wish, but chances are, if you want to find him tonight, you'd need to get to–"

  "The middle tier."

  (v)

  Wealth was a very relative concept. Large portions of Rian's life had been lived hand-to-mouth: at first because her parents' income had been inconsistent and badly managed. Her father would buy extravagances, or work for apples, and her mother's reputation as a sculptor had not quite balanced the amount of time her pieces took to produce.

  After their deaths, Rian had chosen to travel, and in many countries unmarried women had very limited choices when it came to earning money, few of which paid at all well. But through careful research, and a network of friends and relatives, she had found steady employment as everything from grape picker to archivist, occasionally falling back on Tante Sabet to give her maid work at the family hotel. Even so, nearly two decades of saving and careful investment had barely built up an income to cover Rian's basic expenses, let alone those of the nephew and two nieces left to her care.

  Since her vampiric master had arranged for her the position of Keeper of the Deep Grove – a role that had come with an enormous house, a formidable yearly stipend, and even a hidden stockpile of money and valuables – Rian could not see herself as anything but wealthy. But it would drain her reserves to purchase the Tears of the Night Étienne told her were used on the Towers' middle tier, even if she had all that money with her.

  And it would still not be enough, because to enter the middle tier, you had to be invited.

  Rian, who more than once had had demonstrated to her matters of place and standing, knew perfectly well that the truly rich would consider her generous competence play money, and that as the undistinguished child of a pair of notable artists, she did not receive invitations to anything. As Keeper of the Deep Grove…well, in France that counted for nothing in particular.

  As a Lourien, however, she had connections she could draw upon. Tante Sabet would be able to
tell her of anyone in their extended family who had access to the Sun Palace, and might be able to reach this Lionel D'Argent. There had to be a way to arrange a meeting: if nothing else, palaces never exhausted their need for someone to clean them.

  Preoccupied, Rian played through the last set with barely a glance at her cards, since she didn't have the Tears to win any hand where the other players did not immediately fold. She felt only vague relief when Henri did the same.

  When the set ended, she looked about for Étienne, who had promised to scout the area for D'Argent. He caught her eye, and raised empty hands. Nothing.

  "I will claim from Mademoiselle Serpent."

  It took several beats for Rian to connect this quiet statement with herself. She looked away from Étienne and focused on the Court member in the firebird mask. Again she caught no hint of what lay behind the vivid feathers, and the woman's pulse didn't quicken.

  Well, Rian had only lost five – no, ten, for Henri had been using Rian's Tears – ten Tears during the set. And it was, at least, not the fox-masked man who had won them.

  The same arbiters descended, and a touch on Rian's shoulder again shifted the room about her. Another small room, a different table, and a ten-Tear drop lying between them, along with the four Tears Rian had not yet lost.

  "I am very curious," the member of the Court said, mantling her wings briefly, and giving Rian a glimpse not of the red she had expected, but of milk and crystal and diamond.

  "A burden you must bear," replied the arbiter, and it was Rian's own pulse that began to race.

  The forfeit had clearly been pre-arranged between the two Court members. Had Rian's abilities contravened the laws of the Towers? Or was this another consequence of godly allegiance, dragging her into games where no-one explained the rules?