But betting people? That was insanity. Kava had never allowed such practices. Servants were paid. Maybe not fairly, but they were paid and owned by no one. Yet here in this mustyroom they were betting people like they were gods and everyone else was an old watch to pawn for one more round.
All for a game that literally was nothing more than a means to pass the time.
Her fingers gripped the edge of her chair as she thought about bolting. Forget Beatriz. Forget whatever bullshit she thought she needed dirt on this man for—she hadn’t agreed to sell herself off for a tip.
But the truth is right there… Can’t you see it?
A heady rush of insatiable curiosity filled her. All she needed was for him to admit it.
She studied the players to her left. Three men. One woman. All willing to throw away someone else or themselves. When push came to shove, she was willing to bet they would sub someone in on their behalf if they lost. Her face remained serene, even as anger became a tense, unbearable force within her chest.
Her fingers trickled up her chin until she rested her face in her palm.
“Ever lost someone you wanted to keep?”
Scarzan’s face flushed at her pointed question. She hadn’t said,did you gamble away your only daughter?But she’d come as close as she could. Nerves jumped inside her as she waited for him to respond.
He started to sneer, but her neighbor with the booming voice cut in, elbowing her as he answered. “Thought I’d seen it all in the rooms at this House. But finding out about a politician swapping their kid’s life out for their own? Seems the games in Bellia are even better than here. Wouldn’t want to be that kid, though.” He shook his head and made a tutting sound.
She blinked. He’d somehow lost his own life to the crime lords, but turned over his daughter instead. Her stomach feltsick, her mind’s eye conjuring horrible images of a scared girl being thrown to the wolves.
The cool cut of Scarzan’s voice raised the hairs on Elysia’s arms, but she just smiled and played with her hair as he talked. “I’ve never once made a bet I wasn’t prepared to lose. That was the best deal I ever made, getting rid of that impossible wildcat of a girl.”
Hot rage as sharp as the dagger hidden beneath her clothes threatened to wipe the benign, vacant expression from her face.
The logic that had taken flight the moment she stepped through the House’s front door screamed at her to make her exit. To blush and stammer, murmuring of her mistake. She’d gotten exactly what she’d come here for—she had everything she needed for both Beatrizandherself. The woman who had been collecting secrets for years knew this was the moment to exit.
It would have been perfect.
But the diviner within her begged her to stay, to let this man unwind more of his secrets at her table. The magic whispered to her that his secrets were worth the price. The music played on, wrapping around her, asking her not to go so soon.
If he had bet his daughter—had claimed this deed aloud to everyone without a shred of shame—then what else had a man like Scarzan done?
The question kept her planted in her seat.
The other folks at the half-moon game table waited to see what the girl would say to the monster in the suit. They couldn’t decide if she was just plain stupid or if there was something more beyond her pretty face. She paid them no mind, barely sparing a glance their way. She was here for his secrets, not for their questions or stares.
That fading voice of reason reminded her she was rubbish at cards. It argued that this was a terrible plan. But she didn’t reallyneed to win. She just neededone moresecret, andthenshe’d slip away before the time ran out. Just the one. Then she’d go.
She slung an arm back and tossed out a jovial grin. “Let’s play.”
The dealer hid a cringe, but nonetheless, he began shuffling the cards, resetting the trays of gems.
The game was rocks.
The story went that the game had first been made by a small boy out on the streets of Kava. A boy with quick hands and sharper eyes who could play cards like some sang to the moon. In the brilliance of his youth, he crafted a game like no other, and he called it rocks.
The game spread from the streets to kitchens. Past gated walls to underground tunnels where maids and guards alike played long after dark. And then one day the game found itself within the heart of the castle. The castle had swept up the game in its hand and thrown it back out in a tournament with a new name. They called it gems.
They were not dirty street children, but men with dignity and class. Therefore, the game would be gems. And yet, it was an open tournament, and one particular street boy with charm down to his toes swindled his way into their ranks.
He stole game after game until he took the whole damn thing. And when they swore in the young man with his ripped knees and broken-in cap as Kava’s newest treasurer—well, he told them it had always been rocks and it would always be rocks.
Remy’s daddy had changed since then. His cool dark skin gleamed under castle torchlights and he dressed finer than the king himself. He’d grown sharper and colder so that he did not wither in the heat of the castle’s intrigues, but rumor had it that the King’s treasurer still liked to find a game out on the streets now and then when the mood struck him right.
Elysia now found herself wishing she’d paid even a lick of attention to the man who’d invented rocks as he’d prattled on and on at Remy Wincraft’s home about how to play Kava’s favorite pastime. Because with a handful of cards and a full line of gems, she could only pray to those who did not listen for luck to be on her side.
The gentleman at the far end of the table kept his head ducked down and threw in a card without a gem. A safe opening to set the cards in motion. Elysia scanned her own hand, her heart dipping at what she saw. This was it, the truth was in, and the undead gods really, truly did hate her. She had never seen such a terrible hand.
