Rhen laughs, but not like anything is funny. “Ah, Tycho.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I expect you tojoinus.”
The following day is warm, the sky overcast. Rain drizzled from the sky all morning, but I ignored it in favor of walking the tracks between the tournament fields, watching competitors practice their skills. Many are amateurs, hoping to get lucky, entering for the right to say they were here. But there are a few clear outliers, men and women with obvious talent and focus. Some competitors from Syhl Shallow have made the journey, and I greet them in Syssalah, remarking on their weapons, wishing them luck, because I know they’ve breeched a narrow chasm of discomfort in competinghere.
I wander because I want time to pass slowly, but fate insists on shoving shadows along the ground at a rapid clip. Before I’m ready, it’s well past midday, and I am due to meet with Rhen and Alek.
The library at Ironrose is vastly different from the one in the Crystal Palace. The windows here are narrow, the space lit by numerous lanterns and one large chandelier that hangs over the center of the space. Books are everywhere, shelves reaching for the ceiling.
Alek reaches the library entrance at the same time I do. He’s dressed in finery, his clothes made from expensive cloth and lined in black leather, revealing only a few details in green. The colors make it very clear where his loyalties lie.
I didn’t give my clothing much thought, so I’m a bit more casual inbreeches and boots and a belted jerkin. Though I learned my lesson yesterday, and I’m fully armed.
So is he.
For a solid minute, I think about drawing blades. We could settle …whatever this isright here. He’s been eager for it for years, and I wouldn’t mind a rematch after what happened in Jax’s forge.
But Alek keeps his hands away from his weapons and gives me a clear up-and-down. “Tycho,” he says. “You couldn’t be troubled to dress appropriately to meet with the brother to the king?”
“I don’t usually dress up for a game of cards.”
“Ah.” Hetsks. “Your poor upbringing revealing itself again.”
“Go to hell, Alek.”
He smiles. Rhen appears. We move to a table near the windows.
I try to keep a scowl off my face while they exchange bluntly barbed pleasantries. They may love the verbal parry, but I hate it. I don’t want to be here, and I’m sure it’s obvious. My attention drifts, and my gaze falls on the window, watching clouds roll through the sky.
Despite all my guilt and uncertainty, I can’t stop myself from thinking of Jax. Will he use the silver to hire a carriage? Will he come here?
I’m sure you’d cross my mind at least once.
It’s been a lot more than once.
Alek cuffs me lightly on the arm. “You should pay attention to the rules of the game.”
I glare at him darkly. “You should take your cards and shove them—”
“Be civil,” Rhen says equably as he begins to deal.
I have no idea what we’re playing. Ishouldhave paid attention. But I gather up my cards and glare at Alek across the table. “Forgive me, my lord,” I say, without a lick of contrition.
“Forgiven,” he says grandly, as if he’s the benevolent sort, and I’m the intolerant one.
I turn my glare on my cards. There are six in my hand. Rhen lays out three on the table before us, the setup for Mules and Mares, a common betting game in Emberfall, so at least I’m familiar. Soldiers and guards just call it Mule. It’s uncomplicated, but has a tendency to be alonggame, with many chances for betting and deliberation per round, making it good for long nights and late watches.
They don’t play cards much in Syhl Shallow, so I wonder if Alek has ever played at all. It’s an interesting game choice, but I look at my cards. I have two threes—themules—but I find no queens—themares—in my hand or on the board, so I toss a copper down to bet.
Alek’s eyes flick between his hand and the cards on the table. I can see him trying to recount the rules, the elements of strategy, but he’s surely too arrogant to ask for clarification. After a moment, Alek tosses his own coin onto the table, and the round proceeds. Rhen deals more cards, adding to the initial three on the table. We bet again. No one speaks.
After what he said yesterday, I expected Rhen to launch an interrogation. It’s what Grey would have done. It’s whatIwant to do. But Rhen is even tempered and cordial, to such an extent that I begin to wonder if he’s on my side, or if he’s handed Alek another opportunity to dig at me.
For the final round, a queen turns up on the board. I have two threes in my hand, but Rhen declines to bet, leaving it to me and Alek. I bet, and he calls, so we have to show our cards.
He also has two threes, along with a queen of his own. I say nothing, just frown and shove my coins his way, acknowledging the win.
“Ilikethis game,” he says, and there’s a taunting note in his voice.
I inhale to fire back, but Rhen says, “I do too. Your dice games are quick, but there’s so little time for thought and reflection.” He shuffles the cards and deals another round.
