‘Which one, Griyo?’
‘Spitting image of Jon,’ Griyo goes on. ‘Your girl’s going to look just like you.’
‘Another round?’ Vullis gathers their empty tankards, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
I make my way across the tavern, bending my head from the knick-knacks and tankards hanging from the ceiling. It’s not particularly low, but my parents had the same issue.Long-legged sort, your family.I’d left the Spring Isle with Larkin and when we came back pregnant with Biba, we only had a few months together. My fathers had gotten word to us on the Autumn Isle. Times had been tough on the farm, and their health was failing. I had been away, on the Autumn Isle and on voyage work all that time, so close and yet so far, sheltered from the rest of Paranish in our little love nest. We had been foolish then – dreamers, the both of us.
I rest my arm on the bar, its wooden surface worn away from decades of elbows and palms, oil and cider staining the grain deep to the root.
‘New dress, Ris?’ Vullis asks, setting to work pouring a mug of piyata cider from the bottle. It’s thick and cloudy and coral pink. I can almost taste the heady sweetness.
I swish the linen playfully, watching the maroon folds catch the candlelight. ‘Do you like it?’
Ryla and Kopiro whistle jocularly from their table in the corner. They have their Soklan cards and wares for bartering set out already,going through their benevolent rituals. I grab the mug of cider from the bar and stroll over, sliding onto the bench.
‘Is this your big project at last?’ Ryla asks, eyes fluttering from my cleavage back down to their cards. I quirk my eyebrows; they’ve never been particularly flirtatious in all the years we’ve played.
‘She’s finally finished. What do you think?’ I ask.
‘You look lovely, Ris,’ Kopiro says, squeezing my hand. ‘It’s good to see you happy.’
Ryla gives him a smirk. Placing my deck on the table, I shuffle through the cards and recite the old words, familiar like rubbing my thumb over a smooth pebble.Warmth of my palms. Aligning stars. Bonds of us gathered here tonight. Let me read them, let me know their cards like they are my own.
‘Are you in tonight, Vullis?’ Kopiro asks as the barkeep comes over to hand us our drinks.
Vullis grins, watching Kopiro cleansing his cards over the candle flame. ‘After you smiled as you drank my twenty-year emerald vine liquor? Twenty years fermenting.’
Ryla laughs. ‘If you didn’t want to lose it, you shouldn’t have bet it.’
‘Didn’t even give me the courtesy of a dram,’ Vullis complains.
‘You gambled the whole bottle,’ Kopiro says with a shrug. ‘Tell you what, I’m experimenting with a new blend with the piyata cider. I’ll set aside some for you, if it’ll stop you being salty.’
I look up to find Vullis appraising me. ‘You’re very focused tonight, Ris.’
I smile playfully. ‘I hope you’re bringing all your wits.’
‘If he’s any to spare,’ Ryla jokes, grinning at Vullis.
‘I’ve got a bar to keep. Focus on your cards, Ryla.’ Vullis laughs.
I warm the cards, feeling them pliant beneath my fingers. ‘You ready for a good time?’
Time glides like water as slippery as a fish after a few drinks and several rounds of Soklan. Night turns into a dark void outside the windows of the tavern as the room empties, and then we’re the last people left. Vullis was hovering around the edges but as the evening wore on, he finally asked to be dealt in. After feeling everyone out in the opening rounds, I’ve not been able to catch a break. The game’s downstream and I’m watching it wash away. I drain my seventh piyata cider, grimacing at the dregs, mingled sweet and tart. I’m grateful Kopiro followed Ryla to Alev and set up his cidery here. I never got used to the Autumn Isle cider, even though it’s the original source and traded all across Paranish. I like what I know. I steady my gaze, trying to discern my cards in the candlelight. I look at my bundles of golden thread, now part of Kopiro and Ryla’s stacks, and wince. I don’t have anything left after badly misreading Ryla’s face last round.
The tavern door slams open and three tall, cloaked figures slink in from the rain. They trail a muddy stain across the flagstones, ripping off their sodden cloaks and practically throwing them at Vullis. Underneath there are the distinctive white uniforms of the Seaguardians. But I see that they’re not just any common Seaguardians: it’s the captain of the royal guard and her lackeys. My heart drops to the floor: Salvacion.
Vullis ducks behind the bar, all shining smiles. ‘How can I help you, my fine folk?’
‘Piyata cider, naturally,’ Salvacion orders, with the low growl of a woman who has shouted orders all day.
Vullis nods and gets to work filling their mugs. The Seaguardians ignore the chill their presence has brought, warming themselves by the fire, the blue wave and sunrise of their sigils catching the light.
‘Quite a way to sail on a night like this,’ Vullis says, trying to keep the knife-edge of nerves from his voice.
The Seaguardians take their tankards without thanks, eyes still on the flames, Salvacion with a shit-eating grin on her face. ‘The cider’s notthatgood,’ she says. After an agonising pause, she adds: ‘I’m here to see my favourite sister-in-law. Our mistress of the loom.’
Ryla and Kopiro shrink in their seats. Everyone looks at me then, and I’m a mouse with my tail under their paws. Nothing can save me now.
