He grins. “I thought you would never ask.”
I look between them. “What are you about to do?”
“Play dice of course,” Enovar says easily.
Wyn tilts her head. “Do you gamble?”
Something lifts in me before I can stop it. “I most certainly do.”
Enovar laughs, low and pleased. “Uralish says you cheat.”
I snort. “Uralish has yet to beat me.”
He ruffles my hair. “Then it is about time someone humbled you, cousin.”
Wyn says nothing, but something in her expression loosens as she leads the way further along the water’s edge. The ground shifts beneath our feet, rock giving way to softer earth as we move into a small clearing just beyond the reach of the falls.
There is already a fire. Low and controlled, built with the kind of precision that suggests it has been done a hundred times before. A small rough table sits beside it, a pair of carved dice resting at its center. A bedroll rests near the fire, half-covered by a cloak, as though it has been used often.
"You have been hiding out here," I say.
"Recovering," Enovar corrects lightly, dropping onto one of the stones near the fire. "There is a difference."
Wyn takes the opposite side without a word.
I remain standing for a moment, looking between them, the water still loud behind us, the palace far enough away now that it feels like something I stepped out of rather than something I belong to.
Then I sit.
The cloak slips slightly from my shoulders and I do not pull it back. The air is cool enough to notice and warm enough to ignore.
Enovar rolls the dice once between his fingers, testing their weight. "Simple rules," he says. "You lose, you drink. You win, you take."
"Take what?"
He smiles. "Whatever you like."
Wyn exhales softly. "Do not let him pretend this is strategy. He loses more than he wins."
"Only when distracted," he replies easily, and his eyes move to me.
I do not look away. "Then I suppose I will have an advantage," I say.
Something in his expression sharpens, interested. "Let us see."
The game begins simply enough. A roll, a number, a quiet exchange. The first time I win Enovar raises a brow. The second time Wyn lets out a small sound of approval. By the third he leans back and looks at me properly.
"You are not guessing," he says.
"No."
"Counting?"
"Always."
He laughs, softer this time. "Of course you are."
The fire burns low. For the first time since leaving the throne room something in me comes loose, like pressure that has been held too long finally finding somewhere to go. Time passes without measure. At some point Wyn disappears and returns with a bottle. Enovar takes it from her without question and pours into three uneven cups.
