Chapter 1
Tempting Fate
After two long years, one more questionable decision stood between me and seeing my family again.
I wove my way between buildings, following my nose toward the stench of garbage and the absence of common sense. Outwardly, Docksiders was a pub for socializing and gambling that wouldn’t close its doors even during an apocalypse. In actuality, it was a hive of debauchery and criminal exploits, somewhere you went if you were desperate, stupid, or looking for trouble.
Today, I was an equal split of all three.
Its wooden nameplate loomed ahead of me, sprinkled with signs of human savagery. Two patrons spilled out of the front entrance, caught in a brawl that ended with one of them cracking a bottle over the other’s head.
No shred of decency left here, check yours at the door.
The aroma of sweetstalk nectar and smoke drowned my sense of smell as I stepped inside. People surrounded a makeshift pit made from tipped-over chairs near the back, shouting out bets while two men I could barely see beyond thecrowd circled each other within. A woman was moaning with exaggerated enthusiasm against a wall where her partner had her pinned. An extended table had been appropriated for a game of cards, angry fists slamming the surface when an unfavorable round ended. Above the din, I heard the screaming of a burly man arguing with the bartender.
Every sight, sound, and smell was novel after so much time imprisoned in the Reformatory. Docksiders was clean and quaint by comparison. I tried and failed not to feel homesick.
Focus. Finish covering your tracks, then you can see your family again. You didn’t start this fight, but removing the target from your back is the only way you’re going to end it.
My gaze swept around, searching for a specific individual.
Weaving around the tables, I found Yeshar near the back, studying a map of the island’s perimeter while deep in discussion with a lanky man.
Yeshar was built like someone who preferred drinking to exercise, with small shifting eyes that hid cunning intelligence. Premature wrinkles from scowling framed them, despite his youth. The slight purple buttoning the edges of his lips revealed the truth to his untimely aging; he was partaking in the drugs he sold. As Nikolach’s rival, his appearance fit his criminal lifestyle.
His true talent was in making others uncomfortable, and as usual, it worked on me. Those meaty arms could squeeze the life out of someone, and would, without remorse.
Remember, this is the safest approach.
Except, nothing about this felt safe. Wariness prickled along the back of my neck. Best to get this over quickly.
“Yeshar. Long time no see. How’s life on the outside been treating you?” I grabbed an unoccupied nearby chair, dragging it up to the end of his table before landing in it.
He turned, looking me over as his complexion soured. He looked almost ten years my senior, though he wasn’t even a yearolder. “Lisia,” he greeted, rolling up the map and pushing it out of my view.
Yeshar’s lanky associate spoke up, sounding disgruntled. “We haven’t finished going over everything yet. If she overhea–”. The stranger had a Skinscript glyph painted on his arm, and two missing fingers on his other hand. My knowledge of Skinscript was almost nonexistent, only that it was the one form of magic on the island that humans could wield. It marked him as a Voyager.
Yeshar made a slashing motion with his hand, shooting him a scowl. “Shut up, Diego. She’s an old acquaintance from the Reformatory. We’ll finish our business after I hear whatever news she has from the inside.” He turned toward me, freeing a dagger from his belt and carving off a sliver of mayapa fruit. “Out a few days early, aren’t you?” He bit the fruit off the end of his blade.
Anxiety bubbled up in my chest, my heart hammering. He knew my birthday, and he knew it wasn’t today. How much else did he know?
My pulse tasted sour in the back of my throat.
I couldn't afford to think about that right now. I had to stay calm. If Yeshar noticed I was nervous and discovered the reason why, I’d have two dangerous enemies instead of one. Preferably I’d have none–if my plan worked. It was a colossal if.
His eyes scrutinized my outfit as he chewed, and I regretted not changing before coming here, but time was short.
Yellow had never been my color, it was too close to the honeyed hue of my hair, bringing out an almost sickly shade to my sun-kissed skin. But the latest in correctional chic still covered my slim build beneath the jacket I’d reclaimed upon my release from the Reformatory. I tugged at the flimsy armor, acutely aware of the ever-present humidity beneath the added layer.
Yeshar’s own outfit was the gray of oatmeal and lost dreams, but for someone trying not to draw attention to themselves, it did half the job for him.
I shifted in my seat, taking one slow breath in.
Be convincing and confident. I need him to trust me.
I let that same breath slowly filter out. “Yeah, I couldn’t stand being stuck in the Reformatory one more minute. I’m practically twenty-one already, what’s a few days difference? Just another Apostate in my probationary period, now. Like you. Ready for my assigned service.”
I didn’t feel ready at all.
