“Carelessness claims another life,” Yeshar said without sympathy. “Turning Apostates into Voyagers is a convenient way to execute us under the guise of honor,” Yeshar tapped idly on the table. Diego looked as uncomfortable as I felt.
“It’s the most honorable service,” Diego argued. “No one here could survive without Starshells.”
“Honorable for those who choose it, perhaps,” Yeshar said.
He made a valid point. We, as Apostates, had no say in our service.
My last two years had been spent completing the manual labor required of a prisoner. Mining out rocks to shore up the perimeter was back-breaking, soul-crushing work, but it did have a tendency to make you stronger. I could lift hundreds of rocks in a single day, not that it would guarantee my survival. I had to hope it would help my odds to at least qualify as a Voyager during the Mistrun. Whether anyone could ever be fully prepared to be a Voyager was another case entirely.
Death by Voyager service, or death by Nikolach’s hand. Hmm.
Potentialdeath by miasma, I amended. At least as a Voyager, my demise wasn’t guaranteed. With Nikolach, it was a certainty.
Thinking about him reminded me why I was at Docksiders in the first place. My gut gave a sick lurch. Too much sweetstalk nectar on an empty stomach, probably.
Or my gut was right, about how dangerous a position I was in.
This was a half-crazy gambit, but if it worked it would be the ultimate ploy. Using one beast as a defense against another was risky, but turning Yeshar and Nikolach against each other would keep them both distracted, leaving neither focused on me.
I set my empty cup down, facing Yeshar. “Speaking of choices, I came here to give you a friendly heads-up. It's been brought to my attention that some sensitive information about your dust operation has ended up in the wrong hands.”
Beady eyes narrowed on me. “You're lying.”
Time to double down on your performance.
“No, I’m doing you a favor. But if I’m going to share with you what I’ve heard from the inside, I need certain assurances that it’s not going to get back to the source.”
“Alright, you have them. Let’s hear it.”
“Your word isn’t enough.”
His word was worth about as much as a grain of sand on the beach. He’d lie out one side of his mouth while promising you the moon with the other.
“But I’m supposed to take you at your word, with no assurances of my own?” Yeshar scoffed. His eyes narrowed, calculating. “How about we make it a game?”
Apprehension lurched to life in my stomach. “What kind of game?”
Yeshar jostled the pitcher back and forth. “A game for truth. Nothing brings out honesty better than nectar. We both drink four shots.”
Getting drunk the day before Mistrun to earn Yeshar’s trust was horrendously stupid. But I’d risk any level of stupid to keep breathing.
“Deal,” I said, reaching for the flagon and refilling my cup.
He poured himself a glass, knocking it back. Then another, and another. I followed his example, the room taking on a warmer hue. My head felt lighter, my skin hotter.
Yeshar looked far too collected for having just taken four shots. He made the holy circle of the Devourer with his hand, a sworn oath, and gestured for me to continue.
I frowned, considering making Diego join our game but Yeshar noticed my gaze and cut me off. “He works for me. He won’t repeat anything I won’t.”
It would have to suffice. “Nikolaah,” I paused, clearing my throat to try to keep from slurring. It would help if the walls would stop swaying. “Nikolach is talking. About your warehouse. If I were you, I would take care of that problem. Soon.”
I didn’t know much about Yeshar’s dust ring, but what little I did know had already been bartered away as part of my earlier-than-planned release. If he thought Nikolach had been the one to talk, it would protect me against Yeshar’s retribution when his product’s warehouse was inevitably raided.
It would be even better if he saw Nikolach as a liability.
Yeshar leaned back in his seat, perpetual scowl fixed firmly in place. “Why tell me this?”
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It never hurts to be owed a favor.” The further he was from knowing my actual reasons the better. “I came straight here from the Reformatory to let you know, as a courtesy.”
