“We’re closed, but at the very least, I owe you another ale.” Peter discarded the broom against the wall and pulled two tankards from a shelf behind the bar. “Though I promised not to ask, my curiosity burns how you knew what the sailor intended.”
Martin shrugged, weighing his words with great care. “I learned to read people a long time ago, and my mother always said drawing the black swan meant ill intent.” Not the whole truth, but enough. Although the hour was late, Martin had no real desire to leave. Not truly knowing why, he stepped more fully into the tavern and closed the door behind him.
Peter gave him another dazzling smile. “Make yourself comfortable by the fire.”
During his adventure, Martin hadn’t noticed the cold, having shut everything else from his mind but his mission. He placed his cloak on the back of the chair and wandered over to the hearth, holding his fingers over the embers.
Peter returned with two tankards. The amber liquid glinted in the firelight. Martin’s gaze fell on a deck of cards left lying on a table. Peter followed his gaze. “Do you play?”
“I have.” Martin would never confess how long it had been since he’d viewed a deck of cards as a mere game. If he stared hard enough, he’d start seeing Petran’s features on Peter’s face. No, Petran was dead. Every time Martin thought of the hanging on his first day in the city, his heart ached.
Every time he tried to see Petran in Peter… What had he been thinking, again?
Peter sat at the table, expertly shuffling the deck. “Care for a game while we drink our ale? I can’t thank you enough for retrieving the money. I run an honest business but still cannot afford for many people to walk out on their bills. Plus, by law, the man he shortchanged may look to me for his winnings.”
All the more reason for Martin to have gotten involved in something he probably shouldn’t have. He sat down across from Peter. “Then, by all means, deal. But, I must tell you, I don’t gamble.”
Peter chuckled. In the short time Martin had known him, the man laughed a lot, as attested by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He’d certainly filled the room with his booming friendly cheer during Martin’s visits. “Neither do I. I’d rather spend the money on my business than lining someone else’s pocket. As I said before, I’m an honest man. Honest men don’t last long as gamblers.” He eyed Martin from beneath his lashes.
The warmth in those eyes sent squirming sensations through Martin’s insides. Oh, for those eyes to be turned up at him while Peter sank to his knees… Pushing aside thoughts best reserved for later, Martin toasted with his ale. “Truer words were never spoken.” Did Peter even realize he closed his eyes, enclosing the deck in his hands for a moment?
As one would before a card reading.
Peter handed the deck to Martin, who cut the cards, then Peter dealt them four each.
Martin lifted his. The dove, the opening rose, the less-traveled path… The lovers.
Peace, new beginnings, a long journey, and the card that needed no interpretation.
Martin reached for the deck, stilling the trembling from his fingers as he lifted one card. The sinking feeling in his chest named the card without his even looking. The judge.
He was to be tested and judged, but what would be the outcome?
Unknowing of the pounding of Martin’s heart, Peter calmly lifted a card and smiled. Likely, by Peter’s estimation, the dove carried five points, the opening rose two, the less-traveled path one, and the lovers seven. The judge counted for ten in a game.
One more card to go. Martin took a sip of his ale. Maybe cards weren’t such a good idea after all. At last, he lifted the final card: the black sorcerer. Dark forces lay in his path. Perhaps, but didn’t they already? Just last eve, he’d killed a demon. Or was it the eve before?
He raised his eyes to catch Peter studying him, those startling dark eyes seeing clear down to Martin’s soul. Neither moved. Outside, a carriage clattered down the cobblestones, and overhead, a guest coughed in one of the rooms. Martin couldn’t look away. With every passing moment, his heart beat faster. Wiping his hands on his trousers didn’t make them less damp.
He laid down his cards face up. Without taking his eyes from Martin’s, Peter did the same.
To him this was just a game of chance. “I win,” Peter crowed.
Which meant Martin lost. Judging by the images, he was bound to do so much more. Good thing Peter didn’t know the hidden meaning of the cards.
Peter pulled a card from his stack and held it suspended over Martin’s. A flush suffused his face. Closing his eyes, he placed his card on Martin’s with a bleak smile. Then again, maybe he did see the significance of their choices.
A pair of lovers lay on the table.
At that moment, the patron who owed Martin a life debt staggered down the stairs. “Peter, might I get a nightcap?”
Martin sighed and drifted out into the night.
Chapter Twenty-three
Soclose!They’dbeenso close! Then the man they sought to save interrupted.
Peter pushed aside frustration to ask his patron, “How much did the sailor owe you in bets?” He hefted the purse Martin left.
