Peter stared at the cards, then lifted his gaze. Martin’s expression remained unreadable.
Although many used cards simply as a game, those of Peter’s acquaintance often used them to divine the future, settle disputes, or make crucial decisions. Even the captain of theSeabirdhad bent an ear for those who read the deck.
How many pirates owed their lives to the cards when forewarning steered them around storms or away from harbors where they’d likely find a noose around their necks?
Until that fateful day…
Now, Peter stared at the cards dealt tonight; some he knew the meaning of, some he didn’t. However, there was no mistaking the image of two robed figures, bodies twined together. No matter how many decks he’d seen, he’d never been able to determine if the lovers were a man and woman, two men, or two women.
Martin remained stock still. Why had he come here tonight? Though his clothes were designed to blend in with the ordinary tavern patrons, his bearing and state of cleanliness declared him of the upper city.
Had he come to spy on the common people? Had he come to spy for some specific reason? Surely Peter didn’t still have a price on his head for serving on a pirate ship long ago.
Unless Martin suspected him of magery.
Peter swallowed, then swallowed again, fighting against the knot of worry gathered in his throat. Could Martin hear the hammering of his heart? Peter glanced up, then back to the cards. His eyes rose to meet Martin’s intense gaze as though of their own choosing. There would be no better chance. The next few minutes decided fate.
Martin hadn’t come here for a friendly game of cards or a pint of passable ale. No, he’d timed his arrival to when he’d likely find Peter alone. The intensity in his bright blue eyes. Ale couldn’t ease the dryness in Peter’s mouth.
He’d stood at a crossroads several times in life: when he’d rescued a boy and taken him aboard theSeabird; when he’d dawdled in the city and hadn’t been caught with the rest of the crew.
When he’d chosen to stay in the city after his father’s passing.
It seemed he’d reached yet another turning point. He could pretend he didn’t understand, gently ease Martin out the door, or…
He could reach out his hand for what he’d deprived himself of for so long.
Did he deny the future depicted on the table and risk his destiny walking out the door? Or should he throw caution into the winds and act on the fantasies he’d indulged ever since laying eyes on this man?
Martin read the sailor’s cards the night he’d saved the gambling patron and must know the portents now before them.
Lovers and the entwined souls. The heat in Martin’s gaze spoke of his interest. Another like Peter, who desired men.
Peter took a deep breath and stood on the precipice, ignoring the chasm at his feet.
And leaped.
Chapter Twenty-six
Martin’shearthammeredharderthan when he’d been quarry. He wouldn’t make the first move. The Father’s followers believed cards were merely playthings for games of chance. If he didn’t move, he couldn’t pressure Peter into something he wasn’t prepared for.
Something Martin wasn’t prepared for.
He’d noticed Peter at their first meeting and caught furtive glances from the corner of his eyes. This was wrong. Pleasure with others was nothing new, yet Martin never dallied with someone he might want to keep around.
Since Petran.
Would he stop if he crossed this line, or might Peter become an addiction?
Martin had no great regard for the Father or the Lady, but he truly believed in Fate.
Yes, Fate saw the cards on the table. Some would say she’d guided them herself, she who controlled the world, moving her followers across a giant game board to exactly where she desired.
This could be no mere dalliance. If Martin gave in to temptation and followed the cards, he wouldn’t be satisfied with one single taste. Like a tale he’d learned in childhood, of a man who’d found a fantastic tree while wandering in the woods, heavy with the most delicious fruit he’d ever tasted.
The man took a few fruits back home, only to find an empty sack when he reached his village. He spent the rest of his days searching for the tree. Nothing he ate ever satisfied him again.
Would that be the story of Martin’s life if he joined his mouth, his body, to Peter’s?
