It physically hurt Nes to hand over each pouch to Quint.
They aren’t real, she told herself every time she dropped a pouch into Quint’s bag. But the coinswerereal. As real as any others exchanging hands throughout the city. The only difference was these had been crafted by magic, while the others had been molded by presses.
She dropped the last pouch into Quint’s bag, and he folded the top over the opening.
“I’ll get these to Toran,” Quint promised. “Tonight, the King’s Guard celebrates the formation of Orlonea’s First Legion.”
“Is there even an anniversary for such a thing?”
“Probably. Not that any one of us knows it.” Quint shook his head. “But with all the death as of late, no guard is going to pass up a night on the town. Especially if Toran is paying.”
She wondered what she would have thought of Toran had she met him a couple of months back, when he couldn’t have balanced on the line of sobriety if he tried. Probably that he was an easy mark. But she had difficulty imagining him in such a way.
“I’ll be back for the rest later,” Quint told her as he turned to leave. “Good luck.”
“You too,” she said and shut the door behind him.
Tonight, they would finally capture Damari, and then Nes would leave Gadore forever. She couldn’t stick around for them to drown Damari and learn she wasn’t the true Witch. By the time everyone realized no green light was going to shoot into the sky, Nes had to be long gone. She had to be.
Tonight would be the last time she’d have to look over her shoulder in this Goddess-forsaken city and wonder if anyone suspected what she was. And tomorrow would be the first day of her father’s newfound freedom.
It would be the first day of her freedom.
She should be excited. All she’d dreamed about since her father was taken from her was about to come true. But as she weaved through the tables of the gambling den, she realized that for the first time in two years, the promise of freedom didn’t comfort her heavy heart.
It only made it sink faster.
36
Nes
The Siren’s Hair was alive in a way Nes had never before seen.
Every seat was full—table and bar—and several people leaned against the wall, watching games or sipping on drinks. There was an excitement in the gambling den. It floated through the air like a leaf caught in a lazy wind, tickling the cheeks of every patron and waitress alike. It made her grin, too, even as her gut squirmed.
Aside from the clientele, the den looked no different than it did any other night. But tonight, it felt different.
With Suri reluctant to take ownership of the Siren’s Hair, Nes had been forced to step in and make sure the place was up and running for the night. She’d had the bartender take stock of the liquor and counted the number of waitresses who showed for work—none of whom she recognized, but she supposed she had been out of the circuit for weeks. It wasn’t unlike Phineas to hire a whole new staff for the gambling den in that time.
Now Nes stood behind one of the gambling tables, waiting to join the next game. Less than half her attention was on the game of Blank being played. Everything had to go perfectly. There were too many people relying on her. Far too many people placing their lives in her hands.
All around, medals of various shapes and sizes flickered, reflecting off the lanterns lighting the room. Guards of every rank had taken over the den. She and Toran had agreed they couldn’t count on the magic in the coins alone to draw Damari here tonight. The girl wanted revenge on Fell. With so many guards in one place, this would be her best chance at finding it.
It had taken some convincing on Toran’s part. She didn’t like stringing up all these guards as bait. It felt far too much like Fell drowning innocent women in the Witch’s Well. But Toran had assured her the guards knew how to handle themselves. They’d been trained for this. A bit of fun and a lot of liquor wasn’t about to take that away.
Beside her, Toran was rigid. He wore his uniform, the black making his brown eyes look lighter and more vibrant than ever. He’d combed his hair, too, the short locks slicked back. But he looked too much like a guard on a mission and not one seeking a night off like he was supposed to be.
She pushed onto her tiptoes and ran her fingers through his hair, ruffling his strands until some flopped over his forehead. Leaning back, she examined her work. That was better. Now he looked much less stiff. Her gaze drifted down, and they locked eyes. Her heart reached for him but came to a full stop at the memory of his words.
I can’t love you the way you should be loved.
For a moment, she’d forgotten about last night—how he’d taken her heart and crushed it. She swallowed back her feelings, forcing a grin through her pain. By now she was a damned expert at repressing things.
“There,” she said and stepped back. “At least now you look like you’re here for a good time.”
His eyes softened, a tenderness dimming the brightness there. She couldn’t tell which inside him had caused the change—pity or regret. Neither were what she wanted from him. The answer, though, was on the tip of his tongue, and she watched him wrestle with it.
At last, he said, “Nes?”
