Page 9 of Fateless

“Feeling adventurous today?” Rala questioned as I paused at the bar. Her eyes glittered with mischief as she put a hand under the smooth stone surface. “I just got in a bottle of fire beetle wine from the lands of the magma walkers. Up for a taste?”

“Um, no thanks, Rala.” I half smiled, half grimaced at her. “You might’ve had me, until you told me how fire beetle wine is made.”

She chuckled. “If you’re looking for Jeran,” she went on, withdrawing her hand, “he’s in his usual corner, losing at dice to Dahveen. I expect he’ll have to pay Dahveen’s tab in a minute or two. Hope he has enough. The boy drinks like a camel.”

“Thanks.”

I wandered to the far corner, where Jeran and another boy his age were huddled over a barrel, both looking intense. A trio of carved bone dice sat on the barrel top; a moment later, Dahveen snatched them up, clattered them into a clay cup, and set the cup face down between them.

“Call,” he told Jeran.

Triple Fang was a simple enough game; when the cup went down, players would gamble on how many dice showed the same numbers, and if they were even or odd. You might guess “double evens,” and if the dice showed, say, a pair of fours, you would win. “Triple fang”—where all three dice showed ones—was the most sought-after combination. Calling it correctly was an automatic win, but if you called triple fang and the dice didn’t cooperate, you forfeited all your winnings to your opponents.

Jeran chewed his lip, staring at the cup. “Double odds,” he said finally.

Dahveen snorted. “You guessed that last time.” Dahveen was a lean, shifty looking boy with oily hair and a thin mustache above a narrow top lip. “Why don’t you just go ahead and pay my tab right now? Go away, Sparrow,” he added as I came up. “I don’t need your brand of jinx. Back off, we’re almost done.”

I smiled and stayed where I was, gazing down at the cup beneath his sweaty palm. “Triple evens,” I said, making Dahveen scowl and Jeran glance up at me. “I just have a feeling.”

“You and your feelings,” Jeran muttered, and Dahveen’s scowl grew darker.

“You already called,” he told Jeran quickly. “You can’t change your answer now. No fangs,” he went on, meaning he thought there would be no matching numbers beneath the cup. It was his favorite strategy, the safe strategy, which was how he won against Jeran so often. He didn’t take any risks. He lived life the same way, going after something only if it was reasonably safe to do so. Which was why he was an average thief, but not agreat one. High risk equaled high reward. My tactics drove him crazy.

Dahveen lifted the cup. All three dice beneath showed a two.

“Oh, look at that,” I said smugly, as Jeran shook his head and Dahveen let out an explosive breath. “Triple evens. Does that mean you buy my drinks for the next month?”

With a curse, Dahveen shoved away from the barrel and stood, snatching his dice and cup as he did. “I hate it when she pokes around our games,” he told Jeran, who shrugged. “I swear she’s cursed. She throws everything off.”

“Or maybe Fate just likes me better,” I said, knowing that would piss him off even more. He curled his thin, mustached lip at me and turned away, slipping the dice and cup into the pocket of his tunic.

“We’re done,” he growled. “I don’t play with cheating harpies. Are we going to the Highmarket District or not?”

Jeran rose easily and stretched, not able to completely hide the smirk on his face. “Suns won’t be down for another hour,” he said. “We have time.”

“Good,” snapped Dahveen. “Then you two can wait while I grab another drink.”

He stalked to the bar, pulling a waterskin from beneath his shirt and muttering to himself. Jeran shook his head and turned to me.

“Great, thanks for that. Now he’s going to be an ass until his next winning streak.”

“Mm-hmm, and how is that different than his normal personality?”

Jeran snorted and lowered his voice. “Did you get everything worked out with Vahn?” he asked, trying and failing to not sound curious. He knew he wasn’t supposed to ask the details of any missions that came from the Guildmaster. “Are you in the clear for tonight?”

I nodded, feeling my stomach twist as Vahn’s reaction to the tapestry and his words to me came rushing back. “It’s been sorted,” I told Jeran, pushing that scene to the back of my mind to deal with later. Even if I wanted to know what Vahn had been talking about, he wouldn’t explain until he was ready to. “Let’s go. I desperately need a distraction tonight.”

Jeran’s brow furrowed. “Are you all right, Sparrow?” he asked softly. “Everything okay with you and the Guildmaster?”

“Of course.” I gave him a half grin, ignoring the persistent coiling of my insides saying that it was a lie, that everything was not okay. “Why? Were you hoping otherwise?”

“No.” He crossed his arms and glanced away, looking strangely defensive. “I was just asking.”

Our conversation was interrupted by an argument between Rala and Dahveen, with Rala informing him that, no, she wasn’t going to add any more to his tab until he paid what he already owed her, and he could take it up with Vahn if he didn’t like it. Dahveen returned with an even darker scowl on his face than normal and gave me a look that could wither stone. I grinned cheerfully back.

Jeran sighed, sensing uncomfortable times ahead. We left the tavern, slipped out the back door of the warehouse, and ducked through the fence. The air of the Docks District was hazy anddust choked as we tugged hoods over our heads, pulled scarves over our mouths, and headed into the city.

True dark in Kovass, where a sickly moon hung in the sky and the twin suns were nowhere to be seen, lasted about four hours. That was the span between Namaia fully sinking below the horizon and Solasti rising triumphantly over the dunes once more. Nights in Kovass were short, days were long, and evenings tended to linger, as if Namaia was reluctant to concede her spot in the sky.

---