by Claire Luana
“It’s no easy feat, negotiating with the slaver. What do you have to trade?”
“We’re not going to trade,” Hale said, cutting in. “We’re going to win them.”
“Win them?”
“Yes. Griff, er, Augustina, explained that this slaver is a gambling man. We need to go in as worthy opponents. Make him a wager he can’t refuse. Beat him, and we walk out with my mother and Captain Brimmer. Easy peasy.”
“You’d have to have the luck of the gods to beat Rakoni in his own establishment. It can’t be done.” Theo crossed his burly forearms over his chest.
“Hale’s…very good at gambling,” Griff said weakly. He could tell she was doubting their mad plan. “He thinks it can work. We have to try.”
“We need to get cleaned up, put on some nice clothes, and get a little coin to get me started,” Hale said. “I’ll do the rest. Before you know it, the fair Augustina will be back here in your arms forevermore.”
Griff glared at Hale, who flashed a wide grin at the innkeeper. Theo scratched his beard. “I guess I can find you something…it still seems terribly dangerous. Augustina, I’m not sure I like this.”
“Please. It’s the last favor I’ll ask of you before…we wed,” Griff said, half-choking on the words.
Theo grinned, displaying a prominent hole where an incisor should have been. He took Griff’s hand and kissed it over the bar. “I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll get you two rooms so you can get cleaned up.” He turned, heading through the swinging door to the bowels of the inn.
“I’m an extra large,” Hale called after him. “Get me something in purple velvet, if you can!”
Griff slouched, letting her head thunk forward on the bar. “The Huntress take me now; I’m headed straight to hell.”
“Don’t forget—hell’s where all the fun happens. And seriously, don’t kill yourself over it. It’d be like being married to…” Hale was still trying to figure out what animal Theo reminded him of. Not really a bear… “A kindly buffalo!” he finished triumphantly. “If he’s foolish enough to trust you a second time, that’s on him.”
“When we free the captain, I’m sailing away from this place and never looking back.”
“You better take us with you.” Hale sighed, scraping the last bit of soup from his bowl and popping the bread in his mouth.
Much to his surprise, Griff tilted on her stool, resting her head wearily against the meat of his bicep. “You help me get him free and we’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
Hale looked down at her, spiky red hair sticking out in wild angles. An emotion blossomed in his chest, strange and unfamiliar. It wasn’t lust, that he was well versed in. And it wasn’t love, or at least not the heartache he had briefly experienced when a new blossom came into his life ripe for the picking. This was…different. He felt fond of Griff. Protective. Grateful for her presence. Grateful that he wasn’t alone. What was that? He shrugged, and moved to wrap his arm around her narrow shoulders. He rested his head on the top of hers. “It’s a deal,” he said softly. He paused but couldn’t help himself. “Augustina.”
She punched him in the stomach.
Chapter 14
Hale had a new favorite thing. A bath. He had flashed his best smile to each and every serving woman who had carried buckets of hot water upstairs to fill the copper tub. And when he stepped in—heaven. He had, honest to gods, died and been taken up to the Sower’s golden fields. He had bathed nearly every day of his life but never—never had he appreciated the magic of the warm water like he did today. It relaxed muscles he didn’t know he had, washed off the dirt and the salt and the blood. Cal’s blood.
Hale’s elation dimmed as weariness swept through him. Cal should have been with him here, second-guessing Hale’s harebrained scheme at first, then throwing himself into his role with surprising gusto. It wasn’t right that he wasn’t here. This world wasn’t right without Cal. How he would face his mother? She had seen Cal wounded on the ground…but she didn’t know. Not for sure. Surely, she must have held out hope. How could he look her in the eye and tell her he’d failed? That he couldn’t save him?
Hale wallowed in these dark thoughts until the water grew murky and tepid. Finally, he pulled his tanned body from the bath, wrapping a fluffy towel around himself. He shaved the scratchy beginning of a beard and was combing his hair when a knock came on the door. He opened it to a pretty, blonde serving girl holding a package in her hands. “Your clothes, sir,” she said, taking in Hale’s bare chest with wide eyes and cheeks turning scarlet.
Hale opened the door wider and leaned against it, holding his towel around his waist. “Theo must have the prettiest serving girls in all of Sryalta,” Hale said, his deep voice purring.
The serving girl turned even redder, her eyes flicking from the ground to Hale’s chest and back again. That bath had him feeling like his old self. But he wasn’t here for pleasure, so he took the package from her outstretched hands and thanked her before closing the door with a twinge of regret. Now was not a time to get distracted.
Hale unwrapped the package of clothes, bracing himself for the shock of Theo’s terrible fashion sense. The innkeeper dressed like a logger; Hale didn’t imagine the man knew much about a fine suit. Yet he was pleasantly surprised by what he unearthed beneath the twine and brown paper. A chocolate-brown velvet jacket, a purple waistcoat flecked with gold houndstooth, and a pair of fine tan trousers with a sheen of gold, if you tilted them a certain way. A crisp white shirt, purple tie, clean underclothes, a gold pocket watch, and—the shoes. Hale held them up to admire them. These were good. The brown and caramel leather brogues would match the rest of the suit perfectly. “Not bad, Theo. Not bad.”
When he had tied his shoe laces and tucked in the gold pocket watch, he faced himself in the mirror and felt a most peculiar sense of relief. The past few days had been picking him apart, piece by piece, and finally, in this suit, he felt gathered back together. Almost whole.
A knock sounded on the door, followed by Griff’s muffled voice. “You take longer than a girl to get ready.”
Hale pulled the door open with a grin. “One doesn’t rush perfection.”
His next witty comment died on his tongue as the sight of Griff temporarily addled his brain. Hale hardly recognized her. Theo had found her a red wig and soft, copper curls cascaded over one bare shoulder. Her dress was deep purple trimmed in gold, matching Hale’s waistcoat, but it was a masterpiece of tailoring, dipping low to display a creamy bosom, cinching tight around Griff’s tiny waist, flaring out into a draped skirt embroidered with intricate geometric designs. As Hale’s examination returned upward, he saw that Griff’s face was expertly painted—dark kohl and mascara making her green eyes seem twice as big, stain on her lips making them seem twice as kissable. A pair of glittering gold earrings hung from her ears, shadowing the delicate curve of her long neck.
“You were saying about perfection?” She smirked.
“Now I know why Theo was so enamored,” Hale said.
“You don’t look half bad yourself,” she said, swallowing. Hale knew he did cut an impressive figure.
“Where were you hiding those all this time?” he asked, pointing to her half-exposed bosom. “Seriously, I feel like I should have noticed.”
Griff smacked Hale’s arm with her fan. “Don’t get too attached. This is a one-time only thing. For the captain.”
Hale offered his arm, and Griff took it, walking into the hallway. “Beauties like that deserve to be free, not buried under some sad, old smock.”
Griff smacked him again with her fan, this time in the chest.
“I don’t think that’s what that fan is for.”
“It’s exactly what it’s for,” she muttered.
Sim Rakoni’s auction house—called the Forum—was an impressive establishment. It sprawled across two city blocks, soaring several stories—the most solid-looking building Hale had seen in Sryalta. Two burly guards at the entrance patted them down fo
r weapons before letting them pass. Hale hadn’t brought a weapon. The only way out of this place was with Sim Rakoni’s begrudging blessing, and his mother at his side.
Hale thought he knew the type of man the slaver was. He had encountered them before, amongst the Se Caelus’s political elite. Proud, ruthless. They had their own twisted sense of honor, but they stood by it. If Hale challenged Rakoni in public, the man wouldn’t be able to back down. And if Hale won fair and square, Rakoni would abide by it, as much as he might hate it. That was the only way he could ensure anyone would continue dealing with him. To be a man of his word.
Once inside, Hale and Griff were met by a voluptuous waitress who handed them each glasses of sparkling wine. Hale surveyed the interior of the building with interest. The Forum could rival any gambling hall in Se Caelus. The hall had a soaring, arched ceiling decorated by frescoes of intertwined bodies. Elaborate carvings and gold leaf adorned the tall columns, broad balconies, and many tables spread before them. At the far end, a stage stood empty, no doubt where the slave auctions were held. Hale fought to hold his scowl at bay.
“Okay,” Griff said under her breath. “What’s the plan?”
“Head to the hazard tables. Go on such a winning streak that Sim Rakoni can’t help but take notice.”
“Is that all?”
“Leave this to me,” Hale said with a toothy grin. He had found his table. Across the room. Pudgy dealer in a too-tight suit, another stickman stifling a yawn. Well, it was these fellows’ lucky day. Things were about to get interesting.
“You know how to play?” he whispered to Griff as they approached the empty table.
“We played on the ship. I’m no good, though. Don’t play often enough to remember what nicks what.”
Hale chuckled softly, laying an Aprican gold crown on the table. “That’s kind of an important part.”
“I said I was no good, didn’t I?” She took a sip of wine and flashed a simpering smile to the dealer.
“Sir. My lady,” the dealer said, setting down a small stack of red chips. The stick man passed Hale a pair of green dice. Hale picked them up, letting out a slow breath. This was it. He threw.
Hazard was a complex game, and the speed at which it was played made it all the more opaque. Roll the dice once to establish your main, or the number you’d be rolling based on. Your main determined what numbers threw in, or nicked, your main. Throwing aces or deuce-ace was a loss. Any other roll was your chance. If this happened, keep rolling until you roll your chance, in which case you won, or you rolled your main, in which case you lost. Somehow it made sense to him. Other players could bet on the shooter—wagering on whether he’d win or lose. Hale didn’t like to play that way, though. Hale liked to be right in the action. The shooter. Because Hale had uncanny luck with the dice. They were his friends, his sage companions. They hadn’t let him down yet.
Griff drummed her fingers on the side of the table, betraying her nervousness, as he began to play.
Bet, roll, nick.
Bet, roll, chance.
Hit the chance.
Methodically, Hale began to play, getting into the rhythm, ignoring the rapidly-growing stack of chips on the table. He felt the moment when Griff’s nerves switched to excitement. She began jumping and clapping with every roll, leaning over the table to check the dice as they landed. He didn’t blame her. He probably would have thought himself crazy too, claiming to be able to win back their family with a pair of dice. But for whatever reason, this was his gift. He was preternaturally lucky. And he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to milk it for all it was worth.
A crowd had grown around the table now, other patrons drawn by Griff’s cheering and the dealers’ disbelieving exclamations. They were betting on his streak, winning when he won.
Hale’s pile had grown almost substantial enough to draw the attention of the owners. It was time to draw some real attention.
The stickman pushed the dice Hale’s way with a breath of anticipation. The man wasn’t yawning now.
“All in,” Hale said. “Pass.” He was betting that he’d win. Betting it all.
Gasps went up around the table, and Griff grabbed his arm. “Hale, are you mad?”
He looked down at her with a wink. She was playing her role perfectly, though perhaps she wasn’t truly playing at anything anymore. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
The dealer looked at him with a nod, his jowls quivering.
Hale shook, and the dice chattered like teeth inside his hand. He released and they rolled, bouncing off the back wall of the table.
“Eight,” the dealer called out.
With a main of eight, he needed to roll eight or twelve to win. It was almost too easy.
He took the dice back, looking at Griff, whose hands were clutched in front of her mouth, her eyes wide with tension.
“Wish me luck, darling,” he said with a grin before rolling. He didn’t need to look.
The crowd around the table exploded into cheers and cries of disbelief, one man even jumping up and down.
“Twelve!” the dealer called as Griff leaped into his arms, hugging him tightly as he spun her around. “By the Sower, Hale, you’re going to kill me before we’re done!”
The cheering was dying down, and the dealer was counting out Hale’s winnings. His chips had changed to black, but his stacks still took up much of the table.
A hush fell over the table, and Hale turned, his arm still around Griff’s waist. Yes. This was what he had been hoping for. Counting on. There was a man striding across the floor, trailed by two uniformed guards with swords at their hips.
“Let me guess,” Hale said. “Our very own Sim Rakoni.”
“In the flesh,” Griff breathed.
Chapter 15
Sim Rakoni was not what Hale had expected. For one, he was old—his hair was snow-white, crisply cut at chin length. But when he reached the table, Hale saw that the man was not frail, far from it. His skin was tanned, his handsome features framed by a neat, white goatee. He wore a light gray suit over a waistcoat of sky blue, which matched the icy color of his eyes. He had a vibrancy—an intensity that Hale had only seen before in some of Se Caelus’s most charismatic politicians. This was not a man to trifle with.
“It’s been many years since I’ve had such a streak of luck at the Forum. I had to congratulate the man himself,” Rakoni said. His voice was smooth like velvet, his words honeyed.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Hale replied, figuring that sucking up was the best way to go. “It’s a fine place you have here.”
“What brings you to Sryalta…?” Rakoni quirked a white eyebrow, asking for Hale’s name.
“Hale Firena. And this lovely lady is my companion, Augustina.” Griff flashed a sweet smile and dipped a curtsy while Rakoni nodded his head, watching Hale out of the corner of his eye. Hale’s name meant something to him. He had hidden it well, but there was a tiny sliver of recognition. He definitely had Hale’s mother.
“And I came to Sryalta to make a wager. With you,” Hale said.
The crowd gasped slightly at Hale’s impertinence, whispers blossoming like flowers after the rain.
Rakoni smiled, a tight-lipped gesture that didn’t melt the ice in his eyes. “What kind of wager?”
“You have two prisoners that I would like the opportunity of winning. An Aprican noblewoman. Brea Firena. And a sailor, Captain Brimmer.” He wanted to ask for Emery and her mother too, but he didn’t dare. If his information was correct, those two didn’t have a price on their head. He couldn’t have Rakoni offering to give him Emery and her mother when what Hale really couldn’t leave here without was Brimmer and his mother. He needed to be clear in his offer, start from a position of strength. Her offered a silent apology. Perhaps he could find some way to buy their freedom when this was all done.
“I know of whom you speak. But I don’t gamble away my prisoners. Especially not two who have garnered such…interest.”
“What�
�s the matter? Afraid you can’t beat me?” Hale stepped forward, puffing his chest up.
Rakoni’s eyes narrowed. The entire stretch of the Forum was silent. The music had stopped, dealers had stopped shuffling. From the far corners to the top balcony, everyone was watching Rakoni and the tall, handsome hazard player who had the gall to challenge him.
Griff clutched his arm, her nails biting through the thick velvet of his jacket.
Rakoni stepped forward until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Hale, his lips close to Hale’s ear. But before he could say whatever whispered threat he intended, Hale plunged ahead. “I meant no disrespect,” he whispered. “But I needed to get your attention. It is the role of the young upstart to challenge the venerated master, is it not?”
Rakoni stiffened, cocking his head to examine Hale.
“One wager,” Hale continued. “You win, you’ve increased your wealth and your reputation only grows larger. I win, I take two troublesome slaves off your hands, and you never see me again. I spread word far and wide that your ruthlessness is only outmatched by the hospitality of the Forum.”
The man let out a little breath of laughter, shaking his head. He stepped back. “What did you say your name was?”
“Hale Firena, sir.” Hale offered his hand.
Sim Rakoni took his hand, shaking it slowly. He spoke loudly, so the gathered crowd could hear. “You, Hale Firena, are the cockiest bastard who ever walked into the Forum. Reminds me of myself at your age. You will have your wager.” He flashed a bright white, toothy grin and the those who had been waiting with bated breath broke into applause and cheers. “Karl, bring us a bottle of my finest scotch,” Rakoni said to one of the bodyguards. “Dealer, tally up Mr. Firena’s winnings.”
Hale felt an enormous coil of tension unwind through his spine, and the blood began flowing back into his arm as Griff released her death grip.
Rakoni ushered them to a nearby table, where he perched on a leather high-back stool, pulling a rolled cigarette from his pocket. He offered one to Hale, who declined, taking a seat across the table. Griff sat on the chair next to him, clutching the edge of the table to steady her shaking hands.
