Slowly, she turned her gaze to the other players. First, the two she knew best: Harlyn was chewing the inside of her cheek and Orson’s posture was straight, too straight, which meant both had strong hands. She didn’t know the others nearly as well, but she had a knack for reading people, or so Bryah had told her during one of their many games. She could tell by the way Mikael held his cards that he was no threat.
Unless he’s bluffing, a voice in her head said. But no, she knew Mikael from around the workshop. He’d likely just entered the game for the notoriety of having put his name forward for the tournament. He doesn’t expect to win, Roh thought. Nor does he wish to – he has too much self-preservation for that.
Roh looked to the cyren she didn’t know on Mikael’s right. The hand that held his cards was shaking ever so slightly. Beside him, Roh saw Harlyn’s sharp eyes note the small detail as well. On the other side of the table, Freya smirked into her cards, and Thomes —
Roh’s assessments were cut short as Jesmond spun a small wheel to determine who turned the first card. The needle landed on Andwana, who, with a steady hand, reached towards the thief’s temptation and turned a card over, the card that would set the tone of the entire game. It was a klyree – a horned hare that usually found a way into the Lower Sector crops; a low-value card. Roh noted the water-element symbol in the top corner with a surge of relief; if the element stayed the same, she wouldn’t have to pick up cards this round.
She watched intently as the game began to unfold. It was Harlyn’s turn next. She coolly placed two water-elemented cyren cards down and sat back. The cyren whose name Roh didn’t know followed them with a single water warlock. A gasp from the crowd sounded. It was the first high-value card to be played.
Suddenly uncomfortable in her seat, Roh shifted awkwardly and glanced at her cards. Depending on what Mikael put down, she’d be alright for this round … She hoped.
Mikael matched the water warlock with one of the fire element. Someone in the crowd whistled. An element change. Fine. That suited her just fine. She played a water warlock with the air element. There was a murmur of approval from around her, but Roh kept her eyes on the game and her cards covered. She knew she wouldn’t be the only cyren channelling her cunning today. While Orson mulled over her hand, Roh recounted what had been played so far. It was early in the game, too early to mark the threats – the round was not yet half complete. A flicker of movement caught her eye —
‘Thief,’ a stony voice sounded.
Roh recognised that voice. She went cold as she looked across the table to see Harlyn staring down at Renee. The entire room fell silent again. It was a bold move to call ‘thief’ so soon, but that was Harlyn. Roh had seen Renee’s sleight of hand, but had kept quiet, not wanting to draw attention to herself. However, it wasn’t in Harlyn’s nature to be cautious.
‘Thief,’ Harlyn said again, waiting for Renee to challenge her.
The quiet pulsed as the workshop tensed for the explosion that so often occurred around these calls. But Renee tossed her hands up and threw eight, not seven cards onto the table. She hadn’t yet completed the sleight of hand – placing the card that she didn’t want back into the thief’s temptation. Her stool scraped against the floor as she exited the game, muttering curses under her breath.
‘Play on,’ Jesmond prompted.
Soft gasps sounded from the crowd as Orson played a sea drake: the highest card, the one cyrens usually left until last. Roh felt her palms grow clammy again; she needed to keep track of the sea drakes more than anything.
One player down, eight more to go …
The game continued, finally making it the whole way around the table, and again. Players began to use combinations, changing their strategies as the game progressed. Roh kept her cards close, watching every tell, every play, alert and ready. She knew Orson had lost some of her better cards and was now playing conservatively, while Harlyn, being Harlyn, was quite arrogant in her approach, which made Roh think that she too was playing with a weak hand.
‘Thief.’ It was Mikael who called it this time, looking across the table at Thomes. But Thomes grinned and shook his head. A bluff manoeuvre. Mikael was out.
‘Good luck,’ he said as he placed his cards facedown and left the table.
Four cards out of play, unknown to the players. Roh knew she wasn’t the only one assessing these details, but she watched Mikael leave, satisfied that she’d been right about his motivations.
Another round, an offering of much lower cards, though the stakes only seemed to get higher and higher. Roh fanned her cards out close to her chest and considered the pair of humans the cyren beside Harlyn had just played. Roh played three of a kind, her best hand yet: klyrees, two land and one fire element. She finished with the fire element, knowing they had played more fire than anything else so far. As she did, she saw Thomes slide a card from the thief’s temptation into his hand and replace it with one of his own. It wasn’t a seamless act and Roh knew she couldn’t have been the only one to notice it, but no one called it this time, not even Harlyn. To call ‘thief’ was to draw attention to your own level of skill and observation, which meant Harlyn in particular wanted the heat off her for the time being.
Interesting.
A tightness grew in Roh’s chest the longer the game went on. She was aware of every movement around her, including Ames’ constant pacing around the table. He was eager to have his workshop returned to him, of course, yet Roh suspected it was more than that on his mind. She chanced a glance in his direction, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze, and she couldn’t split her focus between the cards before her and whatever turmoil her mentor was experiencing.
A moment later, Andwana was eliminated.
Six more to beat …
As cards were played and picked up, Jesmond refilled the thief’s temptation from the remaining deck. At last, Roh spotted what she had been looking for. A barely noticeable dot of shine on the back of two cards … But it wasn’t time yet. A little longer —
‘Thief,’ Roh heard herself say, looking directly at Harlyn.
Harlyn blinked as the rest of the workshop stilled.
‘What?’ she said.
Roh didn’t break eye contact. ‘Thief,’ she repeated clearly.
One of the cards in Harlyn’s hands bent.
‘Harlyn?’ Jesmond prompted. ‘Your response?’
It had been a good manoeuvre, subtle and weightless, but Roh knew Harlyn, knew when she would try the steal, and she’d done exactly as Roh had anticipated. A slew of curses escaped Harlyn as she flung her cards down on the table, the stolen card in question still bent in her grasp.
Roh bit back the apology on the tip of her tongue. Harlyn shoved her chair back so aggressively that it knocked to the floor and the crowd behind her dispersed. Had Harlyn been in Roh’s shoes, Roh knew she would have done the same. There was no room for the courtesies of friendship when a place for the Queen’s Tournament was at stake.
Roh eyed the two cards glinting at her from the thief’s temptation. Soon. Soon it would be time.
Jesmond cleared her throat. ‘Play on.’
‘I fold,’ said the cyren who’d sat next to Harlyn, placing her cards facedown on the table and sliding them away from her as she left.
Another four cards out of play, unknown to the players … Good … The more cards unknown to them all, the better. Roh felt stiff in her seat as the tension around her grew more and more palpable with every card played.
Freya put a combination hand in play – two teerah panthers and a land card. Roh froze as the realisation dawned on her. She’d made a mistake, she’d miscounted …
Ames was still pacing, his movements distracting Roh to frustration. She shook her head, trying to maintain her composure and attention on Freya’s recent hand. There should only be … Unless … There was one more panther in play than she’d counted, which was strange. She’d kept a sharp eye and even sharper count. Frowning, she stared at her own hand. She hadn’t m
ade a mistake, she couldn’t have. She had played this game, tried and perfected this technique dozens of times before, which meant … She wasn’t the only one testing the limits of a cyren’s cunning nature today. Freya was cheating.
Now, only Roh, Orson, Thomes, Freya and the cyren Roh didn’t know remained. The pace of the game quickened. Roh beat Freya’s backahast with a pair of air-elemented cyrens, her confidence growing. No one had yet touched the cards in the thief’s temptation she had her eye on. To the rest of the players, the thief’s temptation offered a chance for a better card and a risk for a worse one. But Roh had taken the chance from the game.
Tensions rose as Orson applied pressure with a pair of water warlocks. Roh checked her friend’s posture. As it had been at the start of the game, Orson’s back was slightly too straight.
She has a strong hand, then … Roh’s gaze flicked to the cards in the thief’s temptation and weighed up the probabilities … With the two combined decks and the cards that had already been played … It was possible Orson had what Roh needed, or that what she needed was amidst the pile of discarded, forfeited cards. Without meaning to, the talons of Roh’s spare hand unsheathed sharply, and eyes were upon her immediately. Her cheeks grew hot under the scrutiny.
‘Thief,’ the nameless cyren stated bluntly, looking at Roh.
Roh’s heart almost lodged itself in her throat, but she shook her head. No, she was no thief, not this time. The cyren left without a word, her cards discarded at her place.
And then there were three … Roh looked around at the other cyrens, who were inevitably thinking the same thing. They were all so close; they were within arm’s reach of the Queen’s Tournament – the glory, the notoriety, and of course, the chance that they might just become the next ruler of Saddoriel. She could hear the throngs of cyrens chanting her name —
Roh reined in her thoughts. She had a tendency to get swept away with the ‘what-ifs’ and the far-off dreams of her imagination, but she would not let that happen in this moment. She would not let her overactive mind become her downfall today.
Thomes looked anything but sure of himself as he considered his hand. Roh took the opportunity to do the same, looking down at her four cards. Her whole body was taut with anticipation. There was work to be done with her hand, which was risky so close to the end. From where she was sitting, Roh could see the sheen of sweat lining Thomes’ upper lip.
She wondered if she looked as worried. She couldn’t win with the cards she had. A sleight of hand was in order, but … she needed to know what three Orson held.
Unable to best Orson’s water-warlock pair, Thomes folded in an aggressive display of disappointment.
Now. Roh made her move. In one fluid motion, she relieved herself of one of her unwanted cards, without dipping into the thief’s temptation. She found her salvation elsewhere.
She nearly jumped when Freya swore. It wasn’t to do with Roh, though. The older cyren threw down her hand and stormed off after her partner.
The end is so close. But I still need to know … Roh twisted in her stool to properly face Orson, and her friend gazed at her with a knowing smile.
It’s just us two, she seemed to say.
Roh tried to smile back and failed. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, for the better part of the last decade. She had to act, she had to snatch up the chance, her chance, now.
She nearly screamed in frustration as Ames started up his incessant pacing again. Couldn’t he just leave them be, for once? Couldn’t he understand why she had to do this? Why was he making it so hard to concentrate?
Ames’ pace didn’t falter, but this time, when he reached the spot behind Orson, his gaze lingered on Roh for just a fraction too long … as if … as if to convey …
She knew what she needed to know about Orson’s hand.
Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, Roh played a single cyren card. Nothing special. Nothing that would make history. Around her, she heard movement and murmuring from the crowd; her peers were inching towards the table, all too keenly aware that the final result was mere moments away. Roh looked to Orson, who was doing her utmost to keep a victorious grin in check.
Orson played her hand to a collective gasp around the workshop: three water warlocks. An incredible feat.
Roh stared at the three of a kind and then looked up, her eyes meeting Orson’s. There was no going back now. She would do whatever it took … including breaking the rules.
Roh placed her final cards, three sea drakes, upon the bench.
And the workshop erupted.
Chapter Four
Roh had won. She had actually won. The slight crease in Orson’s forehead and Harlyn’s arched brows told her it was true. Roh withdrew a trembling hand from her winning cards on the bench, her gaze shifting from one friend to the other, hardly drawing breath. Body tense, she waited – for the outbursts, the accusations, the renouncing of friendship. An image came to her then: amidst the rubble of scattered bone shavings on the floor, she was on her knees, completely alone. Had she really thought she was more deserving? More worthy than them?
But then … What makes someone worthy, if not that they’ll do whatever it takes?
Her vision blurred. Roh caught herself teetering on the edge of that dark, familiar spiral and forced herself to look up, finding Orson and Harlyn’s faces again amongst the crowd. They were smiling, as per the vow they had made to each other.
All eyes were on Roh and her sea-drake cards. She fought the desire to shrink back, all too aware that her victory might also be her undoing. The smattering of applause and shouts of disbelief swelled around her, swallowing her whole and slowing time. The claps of congratulations upon her back felt so forceful that they might knock her forward, and her name on her fellow fledglings’ lips sounded foreign. She swayed, now unable to see Orson and Harlyn because she was hemmed in by other cyren bodies around her: glimmering scales, dark talons and tangles of long, wavy hair.
‘That’s enough.’ Ames’ voice cut through the chaos and silence fell immediately. He paused, long enough for faces to flush and bodies to disperse. ‘Now this stupid business is done with, everyone get back to their stations, or you’ll find yourselves working triple shifts.’
The cyrens scattered, the excitement forgotten in the wake of reality: only one would leave the Lower Sector. The rest of them, as always, had bones to clean.
Roh’s heart rate spiked as she saw Jesmond scoop up the cards from the bench.
‘I’ll take those,’ Ames said, his hand outstretched.
Jesmond started, clutching the cards to her chest. ‘But, Master Am—’
‘You think I’m going to allow this to become a regular occurrence? The cards, Jesmond. Now.’
The nestling handed over the deck of cards reluctantly.
‘You should be in lessons,’ the workshop master told her sternly, ‘not gambling with the older cyrens.’
‘But —’
Ames narrowed his eyes in a challenge. Jesmond knew when to fold, and the youngster scurried off before punishments were doled out. The deck of cards vanished into the folds of Ames’ grey robes, along with any proof of Roh’s deception. She knew they would never surface again, and that Ames would deny what they had done until his last breath. Which was why she couldn’t meet his gaze. No matter what happened next, Ames was now entangled in her misdeed. From now on, he would feel a sense of responsibility … When she finally worked up the nerve to look at him, he was at the front of the workshop, calling out instructions to the rest of the bone cleaners as though nothing had ever happened.
Roh then found herself at her workbench, her stomach writhing under Orson and Harlyn’s scrutiny.
‘Roh … that was …’ Orson started, her voice quavering. She offered her hand. ‘That was some game.’
Not trusting herself to speak, Roh took her friend’s hand, which was warm against her clammy palm.
Harlyn stepped in and offered her hand as well, her grip firm but g
enuine. ‘Well done, Roh.’ Then, with a glance at Ames, who was now waiting impatiently by the workshop door, she added, ‘Looks like you’re not long for this place now.’
But all at once, Roh’s feet became rooted to the spot and she couldn’t release Harlyn’s hand. She looked down at her dirty old boots, standing atop the litter of bone fragments, the laces fraying and the soles peeling away from the leather. This was where she belonged, wasn’t it?
‘Roh?’ Harlyn’s voice brought her back.
Roh dropped her hand and smiled tightly. Forcing one foot in front of the other, she made her way to Ames.
‘The tournament position is yours, it seems,’ he said quietly. ‘You have the morning to pack up your belongings. You will be staying in the competitors’ quarters in the Upper Sector. All entrants are due at the Great Hall at the twelfth hour. I will collect you and escort you there. Then … then you’re on your own, Rohesia.’
In the doorway, Roh nodded. She had done it. She was competing in the tournament. It was the start of everything she had dreamed of since she was a nestling. She had spent every day working towards this, readying herself for this very moment. From the door, her gaze shifted back to her friends. Their heads were down, their taloned fingers sifting through a new assortment of messy bones. Roh slipped away from the workshop, making for their quarters. Yes, she was in the tournament … but at what cost?
Roh couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in the sleeping quarters alone. There was always at least one other cyren there. Usually it was her, Orson and Harlyn all together. Privacy was unheard of in the Lower Sector and she’d yearned for a space of her own for as long as she could recall. But as she found a spare rucksack, she marvelled at the eerie emptiness of their quarters: so quiet, the once-glowing embers of the fire now mere ash in the pit. The rucksack made a mockery of her as she attempted to pack it. She owned very little: a few sets of plain clothes and the heavy worker’s boots she was already wearing. She didn’t have one item of sentimental value, and why would she? Who would it be from? Her mother? The only things her mother had ever given her were the scar across her face and a fragment of a broken talon.
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