The Gods of Men

by Barbara Kloss

  Gavet was in his early thirties, standing a few inches taller than Sable and built just a few meals thicker. He had a head full of rich, curly, dark hair and a face that was prettier than it was handsome, which he often used to his advantage. Many people mistakenly assumed that whatever was given to the body was stolen from the mind, and vice versa, and those clients never saw the double-edged deal until it stabbed them on both sides. Gavet had never employed those tactics on Tolya or Sable, however. A smart man didn’t play games with his health, and Gavet was a smart man who also happened to suffer from a chronic ulcer.

  Gavet took her in from head to toe, and his eyes narrowed. “All of The Wilds is looking for you,” he said, glancing furtively behind her.

  This was not a good start.

  “I need a place to stay,” she said seriously. “Just for the night. I can pay. I’ve also brought enough medicine to get you through winter.” Thanks to Tallyn, who’d helped her collect proper ingredients to increase her bargaining power, just in case.

  “Can you pay five hundred crowns?” Gavet asked sharply.

  Maker’s mercy. The bounty had increased since Tallyn’s report, but before she could respond, Gavet asked, “Who’s that?” He gazed past her, at Jos, who’d emerged from the shadows.

  “A friend.”

  “He’s the one helping you, isn’t he?”

  “Gavet, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice,” Sable said tightly, hiding her desperation. “You know that. I’ve never asked you for anything before. One night, and we’ll be gone. I swear.”

  Gavet scrutinized her. He had the upper hand, and he took pleasure in holding it there.

  A whistle blew in the distance, sharp and piercing, jolting the sleepy evening awake. Shouts sounded nearby. Whatever Jos had done had just been discovered.

  “Please, Gavet,” Sable said through her teeth. “Just this once.”

  Gavet considered her, his face a blank. “Leash your dog,” he snapped, jerking his chin toward Jos, who went impossibly still. “I don’t trust him.”

  Gavet opened the door, not once removing his gaze from Jos. Sable too cast a meaningful glance at Jos, silently urging him to behave, before ducking inside. Jos checked the alley, then followed, and Gavet closed the door behind them.

  They were standing in Gavet’s kitchen. A fire burned in the small hearth, and hanging over it steamed a pot of mouth-watering aromas. Sable hoped Gavet had made extra.

  “Care to tell me what’s going on?” Gavet asked. His gaze drifted to Jos, who moved silently about the room, checking behind tapestries and around shelves. “If you break anything, you’ll pay for it in fingers,” he snapped at Jos.

  Jos ignored him. He opened a cabinet, pulled out a flask, and shook it.

  Gavet’s face turned red. “I said—”

  “Calm down, Gavet,” Sable interrupted. “He’s practically harmless.” She waved a dismissive hand at Jos.

  Jos’s sharp gaze landed on her.

  Sable smiled at him, then turned back to Gavet, who folded his arms with a snort.

  “Tolya’s gone,” she said, forcing the words out. They were still hard to chew.

  Gavet’s gaze steadied on hers. If he felt anything, he didn’t show it. “When?”

  “Six days ago.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jos resume searching the room.

  Gavet processed this new information, his brow furrowed. “Where have you been for six days?”

  “Hiding,” she said, not willing to share more. “But I can’t stay in The Wilds.”

  “Not with a bounty like that, you can’t,” he added sarcastically. “But do tell: Why is Ventus pursuing The Wilds’ best, and now only, healer?”

  “You tell me,” she cut back. “Why is there a bounty on my head?” According to Tallyn, Ventus had publicly accused her of stealing, and he’d accused Jos of killing his Silent, though Ventus hadn’t listed Jos by name. Jos was an “unknown accomplice.” But Gavet always knew more, and Sable was very interested in hearing what the smuggler had heard.

  Gavet pursed his lips and folded his arms with a huff. “Well, there’s the obvious.” He waved a hand at her. “He claims you stole from him, you’re a fugitive on the run, and that he”—he jerked his chin toward Jos—“killed a Silent during your escape.”

  Sable laughed. “The Lord of Thieves. Offended when his thieves steal.”

  “If you stole from Ventus, you’re an idiot.”

  “I didn’t steal from Ventus.” She picked up an ivory statue of Beléna, the Istraan goddess of beauty, and felt an unexpected twinge of sadness. She set it back on the mantel. “I stole from Velik.”

  “The butcher?” Gavet clucked his tongue. “Gods, I wish I’d known this sooner. I could’ve used a pair of deft hands on a few recent jobs. And Velik of all people. I’ll be damned—though he deserves it.” Gavet scratched his trimmed beard. “Trying to get back at him for something he did?” His eyes flickered over her face, brightening as his mind drew conclusions. “Or was it something he said? I know he hates your kind. But I’ve always taken you for someone with iron skin.” His eyes matched his tone, both of them goading.

  “Even iron breaks under stress,” she said sharply.

  Gavet watched her, his smile predatory. “Are you broken, Sable?”

  She smiled back, all teeth. “Aren’t we all broken just a little?”

  In her periphery, she noticed that Jos had stopped to listen.

  “I can’t argue that,” Gavet said, then tilted his head, studying her. “You know, it really is unfortunate I didn’t know about your thieving habit sooner. I would’ve enjoyed working with you. You always say such interesting things.”

  Sable didn’t respond. The word interesting meant too many things to people like Gavet.

  “So… who’s your friend?” Gavet nodded toward Jos, who now leaned back against a wall, watching them. “Is it true you actually killed a Silent?”

  Jos gave no answer.

  “Gavet, meet Jos, my current employer. Jos, this is Gavet, the most arrogant smuggler you’ll ever meet. Assuming that wasn’t already obvious.”

  “And also the best,” Gavet added, fingers splayed theatrically over his chest. He looked over Jos, then back at Sable with a knowing look in his eyes. “What sort of employment?”

  Sable leveled an irritated look on Gavet. “The same sort of employment I’m usually hired for. Did you want your medicine or not?”

  Gavet rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

  “There’s a bounty on my head. I don’t have time for fun.”

  “On the contrary, it might do you some good. You’ve always taken yourself far too seriously.” Gavet smirked. “Pity, such a pretty thing like you, and a gorgeous man like that…” His eyes warmed on Jos. “Unless, of course, you entertain other preferences.”

  A shadow passed over Jos’s already dark face.

  “No…” Gavet cocked his head, reconsidering. “It’s not that…”

  “By the wards, Gavet,” Sable snapped, annoyed. “You’re as bad as the tavern ladies.”

  “Worse.” Gavet winked, then strode to the steaming kettle. “Does your friend talk? Or does he also employ you to be his mouthpiece?”

  “Your business is with Sable, not me,” Jos said quietly, dangerously.

  Gavet smiled. “Ah. A Provincial. Southbridge, is it? I do a lot of business with folk from there, though your accent it a bit harsher than most. Spend a good deal of time in Corinth?”

  Jos’s lips pressed together, and he didn’t speak again.

  “Beautiful country, Southbridge,” Gavet continued, pulling bowls from the shelf. Three, to Sable’s relief. “But too close to Corinth for my tastes, and dangerous for an Istraan. There be wolves near.”

  He, of course, meant the Wolf of Corinth, King Tommad’s younger son, the second prince, who was responsible for slaughtering hundreds—maybe even thousands—of Sol Velorian refugees. He’d shown equal animosity toward any Istraan caught pr
otecting them, and the people of Corinth revered him for it. Sable despised him.

  Gavet handed Sable a bowl and a slice of bread he’d snatched from a plate. Warmth seeped into her palms, and she inhaled deeply the scents of rosemary, fennel, and caltis. Bits of potato floated in the broth. Gavet grabbed a bowl and bread for himself, then took a seat, leaving Jos’s portion at the table.

  “How’d you get past the guards?” Gavet asked, dipping the bread in the broth.

  Sable joined him at the table. “I climbed the wall.”

  Gavet froze, bread hovering over the bowl, and he glanced up in surprise. He looked to Jos, who hadn’t moved from the wall. “Him too?”

  Jos didn’t answer. Sable didn’t doubt he’d said all he meant to say to this man.

  “He went through the main gate,” she answered for him, then added, with bite, “He’s not as recognizable as I am.”

  Gavet waggled his brows at that, then bit into his soggy bread. “Well, you can’t go back that way now.”

  “Obviously, but what other way is there?” she asked.

  Gavet smiled wickedly. “I’m a smuggler. There’s always another way, as long as one knows where to look.”

  21

  After dinner, Gavet led them into his cellar, where they were to sleep for the night. It was cozy, as far as cellars went, cramped with his life’s collection of goods—all items he’d smuggled over the years, just waiting for the right buyer. Sable spotted pieces from all over the Provinces and beyond: Istraan throwing stars; a lantern made of thick bubbled glass, framed in rope and metal, meant to endure the strong gusts native to The Fingers; a wooden oud, its body painted in beautiful swirls of fire, with pearlescent knobs and lustrous black strings. Sable had never seen such a beautiful instrument before. Unable to help herself, she strummed a few chords, earning herself a curious look from Jos and a glare from the greedy smuggler.

  Regretfully, she stepped away from the oud then spotted an Istraan silk draped over a stool, dyed the purple of a desert sunrise. She approached, and rubbed the silk between her fingers with a nostalgic pang. It was even softer than she remembered.

  “You’ll be safe down here,” Gavet said, pulling blankets out of a chest made of rose-colored wood Sable had never seen. “I’ve got some clients making deliveries in the middle of the night. It’s better if they don’t see you.” He set the blankets on top of a gilded table. “Need anything else? A drink, perhaps?”

  Gavet sounded as if he thought they needed one.

  Jos didn’t answer. He’d taken to checking the cellar in the same way he’d checked the kitchen.

  “No, this is perfect. Thanks,” Sable said.

  “Here’s a pot if either of you need to relieve yourself in the night, and don’t slip anything into your pockets, little thief.” He winked at Sable. “This might be a mess, but I know every item in it and where it rests.” Gavet’s eyes trailed Jos as he spoke. He seemed to catch himself, then looked back to Sable. “Make sure your employer doesn’t take anything, either. At least, nothing that belongs to me.”

  Sable gave him a look.

  He smiled, all mischief. “I’ll leave this for you.” He set the lantern on a shelf filled with trinkets and oddities, cast one last glance at Jos, then climbed up the ladder and closed the hatch.

  “There had to be a better option than that,” Jos said sharply.

  “There wasn’t.” Sable snatched one of the blankets Gavet had left. “I told you. This is a land of criminals. We work with what we’ve got.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “I never said I did. Besides, I didn’t trust you, and here we are.”

  He regarded her as she stepped around items. “That’s different.”

  “You’re right.” She glanced sideways at him. “Being with you is far more dangerous. You’ve almost gotten me killed—twice—and now I’m the most wanted woman in all The Wilds.”

  “Most women would envy you for that title.”

  She gave him a flat look. “Funny.”

  He smiled, all teeth, then picked up an Istraan star and ran his finger along one of the arched edges. “How is it you know him?”

  Sable chose a spot to sleep and started moving items out of the way. “Gavet’s been a patient of mine for years.”

  “What does he suffer from?”

  “It’s not really your business.”

  A pause. “Did you ever visit him in the middle of the night?”

  Sable stopped arranging her blanket and glared at him. “It’s not like that.”

  “I know it’s not. Clearly, you’re not his type.” A dark smile curled his lips. He set the star down. “I’m asking why he expects deliveries in the middle of the night. Don’t people here travel by day?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean they conduct business strictly during the day.”

  Jos frowned, unconvinced.

  Sable moved a small crate to the base of a standing mirror, but her reflection gave her pause. Tolya had never owned a mirror. Most people in The Wilds couldn’t afford one. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her reflection so clearly—the palace, perhaps? —and the woman staring back surprised her. As a child, Sable’s features had always been too big for her face, but her adult face held them well. As if it’d finally earned them.

  Such a pretty thing like you, Gavet had said.

  Her dark hair fell a little past her chin now, and though her skin hadn’t seen the sun in years, it’d retained its coppery hue as if Istraa refused to let her go. She searched her reflection for pieces of Ricón or her papa, but she couldn’t find them there. She’d never known her mother, and she found herself wondering if she resembled her, and if they shared the same hazel eyes, for they certainly hadn’t come from her papa.

  At the mirror’s edge, Sable spotted Jos slinging his cloak over a chair. He lifted the edge of his tunic and ran his fingertips over the stitches.

  “We should probably take those out,” Sable said.

  Jos caught her gaze in the mirror. He looked wary, but she couldn’t be sure. He was still difficult to read.

  “Come on,” she said, gesturing for him to sit on her blanket.

  With some apprehension, he did as she’d asked. He pulled his tunic over his head and propped himself back upon his elbows, and Sable knelt beside him. She cut the knot and tugged out the first stitch.

  “Godsdamnit.” Jos hissed. “A little warning?”

  “That was your warning.”

  He looked at her through half-lidded eyes.

  She gave him a look. “It’s better if I don’t warn you. That way you’re relaxed.” A snip, a tug.

  He hissed again and glanced sharply away from her, grumbling something she couldn’t hear. His muscles tightened with expectation.

  “Jos.”

  He looked at her a second later. His expression hovered between leeriness and aggravation.

  “How’d you get that?” She nodded toward the scar beneath his heart.

  His gaze slid to the scar as if suddenly remembering it was there, and then his brow furrowed. “It’s… not a story for now.”

  She pulled another stitch. He hissed and shut his eyes.

  “Right now is a perfect time,” she said. “It’ll keep you distracted.”

  But Jos didn’t offer any more, and he kept his eyes shut until she yanked out the very last stitch.

  “There. See?” Sable gathered the threads. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  He opened his eyes an annoyed sliver.

  Sable smiled, all innocence. “The good news is you’re healing beautifully, if I do say so myself.”

  He grunted, sitting up. “The bad news?”

  “It’s not necessarily bad, but I still think you’ll have those stripes permanently.”

  Jos glanced down at the lines. “That should make for some interesting conversations,” he mused.

  “Just keep your clothes on and…” Her voice trailed as she realized what he’d meant. Sh
e held up a hand. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

  An imperceptible grin touched his lips before he pulled his shirt back over his head. “Thanks.” He jumped to a stand, grabbed a blanket, and walked away to arrange his own bed—directly beneath the hatch.

  Sable lay down, hands tucked behind her head, and stared up at the ceiling. She thought of how much life she’d missed, hidden away in Skanden, like all the items buried down here in Gavet’s cellar. How many experiences she’d missed—experiences so common and natural to someone so handsome as Jos.

  “Look what I found,” Jos said suddenly, crouched so close she startled.

  She glared at him.

  He smirked, dropped a round, wooden board on her blankets, and set the lantern on the floor beside them.

  Sable looked at the board and sat up straight. “Hokstra…?”

  It was an Istraan strategy game—a very difficult strategy game, in which one conquered the stars. Ricón had taught her how to play after catching her in the rafters time and time again, spying on him and his friends as they’d played it. She hadn’t seen the game since leaving Istraa, and not even the palace had owned a set this beautiful. Where had Gavet found it?

  Jos admired the pieces as he took them out of a small drawer embedded in the game board, polished ivory or obsidian, each a representation of an Istraan saint, warrior, or god.

  “You know how to play?” Sable asked in surprise.

  “I know the basics.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “No one. I saw it played once.”

  “Once? Jos, men spend their entire lives mastering this.”

  He arranged the ivory pieces upon one side and the obsidian pieces upon the other, both armies standing opposite the gilded sun at the center.

  “No, Nián goes over there.” Sable pointed to the appropriate star. Jos moved it accordingly. “And Asiam… no… no… yes. No, Saredd stands on Asiam’s other side… no… Oh, just let me do it.”

  Jos sat back, triumphant.

  Sable folded her legs, tucked her hair behind her ears, and set up the pieces. It’d been years since she’d done it, but as she held them, touched them, the memories returned. The saints, the warriors, their god, where they stood and how they moved.