My mother told us that humans envisioned a utopia when they thought of Faerie Land. Then again, most didn’t really believe Y’Eírialiastar existed. But the truth would shock them. My father’s people were all too susceptible to the same problems that plagued mortals. Poverty, addiction, violence…we had it all.
We passed a Sawberry Fae hawking doses of kysa for ten pen each. Opium went for ten times the price. He caught my gaze and winked. “Care for a trip, my dear? Make life more bearable? Only ten pen.”
He reached out to grab my arm as I pushed past him.
Before I could react, Trillian had hold of the man’s wrist, twisting it so that it was bent back in the wrong direction. “Touch her again and I’ll cut it off.”
The Sawberry winced. “All right, all right. You wouldn’t want to sell her, would you? She’d fetch a—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish because Trillian’s arm was suddenly wrapped around his neck, a knife aimed at his jugular.
“Don’t touch her, don’t speak to her, don’t even think about her. Are we clear?” A dangerous light flickered across the Svartan’s face, and I realized that he was ready to cut the man’s throat and he wasn’t even sweating.
“Yes,” the Sawberry croaked, rubbing his neck as Trillian released him. He averted his gaze from mine and scurried back to his tent.
Trillian slid the knife back into its sheath, which was hanging at his side and shrugged. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “This isn’t the safest place for women.”
I took his hand and followed. The stars were emerging, brilliant and beautiful and shining. The Moon Mother watched over us and I felt her presence in the pit of my stomach. She was nearing full, and the closer we got, the more I craved a man’s touch. Trillian’s hand was hot against mine. I tried to keep my mind on our mission—on finding Roche—but it was hard with him touching me.
“There,” he hissed. “Up ahead. See that tent? A gambler named Bes runs a den there. Roche is there. I checked earlier and he was deep into the game. What do you want to do? Will he recognize you?”
I’d been careful, but an alarm rang in the back of my head. If the YIA was setting me up to fail, maybe they had leaked info about me to the rumor mill. Maybe Roche knew I was on his tail.
“I don’t know,” I said after a moment. “I can’t guarantee that he won’t know who I am.”
“Come with me,” Trillian said, pulling me toward a nearby stall. The vendor was sitting beside a rack of scarves and drapes, drinking goblin brandy. The stench filtered up to my nose and set me to sneezing, it was so thick with peppercorns and keva root.
“Let me see…This will work,” Trillian said, choosing a sheer ankle-length cloak. Filmy and the color of amethyst, it was hooded and would cloak my face while still allowing me to see through the silken material. He draped the cloth around my shoulders and I slid the hood up.
Trillian gently tucked my hair inside the hood, making sure my errant curls were hidden from view.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, tracing my chin with his fingertips, gently running his fingers over my mouth. I parted my lips and he slid his index finger inside. Closing my lips around his finger, I swirled my tongue against the flesh, gently running my teeth over his skin as I pulled away.
He caught a harsh breath. “Do you know how lucky you are that I am not like the majority of my kinsmen?”
“Do you realize how lucky you are that I’m not like my sisters?” I countered, wishing we were anywhere but here. I hesitated. Would it be so bad to forget about Roche? To pretend I didn’t know he was here, to run off to an inn with Trillian and slide my naked body across his? But then my father’s training kicked in and I let out a long sigh. “Roche shouldn’t be able to recognize me now. Let’s go before I lose my nerve.”
Trillian laughed, then. “Camille, somehow I think that if you lose anything, it won’t be your courage. Come, pretend you’re with me and keep quiet until we find him. They don’t like women in the dens but they’ll allow them if they’re with a man. We can get a feel for what’s going on and go from there.”
He paid the man and we headed back to Bes’s den. Trillian motioned for me to hang back a few steps while he talked to the two guards at the entrance.
The vagabond gambling dens were usually owned by criminals. Gaming wasn’t illegal, but the safer dens were found in buildings and guaranteed the gambler safe passage in and out of the game rooms unless they invited trouble. The vagabonds’ dens were strictly enter-at-your-own-risk.
Suddenly chilled, I realized how grateful I was that Trillian was with me. I could fight down and dirty, but the dens were dangerous places, and without my sisters, I felt vulnerable. I shifted from one foot to the other, wanting to get this over with.
Trillian motioned for me to follow him inside. The tent was a two-room affair, with the main room taken up by the den. There were two low-rise tables, around which sat a dozen men—six at each table. I glanced over the crowd and there he was. Roche.
His eyes were glazed and he looked rough, his face covered with stubble, his hair unkempt, and his clothes filthy. Worse yet, he was stinking up the place. I wondered how long it had been since he’d had a bath. A pile of coins sat in front of him and he toyed with them, rolling them over and over in his hand.
Trillian sauntered up to the table and spoke to the dealer, who nodded curtly and pointed to a chair. As he sat down, he motioned for me to stand behind him. As I slowly crossed the floor, my gaze demurely pointed at my feet, something felt off. Very off. As though hidden eyes were watching me.
I leaned over Trillian’s shoulder to whisper to him but then stopped. Roche was still turning over the coins in his hand, but his gaze was firmly fastened on me. Catching my breath, I placed a hand on Trillian’s shoulder, squeezing in the hope that he’d get my message that something was up.
“In or out?” the dealer asked him.
Trillian tossed a few coins on the table. “In.”
Roche glanced down at the pile of coins in front of him and anted up, then added twenty pen more. The bets went round the table, with each player meeting or raising the bet. Roche held up the dice and pitched them on the table. Out of five dice, they landed a total of twenty-one pips. He frowned as the dealer jotted down the number. Round the table they went, each man taking his turn. By the time Trillian was up, Roche was still the leader. Trillian scooped up the dice and neatly tossed them. They rebounded off the bumper on the other side and came up four sixes and a three.
“Twenty-seven. You’re the current leader. What’s your pleasure? Let stand or bet for the second round?”
Trillian shook his head. “Stand.”
Roche snorted. “That the best you can do, Svartan?” He tossed another three coins on the pot. “Re roll.” The dice came his way and he shook them in his hand, blowing on them for luck, then tossed them.
The dealer grunted. “Twenty-three pips. Still under. Next?”
Roche slammed his hand on the table but said nothing as the other four players took their turns. Two walked out, their pockets clean. The other two bet again but neither one hit the mark and they both folded.
Trillian glanced at Roche. He could either match what had been added to the pot and toss again for the third and final round, or he could stand on his mark and see if Roche bested him.
“Stand,” he said, giving Roche a faint grin that bordered on patronizing.
That’s the way, I thought. Push him over the edge.
Roche took the bait. He motioned to the dealer. “Kysa.” As he lit up the hookah the dealer offered him, he glanced at me again. “What would you think of a higher wager—just between us? I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”