Page 54 of The Lover's Leap

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The silence in the pub would not soon be broken.

The stooped-over doorman leapt down from his post at the front door. He scurried behind the bar, grabbed a bucket and mop, and set to wiping the mess from the table. As the cheater’s screams faded in the distance, the little doorman passed the hand to the finely dressed man, who held it up, blood trickling down from the gaping wound to stain his luxurious sleeves. Droplets flew from the hand and clung to his cheeks, which were no longer sweating but still flushed with excitement.

“This,” he said, holding the hand high for all to see, “is the cheater’s just sentence!”

Cheers and shouts from the patrons seemed to be the sign for all to return to their play.

“Mind yer feet and find yer seats! Behind ya!” Barmaids resumed food service, carrying trays and calling out as they navigated through the stagnant crowd.

Once the evidence of the fight was cleaned, I shoved my empty mug back toward the barkeep. Biko had returned to the pub and I spotted him standing by the X on the back wall, watching as a few players chatted over their throwing weapons.

I tried to fight off a wave of nausea as the smells of sweat and blood filled my nose. And then, something else—something that reminded me of the stink I’d caught on my mother the other day: vinegar.

The black-clad enforcers congregated behind the bar, pouring a stinky liquid into mugs. I coughed and covered my nose, but the barkeep was busy, so I didn’t have a chance to ask him what they were doing.

The finely dressed man passed the hand to the axe-wielding enforcer, who left the pub with it. I was certain I’d see that poor limb outside, hanging alongside the others who’d violated the unwritten rules of Knuckles & Bones.

The games on the floor resumed, while Biko stayed close to the throwing game. Syndrian was greeted by the finely dressed man, whose sleeve and skin were still wet with the cheater’s blood. He accepted a cloth from the barkeep and wiped his hand mostly clean before clapping Syndrian on the back.

My stomach turned over as the man left bloody smudges on the back of Syndrian’s tunic. I turned away, hoping that was not some kind of eerie reminder that no one, not even a “friend” of the Otleiches, was safe here.

“Dice-maker! Welcome.” The man greeted Syndrian warmly, then mopped the sweat from his forehead. He smoothed his hair back into place and sniffed hard. “I’m sure you can see why we needed you for this tournament.” He nodded toward the doorway. “Too bad you can’t create a deck of cards that won’t fit up a sleeve.”

Syndrian nodded and shoved the bag he’d been clutching across the bar. “As requested,” he said simply. “Thirty-two identical dice.”

The man unlaced the bag and shook a few dice into his hand. They were made of smooth ironspruce wood. Rather than the pips being painted, the marks indicating the numbers had been carefully etched into each of the six sides.

Syndrian pointed to the dice. “There’s nothing added to weigh the dice down. No paint, just a bit of finishing wax. You can rub a little ash over the pips to make them visible without adding any measurable weight.”

The man inspected each one, smoothing his now-dry fingers over Syndrian’s handiwork. “Beautiful,” he mused. “You polished and etched these yourself? All of them?”

My brother’s best friend, the man I hoped to claim as my own if we survived this tournament, nodded. “I’ll vouch for each and every one o’ those.”

The finely dressed man’s mouth widened into a greedy grin. “I hope you will,” he said. “That cheater’s gone and given me a taste for blood.”

My pulse skittered as I thought about Syndrian being held responsible for the outcome of all the games that required dice. If a single player lodged a complaint against the dice…made a single allegation of cheating… I refused to consider it. Refused to consider that the hands that held my waist, my hands, my hair would be gone. I couldn’t believe that a man could survive such an injury, but that too was a fate I could not contemplate. Not for the man who had cheated and certainly not for Syndrian.

Syndrian didn’t respond to the man’s comment but tapped the empty mug in front of him. “I’m going to stick around and watch some of the games,” he said. “Unless you plan to pay me and kick me out.”

“Pay you…” The finely dressed man motioned to the barkeep. “Get the cutler what we owe him,” he said in a hushed voice.

The barkeep left the bar and walked through a swinging wooden door that I’d assumed led to a kitchen. He came out with a small pouch in his hands. Then he dropped it dramatically on the bar in front of Syndrian, who immediately opened the bag and counted the money.

“Man after my own heart!” The finely dressed man pounded Syndrian on the back again and watched. “I think you’ll find the owners of this fine establishment don’t engage in cheating any more than they condone it.”

Syndrian grunted and nodded. Then he nudged his mug toward the barkeep. “Since I’ve got the funds to run up a tab, fill me up, friend.”

“No free drinks,” the finely dressed man reminded the barkeep, then cackled, a long, loud sound. He waded his way through the crowd and announced in a booming voice that the tournament would begin within a quarter hour. “Find your tables and shake those coins! The games are about to begin.”

Biko was still hovering back by the throwing game, but at the announcement, he went off in search of something to play. I was only comfortable playing backgammon, especially since I only intended to bet on games I played, not on any of the games I watched. Keeping Syndrian’s long ponytail in my line of sight, I explored the rowdy pub.

I avoided Biko but made sure I knew where he was at all times. To my surprise, he borrowed an axe and seemed to do well playing with it. I noticed a lot of hands clapping him on the back and heard his familiar voice cheering himself on. Syndrian remained with his back to the bar, scanning the crowd while he sipped an ale.

As night fell in the shire of Kyruna, two black-clad enforcers stood just inside the rear doors of the pub. Two more stood near the little old man at the front. The barmaids wove through the dresses and boots and cloaks. A young boy stoked the fires, while the finely dressed man, his sleeves stained with the cheater’s blood, clapped once and took his spot in the center of the room. He stomped a boot on the floor, then climbed onto a table.

“Attention, friends! Attention!”

The pub grew quiet, with only the wind whistling outside and the fire crackling to interrupt the man’s announcement.


Tags: Callie Chase Fantasy