for us all.
Already the gambling hall is in full swing again, but now people watch me more closely, or pull me into the games. They don’t ask for money or for chips; instead they offer them, only wanting me to join in for a game with them. They ask what I’m drinking and order me more. Casem eyes them like a hawk all the while, walking back and forth from the bar every time someone pours me a new drink to make sure they’re not slipping anything into it.
None of us have any idea where Shanty’s gone, but seeing how much coin she snuck away with, I’ve no doubt she’s already taken a different face. Meanwhile, Vataea and I are at a blackjack table with Ferrick behind my shoulder and Bastian over hers. He eyes her cards with a neutral expression before he bends to whisper something into her ear.
I find my fingers tensing against the cards, my grip becoming tighter as my mind lingers not on the game before us, but on memories of his breath tickling my skin. Of him whispering into my ear.
I drink, forcing myself to look away. Forcing myself to laugh when someone makes a joke, and to relax as best I can with the pressure of so many people watching me, expecting gods know what. All I’ve ever wanted was for my people to know who I was, and to earn their love.
Why, then, does my skin feel as though it’s crawling? Why does every word out of my mouth feel like I’m trying to talk through lips that are nailed shut?
Hours pass with no break in the action. No one seems to tire, and the crowd doesn’t disperse until dawn. Morning light cracks through the windows and bathes the room. In the brightness, all the cheering feels too loud. All the makeup and shimmering outfits from the night no longer dazzle, but look excessive and out of place.
It’s time to get out of here and find Ronan. I pray he’s found the answers I need; I’m not sure I can handle back-to-back nights in Kerost.
I made sure not to drink too much, only taking polite sips of anything bought for me. Enough to make people think we’re friendly, but not lose my wits. Even so, my head pounds and my eyes blur, though it’s likely more from exhaustion than the alcohol.
Gods, I should have slept hours ago. It’s going to be a long day on Keel Haul.
As the crowd wanes, we make our way back outside, some of us groggy while others—namely Ferrick and Vataea—still buzz with laughter. Each of their footsteps sway a few inches too far, and their cheeks are flushed from both alcohol and breathless laughter.
“Did you hear him?” Vataea laughs, wiping at her watering eyes.
Ferrick barks a laugh in response, the sound so fierce that he’s having to hold his stomach to contain himself. “Oy!” he says in a low, mocking voice. “Aren’t you one of those mermaids?”
Vataea practically howls, and Bastian and I exchange an amused look that makes my stomach prickle and has me immediately glancing away. Ferrick and Vataea continue on like that, making absolutely no sense to anyone but each other, arms slung around one another. While Ferrick’s hand sits comfortably at Vataea’s waist, I watch as she shifts so that his hand drops to her hip. She waits for a reaction, and I catch the briefest, sourest pucker of her lips when Ferrick continues on with his drunken laughter, politely shifting his hand back up. Only when she purposefully takes his hand and lowers it again to her hip does he jolt with surprise. This time, though, he doesn’t move it away.
The two of them walk ahead as I take my time, scanning the streets for a head of shaggy black hair. I catch sight of Ronan in a shaded corner beneath the VICE sign, trying not to doze off. When he spots me, his scowl grows deep and he jumps to his feet. “Did you really have to stay there all night?”
As the rest of the crew stops to look at the boy’s outburst, I draw a sharp breath and freeze, hoping they won’t recognize him. But, sure enough, Bastian squints and steps forward.
“You’re the kid with the shells,” he says briskly. “That was a clever trick you pulled back there.”
Ronan lifts his chin, but I grind my teeth together and give him a sharp look to draw his attention. He stills, eyes