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I poured him more mead then moved to the ambassador, a noble-born Mevian by the name of Rukard. Though I felt his eyes on me, I refused to look at him as I refilled his cup.
He was about Papa’s age, some gray at his temples, his long brown hair tied back in a tail. His fancy Mevian silk garb threaded with silver embroidery signified his importance. While I stood next to him, he flared his indigo wings as if he was trying to impress me.
The moon fae were the only light fae who had beautiful, iridescent wings, ones that my true father would’ve had.
The ambassador’s wings didn’t impress me, nor did his lecherous stare. His two guardsmen both wore the blue and silver armor of Mevia. They were bulkier than the ambassador, of course, and their wings were a deep shade of blue.
I couldn’t pretend their wings didn’t fascinate me a little. Wood fae were considered a lower caste, not as anointed by the gods to be given the gift of wings.
Yet, I was well aware that the color of my white-blond hair and violet eyes set me apart from other wood fae. Only the noble line of Issosian moon fae had the same coloring of hair and eyes as me. Except they also were all born with wings. I was not. I was a half-breed.
“Why don’t we up the stakes, Phestys?”
I glared at Rukard while I filled the bigger guard’s cup first. Rukard grinned at me, but his eyes kept wandering lower.
“I’ve got the pot now,” said Papa haughtily. “I’ll set the wager, my lord.”
I set the black-haired guard’s cup down, ignoring his sly wink at me then rounded him to place a hand gently on my father’s shoulder. “Papa, you’ve done so well. You should stash that away for good keeping. The winter will be here—”
“Oh, go on with you, Murgha.” He shoved me aside. “Go clean the tables from the customers.”
I didn’t bother telling him they were all clean because we’d had no customers since the ambassador and his men had arrived two days ago.
Wood fae didn’t much like the company of moon fae. It wasn’t that we were enemies, but moon fae would often throw their weight around, especially ones with the authority of a noble lord like Rukard. They made other fae nervous.
As they were making me right that very minute.
On the table, the kingdoms were carved into four squares around a circular center. Each of the squares represented four realms—the heavens marked with stars, the oceans marked with wavy lines, the earth marked with round stones, and the mountains marked with spiky peaks. At the center of them all was the circle of the three hells, divided into pie-shape triangles. And at the very center of the triangles was a throne.
When a player cast the pewter bowl filled with three stones, six leg bones and the skull of a rodent, wherever they landed determined the roller’s points for that round. I never bothered to learn the exact rules because I detested the game so much.
It seduced Papa into gambling away good money we needed to keep food in the larder and mead in our barrels. Not only for us but for our customers.
What I did know was that stones held more points than bones. The four realms on the outside were the safest and gave more points than the three hells. But anything landing on the throne doubled the points earned in that roll. And if the rodent skull landed on the throne, the roller was declared the winner no matter what anyone else rolled in the round.
Papa shoved every last coin he had into the empty square at the left of the table where the bets were made. “Everything in,” he chuckled.
A stone of dread sank to the pit of my stomach. I’d seen this before, my father’s unwavering optimism in conquering a player when it usually was the other way around.
“That’s mighty steep.” Rukard said with a serious expression while he scratched his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. “But I’ll take the wager.”
He pulled from the inside pocket of his fine, embroidered jacket a leather satchel of coin that he upended onto the pile. It wasn’t just silver and copper pieces but the definitive sparkle of gold in the mix.
I gasped. So did Papa. But not for the same reason. While Papa’s eyes gleamed greedily, I knew that mine shone with fear.
“I’ll add this as well,” quipped Rukard, pulling a gold ring encrusted with a trio of sapphires from his finger and laying it on top of the coin with a heavy clink.
“I’m out,” said the dark-haired guardsmen.
“Me too,” added the other, leaning back and drinking his mead.
“How about you, Phestys?” asked Rukard. “Surely, you can stay in the game, a man of your resources.”
My stomach soured even more. Rukard knew exactly what to say to prick my father’s pride and urge him further on.
“I…uh…” Papa faltered on a nervous chuckle. “I don’t know if I can meet your wager.”
He glanced up at me where I’d frozen a few feet away with the pitcher of mead in hand before he pulled something small that sparkled from his trousers’ pocket and lay it next to the ring on the pile.
