Page 56 of Swords of Soul and Shadow (Gate Chronicles #3)

“Holding out on us, I see,” Eravin said with a laugh. He turned to Kase. “Doubt you beat out anyone, so just get on with it.”

Kase nearly threw the cards at him, but maybe he could still scrape out something. He flipped his hand over. Waylan laughed. “Sorry about the Sevenser, mate.”

Kase tapped the Priest card in the galley. Depending on his blind, the Priest put him over Waylan.

Eravin clicked his tongue. “As if you had a different choice.”

Kase needed to choose a blind to flip. If he by some miracle got the Dagger, he’d tie with Eravin, and they’d go to a shootout. Flipping the Raven card on his right guaranteed a loss.

He chewed his lip and concentrated on the two cards in front of him.

If he lost, he’d need to tell a secret. He played with the edge of the second blind with his thumb.

But what would he tell about? Could he make something up about his childhood?

He glanced at Eravin, who hovered on the line between bored and agitated. He’d pick out the lie in a heartbeat.

“I think I need to visit—” Kase started, but Waylan interrupted.

“Don’t be a blasting dulkop. Flip your card.” He punched Kase in the shoulder good-naturedly. “It’s just a game.”

Except Kase had too many secrets no one needed to know.

He closed his eyes as he flipped the second blind. He opened one eye a crack.

The straggly bearded man hung from the gallows, his blank eyes staring straight at him. Kase rubbed his hand down his face. The Hanged Man.

Waylan laughed too loudly again, drawing the attention of a nearby group of men passing around a pipe. “Sorry about that, mate.”

A right sincere apology, of course.

Eravin gave Kase a slow clap. “A spectacular finish, really.”

Kase rolled his eyes and set his cards in front of Eravin. “I’m done.”

“Not yet, Shackley.” Eravin gathered up the other cards and passed them to Neville.

“Didn’t you say something about my guards changing? Probably should head back if I’m to make it.”

“You lost. Pay up.”

Kase shook his head. “The biggest secret I had, you already spilled to the city—courtesy of Ellis Carrington.”

Eravin’s eyes went cold, and Kase knew he’d crossed a line. But his old friend no longer had the benefit of Kase’s good will. What more could he expect from Kase?

“Exactly what was your relationship with Lavinia Richter?”

Neville asked the question slowly, as if he knew Kase wouldn’t hear it properly with the tunnel noise and his wits scattered with drink. It was the first time all night the man had bothered to address him directly. Kase met his gaze.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Waylan nudged him with an elbow. “Come on, spill. It’s not hurting anyone.”

Neville spoke louder. “If we’d been playing with real sums, you’d be 200 gold tenners in the debts.”

Kase fiddled with the ties of his borrowed cloak. “Nothing. She was nothing to me.” He twisted Ana’s ring around his finger and felt the shame burning his neck. “She was just a way to get back at my father.”

“And Lucy Doyle. My mother, may her soul rest among the stars, was convinced you were the father of her child,” Waylan said with a raised brow.

Skibs. Kase was going to be sick. He hadn’t eaten much that day, only a portion or two of the rationed pork and hard tack.

The whiskey was not settling well among such scant fare.

He shook his head, and everything moved sluggishly with the drink.

“No, not Lucy. I’ve only been with Lavinia, but she’s dead, and it didn’t matter because Loffler, not Richter, was the one the Cerls wanted—”

Waylan laughed sardonically and clapped him on the shoulder. Kase realized his mistake too late. Neville looked as if he were about to reach across and punch Kase’s lights out. Eravin cleared his throat, “And the redhead? Hallie, is it? She your next conquest?”

Waylan stopped laughing for a moment. “Are you talking about Hallie Walker? Think Neville and I had a course with her last spring.” He eyed Kase appreciatively. “Quite the looker for a lowborn if you ask me. A few of the guys had a bet on who’d be the first to sleep with—”

Kase lunged at Waylan and let his fist fly, knocking him squarely in the jaw. Pain like lightning lanced through his hand. Waylan flopped back from the force. Neville leapt up and shoved Kase off.

Kase grabbed Neville and tossed him to the ground. Neville recovered quickly and threw curses Kase had only heard in the Crews. Neville ran at him, but Kase dodged. Neville turned and gasped, “Lavinia deserved better than a pig like you.”

Fueled by alcohol and the stress of the last few weeks, Kase shoved him. He breathed heavily. “Why’d she seek me out then? Huh?”

Neville growled and lunged at Kase again, but before he could make contact, Eravin grabbed him around the waist and threw him back. “No use fighting over a dead woman.”

Neville’s eyes were wild. “She’s only dead because of him !”

“I wasn’t even in the country when she died!” Kase glared. “Why don’t you ask your buddy Eravin why she died?” He whirled toward Eravin. “You had a hand in that. You might’ve even done it. Weren’t you saying the other day how a bloody smile is more your style?”

Eravin narrowed his eyes, not denying Kase’s accusation, but not confirming it either.

He held Neville back, who flung obscenities Kase’s way, obviously not listening to a word Kase said.

Waylan finally picked himself up from the ground, rubbing his red jaw.

Kase hadn’t realized he’d hit him that hard. He’d deserved it.

Kase didn’t wait around to see what happened next. He did what he always did—he ran.

Knuckles aching, he stumbled through the throng of people. His hood was down. The roar of the refugees grew louder as they recognized him. Their voices buzzed in his ears, but he kept running, knocking into people and discarding them in the same breath.

His head was full and pounding. Too much whiskey. He swayed, caught himself on a man nearby, and shoved off him. Blackness encroached on the edges of his vision, oozing and spreading until Kase’s knees hit the stony ground beneath him.

He was never drinking again. How did Jove stand it? His side ached, cramping. His stomach rocked like a stormy sea.

Hallie’s voice echoed in his mind. “Focus on breathing…slow and steady. In and out.”

He obeyed, but he was drunk, not having a panic attack. The voices around him grew insistent. Hands snatched the back of his cloak, choking him. He fought them blindly. His head pounded.

An arm snaked around his back, a hand grabbing his own arm and tugging it onto his shoulders. Kase turned to the side and puked.

“Blast it, Shackley.”

Eravin.

Kase tried to pull away, but his old friend only gripped him tighter. “You’re no use to me drunk and beaten to a pulp, so let me rescue you—or would you rather me leave you to the bloodthirsty mob?”

The nausea receded having emptied the contents of his stomach. His head still pounded, but shapes and colors and sounds grew distinct. The sweat felt cold in the tunnel air. He blinked as his lungs expanded. The air was stained with sweat and sick.

Eravin shouted something to the crowd that had accumulated and dragged Kase forward. “Why did you drink so much whiskey?”

Kase focused on making sure he didn’t stumble over the uneven ground beneath him. “Tasted good.”

Eravin turned behind them and shouted something vulgar at one of the refugees who demanded Kase be left to them.

Kase couldn’t help the snort that escaped. If Kase wasn’t so certain he was, in fact, twenty-one years old, he would’ve sworn he was sixteen again, running through the lower city with his brother in everything but blood, acting like they were kings of the world.

A shiny trick of the whiskey. The years hadn’t been kind to either of them, and Kase was certain he had vomit on his boots.

Eravin was silent the rest of their walk, but he didn’t take Kase back to his tent with the missing guards. Instead, he led him to another one that looked only slightly less shoddy than its neighbors. Its edges weren’t frayed, and it boasted no holes. Lamplight flickered within.

Eravin stopped just outside. Kase pulled out of his grip and stumbled, catching himself on the nearby wall. Eravin cleared his throat. “Stowe, you there?”

Kase went cold again. Hallie’s father was the last person he wanted to see him like this. He tried to back up but tripped over his own feet. Eravin caught him by the collar. “You need help, you dulkop.”

The tent flap opened to reveal Stowe’s face peeking out. He took one look at Eravin and Kase and opened it wider. “Bring him in.”

Even in his current state, Kase flushed and put up his hands. “No, no, I’m fine, really.”

Stowe furrowed his brow. “That would’ve been much more convincing if you weren’t slurring something fierce, son.”

Eravin still hadn’t let go of Kase’s collar. He pulled Kase along and shoved him into the tent in front of him, then stopped and spoke in low tones to Stowe.

The tent was small, with just enough room for two sleeping rolls and Stowe’s assorted concoctions. Kase had to hunch over just to fit inside unless he stood in the exact middle.

He wasn’t alone. A woman knelt in front of a pack, searching for something; upon Kase’s entrance, she looked up, suspicion in her gaze. “And who might you be?”

Distrust arranged her dainty features in a fierce look, her green eyes bright against her dark graying hair braided and pulled into a tight bun in the back.

She wore simple trousers and a green linen sash around her waist over a tucked white lace shirt.

Unlike Kase, when she stood up, she didn’t have to slouch.

She only came up to the middle of Kase’s chest.

He leaned a little too far to the right, but caught himself. “I’m…I’m Kase Shackley.”

“Zelda Walker.”

Hallie’s mother. She was all right. Kase held out a hand so he could give hers the customary peck, but instead, she took it and shook it like a man would. Kase blinked at her firm grip. “Nice to…nice to meet you.”

The more he tried to talk without slurring, the more his tongue felt too big for his mouth. Eravin left with a sharp look at Kase, and Stowe turned. “Let’s get you some tonic, and you can sleep it off here. You can use my bedroll.”

Kase waved his hands. “I’m fine. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Zelda raised a brow. “Your knuckles say otherwise.”

Stowe dragged his bedroll to the only open area of the tent and forced Kase to sit on top.

He instructed Zelda to fetch a few things from his pack while he examined Kase’s knuckles.

“Tore these up something awful, but I got my salve with me.” He grabbed Kase’s chin and inspected his face.

“Your jaw’s gonna go purple and blue by dawn, but that can’t be helped.

That cut don’t look too bad, though. Your other scar is healing nicely. ”

Kase brought a hand up to rub the place where the debris had fallen.

He’d not looked in a mirror in weeks, so he had no idea how it looked.

The skin was still raised and a little ropey.

Zelda handed Stowe a small pot of his salve and threw a packet of something in a cup before pouring some water on top.

She rummaged in her own pack and tossed in some flakes before handing it to him.

“Drink this. I added some sugar to sweeten it, but this should sober you up soon.”

Stowe thanked his wife and dabbed his homemade salve on Kase’s knuckles.

The relief was almost instant, the ache disappearing as soon as the tan goop made contact.

Kase sighed in relief and took a sip of Zelda’s concoction.

The sickly sweetness warring with the taste of dirt choked him. He coughed and sputtered.

“What in the blazes did you just give me?”

Zelda gave him a waspish look. “Drink it or suffer tomorrow.”

Stowe finished with the salve and wrapped Kase’s knuckles with gauze.

“Told you Hal got ‘er tongue from her mama.” Zelda hit her husband’s shoulder good-naturedly.

Stowe smiled as he pressed a bit on his knuckles.

Kase winced. Stowe shook his head. “Don’t think nothing’s broken, but these’ll be quite tender a few days more, I’d reckon. ”

Kase blinked. Don’t think nothing …so did that mean something was broken or not? He really needed Hallie there to interpret the mountain slang. “So it’s broken?”

“It’s not. He thinks,” Zelda said, arms crossed and watching him closely.

“Oh, I just…” He wasn’t sure he’d remember all this the next morning, and when his father figured out he’d left the tent…old dread pooled in his stomach. “I need to go.”

Zelda gave him a look. “And get mauled by the crowds? I think not, Kase Shackley.” She stared pointedly at the cup in his uninjured hand. “Drink it now.”

Kase gritted his teeth, but he took a deep breath before knocking back the rest of the sweet dirt liquid.

It tasted even worse than the first sip.

He coughed and tried his best not to throw the vile stuff back up.

Zelda gave him a nod, and within minutes, Kase’s limbs weighed twice as much as they usually did.

His eyelids drooped. Stowe took off his mucky boots and helped him into the bedroll.

He felt like a child, but whatever was in that concoction made his limbs too heavy and stuffed his head full of cotton.

As he fell into a deeper sleep, he got lost in the abyss. And he had to say…he didn’t entirely mind it.