Page 9 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

“Tough loss, lad.” The burly man raked a pile of coins toward him, his grin yellow and crooked. “Not much for cards, are you?”

Will watched as Aidon took a long pull of his drink, his expression sour. “Apparently not.”

“Let us buy you both another round,” the man’s friend chimed in. “Least we can do for bleeding you dry.”

The men shoved back from the table and elbowed their way to the bar, not bothering to wait for the barmaid. Will hadn’t seen her in over an hour, anyway.

He waited until they were out of earshot before rounding on Aidon.

“What the hells are you playing at?” he spat, his eyes darting to the depleted pile of coins in front of the king. Aidon had won an early hand, but he’d been steadily losing since.

“Relax, would you? I have them exactly where I want them,” Aidon assured him. “You could win a hand or two more, you know. It’ll look far less like you’re trying to help me win if you did.”

Will’s jaw clenched. He had been trying to win ever since Aidon started losing so spectacularly. He was just rubbish at cards. And if Aidon’s smirk was any indication, he knew it.

“This isn’t a game,” Will bit out.

“It is quite literally a game, and one I am very good at,” Aidon shot back, all trace of humor gone from the deep baritone of his voice. His gaze shifted over Will’s shoulder, clocking the return of the men. “You do your job and let me focus on mine.”

Will swallowed his retort as the men slammed four mugs down on the table, sending the ale splashing onto the already sticky surface.

He nodded his thanks before he took a hearty swig.

But his frustration was steadily mounting.

It was nearly impossible to pick out conversation in the crowded space, and the snatches he had heard thus far were utterly useless.

“…cold is going to kill the saplings…”

“…say the Ventaleh wind returned to the Malas. This late in the season, can you believe…”

Perhaps a more direct approach was warranted.

The burly man began to shuffle the cards, his cheeks flush with the heat of the crowd and the alcohol steadily coursing through his veins. Slowly, Will let his affinity reach toward him. It had been a lucky thing to find two humans looking to gamble a few hours away.

Add it to my list of sins , Will thought as his affinity wrapped gently around the man.

It was a subtle thing, letting the feeling of drunkenness deepen just enough to be useful to them without raising any suspicion from the man or his comrade.

Will didn’t need to push much. Just enough to loosen the man’s lips so that he might get some crumb of information after three weeks of wandering the wilderness.

But before he could even begin to raise a single question, the man was asking one of his own. “I can tell by your accents you’re not from around these parts. What brings you two to Maumart? Can’t be the gambling,” he added with a wry chuckle.

“We were dockworkers in Dunmeaden,” Will lied smoothly. “Barely escaped the attack. Thought it best to get as far away as possible.”

“No docks for you to work at here,” his companion chimed in, frowning at his hand of cards. “What’ll you do now?”

“Might try our hands at felling,” Aidon replied. “You wouldn’t happen to know any carpenters looking for men to add to their company, would you?”

“Aye,” the first man mused, his eyes glazed as he looked off in thought. “Ned Gallows lost a man in an accident last month. He might be worth talking to.” He blinked and frowned at Aidon. “Not eager to get back to Trahir, are you?”

Will kept his attention on his cards—another terrible hand—but he saw Aidon still for a beat in his periphery.

Relax, it’s just your accent he recognizes , Will silently urged.

Relief swept through him as Aidon flicked a coin into the center pile, his movements turning loose and easy as he said, “Haven’t been in years. As it is, I’m not sure I’m up for crossing the Anath at the moment.”

The smaller man shuddered. “You couldn’t pay me to leave Maumart.”

“You think we’re safe here?” His friend scoffed. “They’re killing humans for sport. Just look at what happened in Sitya.”

Will glanced up from his cards, his brow furrowing as he felt the sharp twist of the man’s anger brush against his affinity.

The man tossed a card down on the table and drew another. “I told you, didn’t I?” he said to his friend. “That Second Saint was no saint at all.”

Will’s heart lurched. He could feel Aidon’s gaze on him, but he forced himself to throw another coin into the pile, to continue the game, even as every instinct screamed for him to move, to act .

He pushed his affinity harder, influencing and sensing. Pouring in trust, searching for deceit.

“Didn’t need proof, did I?” the burly man bragged, intent on proving himself right to his friend. Will took that smug pride and tripled it, uncaring if the man noticed his own emotions were running wild.

Aidon subtly kicked him beneath the table, but Will ignored him. Because the man was still speaking, and Will hadn’t even needed to interrogate him, and finally, finally they were getting a whisper of Aya—

“An entire shipload of prisoners, dead, just because Kakos dared to question her allegiance.”

Will, as tangled as he was in the man’s own anger and bravado, almost missed his own cool surprise at the man’s revelation.

“Pardon?” Aidon asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between the friends.

“Rumors,” the smaller man assured them, as if they might take offense. “There was a recent attack on the port. About two weeks ago now?”

The burly one shook his head, dropping another handful of coins into the pile. He was playing fast and loose, and Will watched as Aidon clocked it too, his eyes darting between the pile and the man and Will.

“Rumors,” the man scoffed with a wave of his hand. One of his cards fluttered to the table, landing face up. An ace. He tossed it in the discard pile without sparing it a glance. “Those miles from the port claimed to have seen a glimpse of her lightning as she rained her fury down.”

Heavy and unrelenting dread settled on Will’s chest, its weight enough to have his affinity reeling itself back, as if it knew, instinctively, he could not handle more than his own tempestuous emotions.

Lightning.

Aya had been in Sitya. She had been in Sitya, had displayed her power, and…

What the hells had happened? What horrors were these men speaking of?

Will opened his mouth to question him further, but a murmur rippled through the tavern, the pitch of it disgruntled enough to draw his attention to the door.

Two guards in maroon livery stood in the entrance. Between them stood the barmaid, her gaze scanning the crowd. She paused when she landed on Will, her hand coming up to tug on one of the guard’s sleeves.

Godsdammit .

The Talan Royal Guard had arrived in Maumart.

Will ducked his head behind one of the other patrons, drawing a bewildered look from Aidon.

“We have to go,” he rushed. “Now.” He didn’t bother to wait for Aidon’s agreement before he pushed to his feet, yanking at his hood to keep his face concealed.

Aidon followed suit immediately, cutting a glance to the entrance and swearing beneath his breath. “Gentlemen,” he said to the gamblers, “I believe I took this last round.” Before the men could blink, Aidon dragged his arm across the table, scooping the coins into his bag.

“Hey!” the burly man reached for Aidon, but the king was faster. He tipped the table, sending the drinks flying, and the men toppled back in their chairs in their haste to escape the mess.

Aidon grabbed Will’s shoulder and shoved him forward into the throng of people, throwing his elbows as he went, and soon the room was a mess of shouts as people started to shove against each other, the crowd swelling like an angry horde of bees.

Will could just make out the furious voices of the two gamblers above the rest, their condemnation following him and Aidon as they pushed through the growing chaos.

“Thieves!”

“Stop them!”

Will spied a flash of maroon as he darted through the crowd, but Aidon’s distraction had proven itself useful in slowing the guards. So he let his affinity spread, let it latch onto wherever it found belligerence, and heightened it.

A fist came for his head, and he ducked, his shoulder finding the soft flesh of someone’s gut as he fought his way toward the bar.

A pair of stonemasons stood blocking the doorway to the kitchen, one holding the other in a headlock.

Will grabbed the fabric of the attacker’s tunic and shoved them both out of the way, Aidon on his heels, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

A soot-covered cook stood at the stone oven, his eyes blowing wide as Will drew his knife and motioned to the door behind him.

“Move.”

The cook stepped aside as Will shoved the door open and raced into the alley. Aidon unsheathed his sword, skidding to a halt beside him, his gaze sweeping the street. It was dark, and the rain had yet to let up, but Aidon shook his head and stepped toward the main thoroughfare.

“The horses,” Aidon panted, but Will grabbed his arm.

“It’s too much of a risk,” he insisted as he dragged him back, his mind racing with his pulse. But there wasn’t time to sort through why the Talan Royal Guard, who was typically tasked with the policing of Tala and the protection of the Crown, was here.

Or why the barmaid had led them directly to Aidon and Will.

They darted down the alleyway, Will’s quick thanks to the gods for its open end driven more by habit than belief.

He could hardly see a breath in front of him, what with the rain and the pitch black of night, but it didn’t stop him from pushing himself faster, their boots splashing in the mud as they turned the corner.

He barely saw the blade coming for his throat.

Will ducked, a vicious curse bursting from him as he drew his sword, his knife still firmly gripped in his other hand. A clang of metal sounded behind him—Aidon, locking blades with another Talan guard.

A third charged at Will, but Will was faster.

His knife landed true, slicing through the guard’s throat with a sickly squelch.

Will whirled, his arm reverberating with the impact of his sword meeting the first guard’s, as another rounded on Aidon.

Will threw out his power, spearing pain across the space as he shoved the first guard off of him.

The soldier behind Aidon stumbled, and Aidon whirled, his sword finding his chest.

Will’s blade clanged over the rain as he blocked his attacker’s parries, his boots sinking into the mud.

His power met the man’s shield, but it pulled the soldier’s focus enough that Will’s next strike met flesh.

The soldier screamed as he dropped to the ground, but then there was an arm around Will’s neck, and someone was dragging him back before slamming him into the stone wall of the building behind him.

The two guards from the tavern had joined the fray.

The rain was too heavy for Will to see Aidon, but he made out a shout, and a flash, and a thud, before his attention was pulled back to the man with a hand at his throat as he tugged Will forward before slamming him back once more.

Will’s skull cracked against the stone, stars exploding across his vision as his ears rang. It did nothing to diminish the rage that tore through him as the soldier smiled.

“Enforcer,” he crooned. The rain hammered down on them, the wind howling like a wolf. “Her Majesty looks forward to—”

The man’s words cut off with a gargle, blood spraying from his mouth and onto Will’s face.

Will could just make out the glint of a knife blade protruding from his neck before he slumped forward.

He caught his deadweight, his lungs burning as the hand around his neck went limp and he sucked in his first breath.

“Well I’ll say this,” a familiar voice drawled. “Saving your ass certainly doesn’t get old.”

There, drenched to the bone and looking as haggard as Will felt, stood Liam.

Fire was still flaring from Aidon’s palms, and in it, he could just make out Liam’s bonded Athatis at his side. The remaining guard was dead at Aidon’s feet.

Will blinked against the rain, the dead guard thudding to the ground as he shoved his body from him.

“Seven hells,” he panted. “Never one for a dull entrance, are you?”