Thread of Gold

Ch. 1: the mermaid's scale

Princess Annalise Cidarius, granddaughter of King Gideon of Wynterlynn and Heir of Nyxos, leaned back as a man spewed vomit all over the table.

She wrinkled her nose.

Charming.

The tavern was packed this morning. The stench of stale bread and sweat permeated the yellow tent, and barmaids wove between the tables, sloshing pitchers of ale onto the floor. And now Fydor's vomit was dripping off the table.

Anna was grateful she hadn't eaten breakfast yet.

"You know," Anna said, laying down a card, "you might win occasionally if you stopped drinking so much."

Fydor glowered. "I am winning."

"Only at ruining your liver."

One of the other men chuckled. "She's got you there, Fy."

Anna smiled, throwing another few rukka on the table. For show, of course; everyone knew you didn't play for money at The Mermaid's Scale. You played for other things. Illegal things. She could see dried dragon scale changing hands, a rare tooth of a Salvatorian wolf being slipped into a pocket. And that damn packet of blue powder sitting tantalizingly in front of her.

She'd waited months for this.

And now she was out of time.

"Sorry, boys." Anna put down a card. "I'm afraid you're in trouble."

Fydor scratched his nose. His tell. Anna had learned that the hard way, after he won three hundred rukka and her best throwing knife off her last year.

He set down a card, face down. "King's Trident. I win."

All the other men shifted but didn't speak.

"You're bluffing," Anna said.

Fydor growled. And sure enough, when he flipped over the card, he didn't have a winning hand. She'd been right.

"You're a cheat," he spat.

"Fair enough," Anna said. "But not this time; I played by the rules." She reached for the packet. "And I win the blueworm powder."

A knife speared it to the table.

"Not so fast." A burly man stroked his beard. "I'm inclined to agree with Fydor. You cheated somehow."

Anna smirked. "No. I'm just better than you."

Irritation pricked at her. Good holy gods, Anna hadn't suffered through two hours of Fydor's vomit, of men drunkenly pawing at her, only to stumble at the last hurdle. That blueworm powder belonged to her. She'd won it.

She reached for the powder, and the burly man yanked out the knife, thrusting it towards her. Anna went still.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

His teeth flashed. "Why not?"

"Look down."

Her knife was pressing into his thigh, angled towards a very sensitive area. It was the first lesson Sophie had taught her: aim for the head, the throat, or the heart. And if you can't reach those, then aim for the thing that a man values most.

Predictably, the burly man paled. "You bitch."

"I've been called worse." Anna rose, snatching up the powder. "Good day, gentleman." She paused, sheathing her knife. "Oh, and for the record, I did cheat. You ought to guard your drinks better."

Fydor was already snoring on the table, the drug working its way through his system. She smirked as the burly man seized his half-empty cup, staring at it as if it held the secrets to the universe.