The Dragon Games

Ticket

"Well then," Marcus said tightly. "It seems we are feeling generous tonight." He turned to the owner, staring him down without an ounce of sympathy. "Best use it wisely and start saving up for next month's fee."

"Mr. Ghost," the wife said. "My oldest has a baby on the way soon; money is tight. If we could just–"

"A baby?" Marcus exclaimed, widening his eyes. "Well, that changes everything! Now that I know you have an extra set of hands to put to work, I'm upping the charge. Next month, it's fifty-five silvers."

I have known Marcus for nine years, ever since he knocked on the orphanage's door, everything he owned stuffed in a knapsack no bigger than his head. But at that moment, I didn't recognize any part of my childhood friend in him. All I saw was the raider.

When we were outside the tavern, tucked away in a quiet alleyway with no one else around, Marcus let me have it.

"You can't let them weasel out of the full fee," he snapped. "It doesn't matter if it's ten silvers or a thousand or one. It's not about the silver; it's about the respect. If you let them get away with giving forty this week, it'll be thirty the next, twenty the next, and before you know it, they give you nothing."

The whole time Marcus spoke, I stared ahead, his words going in one ear and out the other as I wished for the sweet, sweet release of death.

The raiders never had the best reputation, but at least we weren't known as the vultures and leeches of society, begging the local tavern for spare coins, and getting bitch-slapped by old ladies.

"We're supposed to be running a tight ship, now more than ever," Marcus ranted, his skin flushing redder with every word.

"Hey," I said, worried now.

Marcus pulled at his hair, his breath coming fast and sharp, like a wild animal backed into a corner. "We've got the most important job of the year coming up. Is this how you're going to treat it?"

"Hey!" I said again. When raising my voice didn't work, I grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. "We got the money. It's going to be okay, Marcus. No one's gonna hurt you."

Marcus pulled away, his face hardening, going from panicked to emotionless in the blink of an eye. Then his eyes dipped to my neckline as if he could see the amulet hidden behind my dress. The charm, a flat circle engraved with stars, was cracked in two. I wore one half. I didn't want to think about who wore the other.

"It's Ghost now," he said.

In a herculean feat of strength, I resisted rolling my eyes. It's Ghost now. Okay, pal. Whatever rocks your boat. I fixed my dress' buttons, refastening my collar securely to my chin.

"Going somewhere?" Marcus asked.

I pushed off the wall, striding out of the alleyway. "I need some fresh air."

"Nine," he shouted after me.

I kept walking, muttering Regan under my breath.

"Don't forget quota!"

I waved him off, like one might shoo a nagging fly. But to be fair, Marcus was right to worry that I was slipping up. The most important job of the year was coming up, and not just because of the money we stood to gain. If we were caught, the consequences would be drastic.

The kingdom of Scaldril was divided into four provinces, and each province was ruled by a House, which each answered to the king. We were stealing from our province's House Balthasar – the most powerful and vicious House. Their motto declared that under their rule, everyone got what they deserved.

The poor stay poor.

The rich stay rich.

And when their enemies are caught, they maim first and ask questions later.

And while the other raiders were indoors, studying the heist plan or the manor layout, I was carrying out my own affairs. The late hour had emptied the streets to just a few stragglers and drunks.

I moved among the shadows, walking at a quick pace until I arrived at the border between the slums and the wealthier districts. Still not a nice area by any means, but the row of shops sold things you'd be hard-pressed to find in the burrow.

It was long past closing hours, so I didn't bother with the apothecary's door. I pounded on the window, startling the shopkeeper standing behind the sales desk. Grinning, I pressed my forehead against the glass and held up a bag of coins ten times as heavy as the one I had gotten from the tavern.

"You're late," the shopkeeper said as he led me through his store. The shelves were crammed with an assortment of potions and elixirs, the smell strong enough to make your head pound and eyes water.

"At least I didn't come during shop hours."

"I would've had your head if you came during shop hours." The shopkeeper set my coin bag on a scale and then turned to me in annoyance. "This is two thousand. Enough for one ticket, not two."

"Ay. I'll pay half the fee now, and the other half after my friend and I reach land."

He stared me down as if the weight of his glare would force me to backtrack. When I didn't stir, he heaved a sigh. "Gods, you're paranoid."

He fished a chain out of his shirt and used the key dangling from his necklace to unlock a small cabinet hidden behind his desk. After some rummaging, he retrieved two boat tickets.

"If you're one copper short of four thousand, you're fish food," he said. "That is not a joke. They don't care that you're a woman. They don't care that you're young. If you short them, they will slit your throat and toss you to the waves."

"Deal." I accepted the tickets and carefully tucked them into my cloak.

Something in my voice made the shopkeeper pause – perhaps the careless manner I accepted my death. He studied me, his sharp eyes picking up on the details most people missed.

The scar below my chin.

The unnatural darkness of my eyes.

The bulge of my dagger against my hip.

But he knew better to ask who I was, how I made the money, or what I was running from. He would accept my gold quietly, and Marcus and I would get the hell out of dodge. But first, we had quota.

Bloodydamn quota.