Tempting Fate

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After two long years, one more questionable decision stood between me and seeing my family again.

I wove my way between buildings, following my nose toward the stench of garbage and the absence of common sense. Outwardly, Docksiders was a pub for socializing and gambling that wouldn't close its doors even during an apocalypse. In actuality, it was a hive of debauchery and criminal exploits, somewhere you went if you were desperate, stupid, or looking for trouble.

Today, I was an equal split of all three.

Its wooden nameplate loomed ahead of me, sprinkled with signs of human savagery. Two patrons spilled out of the front entrance, caught in a brawl that ended with one of them cracking a bottle over the other's head.

No shred of decency left here, check yours at the door.

A raucous din joined with the aroma of sweetstalk nectar and smoke, drowning my senses as I stepped inside. People surrounded a makeshift pit made from tipped-over chairs near the back, shouting out bets while two men I could barely see beyond the crowd circled each other within it. A woman was moaning with exaggerated enthusiasm against a wall where her partner had her pinned. An extended table had been appropriated for a game of cards, angry fists slamming the surface when an unfavorable round ended. Above it all, I heard the screaming of a burly man arguing with the bartender.

Every sight, sound, and smell was so diverse and novel after so much time imprisoned in the Reformatory. Docksiders was clean and quaint by comparison. I tried and failed not to feel homesick.

Focus. Finish this task, then you can see your family again.

My gaze swept around, searching for my target.

Weaving through the tables, I found Yeshar near the back, studying a map of the island's perimeter while deep in discussion with a lanky man.

Yeshar was built like someone who preferred drinking to exercise, with small shifting eyes that hid cunning intelligence. Premature wrinkles from scowling framed them, despite his youth. The slight purple buttoning the edges of his lips revealed the truth to his untimely aging; he was partaking in the product he sold. As Nikolach's rival, his appearance fit his criminal lifestyle.

His true talent was in making others uncomfortable, and as usual, it was working.

Those meaty arms could squeeze the life out of someone, and would, without remorse.

Remember, this is the safest approach.

Except, nothing about this felt safe.

Don't draw unnecessary attention; act natural. It's not polite to stare.

Wariness prickled along the back of my neck.

Best to get this over quickly.

"Yeshar. Long time no see. How's life on the outside been treating you?" I grabbed an unoccupied nearby chair, pulling it up to the end of his table before landing in it.

He turned, looking me over as his complexion soured. He looked almost ten years my senior, though he wasn't even a year older. "Lisia," he greeted, rolling up the map and pushing it out of my view.

Yeshar's lanky associate spoke up, sounding disgruntled. "We haven't finished going over everything yet. If she overhea--". The man had a Skinscript glyph painted on his arm, and two missing fingers on his other hand. My knowledge of Skinscript was almost nonexistent, only that it was the one form of magic on the island that humans could wield. And that it marked him as a Voyager.

Yeshar made a slashing motion with his hand, shooting him a scowl. "Shut up, Diego. She's an old acquaintance from the Reformatory. We'll finish our business after I hear whatever news she has from the inside." He turned toward me, freeing a dagger from his belt and carving off a shard of mayapa fruit. "Out a few days early, aren't you?" He bit the fruit off the end of his blade.

Anxiety bubbled up in my chest, my heart hammering. He knew my birthday, and he knew it wasn't today. How much else did he know?

My pulse tasted sour on the back of my throat.

I couldn't afford to think about that right now. I had to stay calm. If Yeshar noticed I was nervous and discovered the reason why, I'd have two dangerous enemies instead of one. Preferably I'd have none–if my plan worked. It was a colossal if.

His eyes scrutinized my outfit as he chewed, and I regretted not going home to change before coming here.

Yellow had never been my color, it was too close to the honeyed hue of my hair, bringing out an almost sickly shade to my sun-kissed skin. But the latest in correctional chic still covered my slim build beneath the jacket I'd reclaimed upon my release from the Reformatory. I tugged at the flimsy armor, acutely aware of the ever-present humidity as it clung to me.

Yeshar's own outfit was the gray of oatmeal and lost dreams, but for someone trying not to draw attention to themselves, it worked.

I shifted in my seat, taking one slow breath in.

Be convincing and confident. I need him to trust me before I lie to him. What lesser truth can I give up that'll earn me credibility?

I let that same breath slowly filter out. "Yeah, I couldn't stand being stuck in the Reformatory one more minute. I'm practically twenty-one already, what's a few days difference? Just another Apostate entering my probationary period now. Like you." I gave a mock salute. "Ready for my assigned service."

I didn't feel ready at all.

Shrewd eyes took my measure as Yeshar sipped out of his cup, swallowing the last bite of mayapa down. His drink had to be sweetstalk nectar by the carmine color and heady odor. My gaze followed the cup, almost of its own accord. "It's always baffled me how someone so young gets imprisoned for overcrowding."

Hot guilt washed over me at the use of the word 'overcrowding', but I breathed past it and kept my expression blank. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I let my fingers wrap around the metal yo-yo inside. The smooth texture and faint weight brought me immediate comfort.

Commenting on my knowledge of Yeshar's own crimes involving dust distribution would decrease the odds of him believing me later. I kept my mouth stiffly shut.

Diego gave me a leering look. "When a pretty blonde like this one," he jerked his chin at me, "gets too wrapped up in a good time--"

"I'm perfectly aware of how reproduction works," Yeshar interrupted. "Please excuse him, he is quite crude."

Diego winked at me, gaze falling to my cleavage. "I'd get crude with you anytime."

No amount of nectar would lower my standards that far.

A server brought a fresh flagon of the nectar and a cup to the table before I could reply. Yeshar pushed the spare cup toward me, filling it to the brim. "Have a drink," he said.

Warning, danger ahead.

I needed all my wits for this conversation. "Oh, I'm fine," I nudged the cup away.

Yeshar pushed the cup back at me, tapping its side. "Everyone at my table drinks, or they don't keep their seat. Consider it a celebratory drink for your release."

It was an order and a test, one I was accustomed to from inside the Reformatory. I couldn't afford to expose any vulnerability here, or it would be noticed. And exploited.

Picking up the cup, I tipped back a swallow of the familiar oversweet contents. An intoxicating warmth surged through me. Sweetstalk nectar had always softened life into something less cutting, blunting any sticky emotions.

It was also a convenient contraception method, and liquid inhibition annihilator.

Drinking in front of Yeshar was a risk, but making him more comfortable would predispose him to trust me, making him easier to deal with. Easier to manipulate.

Yeshar peered at me as if trying to see through to my bones. "The Mistrun is tomorrow. Curious timing on your release." I swallowed what felt like a brick, cicadas of anxiety fluttering to life in my stomach as I offered him my best unreadable shrug.

It was all part of the plan. Leaving the Reformatory five days early meant I was out in time to participate in the annual Mistrun, a few days ahead of my birthday. I'd done shameful, terrible things to make sure my name was on today's list for release.

My odds of staying out of the Reformatory weren't good. But they were better than no odds at all. Nikolach had threatened to kill me, but he wouldn't cross the threshold into adulthood for several months yet, and he would stay imprisoned there until then. He didn't make idle threats.

Participating in the Mistrun to qualify as a Voyager, as daunting as it was, was safer than being trapped with Nikolach.

I sipped my drink. "I'd have preferred an earlier birthday and release. One with enough time to train before the Mistrun."

Like yours, ten months ago.

"You'll be entering the Mistrun, then?" Diego asked.

I nodded. "Yeshar will be too. It's required for all Apostates to become Voyagers, or return to the Reformatory."

Diego scratched at his Skinscript glyphs. "Oh I'm well aware he'll be participating. It's a rotten gig though, Voyager service. Collecting Starshells until the miasma or its inhabitants get you. Just last week we lost another of my crewmates."

It wasn't surprising, Voyager service was the deadliest of all services possible on Mesmoria. Hearing it aloud from a seasoned Voyager was disquieting. I had no desire to become a Voyager, but the universe didn't care.

"That's news to me. Tell me what happened," Yeshar ordered.

Diego blew out a heavy breath. "It was Ander. He was fetching Starshells, just your everyday retrieval assignment. But he went too far past the tideline and didn't notice a Shredder." His maimed fist clenched, eyes hard. "Took his whole hand. Hate those fuckers." With a bang, he brought his fist down on the table for emphasis. "He panicked and ended up falling into the miasma. It cooked him into a puddle of mush before we could fish him out. Smelled something awful, didn't come out of my clothes for weeks."

I kept my eyes downcast as tightness squeezed between my shoulder blades. Miasma was a horrible way to die. One of countless unfortunate daily risks for Voyagers, who had to venture across the corrosive acid ocean surrounding Mesmoria to obtain precious Starshells from the outer isles.

Shredders were the smallest creatures in the miasma, black fish with bladed teeth perilous enough that anytime they washed ashore it was an emergency for the outer perimeter patrol. The full gamut of lethal living nightmares thrived in the miasma, everything from leech-like larva to Leviathans and Krakens. And the largest creature that lived in it, the Devourer, was so massive that legend told its mere presence could create waves tall enough to drown all of Mesmoria.

I downed the rest of the contents in my cup in one gulp.

"Carelessness claims another life," Yeshar said without sympathy. "Turning Apostates into Voyagers is a convenient way to execute us under the guise of honor," Yeshar tapped idly on the table. Diego looked as supremely uncomfortable as I felt.

"It's the most honorable service," Diego defended. "No one here could survive without Starshells."

"Honorable for those who choose it, perhaps," Yeshar said.

He made a valid point. We, as Apostates, had no say in our service.

My last two years had been spent completing the manual labor required of a prisoner. Mining out rocks to shore up the perimeter was back-breaking, soul-crushing work, but it did have a tendency to make you stronger. I could lift hundreds of rocks in a single day, not that it would guarantee my survival. I had to hope it would help my odds to at least qualify during the Mistrun. Whether anyone could ever be fully prepared to be a Voyager was another case entirely.

Voyager service fit me like a misshapen bed sheet. But what choice did I have?

Death by Voyager service, or death by Nikolach's hand. Hmm.

Potential death by Voyager service, I amended. At least as a Voyager, my demise wasn't guaranteed. With Nikolach, it was a certainty.

Thinking about him reminded me why I was at Docksiders in the first place. My gut gave a sick lurch. Too much sweetstalk nectar on an empty stomach, probably.

Or my gut was right, about how wrong I was about to be.

This was a half-crazy gambit, but if it worked it would be the ultimate ploy. Using one beast as a defense against another was risky, but turning Yeshar and Nikolach against each other would keep them both distracted by each other, leaving neither focused on me.

I set my empty cup down, facing Yeshar. "Speaking of choices, I came here to give you a friendly heads-up. It's been brought to my attention that some sensitive information about your dust operation has ended up in the wrong hands."

Beady eyes narrowed on me. "You're lying."

Time to double down on your performance.

"No, I'm doing you a favor. But if I'm going to share with you what I've heard from the inside, I need certain assurances that it's not going to get back to the source."

"Alright, you have them. Let's hear it."

"Your word isn't enough."

His word was worth about as much as a grain of sand on the beach. He'd lie out one side of his mouth while promising you the moon with the other.

"But I'm supposed to take you at your word, with no assurances of my own?" Yeshar scoffed. His eyes narrowed, calculating. "How about we make it a game?"

Apprehension lurched to life in my stomach. "What kind of game?"

Yeshar jostled the pitcher back and forth. "A game for truth. Nothing brings out honesty better than nectar. We will both drink four shots."

Getting drunk the day before Mistrun to earn Yeshar's trust was horrendously stupid. But I'd risk any level of stupid to keep breathing.

"Deal," I said, reaching for the flagon and refilling my cup.

He poured himself a glass, knocking it back. Then another, and another. I followed his example, the room taking on a warm fuzzy hue. My head felt lighter, my skin hotter.

Yeshar looked far too collected for having just taken four shots. He made the Holy circle of the Devourer with his hand, a sworn oath, and gestured for me to continue.

I frowned, considering making Diego join our game but Yeshar noticed my gaze and cut me off. "He works for me. He won't repeat anything I won't."

It would have to suffice. "Nikolaah," I paused, clearing my throat to try to keep from slurring. It would help if the walls would stop swaying. "Nikolach is talking. If I were you, I would take care of that problem. Soon."

I didn't know much about Yeshar's dust ring, but what little I did know had already been bartered away as part of my earlier-than-planned release. If he thought Nikolach had been the one to talk, it would protect me against Yeshar's retribution when his product's warehouse was inevitably raided.

It would be even better if he saw Nikolach as a liability.

Yeshar leaned back in his seat, perpetual scowl fixed firmly in place. "Why tell me this?"

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Some stones are best left unturned." Namely, this stone. The further he was from knowing my actual reasons the better. "I came straight here from the Reformatory to let you know, as a courtesy."

"Nikolach is a brainless thug. It would never occur to him without outside influence to use what he knows about me to his advantage," Yeshar said.

My stomach sank. "People change. The Reformatory changes everyone." It sounded lame even to my own ears.

"Swear it," Yeshar said, picking his dagger up from beside the mayapa core and extending the handle to me.

This was another test, and one I couldn't fail. Without hesitating, I took the dagger and sliced along the tip of my forefinger. Emotions weren't the only thing duller with nectar coursing through me, pain's bite was weaker. Blood slid down my finger, my engagement ring glinting in the dull light, mocking me as I held the hand up. "Devourer return me to the Great Tide if I'm lying."

Devourer, forgive me. I'm lying.

Before I could react, Yeshar grabbed my finger and squeezed it tightly. I winced at his stinging grip. "Again," he ordered.

"I swear it on the Devourer," I tried not to flinch away from the pain radiating down my palm.

Instead of releasing my hand, he pulled it toward him, laying it flat, face up on the table and pinning it with his other wrist.

It took my sweetstalk-addled mind precious seconds to catch up to what was happening. My frantic gaze darted to Diego's missing fingers. There was a clean cut across them, no welt indicative of miasma burn.

No.

I tugged, trying to free my hand from Yeshar's grip as panic set in. Pressure compressed me inwards from all angles, like I'd swum too deep into Lake Mirae. I couldn't pull in enough air.

Yeshar reached out with his other hand for something near me.

The dagger.

My heartbeat flailed against my ribs. Diego's bored expression didn't flicker as he watched Yeshar subdue me while drinking another glass of nectar.

No, no, no!

Docksider's other patrons were cheering behind me, loud and violent. They sounded bloodthirsty.

Yeshar's hand passed the dagger, instead picking up the pitcher of sweetstalk nectar. He tipped it over my hand and a small noise of pain escaped at the burning pain on my injury. "A bit of nectar keeps us honest, doesn't it?"

He's unhinged.

My breathing was unsteady, heartbeat racing with my fear.

I waited until he released my wrist before curling my arm back toward myself, cradling my hand to my chest. A sick shudder of revulsion went through me. "Yeah, honest," I finally said. My voice sounded too thin and too high. Sweat dampened my hairline.

Another roar of noise went up from the fighting ring. Dazed, I realized they weren't cheering for Yeshar to cut off my fingers, one of the combatants had won. I turned to see the victor.

Thick dark Skinscript curved up both of his muscular arms, raised in victory. Another Voyager. The curving edges jutted out above his neckline, all whirls and symbols that I didn't recognize. I had never seen anyone with so much of it on their body, he had more than four times as much as Diego. It was exotic, and given the quantity on him, he had to be powerful.

His dark skin was slick with sweat as he scanned the room with even darker eyes. He turned toward me and my breathing tripped over itself.

He was devastatingly handsome, painted in hard-lines and strong edges. His eyes reminded me of the ominous shapes that moved under the miasma, deep and treacherous. Forcing myself to blink, or at least breathe, was impossible; I was frozen. His gaze dropped in a slow dip as he took me in. The heat of it traveled over me like a literal touch.

His presence had a savage magnitude to it, an almost magnetic wildness. Maybe it was the influence of everyone cheering around him, or my inebriation.

My pain and fear was a distant afterthought.

Some primitive switch in my brain went from off to on.

My heart was stuttering from just looking at him. Alarm bells were going off in my head. This man was a threat with a capital T. This wasn't a safe place to be showing any reaction, and I was definitely reacting. I was in trouble. Blowing out the air I'd been holding, I took a deep calming breath and turned back to face Yeshar.

The entire exchange had taken less than three seconds.

Yeshar's scowl had shifted to a predator's focus. I shifted my expression back to carefully neutral. Maybe he hadn't noticed my reaction to the fighter.

Yeshar took a long drag from his cup. "You'll be close, either to me if you qualify after the Mistrun, or Nikolach if you don't." That was a chillingly accurate reality. Tearing my stare away from the cup, I studied the weeping wound on my finger, feigning boredom. "I keep an eye on interesting developments," he added.

This conversation was a tightrope walk on the edge between rational and foolhardy.

Don't look down.

"You'll be disappointed," I said. "I'm not all that interesting."

His unpleasant smile sharpened, teeth flashing like a blade. "We will see. For now, I have other business to finish."

It was a dismissal, and I had no desire to stick around. I hurried out of Docksiders and braced myself against the outer wall of the building.

That could have gone better.

My objective was completed, but if that could be considered a success I'd hate to experience a failure. Yeshar might have believed me about Nikolach talking, but his reminder that he'd be watching me closely if we both made it into Voyager training hadn't escaped me. My bloodied finger ached with the reminder that I'd overestimated myself, and likely made my life harder for attempting clever subterfuge.

Although, if Yeshar suspected I'd narced about his dust operation, taking a finger was better than killing me. It was preferable to what I expected from Nikolach.

Time wasn't on my side, and I still had to walk home. An hour had slipped by while I was inside.

Pushing away from the wall, I put one foot in front of the other, heading into the dense fronds of jungle that separated Docksiders from my family home.

A swarm of beetles larger than my fist chirped their wings, their iridescent shells making rainbows of light reflect onto the bark of the nearby teak trees and carnivorous flowers. The hum from the insects and rustling of leaves joined me on my journey, sandy dirt squishing beneath my boots.

I hoped I'd never have to come back here again.

A churning in my gut told me not to trust an emotion as fragile as hope.