31
Valine had influenced Balchon’s thought patterns in order to get an open invitation into Raziche’s Den. It took little work—suggestions and light complaints, queries and compliments, and then he was hooked. Like clay in her hand, Balchon invited her to accompany him to a night of gambling, and he was only too pleased when she accepted. Even more so when she suggested Freyja accompany them on his other arm.
She could practically see the fantasies coming alive in his mind.
After leaving a discreet note for Malik, Valine visited Freyja in her suite. Hers, unlike Valine’s, was magenta and violet; bursts of flowers papered the walls, and gold-framed furniture scattered the room. It was upon fuchsia chairs that Valine and Freyja sipped flavored water and discussed.
“I need you to come with me to Raziche’s Den tonight. I already promised Balchon,” Valine revealed.
Freyja raised a made-up brow. “And I have a feeling this isn’t a visit just to have a fun night of gambling, is it?”
“It certainly is not,” Valine confirmed.
Freyja smirked. “What do you need me to do?”
Valine grinned and told her.
Later that night, Valine and Freyja were waiting in a courtyard after getting ready together. The blonde clad in a stunning dress of azalea pink, sheer except for the tiny teardrop-shaped crystals that covered her modesty, while Valine wore a skin-tight dress with her signature thigh-high slit in a shade of sapphire. They were standing with two guards appointed by Balchon, the man himself arriving in a loud tunic of bloodred damask and a golden brooch with the den’s crest—a lion with a spade in its mouth.
A breeze brought the scent of night, jasmine, and ocean, lightly touched with Balchon’s cologne—a musky blend of patchouli, liquor, and salt. He smiled, displaying a wide, white grin. His brown hair was pushed back with product, a few strands blowing in the breeze. Valine had left her hair entirely unbound save for a jeweled barrette—a weapon, of course—combing back the hair that hung over her shoulder. Freyja wore hers in a high half updo, parts of it hanging around her face to curtain it softly, while the pale waves were pulled into ornate twists.
Balchon opened the ostentatious carriage and bowed out the door, the sight of his red attire so stark against the ivory and gilt-edged vehicle. The horses were outfitted in a ridiculous amount of gold, their harnesses liberally showing the lion’s crest of Raziche’s Den.
“Don’t you two look delicious,” Balchon announced, leering. Valine preened, even though her fingers itched for one of the many blades hidden on her person.
It wasn’t that the Raziche heir was unattractive, but there was something to him that was incredibly off-putting. The intensity of his eyes, the feckless adoration he had for drugs, and the general carelessness he owned as a person that had her ill at ease. He seemed harmless enough, but Valine had seen enough men extol the virtues of their wives only to abuse the power they held over servants and maids. She did not trust men.
“You do like to flirt, don’t you?” Valine teased back, revealing none of her internal ire.
Balchon cocked his head to the side, aiming for charm. “It’s in my nature. Especially when two beautiful women are attending me for the evening.”
Valine smiled through a baring of her teeth, imagining popping two fingers into his eyes. She was not a kind person and she was rash. Malik saw that, and he even liked it. She pushed that thought out of her mind immediately.
Freyja and Valine entered the carriage with Balchon, their guards hopping on the bench atop. Balchon regaled them with tales of the grandeur they’d experienced in the den. It was the most luxurious of any establishment in Talloh. In addition to being a gambling hall, it also boasted a gentleman’s club, brothel, and opium den. Truly, it was a mystery how the Raziches had earned such a monopoly over the debauched resources when it seemed new card dens, and whorehouses popped up every month. She wondered how they all stayed in business.
The travel to Raziche’s Den was a quick one, carried over smooth pavers, the night sky grasping at hints of lilac, the stars painfully white. As they trundled, Valine felt excitement brew, and it shot skyward when Balchon declared them at their destination. He escorted them out of the carriage, Valine gazing up to see a grand building of obsidian. Luxmancer lamps glowed against its shining fa?ade, pumping music escaped the confines of the den. A giant lion’s head perched above the entrance, rendered in gold, and displayed in its jaw was a ludicrously large ruby shaped like a spade. The thing was nearly the size of her head.
“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Balchon asked as he sidled up to Valine, wrapping an arm around her waist while he did the same to Freyja on his other side. Valine wanted to snap his wrist. “The ruby was a gift from Illise Mines. I believe it was Tallulah’s great-grandfather who’d given it to mine.”
A gift.
A ruby the size of a basilisk egg was a gift.
How fucking rich were the Illises and Raziches?
“It’s truly spectacular,” Freyja marveled with false awe. The ruinmancer was just stroking his ego, but it worked—it always did on simple men like him. Flattery gets you far and all that nonsense.
“Come,” Balchon urged. “I would love to show a few games.”
The girls smiled and let Balchon drag them into the lion’s den. They didn’t look twice at Balchon, letting the heir pass uninterrupted. Inside, the den was red. Everything from the floor to the walls to the ceiling. It was all red velvet and smoke. Golden lights glowed from everything, gas-powered and luxmancer alike, tiers of seating and games lay ahead of them. Servers clad in gold domino masks and black satin graced the establishment, patrons burning cigarillos in fingers and from stems, the thick scent obscuring the bitter smell of body odor and sour breath. There was a wide variety of people present, but everyone dressed in the best of finery, jewels dripping off them—and in some cases, onto tables. Above was a mezzanine that led to a hallway covered by two guards, the lighting there dimmer, meant to discourage curious eyes.
That was where she needed to go.
Balchon plucked up three masks, and three champagne flutes from a passing server, passing them to Valine and Freyja. She forced herself not to think of what Malik told her about a mask and nothing else. Smiling, Valine donned the mask and sipped daintily, watching the gold flakes swirl against the bubbles. It was light and crisp with the tiniest hint of florals. She downed her glass and deposited it on a passing tray.
It was time.
Valine placed a hand on Balchon’s forearm. “Before you show us around, would you mind if Freyja and I were to freshen up?”
Balchon gave her a disarming smile, sipping his flute. “Of course.” He pointed to the left. “Through those golden arches, you’ll find the restrooms. I’ll wait by the bar.” He indicated further to the left, a single booth standing between the two locations. Not ideal, but she’d make it work.
Valine and Freyja made their way to the toilets. Once inside, Valine checked each of the stalls—empty. She locked the door behind them, her eyes zeroing in on Freyja.
“I need you to buy me some time. Can you dim the lights out there?”
Freyja considered. “The gas-powered, yes, the luxmancer, no. They’d sense me messing with their magic.”
“I can work with that. Give me ten minutes.”
Freyja stepped out of the door and slowly lifted her hand, letting the gas lights dim, and Valine darted out while everyone else was distracted by the sudden lack of light. Using the shadows, she made her way up the stairs, approaching the first guard. She pulled on her necromancy, not enough to kill, but enough to toy with his brain, enough for him to see stars. He closed his eyes and reached out a hand to the rail to steady himself. Valine slipped by him, releasing her magic.
She was out of eyesight after that point, the lights in the den brightening once again. Valine startled. That was not ten minutes. Traveling down the hall on silent feet in a blue dress and a gold mask, Valine met the second guard. Before he set eyes on her, she reached out with her necromancy—
And found nothing.
She startled at the lack of magic. She searched within her, feeling for that dark smoky magic to find nothing in its place. Panic threaded through Valine just as a prick of nausea loosed through her, and with that, awful realization took over.
Fucking mage shade.
It was highly effective but highly unethical. A poison used sparingly, as it more often than not became lethal—even more so with consecutive doses. Most times, it was due to dosing, as most people didn’t realize how potent it was. One petal from mage shade was enough to nix a mage for a night. It was one of the very few substances that her necromancy was no match for—it operated outside the bounds of magic. It was the antithesis of magery.
No. No, how did this happen? How was she dosed?
Valine realized just as the guard caught sight of her.
The fucking champagne.
“Hey, what are you doing up here?” the guard demanded.
Valine panicked—but she wasn’t an assassin for nothing. She rushed him, flicking the cover off one of her rings, and ducked his grasp as she spun up to his side and punched him in the side of his head. The spiked ring with silvered viper venom struck inside his ear. He went down with a cry as the venom quickly took effect, and Valine glanced around, searching for a hiding place. She left the man slumped on the floor and opened the closest doors. On the third one, she found a utility closet.
Dragging the man from the floor, she stuffed him in the closet to deal with later. She knew he couldn’t live after seeing her up here, but it had to look like an accident.
After locking up the soon-to-be-dead guard, Valine hurried to the end of the hallway, where a gold-inlaid door presented itself. Valine plucked the jeweled clip from hair, deconstructed it into a set of lockpicks, and set to work. The door opened for her like it wanted her to discover its secrets.
The room was empty, and she felt true fear flitter through her. She was doing this entirely without magic, the mage shade still working through her system. Creeping into the room, Valine made her way to the heavy mahogany desk, rummaging through the drawers until she found what she was truly looking for. The second drawer had a false bottom, and she found the debt ledgers inside.
Flipping through, she went looking for specific names and specific sums. She scanned the papers while keeping an eye on the door, anxiously waiting for it to fling open and reveal her and all her foolish plans. Finally, she found the name she was looking for, and grinned. She memorized the sum. Because she wasn’t stealing anything physical, she just needed numbers.
Valine stuffed everything back together and then went to one of the matching cabinets, and found a metal box. It was unlocked. Valine opened it, and inside were satchels. She opened one and saw white powder. Perfect.
Snatching the satchel, she stuffed it in the bodice of her dress and slipped from the room once more, ensuring she hadn’t left any clues to her presence. Satisfied, she left and returned to the closet. Pulling the oaf from storage, she yanked and pulled, sweating as she hauled him to the first door she’d tried—a parlor. Inside was a lounge and a glass table. She hoisted the guard onto the lounge. Once in position, she checked his pulse. It was fleeting already. He had minutes left.
Valine worked quickly, spreading the white powder on a silver tray with the accompanying glass tube, pushing it into uniform lines. A drug overdose was always believable. Dipping the glass rim in the fate stealer, Valine traced the guard’s nostrils, leaving residue. She tilted his head back for good measure and deposited a fine layer of it inside.
It was done, and moments later, the paralyzed guard died. Valine frowned at the turn of events, but shrugged it off, depositing the glass tube on the floor as if it had rolled from the guard’s hand, the other resting on his chest. It was unfortunate, but it was necessary.
She dipped her hands in a basin of water as she left the room, closing it up behind her and heading for the stairs.
“Fuck,” she muttered, remembering the first guard. She didn’t have her necromancy, nor Freyja's ruinmancy to help her this time. She could always kill him, too, but that seemed excessive and messy. Not to mention unexplainable. No, killing him wouldn’t work. Could she jump the rail? Surely, she could find a way down unseen?
Valine scanned the gold rail, and noticed at the very end was a red velvet curtain. She glanced up at the rod holding it up—it was not promising, but without magic, it was her only option. Sighing, she backtracked and made her way to the curtain. She gave it an experimental tug and gritted her teeth. Tying her shoes together behind her neck, she climbed over the rail, barefooted, and slid behind the drapes. Quickly, she lowered herself, the tension in the velvet fabric causing her immeasurable anxiety. She was sliding down the curtain when she gauged the landing and just let go, dropping onto the red carpet on bare feet. A blonde, curvaceous woman startled at her sudden appearance from the curtain but returned to her drink, unbothered.
Shoes donned once again, she slunk around the edges of the den, eyeing anyone up who looked too closely at her. She managed to return to Freyja once again, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as Freyja stared at her incredulously.
“What the fuck happened?” Freyja hissed.
“I’m pretty sure the drinks were laced with mage shade. I lost my magic after the first guard.”
It was a shady practice, but not unheard of. The use of mage shade made it so that players couldn’t unfairly use their magic to cheat, and because the doses were so miniscule, they considered it low risk. Even so, it explained why Raziche’s Den was frequented by more non-magic folk than mages. The playing field was evened.
“Yeah, I did, too,” Freyja admitted angrily. “What the fuck did you do?”
Valine sighed. “Trust me. You really don’t want to know. Let’s just give Balchon a good night and forget the rest.”
Freyja gave her a side-eyed look. “You killed someone, didn’t you?”
“Sure did.”