Intermission Scene IV
My hands go for my knife.
The one-eared man shows little surprise as he slides into the seat across from me, raising one eyebrow over a set of blue-gray eyes that don’t seem to focus on anything in particular. I almost think he’s looking right through me. “Eleutheraen gold? Interesting.”
Syrenian accent.
His companions—a shaggy, bearded man who my brain labels as their Muscle and the petite blond woman I noticed earlier—file into the compartment, all armed heavily enough that I think twice about making any sudden movements with my blade. I’m cornered and outnumbered.
The woman sits at my right while the bearded fellow slides in beside One Ear, who sets his hands on the table, fingers laced together.
“Dorian. Pleased to meet you.” He nods at the Muscle. “This is Basel.” Then gestures to the woman. “Eleni.”
I’m not sure if my real name or my made-up one is more damning, so I say nothing.
“Tell me,” the one-eared man continues smoothly. “Where’s your friend run off to?”
A dark possibility rattles me. Dorian. The Playhouse Bounty Hunter.
When I don’t answer again, he continues. “I could have sworn you had a companion accompanying you at the station earlier.” He pauses before adding, “Riven.”
My heart leaps into my throat, but I latch on to that simmering anger that’s never too far out of reach and ask, “Did you always have one ear or did the other get so bored of hearing you talk, it fell off and walked away?”
What possessed me to say that? Half expecting him to backhand me across the face, I start when all three of them burst into laughter.
“Your brother said you’d be stubborn.” The blond woman—Eleni—grins at what I’m assuming is the sight of all the blood draining from my face.
“M-My…brother?” I stammer, remembering at long last what Cassia said: Your brother has gone for help.
Galen sought out the Playhouse Bounty Hunter.
“Came to us awful desperate to get you out of the Playhouse. Do you know he tried to make a bargain with us?” Dorian whistles. “Was willing to pay a pretty price for your return.”
“Gal—Galen sent you?” I falter, shocked and relieved at once. The tension in my chest eases. They’re here to help.
I’m so relieved at the news, I’m caught off guard when he brazenly leans across the table and flicks my jacket collar aside.
I startle back, clasping a hand to my throat.
“Galen sent me to retrieve a marked. Swore up and down you’d never give yours up.
” Dread floods me as Dorian clears his throat, those unsettling eyes piercing.
“It would appear we’ve not come to retrieve a marked after all. ”
I narrow my eyes. It’s widely rumored Dorian and his people don’t mark, for the sake of fooling their way into the Playhouse and getting close enough to dispatch a Player. “That’s a lot of talk, considering I’ve heard you aren’t, either.”
Dorian smiles slowly, neither confirming nor denying. “My eyes aren’t gold, Riven.”
The Diolkos slackens its pace, brakes hollering in the distance. “Sounds like our stop,” he announces, that unserious, singsong voice of his making my blood run cold. “So I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is Jude Stepharros?” He smiles. “He owes me an ear, you see.”
“Long gone,” I return glumly, but the chances of me convincing these people of anything feel slim to none.
“Then I suppose we’ll need to finish this conversation elsewhere, when you’ve had more time to think on it.”
Something like a rag meets my nose and lips. My grip on my knife loosens.
And everything goes black.