Brevan
The Aphelion Club occupied the top three floors of Valyria’s central tower. The walls were vast panels of transparisteel overlooking the manufactured ocean. Money changed hands at tables where a single night’s losses could buy a starship.
I adjusted my cuffs and stepped into the main gaming floor.
The crowd here was different from the reception. Fewer pretenses. More calculation. These were people who understood that wealth was a tool, not a destination. They played games to measure each other, to establish hierarchies, to find weaknesses.
Perfect.
I’d spent the afternoon researching Senator Valerius.
Valdorian, like Tarsus. Similar age, background, and ambitions.
But where Tarsus cultivated an image of refined collector, Valerius positioned himself as the populist politician.
The man of the people who just happened to own three resort planets and a voting bloc that controlled Valyria’s import tariffs.
The rivalry went back decades. Old money versus new influence. Collection versus commerce. Every social interaction between them was a strategic positioning of pieces on an elaborate game board.
And I was about to become a very useful piece.
Valerius sat at a corner table, playing something called Cascade, a high-stakes betting game that required reading probability streams and opponents simultaneously. Four other players occupied the table. Two Fanaith, an Orlian, and a Lyrikan who tracked every card with sharp attention.
I approached the table manager, a Nexian female with copper-toned skin and the kind of posture that suggested she’d physically removed troublemakers before. “I’d like to join Senator Valerius’s game.”
She assessed me. Vinduthi. Unknown quantity. Potential problem. “Buy-in is fifty thousand credits. Minimum bet is five thousand per hand.”
“Acceptable.” I transferred the credits from my account to the table’s secure chip system. Varrick had set up the funds three days ago. Legitimate money from legitimate accounts, all traceable back to Brevan Korven’s perfectly constructed financial history.
The manager verified the transfer and gestured to an empty seat. “Senator, you have a new player.”
Valerius looked up from his cards. “Mr. Korven. I heard you were making waves at Tarsus’s reception. Please, join us.”
I took the seat and waited while the dealer explained Cascade’s rules. Simple enough. Probability cascades through three betting rounds. Players could fold, match, or raise. Winner took the pot and the right to set stakes for the next hand.
The trick was losing correctly.
First hand dealt. I studied my cards, then the probability matrix displayed on the table’s holo-screen. Strong opening. Cascade potential of sixty-three percent. I could win this hand if I played it right.
I folded.
Valerius raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Second hand. Even stronger opening. Seventy-one percent cascade potential. The Fanaith to my left was bluffing. I could read it in the way his sleek gray skin paled at the throat. He had nothing.
I matched his bet, then folded when the Orlian raised.
Third hand. Valerius won with a cascade that paid out thirty thousand credits. He swept his chips toward his stack and smiled. “You’re either very cautious, Mr. Korven, or very unlucky.”
“Cautious,” I said. “I’m still learning the game.”
“An honest admission. Most Vinduthi I’ve encountered prefer to project confidence, even when learning.”
“Confidence without competence is just noise.” I waited for the next deal. “I’d rather understand the pattern before committing resources.”
“Wise philosophy.” He arranged his new cards, considering them. “Though in my experience, understanding patterns can take time you don’t have.”
Probing for weakness, testing boundaries, establishing dominance. Every word measured. Every response calculated.
I played the next three hands badly. Not obviously throwing them, but making mistakes a wealthy amateur would make. Betting high on weak cascades. Folding on hands I could have pushed. Letting the other players read me as someone with more money than skill.
By the eighth hand, I’d lost eighty thousand credits.
Valerius took the hand with a moderate cascade. He collected his chips and studied me across the table. “You’re bleeding credits, Mr. Korven. Perhaps Cascade isn’t your game.”
“Perhaps not.” I signaled the dealer for another hand. “But I’m enjoying the company.”
“Flattery is its own currency. Though less reliable than credits.”
“I wasn’t flattering. I was observing.” I arranged my new cards. Another strong hand. I bet minimum stake. “You play with precision. Every bet has purpose. Every fold is strategic. That’s rare in games like this.”
The Lyrikan across from me made a derisive sound. “Everyone at this table plays with precision.”
“Not like the senator.” I studied Valerius. “He’s not playing the cards. He’s playing the players.”
“You’re more observant than your betting suggests.”
“My betting reflects my inexperience. My observation reflects my profession.” I folded again, losing another five thousand. “I collect art because I understand patterns. Sentient behavior. Cultural significance. The way value shifts based on perception rather than objective worth.”
“Interesting perspective.” Valerius won another hand. “And do you find Valdorian culture interesting, Mr. Korven?”
“I find Valdorian collectors interesting.” I leaned back in my chair. “Particularly ones who understand that value isn’t fixed. That reputation matters as much as possession.”
The Orlian folded out of the game. Too many losses. The Fanaith followed three hands later.
Now it was just me, Valerius, and the Lyrikan. Personal game. Higher stakes.
“Tell me,” Valerius said as he arranged his cards. “What brings a Vinduthi collector to Valyria? We have excellent art markets, but nothing you couldn’t find elsewhere.”
“I’m interested in Thal’reth artifacts. Tarsus’s collection has some remarkable pieces.”
“Ah. Tarsus. Of course.”
I bet higher this time. Not enough to win, but enough to keep his attention. “You know him well?”
“We’ve been colleagues for thirty years.” The word had implications. Rivalry. Distrust. Barely concealed contempt. “We share certain interests.”
“Like Thal’reth antiquities?”
“Like influence.” He raised my bet. “Tarsus collects art. I collect votes. Both are forms of power.”
I matched his raise. “And which form is more valuable?”
“That depends on who’s asking.” He took the hand with a strong cascade. “Art appreciates slowly. Votes shift overnight. And I try to monitor everything my…interests…do. Professional interest, you understand.”
“But art is permanent. Votes are temporary.”
“True.” He collected his chips. My losses had climbed to nearly two hundred thousand credits. He’d won most of them. “Though permanence matters less if you can’t leverage it.”
The opening I’d been waiting for. “Leverage. That’s an interesting word.”
“How so?”
“It implies vulnerability.” I signaled for another hand. “Something that can be moved if you find the right pressure point.”
“You think Tarsus has vulnerabilities?”
“Everyone does.” I studied my new cards. Terrible hand. I bet high anyway. “The trick is finding them.”
The Lyrikan folded out. Now it was just us. Two players. One conversation that had nothing to do with cards.
“What makes you think I’m interested in Tarsus’s vulnerabilities?” Valerius asked.
“Because you just spent an hour taking my money, and you haven’t asked me to leave.” I folded, losing another ten thousand. “You want to know what I know.”
“And what do you know?”
“That his collection is heavily leveraged. He’s borrowed against it multiple times in the past two years.” A lie. But a believable one. Varrick had built the financial records to support it. “He’s overextended. One bad quarter, and he’ll have to start selling pieces to cover his debts.”
“Interesting claim.”
“Verifiable claim.” I lost another hand. “His creditors are discreet, but not invisible. Someone who knew where to look could find the documentation.”
“And you just happen to know where to look.”
“I’m a collector. Knowing where to look is part of the profession.” I stood. My losses had climbed to nearly three hundred thousand credits. Enough to make Valerius feel dominant without being suspicious. “Thank you for the game, Senator. And the conversation.”
“Leaving already?”
“I have business later tonight.” I nodded respectfully. “But I’d enjoy playing again. Perhaps we could discuss Valyrian politics over a less expensive game.”
“I think we could arrange that.”
I left the table and moved toward the exit. Every step measured. Not retreating. Just withdrawing strategically.
The message would reach Tarsus within the hour. His rival had spent an evening charming and being charmed by the new buyer. They’d discussed art, influence, and Tarsus’s financial vulnerabilities. The conversation had been friendly. Collegial. Potentially profitable.
And Tarsus would not tolerate it.
My comm vibrated in my pocket. Single pulse. Pause. Twice. Kallum’s signal. Message incoming.
I stepped into a private alcove and checked the screen.
Tarsus just contacted his assistant. Emergency meeting scheduled for tonight. You’re being summoned.
I smiled.
The second message arrived five minutes later. Official invitation. Tarsus’s personal seal. The text was polite, but the subtext was clear. He wanted to meet. Now. Tonight. Before Valerius could secure whatever advantage he thought he’d gained.
The senator requests your presence at his private residence. Hour of the Crossing.
I replied with appropriate gratitude and made my way back to my hotel, fighting back a smile.
The best cons made everyone feel like they were winning.
I arrived at Tarsus’s villa precisely on time. The guards recognized me from the reception. They still maintained professional distance, but the hand gestures were less aggressive. Known quantity now. Guest, not threat.
The Nazok attendant stopped at an ornate door. “The senator is expecting you, Mr. Korven.” He paused, then added with careful emphasis, “This is a significant honor. Private audiences are rarely granted.”
“I’m grateful for the senator’s time.”
I entered a private study. Real wood furniture. Real books on the shelves. Real power on display.
Tarsus stood near a window overlooking the ocean. His silver hair caught the exterior lights.
“Mr. Korven.” He turned. “Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice.”
“The honor is mine, Senator.”
“Please, sit.” He gestured to a chair. “I understand you spent the evening at the Aphelion Club.”
“I did. Senator Valerius was kind enough to let me join his game.”
“Cascade can be expensive for newcomers.”
“I learned several valuable lessons.” I sat, keeping my posture relaxed. “About probability. About patience. About how people reveal themselves through their betting patterns.”
“And what did Valerius reveal?”
“That he’s a skilled player who enjoys teaching lessons.”
“Nothing else?”
I met his gaze. Direct. Honest. The kind of eye contact that suggested I had nothing to hide. “We discussed art. Politics. The nature of value in Valyrian society. He’s an interesting conversationalist.”
“I’m sure he is.” Tarsus moved to a cabinet and poured two glasses of something amber. He handed me one. “He’s also a political opportunist who builds voting blocs through social connections.”
“I’m not interested in Valyrian politics.”
“Everyone who comes to Valyria becomes interested in its politics eventually.” He sipped his drink. “The art market, the social hierarchy, the economic structure. They’re all connected. You can’t extract one element without understanding the others.”
“Then I’m fortunate to have met collectors who understand the full picture.
” I tasted my drink. Smooth. Complex. The kind reserved for senators and their favored guests.
“Your collection is remarkable, Senator. I’ve seen pieces in museums that couldn’t match the quality of your private acquisitions. ”
“Flattery is cheap, Mr. Korven.”
“Observation is free.” I set my glass down. “I’m not trying to flatter you. I’m trying to understand whether we can do business.”
“What kind of business?”
“The kind where both parties walk away satisfied. You have artifacts I’d like to acquire. I have resources you might find valuable.”
“I don’t need resources.”
“Everyone needs something.” I leaned forward slightly. “The question is whether what I offer is worth what you’re willing to trade.”
He studied me. Weighing options. Calculating risk versus reward. “I’m hosting a gala in three days. Very exclusive. The kind of event where serious business happens between serious people.”
“It sounds like an excellent opportunity.”
“It is.” He finished his drink. His eyes shifted to gold. “I’d like you to attend. As my personal guest.”
There it was. The invitation I’d spent three hundred thousand credits and an evening of carefully calibrated losing to secure.
I let myself look surprised. Pleased. Honored. “That’s very generous, Senator.”
“It’s strategic. Valerius will be there. He’ll see you’re under my patronage, not his. It sends a clear message about where power lies in this city.”
“I appreciate the invitation.” I stood. “And the message.”
“Good.” He moved to his desk and pulled out a formal invitation. “Show this to security. Hour of the Zenith. Formal attire.”
I took the invitation. “I’ll be there.”
“I’m sure you will.” His smile had edges. “And Mr. Korven? I expect you to remember who extended this invitation. Valerius may have been kind enough to take your money, but I’m offering you something far more valuable.”
“Access.”
“Exactly.”
I left with the invitation in my pocket and victory in my chest. In three days, I’d walk into Tarsus’s gala as his honored guest. Carys would create her distraction. I’d secure the Regalia. And both senators would be too busy measuring their influence to notice they’d been conned.
The best part? They’d both think it was their idea.