Chapter 18
Elyse
Saint’s five.
General’s three.
Councilor’s three.
Councilor’s eight.
Executioner’s nine.
It was a shit hand.
Elyse looked down at her cards and tried to keep her face neutral, despite the grimace wanting to slip its way across her lips.
Covertly, she glanced at the other players. Their expressions were flat—not at all helpful. Killian looked downright bored. Death eyed the others with curiosity, and Elyse shot her a glare.
Fucking bitch.
It wasn’t that Elyse wanted her soul back.
She felt liberated without it, like so many emotions had been holding her back all this time.
But she did despise the fact that anyone held a piece of her, near-goddess or not.
And to have it flaunted so brazenly before her…
Even now, with the chest holding her soul atop the velvet cushion, locked away inside that glass box, it seemed to mock Elyse.
She tried her best to ignore it. Every time she glanced at it, she wanted to knock Death’s teeth right out of her arrogant little mouth, but had opted to best her in the game instead.
The problem was that her cards were no help.
The idea of the game was to get a straight of three cards in the same suit. There were four suits, each meant to exemplify the roles of a king’s cabinet: the Saint for piety; the General for military prowess; the Councilor for wisdom; and the Executioner for meting out justice.
It was dumb, but the drawings were nice at least.
Each deck was handmade by an artist, and each artist had their own unique style.
This deck was decorated with shimmering gold designs that complemented the slick ivory parchment.
The artist had opted for a simplistic design, each figure and their numeral drawn with sleek lines.
Above the Saint, whose hands stretched toward the heavens, hovered three six-pointed stars.
For the General, there were swords, and for the Councilor, owls adorned the cards.
The Executioner, to Elyse’s amusement, had nine dead bodies scattered before him, their heads disconnected from their torsos.
“Would anyone like to wager?” Julian asked from where he stood behind the twins. He looked eagerly at each of the players.
Elyse flung two coins toward the pot. The “wager” was that in exchange for two coins, she could lay two of her cards down and blindly trade them for a fresh duo.
She selected the first two cards in her hand—the Saint and the General—and laid them face down.
Julian swept them into a pile and dealt her two new cards.
Elyse picked them up and refrained from frowning. A Saint’s two and a Councilor’s one. She still didn’t have anything. But Dead Man’s Wager wasn’t merely about the cards you held; it was about making others believe you had a winning hand.
The twins also wagered, trading out two of their cards in hopes of getting a run. Based on their stoic expressions, Elyse had no idea if they’d bargained correctly.
“We’ll begin with you, Mr. Southwick,” Julian announced. He had far too much flair for Elyse’s taste.
Killian tossed a coin into the pot. “I’m in.”
One by one, the others threw in their bets as well, including Elyse. She wouldn’t fold on the first hand, not when everyone was still feeling each other out.
Killian tossed three coins into the pot, upping the bet. Elyse, seated to his left, tossed in three of her own. Thomes followed the action, but Norvick and Nathaniel both folded. Death, on the other hand, threw in five coins.
Killian quirked his eyebrow ever so slightly, but he answered with two additional coins of his own, as did Elyse and Thomes.
“Show your cards,” Julian commanded. He smirked at them, eager to see who had bested whom.
Killian laid down his hand to reveal a straight: General’s three, four, and five.
Elyse let out a growl and tossed her cards face down toward Julian, conceding without presenting her rubbish hand.
Thomes presented a straight as well, but his Councilor’s six, seven, eight was still trumped by Killian’s hand. Generals always beat Councilors, and Saints always beat Generals. Executioners were the bottom tier, but a run did occasionally win.
Death set down her cards one by one in a dramatic display that made Julian’s eyes light up.
Her hand contained a run, one composed of Councilor’s two and three, with a Mage to round them out.
There were only two Mages in the entire deck, but they acted as wild cards that could represent any other card.
“The pot goes to Mr. Southwick,” Julian boomed with a wink toward Killian.
Elyse’s nostrils flared. An hour ago, her whole plan banked on Killian winning. Now, she worried what he would do if he did win.
She’d seen the way he’d stared at the chest containing her soul.
He’d practically drooled over it, with wide eyes and an idiotic gape of his mouth.
He kept glancing at it, the only sign of emotion he presented during the game.
Elyse had made her threats clear, but she worried it wouldn’t be enough to keep that sappy romantic from doing something stupid.
Julian, finally finished with his exaggerated shuffling, dealt out the next hand. This time, Elyse thought she had a decent shot. She only needed one card to get a run, so she wagered two coins to get it—and failed.
Still, she’d try her hand at bluffing.
The bets went around, and the hands were revealed. This time, Thomes took the pot.
It’s a long game, Elyse told herself. She despised losing, especially to the likes of a priss like Thomes, but there was still plenty of time to pull ahead.
Killian won three of the next five hands, with Death and Norvick winning the other two.
“Ha!” Norvick laughed in his twin’s face. “You might as well say goodbye to your coins,” he taunted as Nathanial rolled his eyes.
“Please, Norvick,” Julian drawled as he executed a perfect one-handed shuffle. “Have some decorum.”
Norvick frowned, but his glare was aimed at Nathanial instead of Julian.
The next hand, Elyse was dealt a ringer off the bat. Saint’s six, seven, and eight. She hid her excitement behind a mask of calm as the others placed their bets.
When it came time to reveal, Elyse displayed her cards proudly. Killian gave her a nod of approval, but Death only smiled.
She laid down a Saint’s nine and ten, followed by a Mage.
“The straight rolls, and the highest card wins,” Julian announced. “The pot goes to Madame Death.”
“What?” Elyse seethed. She flattened her palm over her cards, blocking Julian from taking them.
“Straights roll, Elyse,” Killian said calmly. “Ten, one, and two. Nine, ten, one. They count as consecutive numbers, and whoever has the highest card always wins.”
Elyse shot daggers at him with her eyes—who was he to be so condescending? Thomes let out a haughty snort that had her baring her teeth at him.
“Laugh at me again, you little shit, and I’ll use the Blade of Hanael to cut off your testicles.”
Thomes’s jaw dropped and his face paled. He looked like no one had ever deigned to speak to him with such vulgarity, especially not a woman.
“While I love your enthusiasm, Ms. Crenshaw,” Julian purred, “please refrain from threatening the other players.”
“Fuck you,” Elyse shot back, but she shoved her cards toward Julian. “Deal the next hand.”
Julian let the cards cascade from one hand to the other as he held Elyse’s glare. “Gladly,” he said, and dealt the cards.
A dozen rounds later, with Killian and Death taking the majority of the wins, Elyse found herself down to four coins.
She put in her ante—two coins—and played it cool as she inspected her hand.
Councilor’s four and five, General’s three and four, and a Saint’s six to spare.
She tried not to grumble at her shit luck. With two coins left, she could wager for a chance to complete one of her straights. But which one to choose? She’d have to give away two cards, meaning one of her potential straights would be broken up. It was the worst position to be in.
Deciding that a General’s straight would be the best outcome, Elyse discarded her Councilor’s four and the Saint. She pushed her final two coins into the pot and held her breath as Julian passed her two new cards, hoping she had made the right choice.
She had not.
A Councilor’s six and a Saint’s one. If she’d held onto her Councilor’s four instead, she would have a straight.
“You may remain in without matching the bets,” Julian informed her. He glanced pointedly down at the empty space before her. “Given that you’re out of coin.”
Elyse gave him a nasty look but held her cards close to her chest. She could still win this. She just had to hope everyone else had shit cards as well.
“Just fold, Elyse,” Killian said as he matched Death’s bet. “We all know it’s a waste.”
Elyse tilted her head at the cocky bastard. “Excuse me?” she said, her tone lethal.
“It’s true,” Nathanial added. “You’ve never once folded, no matter how bad your cards are.”
“I’ve folded,” she argued, but Killian cut her off.
“No, you haven’t. Not in eighteen rounds. You’re arrogant to a fault, and it’s about to cost you.”
He laid down a run, and Julian declared him the winner of the pot. Killian was sure to give Elyse a cunning smirk as he scooped the coins toward himself.
“Ouch,” Thomes said, grinning at Elyse’s misery.
“Shut up, Thomes,” Killian snapped back. “You’re two hands away from losing.”
Elyse leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her shrewd gaze landing on Killian. He had better win, and he’d better do it fast, before she lost her patience.
Sure enough, two rounds later, Thomes was out of the game. He slumped in his chair, mirroring Elyse’s despair.
“Cheer up, Dandelion,” Killian called to him. “There’s always next time.”
“May the gods take mercy on me,” Julian breathed as he dealt another hand.