Andrea Höst - The Towers, the Moon

Henri, with every appearance of unalloyed delight, paid in every remaining Tear he owned, and then flicked his fingers at the dealer, murmuring: "Soleil."

She’d underestimated him. Not his hand. He was bluffing, Rian was completely certain of that. But he was the breed of gambler who would take matters right to the edge, and then step beyond, bringing into play a Tear of the Sun – a bet beyond his limits – to bridge the tiny shortfall in his stakes.

The dealer gestured, and a mote of golden light dropped into Henri’s hand. He flicked it into the centre without hesitation, and sat back with the air of everything being now accomplished. Only someone with an unassailable hand would dream of paying forty Tears to test that apparent confidence.

The Court member folded, sparing Rian any number of tenterhooks. And Rian, who had no taste for torture, did not draw matters out, adding four ten-Tears to the glimmering centre pile.

"Thus the reveal," the dealer murmured, and Henri Duchamps was done.

Every Tear of the Sun equalled a debt to the Tower of a hundred Tears of the Moon. Henri had paid a steep price for that final bluff, and Rian, more than aware of the man’s chagrin and anger, was glad of the minor end-of-set business of exchanges that delayed moving on.

Accepting the compliments of the cat-masked player with a nod, she kept her reaction as tamped down as possible, simply ensuring she ended the trades with all of her original Tears – and all of Henri’s.

"And now," said the dealer, "there is fifteen minutes before we recommence. Are there to be any forfeits claimed?"

The cat-mask player immediately claimed forfeit from the Court of the Moon player, and Rian said, very carefully: "I will claim from the maskless one."

Perhaps it was the steely note to her voice that changed Henri’s dominant emotion to one of wariness. Or recognition. In any case, he looked at her sharply, before assuming an air of mild gratification.

"Any other claims?" the dealer asked, but gained no response. "Then the next set will commence in fifteen minutes."

Rian’s ever-constant awareness of blood warned her of the descent of two people from above, but the only other warning was a faint disturbance of air behind her. She turned and looked up into the faces of two members of the Court that were neither masked nor veiled, and who were dressed in simple tunics and trousers. Their wings, still spread, were dappled curtains of black and deep purple. Arbiters of the Tower of Balance.

The one immediately behind Rian was a very pale woman, with a great deal of loose hair the colour of champagne. It drifted in sinuous rills, settling slowly downward in the gentle gravity, and had not quite finished its fall when the woman touched Rian’s arm and they moved to another place.

The Tower of Balance owned two abilities not given to other members of the Court: translocation, and the power to follow lines of consequence . This was not quite the same as seeing the future, apparently, but instead involved navigating possibility.

The pale-haired Court member had brought Rian and Henri to a room where only the floor glowed with the steady light of the Towers' outer walls. Rian was still seated, on the opposite side of a small table from Henri, with the Court member standing to her right, and Rian’s collection of Tears laid out on the table between them.

Henri, who had been gazing at Rian through narrowed eyes, said in a richly enunciated and highly disgusted voice: "I should have known."

"You probably should have, Henri," Rian said, eternally weary of him. "I wish you would leave Martine alone."

"Is that the forfeit you request?" asked the Court member.

Henri laughed. "She’d not thank you for that."

"No," Rian said, despite a moment’s extreme temptation. "I am here for the Mask of Léon, of course. What have you done with it, Henri?"

She could not see the lower half of his face, but was certain his mouth twisted into a bitter smirk.

"I will at least enjoy knowing you’re on a fool’s errand."

Rian looked up at the member of the Court. The dim lighting from the floor threw shadows of distortion over the woman’s face, making it difficult to read her expression, but she waited with seeming indifference. The Tower of Balance did not permit gossip about arbitration, and supposedly anything done here would go no further.

"I want him to tell me what he did with the Mask of Léon. That is my forfeit."

"This is the cost," the arbiter said, and fifteen Tears lifted from the table, surprising Rian, since Étienne had said that a simple question would only be a few Tears. But, for Martine at least, this was not a matter of low import .

Accepting the payment with the faintest nod, Rian turned her attention back to Henri.

"I surrendered the Mask of Léon as forfeit to Lionel D’Argent," Henri said. "Two hours ago."

His voice was flat, uninflected, and Rian shivered to hear it. This was exactly why she did not find the idea of Forfeit delicious . If you did not pay your forfeit willingly, you still paid it. That was the power of the Tears.

Then Henri snorted, adding: "And much good that will do you. I heard you had come into money: how much will you throw away on a raw-boned nag?"

Rian only looked at him, her hatred cold, unstirred, for she had long known that Henri cherished not one ounce of affection for Martine, not at the beginning, nor after so many years and so much sacrifice. She had no idea who this Lionel was, but she expected Étienne would, or would be able to find out.

Even so, she glanced up at the arbiter: "Is it permitted to take more than one forfeit?"

"Yes, throw it all away," Henri jeered, as the arbiter nodded. "Beggar yourself."

"A binding promise, then," Rian said.

"You think she won’t know? What will you say if she asks what forfeits you took?" Henri didn’t seem to know whether to gloat or be furious. "These things," he added meaningfully, "have a way of coming out."

Rian shook her head. "I wish the world were so simple that I could force you to stay away from Martine and that would fix everything. But I can’t make that decision for her. No, Henri, what I want is for you to stay out of Milo’s career. Don’t help it. Don’t hinder it."

She had guessed correctly. He did not quite manage to hide the split-second fury, and she felt it roiling below the surface even as his face smoothed and he waved a hand in apparent indifference.

"I’ve already refused to put that brat forward. He has to stand on his own feet if he expects to live up to me."

"This is the cost." All but two of Henri’s remaining Tears rose from the table, including the Tear of the Sun.

Rian accepted with barely a glance, head swimming with the hatred beating at her. She had never understood how anyone could love this spiteful, self-involved creature, but Martine did. If Rian tried to keep him from her friend, he would most definitely go out of his way to make sure Martine knew it, for he considered Martine a resource marked for his use. Not a friend, or his lover, but a fall-back source of money and sex.

And there was the problem.

She turned once again to the impassive Court member.

"He has no Tears left. What happens during the last set?"

"A player may stake anything carried or worn, except the veil. If the value of those items is exceeded, each action takes a Tear of the Sun."

The end result: humiliation. And probably a greater plunge into debt. Henri already owed the Gilded Tower the cost of one Tear of the Sun, and to escape what was likely to be a less-than-pleasant period of service, he would need an enormous amount of money, fast.

Rian was all too familiar with the consequences of Henri Duchamps needing money.