Tela put a soothing hand on Jom’s shoulder. “Jom, dear, really.”

The tavern rang with silence. Anji’s stomach churned, her hand twitching toward her dagger, but Jom relaxed into his seat, waving Tela’s hand away. “Streak like this, he might’ve figured out the rules by now.” Then he guffawed and pointed a swollen finger at Anji. “You scare pretty easy, don’t you? Gap-toothed little shit.”

Anji took a steadying breath and hunched once again over her cards. “Waiting for a card, dealer.”

Jom stared across the table, his beady eyes bright, but flung a card across to Anji and leaned forward, cigar dangling from his bulbous lips. “Speaking of traveling alone,” he said, “where was it you came from, boy?”

Anji’s heart fluttered.

“Silverton,” she said, fitting the new card into her hand. “And it’s your call.” She gripped the table’s edge to keep the world from spinning. Tela gulped her drink, a dribble of amber liquid beading onto her rough-spun shirt. She wiped it off and gave Jom a sidelong glance. Was that tension in her shoulders? Or was Anji just eight mugs deep? Anji blinked and directed her hazy gaze to Jom’s watery blue eyes.

The man tugged at his ear (the tell he’d been showing all night), then fanned out the three sets of pairs Anji knew he had: two Steeds, two Suns, and two Ravens. She kept her face straight.

Jom grinned, his cigar tipped up as he bit down into the paper and leaf. “Beat that, scrawny fuckarse.”

Anji lay her cards down, glossy faces flickering in the candlelight. Jom’s face screwed up first in confusion, then realization, and finally—rage. His hand inched closer to his belt.

“Issa packed house,” Anji said, arms raised, her words more slurred than she wanted them to sound.

A dead quiet settled over the table, through the empty tavern. Anji reached for her mug. “Sorry, old man,” she said, relief flooding through her, “looks like tonight isn’t your—”

Jom slammed his hands flat on the table, and in one motion got to his feet and kicked the chair behind him. He slid a thick dirk from its belted sheath, teeth bared.

Anji rolled her eyes and began gathering her winnings.

“You cost me more tonight than I’ve made in a month, boy,” he said, face purple. “Nobody wins like this without cheating.”

“Jom, dear,” Tela said again, voice even. She patted the man’s forearm, sparing Anji a glance. If she’d been more sober and less desperate, Anji might have taken the look as a warning, a plea to run out of the bar, to forget the winnings and spare herself a gutting.

But Anji couldn’t run. Not yet. She eyed the money amassed in the table’s center.

She tensed, ready for Jom to bound across, for his weight to carry him past her so she could spin around and—