“‘What the fuck does that mean?’ I ask him.

“‘If you win, you can take me out back and shoot me. If I win, I can do the same to you. Real stakes.’ And he leans forward, and I get the feeling this is what he wanted from the start.”

“You called?” Gyre said.

“Of course I called.” Kit snorted. “I’d been betting my life every time I went down into the tunnels. What’s one more time? But he starts flipping up the last draw, one card at a time, and none of them help me. When he gets to the last one, he asks me if I want to keep going. I look him in the eye and tell him I do. He grins at me.

“And then he gets up and walks away. Leaves a whole stack of thalers on the table.” She flicked the firelighter again, another cloud of sparks shimmering in the darkness. “I looked at his cards. He had me cold. I guess he found out what he wanted to know.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

Kit nodded in the dying light. “I tracked him down, obviously. Told him if he’d folded, then he owed me his life. He thought that was funny. But he taught me … a few things.” She shook her head as the last of the sparks died. “That’s another story, too.”

“Is he still alive?”

“As far as I know,” Kit said. “But now it’s my turn.”

“What do you want to know?”

“The obvious,” she said. When he didn’t answer for a moment, she heaved a sigh. “What happened to your eye, idiot.”

“My eye?” Gyre’s scar itched under the mask. “What about it?”

“I saw you at the Smoking Wreckage, remember? You don’t have to play dumb.”

“Right.” He tapped one finger on the blank silver eye just above his empty socket. “Okay.”

“Well?”

He cleared his throat. “I was eight years old. My parents were vulpi farmers—”

“If it turns out you lost it in a farming accident or something, I get another story.”

“Relax,” Gyre said with a slight smile. It quickly faded as the memory played itself out in his mind. “My sister was five. Maya. She was fearless, smart. You would have liked her. But she was always getting sick, and doctors were no help.”

“Did she die?”

“For someone who wanted a story, you’re not a very good listener.”

“I told you,” Kit said. “Clock’s ticking. Get on with it.”

“One day in the summer, a centarch turned up at our door. His name was Va’aht Thousandcuts, and he told my parents he was here to take Maya away to the Order. She was getting sick because she had the potential to be a centarch herself.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”