“Why do you think I’m in Skala? You’d never take this for a sen’gai, would you?” Seregil asked, pointing out his scarf. “Come now, are you telling me you won’t take gold off a silly man with more money than sense? Really, I can’t resist a wager.”

This admission of his own disgrace had a slight thawing effect on the others, or perhaps it was the gold coin he was still holding. Even Lemiel warmed a bit, though he wasn’t calling Seregil cousin by any means.

With a quick sleight of hand, Seregil held up two golden sesters. “I’ll split my winnings with you, of course.” He flicked his hand again and suddenly there were three coins balanced between his fingers. “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I could do with a mug of whatever it is you’re drinking.” He waved over the serving girl with his free hand. “A round for the table, my dear.”

Liberal applications of coin and ale thawed the other men’s animosity enough for them to allow him a seat at the table but it was clear that they felt no real solidarity. They’d been slaves when he’d been free, and it grated on them.

Soon all of them were betting with his money even as they liberally cast around slurs on his ancestry. Seregil took it all with vapid, self-deprecating good humor, hoping the money didn’t give out before they did. The hour grew late and the gamblers began to drift away. Lemiel, who was well into his cups, started to go and Seregil pulled a deck of cards from his pocket.

“I haven’t had much luck tonight with bakshi, but I’d love to try my hand at some Blue Goose,” he wheedled. “Do people play that here?”

“Women do,” Lemiel scoffed, taking the cards and riffling them with an expert hand. “Do you know Beggar’s Get?”

“I do, and agree that it is a superior game.”

Despite being drunk, the other man shuffled and dealt skillfully. They looked over their hands, discarded, and placed their bets. Seregil was careful to lose three games in succession, and finally protested an empty purse.

Lemiel grinned as he swept up his winnings. “I guess that finishes you for the night then, doesn’t it?”

“Not quite,” Seregil replied. Shifting seats so that the few remaining patrons in the tavern couldn’t see, he took the golden arm ring from his pocket and placed it on the table between them.

Lemiel’s bloodshot eyes widened at the sight of it. He reached for it but Seregil moved it back out of reach.

“I thought you might recognize it,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“What are you doing with that?” Lemiel asked. “I brought it to the governor and he gave me a reward for turning it in.”