Poison Dance

Chapter Three: Scene 1

Bacchus slammed his mug down on the table. “Now he wants to split us up? He’ll pair us with his lapdogs, mark my words. We won’t be able to do anything without him knowing again.” They were back at the Scorned Maiden, discussing the previous night’s events.

Rand nodded in agreement. “Gerred’s tightening his grip.”

James didn’t reply. They were right, and he had nothing more to add. Instead, he looked across the room to where the auburn-haired dancing girl was performing. The girl’s onstage persona was completely different from the way she’d presented herself two nights ago. When she danced, she was striking—animated, unreserved, and alluring. When the girl had approached two nights ago, though, she’d gone out of the way not to draw attention to herself.

Bacchus followed James’s gaze and whistled appreciatively. “You talk to her yet?” he asked James.

James shook his head. “Later.”

“Why don’t you stop ogling her and think about how we’re going to live out the next month?” said Rand. A serving girl came to ask if they wanted more ale, and Rand shot her a glance that sent her scurrying away.

James let out a breath and turned back to Rand. He pressed his ankle against the side of his boot, and the knife he kept there pushed comfortingly back. “What are our options then?”

Bacchus cracked his knuckles. “I say the bastard’s lived out his time on top. Clevon was no genius, but he was honest with us, at least. Gerred’ll stab anyone in the back if it means more gold for him.”

“If either of you wants to fight for the top, go ahead. I’ve no interest in it,” said James. “We’ve been here ten years. We know how it works by now. Clevon lived a comfortable life, and Gerred still does. We all joined thinking someday we’d live like them. Only now we know how many rank and file want the same thing, and how many bodies we’d have to crawl over to get there.”

“We could outfight anyone in the Guild,” said Bacchus. The eagerness in his voice was hard to miss.

James shrugged. “Mayhap we could, but all it takes is one knife in the back. And all this for what? So we can be finished off by a Red Shield in ten years?”

Rand cleared his throat. “You’re forgetting that Gerred in’t exactly giving us a choice in the matter. It doesn’t matter whether we’re loyal to him or not. He’s already convinced you’ll fight to be head, and your conversation last night didn’t calm his fears, I’ll guarantee you that.”

While Bacchus’s thoughts were always written clear on his face, James had always found Rand harder to read. He was somewhat of a puzzle: closed-mouthed about his past and effective enough at his job, but he clearly didn’t love it like Bacchus did. And though they’d saved each other’s lives dozens of times, James realized he didn’t know what Rand really felt about the headship, or the Guild for that matter.

“You’re right, Rand. Gerred’ll likely not give us a choice about the issue—if we stick around in Forge,” said James. “But none of us has ties to the city. What’s stopping us from leaving altogether?”

Bacchus gave James a sidelong glance, comprehension dawning on his face. Rand looked impressed as well. As his companions chewed over his words, James’s gaze wandered back to the dancing girl. She’d put bells on her ankles and wrists now and shook them in time to the music. Light from the hearth, the table lamps, and the candle chandeliers played off her movements and gave her skin a reddish hue. A few times, he thought she looked in his direction.

“Not a bad idea,” Rand finally said. “I’ve always wanted to see Parna.”

“Set up there?” asked Bacchus.