Page 118 of Foul Days

“I’m excellent.”

“So, I was planning on betting you. I’ll tell them that if I lose, they can have a dance with you.”

Asen considered this, his dark brows furrowed. “How come the only time you ever have a plan, I’m the sacrificial lamb?”

Kosara smiled brightly. “What do you say?”

Asen looked up at the platform where Roksana was downing a glass of moon wine the size of a salad bowl. “Fine.”

“Really? I expected to have to convince you.”

“I don’t want her getting away again. Do what you must.”

Kosara turned away from him so he wouldn’t see her rolling her eyes. Do what you must? She’d asked him to dance with a yuda—not to marry one.

“Girls!” Kosara shouted when she got near them. “How about a game?”

The yudas turned their gleaming gazes towards Kosara. Their faces were pale and distractingly human, surrounded by a crown of waxy feathers. Their wings were folded around them, shifting from black to purple to dark blue and glistening as if slathered in oil. They loomed over Kosara as they perched in their seats, their taloned feet grasping the bone bench.

“Maybe,” one of them said. Her voice was loud and hoarse, like a hawk’s scream. “Depends on what we’re going to play for.”

“If I win, you’ll take us up to that platform over there, so we can capture a dangerous criminal.”

“Who?”

“You know Roksana?”

One of the yudas shoved the other with her wing. “Some of us know her better than others, right, Sokol?”

“We’re just talking,” said Sokol, without even looking at her friend. Her bright, yellow eyes were focused on Kosara. “What if you lose?”

“If you win,” Kosara said, “you’ll get a dance with my date.”

Asen harrumphed behind her back. He was leaning on one of the columns with his arms crossed, looking like a martyr.

“He’s an excellent dancer,” she added.

One of the yudas opened her beak and produced a loud, throaty sound. It took Kosara a second to realise she was laughing. “I’m sure Sokol will like that.”

“Shut up, Orel,” Sokol mumbled.

The yudas made room for Kosara to sit between them on the bench. Their smell enveloped her: of pine needles and ozone, as if they’d just flown through a rain cloud.

“Well, girls, who’s going to deal?” she asked.

They played a variant of Kral that Kosara wasn’t familiar with, but she quickly figured it out—or at least, she hoped she did. Orel dealt her two cards and began placing cards face up on the table. Kosara was fairly certain she had to make up her hand from a combination of all available cards.

She raised the bet a few times before she lost. Just like she’d planned. Let them think they’d beat her easily.

Orel dealt again. This time Kosara bet high, despite having a bad hand. The yudas didn’t call her bluff. One-one.

“So, Sokol,” Kosara said, while Orel shuffled. “How long have you known Roksana?”

“Since last year,” Sokol said. “We’re just talking!”

“I wasn’t suggesting anything else.”

“What has she done?” the third yuda said—the one whose name Kosara didn’t know.

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